From Megan Maitland’s Diary

Dear Diary,

I always knew Michael’s bride would be special, but the offer to Jenny of a green card marriage so that Michael could help her protect the future Earl of Epingdale leaves me amazed, as well as delighted.

Not even I could have dreamed of a little English baby as a way to reach my beloved godson’s heart. Now if only Jenny could make Michael see that his own mother may have given her babies up for more than selfish reasons, it would be a miracle. God bless my beloved godchildren, and may their continuing search for their birth mother be as heartwarming as Michael and Jenny’s own splendid love story.

There’s never a dull moment at

MAITLAND MATERNITY

Michael Lord: Michael doesn’t know why he feels compelled to protect Jenny and her unborn son. All he knows is that Jenny is refusing to give up her child…unlike his mother all those years ago.

Jenny Morrow: Jenny is grateful that Michael came to her rescue, but she needs to know—is he motivated by his past…or the possibility of a future with her and her unborn baby?

Gloria Hepworth-Morrow, Duchess of Epingdale: Her controlling behavior drove her son to put an ocean between them. To what lengths will she go to get her hands on the heir to his title?

LeeAnn Larrimore: Like ripples in a pond, her decision to give up her children has affected countless lives. Will her attempt to reach out bring joy…or more sorrow?

Adopt-a-Dad
Marion Lennox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Marion Lennox was born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows weren’t interested in her stories! Marion has written almost fifty novels for Harlequin, some published under the name Trisha David.

In her nonwriting life, Marion cares (haphazardly) for her husband, teenagers, dogs, cats, chickens and anyone else who lines up at her dinner table. She fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost). She also travels, which she finds seriously addictive.

As a teenager Marion was told she’d never get anywhere reading romance. Now romance is the basis of her stories and her stories allow her to travel—so if ever there was an advertisement for following your dream, she’d be it!

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

MARRIED! The first of her babies was now a married woman.

LeeAnn stared at the pages of the Maitland Maternity Clinic newsletter, and the laughing face of her firstborn daughter glowed at her. It was Lana, LeeAnn’s precious child.

Lana was one of her four children, but she was standing now not as a sister, but as part of a couple. What did the caption say? With This Ring, I Thee Wed. The insert photo was of a truly breathtaking diamond.

Lana Lord, married to Dylan Van Zandt.

Who was this Dylan? LeeAnn ached to know. His face was proud yet gentle—tender yet firm. He looked as if he’d be a loving husband to her daughter, but how could she tell from a picture?

She stirred in bed, wincing from the pain. Why didn’t she have the courage to face them? she asked herself bleakly. Why couldn’t she take this last step and meet her children in person?

There was another shot next to the wedding picture—one of the guests. Almost every person there had some connection to the clinic. And right in front of her on the page was the rest of her brood.

The caption stated they were Megan Maitland’s godchildren and identified Megan as the founder of Maitland Maternity, but LeeAnn knew that already. She’d found out so much in these past few weeks. She’d managed to get herself onto the mailing list for the clinic’s newsletter, and she’d hoarded every piece of information she could find from the last twenty-five years.

So now she almost knew them. Here was her lovely Garrett, looking strong and stern and proud. Garrett was her firstborn. He’d been the one to take charge even from infancy. Shelby was next to him, her auburn hair just what her mother’s had been so many years ago, and that lovely smile… And Michael, standing slightly apart.

LeeAnn’s heart stilled. There was trouble with Michael.

She looked at the picture for a long, long time, searching these faces she really didn’t know at all and yet knew so well. They were part of her. Michael was her son. Even though she’d abandoned her children as babies, she knew his face like she knew her own.

There was trouble in Michael’s face, she thought. His expression was shuttered, and with a pang of distress she saw a suffering there that she recognized as her own all those years ago when she’d left her four small children to be cared for by strangers.

“Michael,” she whispered. “My little one. What’s wrong?”

There was no answer. How could there be? LeeAnn was in a hospice in the final stages of incurable cancer, and her children didn’t even know her name. They were no longer her little ones. They were adults, and unaware of her existence.

Or maybe not. Had Megan Maitland given them her gifts? Given them her message? She’d sent the three little sweaters she’d made herself all those years ago, each embroidered with a triplet’s name, and she’d tucked in Garrett’s teddy, the one she’d used as her only comfort over the years.

It didn’t matter, she told herself bleakly. She’d sent them. That was enough. They were tokens to tell them that they were loved—nothing more. These lovely young adults, smiling at her from the newsprint, were no longer part of her life. She’d forfeited her right to know them when she’d abandoned them as babies all those years ago.

But she couldn’t stop gazing at the pictures, question after question forming in her heart. Did they know she’d had no choice? Did they realize that once Gary had died, there’d been so many debts, so little money—no support at all—that to keep them would have been cruel? Did they judge her harshly?

Or could they sense that the cruelest cut had been to her—to walk away from their lives and leave the loving to strangers?

She loved them still. How could she not? But she was their mother by birth only. They had no need of her.

But… Dear Lord, she needed them.

And Michael. What was wrong with Michael?

CHAPTER ONE

GRAY SUITS were Gray Suits, no matter which side of the world they were on. Jenny saw them coming from a mile off and panicked in style.

As secretary to Michael Lord, head of security at Austin’s Maitland Maternity Clinic, she was used to people arriving at her desk. Staff, patients, cops and media—she knew them all and welcomed them with cheerful efficiency.

But not Gray Suits. Not when they were coming for her.

They hadn’t seen her yet. They’d stopped at reception and were asking directions. Peggy was smiling and pointing toward her door, and they were turning to look. The security offices had one-way windows, however, so staff could see the reception area without patients and visitors knowing they were being observed.

Which gave Jenny time. She had a whole ten seconds to consider her choices. Fainting? Falling to the floor in hysterics? On second thought—six seconds of second thought—maybe those choices weren’t all that useful.

There was only one option left, she figured. Escape through her boss’s office.

Michael would hate it! Bolting through his office was hardly something a professional secretary was supposed to do.

But she had no choice. She stood up, staggering a little with the weight of advanced pregnancy, and took a leap like a scared and very pregnant rabbit right through Michael’s door.

“GARRETT, this is a waste of time.” Michael Lord swiveled in his leather chair and sighed into the phone. What Garrett was arguing was water under the bridge—twenty-five years of water, in fact, since they’d been abandoned on the hospital steps as babies.

Those years hadn’t been bad, Michael decided. He, his triplet siblings and their big brother, Garrett, had been granted great adoptive parents. They had good lives in their chosen professions, with friends and family all around. The woman who’d deserted her babies so long ago obviously hadn’t wanted anything more to do with them, so why wouldn’t Garrett leave it alone?

She didn’t want them, and they didn’t want her. Simple as that.

“It wouldn’t hurt to search,” Garrett said.

“We’ve had great parents,” Michael said stubbornly. “We don’t need any more family.”

“Sometimes I don’t think you need the family you have,” Garrett snapped. “You sit there in your cold-as-ice apartment without even a dog to—”

“Are we talking about finding our birth mother or are we talking of my private life?” Michael’s voice was as harsh as his brother’s, and it was Garrett’s turn to sigh.

“So you won’t help?”

“I’ve already told you I’m not interested. And anyway, I don’t see how I can.”

“With your resources… Mike, you’ve been a cop. You have Maitland Maternity’s network behind you, and you know Megan will support us. You have contacts everywhere, and money’s hardly a problem. Look, come to dinner on Saturday night and we’ll talk about it.”

“There’s already Camille and Jake’s wedding celebration on Sunday. I don’t need any more family events this weekend.”

“Yeah, and I’ll bet you intend to stick around for the party after the wedding. Just like you did after Lana’s. Look, Mike, this is just us. Shelby’s cooking, and Lana and Dylan will bring the baby.”

Domesticity was closing in. Michael’s resolve firmed. “No way!”

“If you’re not there, you’ll be the only one of the Lord kids who’s not.”

“Tell Dylan to take my place, then. The family’s changing. Now Lana’s married—well, things aren’t the same. We don’t need each other as much.”

Funny how his gut kicked at the thought of it, Michael reflected wryly. There’d always been the four of them— Michael and Lana and Shelby, the triplets, with Garrett watching over them like a hawk. Michael hadn’t thought he minded that Lana was married. Who could, when she was so happy? But…

His gut definitely kicked.

“We’re still family,” Garrett said stubbornly. “We need to talk through our plans to find our birth mother.”

“Your plans. I told you. I’m not doing any—”

Michael stopped in astonishment.

His secretary—calm, unflappable and cheerful Jenny—crashed through the door as if the hounds of hell were after her. She shoved the door closed behind her and leaned against it, as wide-eyed and pale as Michael had ever seen her. She looked terrified.

He wasn’t head of security for nothing. Their birth mother could wait.

“Emergency,” he snapped, and dropped the phone into its cradle before Garrett had time to say another word.

ONLY IT WASN’T an emergency, or not one he could see.

Michael crossed swiftly to the window and stared out. As in Jenny’s office, his interior windows were only transparent one way. He could see Jenny’s reception area, which was empty, and the main foyer beyond.

There were a few visitors milling around reception. Nothing noteworthy there. The receptionists looked calm and unconcerned. Two innocuous men in gray suits were walking toward Jenny’s door.

The way she was acting, you’d think the men were carrying machine guns. Which was crazy.

But Michael was trained to act first and ask questions later. What he saw on Jenny’s face was terror. He’d be a fool to ignore terror, and Michael Lord was no fool.

In one fast motion he tugged Jenny away from the door, pulling her easily against his chest. Then he flicked the switch she’d been leaning against. Smoothly, the security panels slid into place, locking the doors and windows and making the smoky glass an impervious, bulletproof screen.

They’d needed these precautions just once since the hospital was built, and he’d hoped he would never have to use them again, but by the look on Jenny’s face, he needed them now.

“Okay, Jenny.”

“Out the back.” She pulled away, tugging out of his arms. She was breathing way too fast for someone as pregnant as she was. “Michael, I need to go. I must. They’re after me. The back door.”

Yeah, he had a back door, a handy little escape route that led into the rear parking lot, but you didn’t bolt from the enemy before you knew who your enemy was. They were secure enough here.

“If they’re searching for you, then maybe they’ll have someone waiting out the back. Jenny, who are they?”

She shook her head, her face bloodless with shock. Michael’s hold on her tightened, his big hands gripping her shoulders. Heck, she was thin. He’d never really noticed that before. In a detached sort of way—the way he saw most people—he’d noticed her pregnancy but not the frailness of her body beneath it.

With her green eyes huge in her pale face, and her mass of dark brown curls shoved from her face in terror…

She was really quite beautiful, he thought suddenly, holding her against him. Funny how he’d never noticed that until now.

Her terror wasn’t subsiding, though. Once again, Michael turned to stare at the gray-suited visitors. They’d entered Jenny’s office and were inspecting her desk. One reached over and opened her drawer, rifling through her belongings.

Michael’s jaw set in anger. They had no right to be searching the place. He was half inclined to throw open the door and demand to know what they thought they were doing, but Jenny’s terror stopped him. He hit the one-way intercom on his desk so he could hear what they were saying, then turned to Jenny.

“The door’s locked,” he said quietly, trying to allay her shuddering fear. “They can’t hear us, they can’t see us and they can’t get in. There’s no way someone can get in here short of using dynamite.”

“They’ll wait. Gloria must have put them onto me. Now they know. I have to leave—now!”

What on earth was going on? Who the heck was Gloria?

Michael didn’t have a clue. He could only wait until she was calm enough to tell him. He put his arms around her shoulders and drew her against him, restraining her urge to dash for the back door. She was so darned small, five four or so compared with his six foot. He’d hardly noticed her in the past few months, apart from being grateful he’d finally found someone efficient to run his office. How could he not have noticed how pregnant—and how lovely—she was?

There was a thumping on his door as the men turned their attention from Jenny’s desk to his inner sanctum. From outside the room, the walls looked like mirrored glass. They’d see nothing and they’d hear nothing.

“Is anyone in there? Mr. Lord, could you come out please? We need to speak to you.” The voice of the older of the men seemed accustomed to command. The two of them looked annoyed, but nothing more. This wasn’t a pair of menacing thugs. There wasn’t a gun in sight.

More knocking, exasperated this time. They were bureaucrats, Michael thought. So what on earth was Jenny scared of?

And then there was a female voice, and Michael sighed with relief as he saw Ellie enter Jenny’s office. Ellie Maitland was the hospital administrator and the only person who’d know the security screens and bolts had come down in his office. A small red light would have flashed on her desk as the screens dropped. She’d figure that for some unknown reason Michael was in trouble or else there’d been a mistake, but Ellie wasn’t the sort to assume he’d made a mistake without checking.

She should have telephoned, Michael thought grimly, instead of coming, but the gray-suited visitors didn’t look physically threatening. Ellie certainly didn’t think they did.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?”

She cast a flickering glance at Jenny’s desk, and Michael knew she’d noticed the opened drawer and the shifted jumble of papers on the desktop. She’d be puzzled, trying to figure out what was going on, but nothing of that was sounding in her voice.

“We’re here to see Mrs. Morrow,” the older suit said.

“Mrs….” There was a trace of uncertainty in Ellie’s voice, as if she was trying to place the name—which she wouldn’t be. Ellie knew the names of every one of her staff members and every detail of their lives, right down to what they’d had for breakfast that morning. Her uncertainty was assumed, buying time. Finally her voice cleared. “Oh, you mean Mr. Lord’s secretary, Jenny.”

“That’s right.” The voice was in no mood for hesitation. “Where is she?”

Silence. Michael couldn’t suppress a grin as Ellie gazed around the outer office with helpful and entirely assumed stupidity.

“She doesn’t seem to be here.”

“Can you open the inner office, please?”

“It’s the office of our security chief,” she apologized. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I don’t have authorization. Isn’t Mr. Lord inside?”

“He’s not answering, and we need to check. We’re from the Department of Immigration.” There was a pause as two ID cards were produced. In Michael’s arms, Jenny quivered once and was still. “Open, please.”

“I still can’t do that,” Ellie said apologetically. “Unless you people have a warrant.”

“We don’t have a warrant.”

“Has Mr. Lord done something illegal?”

“No. It’s Mrs. Morrow we’re interested in.”

“But she’s not here.” Once more, her tone conveyed helpful stupidity.

“She may be in with Mr. Lord.”

“If Michael was in his office then he’d answer the door.”

“Not if he was hiding someone.”

“Why on earth would he be hiding someone?” Ellie asked, exasperated. “Hiding Jenny, do you mean? Why would he be doing that? She’s been sitting out here for all the world to see for the past few months. She’s probably just gone to the ladies’ room. If you people would care to wait, there’s a coffee shop down the hall.”

“Contact Lord,” the older suit ordered.

Ellie visibly stiffened. “I beg your pardon.”

“If he’s your security chief, then you can contact him,” the man said brusquely. “Surely.”

“Of course I can contact him.”

“Do it.”

Ellie practically bristled, and once more Michael had to suppress a grin. Jenny was still struggling in an attempt to reach the back door, as if the men could burst in any minute, but there was no chance of that. Ellie might have a key to his office on the bunch at her waist, but by their rudeness, Jenny had just gained herself a powerful ally. Once annoyed, Ellie was one mean opponent.

But Ellie didn’t refuse to contact him. She gazed at the two men for a long, considering moment, then raised the cell phone at her belt. She dialed, and the phone on Michael’s hip vibrated.

“Shh. It’s okay. They can’t hear us. But stay right here! That’s an order.” He put a hand on Jenny’s hair in reassurance and gently moved her away from him, then pressed her into the chair by his desk. He fixed her with a look, waited until he was sure she wouldn’t argue, and then he pushed the response button on his phone.

“Yes?”

“Michael?”

“I’m right here, Ellie.” There was nothing in his voice to suggest he could see her, and there was nothing in hers to suggest she knew he probably could. “What can I do for you?”

“There are two gentlemen in your office from…” She paused, and Michael saw her lift one of the men’s cards from his hand, then the other. “From the Department of Immigration. A Mr. Harness and his associate, Mr. Gibbs. They’re looking for Mrs. Morrow.”

“For Jenny?” He deliberately spoke loudly, so they’d hear what he said through Ellie’s handpiece. It was lucky he’d checked these screens for soundproofing, he thought. “What do they want with Jenny?”

“I have no idea. Will you tell me where she is?”

Will you tell me where she is… Great, Michael thought wryly. He had no idea what was going on, and until he found out, he had no intention of handing Jenny over, but he still didn’t like lying. If Jenny was involved in something illegal, he didn’t want to get any more involved than he already was. Will you tell me where she is let him off the hook nicely.

He deflected things. “I’ve given Jenny the rest of the day off,” he said. “I’ll be out of the office myself this afternoon.”

“The officers want to interview her.”

“What for?” he asked mildly, and watched through the glass as Ellie turned and put her question to the officers.

“Why do you need to speak to Jenny?”

He half expected no reply, but they answered, maybe seeing no risk in letting Ellie know their business, and with the intercom on he could hear every word. “Her entry visa expires on Monday,” the older man said. “She’s due to leave the country.”

“But it’s only Thursday.” Ellie frowned. “If I remember correctly, she’s due to finish up here on Friday—tomorrow. She’s British, isn’t she? I assumed she’d be flying home then.”

“According to our information she’s eight months pregnant,” the officer snapped. “The airlines won’t carry women on international flights when pregnancy is so advanced.”

“That’s hardly my business,” Ellie said mildly. “But I don’t employ illegal immigrants. Nor does Jenny expect me to. I remember Jenny made it very clear when she applied for the job that she’d only be working here for a few months.”

“So she’ll be back tomorrow?”

“I imagine so.” Ellie glanced at her watch, signifying her time was short and not to be wasted. “I believe the secretarial staff is having farewell drinks for her in the cafeteria tomorrow afternoon. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Do you have her home address?”

“I do.” Ellie sighed. “It’ll be in personnel records.”

“We need to see it.”

“Then come this way,” Ellie said dourly. “But it may take me some time to find it. My computer has just crashed. I’ll have to send someone to the basement for a hard copy.”

Bless her heart, Michael thought. She was giving him time, and letting him know it.

“Did you get that, Michael?” she said into the phone. “If you see Jenny, let her know Immigration wishes to speak with her.” She clicked the phone dead. “Come with me, gentlemen,” she said, and ushered them firmly out of the office.

But as she closed the door behind them, she faced Michael’s office through the one-way glass.

And raised her eyebrows in a very odd look.

THE DOOR was barely closed behind them when Jenny was out of her chair, heading for the back door. Michael caught her as she passed and held her wrist as one might a fugitive.

“Jenny.”

“I must go.”

“Not until I know what’s going on.”

“I…” She took a ragged breath and tried for control. Her eyes were huge in her pale face. She looked about sixteen, Michael thought, though he was sure her personnel records said mid-twenties. “I guess… I mean, they’re right,” she stammered. “I’m an illegal immigrant.”

“According to them, not until Monday.” He frowned. “It’s unlike our Immigration Department to check on people before they’ve overstayed.”

“I told you, Gloria will have sent them.”

“Who’s Gloria?”

“My…my mother-in-law.”

“Your mother-in-law.” He considered that a moment, but no, he couldn’t figure this one out at all. Jenny was British, he knew, but he’d never heard any talk of a husband. Come to think of it, he’d never heard any talk at all. Jenny was bright and bubbly and talkative—about everyone but herself. But she did wear a wedding ring.

“Jenny, you’re not going anywhere unless you tell me what’s going on,” Michael said mildly. “Ellie and I have just perjured ourselves—or almost perjured ourselves—to protect you. We have the right—”

“I’m not a criminal,” she said, and a flash of anger behind her eyes showed Michael that she was recovering. The woman had spirit. Her spirit was the one thing he’d noticed right from the start. It was why she still had a job.

Michael had gone through about six secretaries before Jenny arrived. He was professionally demanding and he expected his staff to work as hard as he did. One by one, secretaries had left, and mostly they’d left with a litany of complaints.

Mr. Lord didn’t appreciate them, they said. Mr. Lord expected them to work overtime without complaining and he didn’t care about their social lives.

But Jenny had arrived, set herself efficiently to work and hadn’t looked back. She’d come on a temporary basis when his need had been urgent—the last of his line of secretaries had left without warning in the middle of a work crisis—and she’d stayed for as long as he could keep her. Sure, Michael had snapped at her, and usually she took it without a murmur. Occasionally, though, she’d stood up to him, and when she had, she’d done it with spunk.

“No, Mr. Lord, I can’t stay tonight. I have an appointment after work.”

“I don’t care about your appointment. I have work that needs doing now.”

She’d smiled and gone on with her typing. “So what did your last slave die of? Sorry, Mr. Lord, I can’t do it. I do have the civility to care about your work, even if you don’t care about my appointment, but it doesn’t make one bit of difference. I can’t change my appointment. If you don’t like it, then phone the agency and hope they’ll send you someone more amenable. Or, alternatively, I’ll come in early and see what I can do then.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“That’s the best I can do, Mr. Lord. Like it or lump it.” And she’d smile sweetly and take herself off to her appointment, with him staring after her, baffled.

Then he’d come in the next morning to find his work done, as promised, and Jenny acting just as if she hadn’t refused him at all, but he knew she would again. Finally he’d learned to ask rather than demand, and the last few months had been tension free.

But she was leaving tomorrow, he thought. He frowned. Jenny’s baby had to come sometime, and secretaries came and went. They weren’t something he bothered about.

He was bothering about Jenny now.

“So tell me,” he growled, and the spark of challenge flared in Jenny’s eyes. She really was recovering.

“Or you’ll sack me? Nice try, but I’m leaving tomorrow, anyway. In fact…” She sighed. “I guess now I’m leaving tonight. I’m sorry, Mr. Lord, but I’m being forced to quit early. Can you say goodbye to everyone for me?”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t think you want to know that,” she said gently, looking longingly at the door. “You’ve helped me enough. I don’t want you to lie on my behalf.”

“I can act stupid,” he assured her. “I don’t need to lie.”

“You, act stupid? Ha! And you don’t need to know.”

Silence. There was no answer to that.

This was the end, then, he thought. She was asking no more. Michael could open his door, let her leave and never see her again. That should suit him fine. He didn’t get involved with anyone, much less a hugely pregnant, mal-nourished illegal immigrant of a secretary with the worries of the world on her shoulders.

So he could say goodbye and leave it at that—but for the life of him he couldn’t.

“Are you going back to England?” he asked, and watched as the color washed from her face again.

“No, but…”

“Do you have somewhere to go?”

“Mexico,” she said softly, only a tiny tremor in her voice spoiling the bravado of her words.

“You have friends in Mexico?”

“No, but…”

He sighed. “You know, you can’t go back to your apartment. They’ll expect you there.”

“I know that.”

“So you’re heading for Mexico without baggage, without friends. And how do you expect to get over the border? They’ll have immigration checks there, as well.”

“I’ll manage.” Her words were an angry, defensive snap, but there was fear behind them. “The border’s hardly heavily policed. I can do it.”

“What, by hiking through the desert in the dead of night? Very clever.”

Silence.

He shouldn’t get involved. No way! But how could he not? Michael sighed, took a deep breath and jumped right in. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and opened the door.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

“But…”

“But what?”

“You don’t need to come.” She glared. “I’m on my own.”

“I can see you’re on your own. That’s what I don’t like.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You know, if you said it was my business, then I’d fight you every inch of the way,” he said sourly. “But damn it, woman, I have enough moral fiber to think I can’t allow you to sneak over the border with nothing except the clothes you’re wearing. And no friends to meet you.”

She glowered again, trapped. She didn’t want his help. She didn’t want anyone’s help. “I don’t need your morals.”

“Neither do I,” he said dryly. “I don’t need ’em at all. Unfortunately I have ’em, and so does Ellie. She’ll want to know what the heck I’ve done with you, and if I tell her what you intend doing and that I’ve allowed it, she’ll be after me with a horsewhip. So you can say I’m doing this because the Maitlands are head of this place and I work for the Maitlands. Good enough for you?”

She glowered again. “No.”

“It’d better be.” He took her arm. “Because that’s the way it is. Like it or lump it, lady. Let’s go.”

CHAPTER TWO

HE TOOK HER to her apartment first.

“We have maybe twenty minutes,” he told her. “Ellie will hold them that long. So we move fast.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Just shut up,” he told her kindly. “Like it or not, I’m embroiled in this mess, so I might as well be embroiled all the way.”

Which wasn’t exactly true, he decided as he drove fast through Austin’s afternoon traffic. He wasn’t really embroiled in this mess—yet. At this stage he could put her out of the car and walk away.

But there was no way he could do that, and it wasn’t the thought of Ellie’s anger that was keeping him in here. It was the set look on Jenny’s face, the look of despair combined with that stubborn look of pride. She’d go to the wall alone, he thought as he watched her. She had sheer, raw courage. Whatever mess she was in…

She wasn’t facing it alone, he decided. Not while Michael Lord was around to help her. But why he felt that way, he didn’t have a clue. He didn’t get involved with women. Not ever.

A very pregnant secretary didn’t really count as a woman, he told himself. Did she?

He couldn’t answer that question. Instead, he concentrated on driving fast and outmaneuvering the Suits.

Some questions were just too hard to answer.

THE PLACE she lived in was the pits. Michael stopped in front of a run-down apartment block in the poorest part of town and grimaced, then steered his Corvette around the corner and out of sight. The neighborhood was no better around the corner. It wasn’t the sort of place to leave a Corvette, much less a pregnant woman.

“You’ve been living here all the time you’ve worked for me?” he demanded.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Jenny’s voice was defensive. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a dump.”

“Can we spare the thoughts on my taste in housing for some other time?” she asked with asperity, worry replaced by indignation. “Anyway, I like it. It’s friendly. You try being a poverty-stricken single mom in a rich neighborhood and see how many friends you make. So if you really are going to help me…”

“Yeah, right.” He sighed. The place he’d put the car was deserted and well out of sight. Jenny would have to stay in the car. He didn’t like leaving her, but there was hardly a choice. He had to move fast, and if there was one thing Jenny’s bulk didn’t let her do, it was that. “Tell me which is your apartment and give me the keys.”

“I’m coming.” She was still crabby.

“No, Jenny, you’re not.” He put his hands on her shoulders and propelled her onto her seat. “I’m going in fast. I’m staying out of sight, which is something I’ve been trained to be good at. I’m getting out of there even faster, and if there’s a knock on the door while I’m in there, then I’ll be out the back window like a rat down the drainpipe. Assuming there’s a back window.”

“There’s a back window, but—”

“No buts. Can you shinny down a drainpipe?”

That brought a grin. She glanced at her pregnant bulge, and her eyes twinkled with sudden laughter. She looked better that way, Michael thought. “Maybe not, but—”

“Then leave the shinnying to me.” He hesitated. “I can’t bring everything. I’ll just grab what I can. I may only have a few minutes.”

“I don’t have much. There’s a bag under the bed. You’ll hardly fill it.”

Funny—why had he known she’d say something like that?

THE LADY WAS RIGHT. There sure wasn’t much. Michael stared around her dreary apartment in stunned silence.

He had two sisters, and Lana and Shelby nested. In fact, when they’d lived together, his sisters had nested all over the house. He was used to masses of clothes, bathrooms cluttered with toiletries, bedrooms with bright fabrics and huge cushions—the sort of place where a girl could come home and relax with style.

There was no way Jenny could come home and relax in any comfort at all, he thought, much less with style. The one-room apartment had a narrow iron bed in one corner, which was made up with essential bedclothes. There was a shabby wardrobe. A card table had one chair beside it, another chair acted as a bedside table, and there was nothing more.

He had no time for investigation, though. A leather suitcase was under her bed. He grabbed it and discovered it was already half packed. With little furniture, she was obviously using it for storage. That made things easy. There were a couple of dresses in the wardrobe—shapeless things like the one she was wearing now. It took him two minutes to collect her meager toiletries from the bathroom. There was nothing else except for a small clock and a picture frame on her bedside chair.

They all went quickly into the case, though he paused a moment to glance at the photo. A young man stared at him, fair and good-looking, laughing at the camera as if he was laughing at life in general. He looked as if he didn’t have a worry in the world.

Was this the son of the fearful mother-in-law who was haunting her? Michael wondered briefly. He didn’t look as if he’d haunt anyone.

There was no time to think of that now. He shoved the lid closed, noticing with a mind trained to notice that the suitcase was good quality leather, with the initial M burned into it. At some time in the past, Jenny hadn’t been as broke as she was at the present.

She shouldn’t be broke now, he thought, frowning. He paid her good money. Nothing made sense, but now wasn’t the time to sort it out. He grabbed the case and crossed to the door.

There were footsteps on the landing. Uh-oh. Ellie hadn’t delayed them as long as he’d hoped.

“She’s not here.” It was a garrulous female voice, and the speaker sounded annoyed. The landlady? “So why do you want her? What’s so urgent?”

“We’re from Immigration.” Silence followed, and Michael imagined them flashing their ID cards. “We need to ask her a few questions.”

“No, you don’t.” Yep, the landlady was definitely annoyed. Authority wouldn’t be all that welcome around here. “You leave her alone, poor kid. She’s done nothing to no one, and she’s the nicest kid.”

“We just need to ask her—”

“She’s not here.” The voice rose belligerently, and Michael blessed the woman. “I see everyone as they go in and out. She went to work this morning and she hasn’t been back since. No one has.”

That was because Michael had taken great care not to be seen, he thought, moving fast. If they knew he was inside packing her baggage…

He crossed to the window. The apartment was three floors up, but an outside ledge led to a fire escape. It was a piece of cake—as long as they didn’t suspect anything.

He was out of there with lightning speed, and even if he wasn’t forced to shinny down the drainpipe, he would have done it if he’d needed to.

HE THOUGHT he’d left trouble behind him, but Jenny had company—and trouble of her own.

When he’d left her she was sitting alone in his gorgeous car. Now she was surrounded by five or six youths, and one look told him they meant no good. Michael rounded the corner and froze, melting swiftly against the brickwork. As a cop, he was trained to stop and assess before moving, and he didn’t like the scene before him one bit.

It had been stupid to bring the Corvette here. If he’d known…

“Get out of the car, lady.” The youths had been drinking, he figured. They were loud and aggressive, egging each other on. Could he handle five of them if they turned nasty?

There wasn’t much choice, he decided, thinking longing thoughts of his gun, which was safely and uselessly locked in his office at the hospital. He’d hardly been planning to turn it on immigration officials, so he’d left it behind.

He couldn’t leave Jenny on her own while he went for backup. He had to move. But as he made to emerge from the shadows, Jenny’s voice stopped him short.

“Why on earth would I want to get out of the car, Jason Hemming?”

“What?” It was the tallest of the youths—a kid of about nineteen—and his bravado sounded a bit shaky. “How do you know who I am?”

“We want your car, lady,” another youth butted in, his voice threatening. “Get out or we’ll take you—”

“Me?” There was laughter in Jenny’s voice. She didn’t sound one inch afraid. “Come on, Tommy. That’s not your speed. Driving with pregnant women.”

“I’m not—”

She didn’t let him finish. “Tommy, I’ve seen you with ten different ladies since I moved in here, and every one is a heap more attractive than me. I don’t want to ruin your reputation.”

“You live here?” It was the same voice, raised in incredulity.

“I sure do. I know your mom, Jason—and yours, too, Tommy. In fact, I helped your kid sister with her homework last night. Adele’s your sister, isn’t she, Tommy? She’s a real cutie. I live up in number thirty-seven.”

“Hey, I think I’ve seen her around,” one of the boys said, his voice nervous. “She’s not lying.”

“So why are you driving this?” Tommy was disbelieving.

“Me? Driving this? You have to be kidding! It belongs to my boss,” Jenny said cheerfully. “He’s loaded. Isn’t it the best?”

“We want it.”

“You and me both, but you want to get me sacked?” Her voice grew reproachful. “Or me to have my baby right here?” A tremor entered her voice, and Michael started forward. Maybe she was afraid. He stopped again as he heard what she was saying. “I’m off to the hospital.” She sounded almost proud. “I’ve got labor pains. My boss offered to drive me. He’s just gone up to get my toothbrush.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Nope.” Michael peered around the corner and saw Jenny open the car door, get out and stand so they could see just how huge she was. She staggered a little and put her hand to her back. “You want to know what a baby on the way feels like? He’s kicking so hard. Heck, it hurts, though.”

“You—you’re having the kid?” It was the first voice— Jason—and all the aggression was gone. “It’s Jenny, isn’t it? I recognize you now. Heck. You want me to get my mom?”

“Thanks, Jason, but I think I need a hospital more than your mom.” Jenny was allowing the tremor in her voice to grow. “If Mr. Lord would only get back…”

That was a cue if ever he heard one. Michael emerged from the shadows, carrying her suitcase.

“Mr. Lord.” Jenny practically fell on his neck. “You took so long.”

“Is it getting worse?” Following her lead, he appeared not to notice the youths.

“Two minutes apart,” she said, clutching her back and grimacing. “I’m having a bad one now. Please…let’s go.”

Michael threw the case in the back and climbed into the car. His face was grim. “Yeah, right.”

“Good luck,” one of the boys said, and Michael looked up as if he’d only just noticed him.

“Thanks.”

“I meant the lady,” the boy said, and as the car started, he added, “hey, don’t spit the kid out onto his leather seats, Jenny. You’ll be sacked for that, no sweat!”

There was good-humored laughter as they headed out of sight.

“THAT,” MICHAEL SAID carefully as they nosed onto the street, “was amazing.” He moved the car forward, not fast enough to draw attention—the Corvette got enough of that as it was—but fast enough to be out of there if anyone had followed him down the fire escape. “I thought there was going to be trouble. That was great acting.”

“Who said I was acting?”

He almost crashed. The car veered toward the wrong side of the road, and Jenny grabbed the wheel and chuckled. “Hey, okay, I was joking. Watch the road.”

His blood pressure lurched and settled, and he glared at the woman by his side. “Thanks for the advice.”

She dimpled. “My pleasure. Honest, though, there was no problem. They’re not bad kids.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. They steal cars, but maybe I would, too, if I was as bored as they are. And they won’t hurt anyone. Besides, it’s stupid to drive a car like this.”

“Yeah, right.” He grimaced. “You sound like a schoolmarm.”

“Well…” She managed another smile. Smiles seemed her specialty, and he realized suddenly why he’d liked having her around the office the past few months. Her smile lit up all sorts of dark places, and some of those dark places were right inside him.

But she hadn’t noticed his reaction. “I guess if you’re rich enough to afford it then you can drive it,” she said, “but you should have an ordinary one so you can pretend to be an ordinary person sometimes.”

“Pretend?”

“I’d never presume to call you an ordinary person,” she said, eyes twinkling. “After all, you’re my boss.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I know which side my bread’s buttered on.” She dimpled nicely, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth, and then hesitated, her laughter fading. “But I guess you’re not my boss now. If you could take me to the bus station…”

“The bus station?”

“It’s where you go to catch a bus when you don’t have a car like this to drive. Or any car to drive.” Her smile suddenly didn’t reach her eyes. “Michael—Mr. Lord—I’m really grateful—”

“You’re not working for me anymore, so it’s Michael,” he said curtly. “And you’re not going to any bus station. The immigration guys were arriving at your apartment as I left. Your landlady will let them in, they’ll discover your gear is gone, and they’ll think, ‘She knows we’re looking for her. She’s on the run.’ So where do you think they’ll look?”

“The airport?” she asked doubtfully, but he shook his head.

“No. They’ll never let you on board a plane looking this pregnant, and immigration knows that. So where?”

She was silent, sitting in the plush leather seat and trying to make her jumbled mind think. “I guess the bus station’s not such a hot idea, then.”

“No.”

More silence. Michael turned off the main road and headed to the river.

“Where are we going?” she asked. She chewed her lip, stubbornness returning. “I guess if you could drop me at a hotel, somewhere cheap—”

“They’ll think of that, too. It’ll take them twenty minutes to phone every hotel in town, and you’re not exactly easily disguised.”

She closed her eyes.

“Do you have any money?” Michael asked her curiously, and he saw her anger flash again.

“Of course I have money. Why do you think I’ve been living so cheaply for the past six months? I’ve saved everything.”

“So you’re intending to live on what you’ve saved from six months’ salary while you have the baby?” Michael asked incredulously. “No wonder the immigration people want you out. You’re hardly independent.”

“I’m independent.”

“You’re not.” He sighed and steered his car to where the oaks lined the cliff tops overlooking the river. There was a place there he knew. Quiet. Private. It was hardly the sort of place detectives would look for a fugitive.

He pulled to a stop and turned to face the woman beside him, and discovered she had the look of someone who expected to be slapped. Hard. It was a dreadful look. He gazed at her for a long moment and discovered feelings shifting inside him that had never shifted in his life. Feelings he didn’t understand one bit.

It put him off balance. Michael Lord was unemotional, detached, cool as ice, and now he suddenly found himself emotional, attached and hot as fire. Damn, who had done this to her? he thought savagely. He had to know.

“Tell me about this person you’re so afraid of, this Gloria,” he said, and waited.

For a while he didn’t think she’d tell him. She sat staring straight ahead at the deep-running river below. The weather was perfect, Michael thought inconsequentially, autumn perfect. He’d put the top down on the Corvette, and the sun was warm on their faces.

She looked as if she needed its comfort, he thought, and suddenly had to resist the urge to put an arm around those frail shoulders. She was making him feel too proprietary for words.

But he still had to know about Gloria. “Tell me,” he said softly. “You can trust me, Jenny.” He teased her gently. “Have I not shinnied down drainpipes on your behalf?”

That brought an answering smile. “There was a perfectly good fire escape. If you chose the drainpipe…”

“Heroes always choose drainpipes,” he told her, smiling. “It’s far more heroic.”

“But much bumpier.” She managed a chuckle. “Not to say risky—especially if you’re thinking about the future production of little superheroes. Think of what all those sharp edges on the way down could have done to your manhood.”

That took him aback. He stared at her in shock. His quiet, demure secretary making remarks about his manhood! And then slowly, his deep green eyes creased into laughter.

HE CHUCKLED, a low, lazy rumble that Jenny hadn’t heard before. Very few people had. Michael Lord wasn’t much given to laughter.

It transformed him, she thought. Michael was big and solid, with a blaze of burnt-red hair, deep green eyes and strongly boned features that made him classically good-looking. His aloofness had repelled her, though, during the time she’d worked for him. She hadn’t noticed what she was noticing now, that the laughter behind his eyes made him seem not just classically good-looking. Impossibly good-looking!

She had other things on her mind, though, apart from Michael’s good looks. She tore herself away from the laughter in his eyes and forced herself to answer his question. After all, she did owe him the truth.

At least talking bought her time. She didn’t have to get out of this lovely car quite yet and face whatever was before her alone.

“I told you. Gloria is my mother-in-law,” she said in a low, husky voice that Michael had to lean forward to hear. “Or she was my mother-in-law.”

“You’re divorced?”

“No.” She gave a half smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. “My husband…Peter is dead.”

“Oh.” It was hopelessly inadequate. “I’m sorry.”

“He died seven months ago,” Jenny said tonelessly. “I’m used to it now.”

“Seven months isn’t long.” Michael thought back to the death of his partner on the police force. Was it two years already since Dan had died?

Grief and shock stayed with you forever, he thought, and the emotional damage lasted a lifetime. No, seven months wasn’t long at all.

Jenny was studying him curiously. “You look like you understand.”

“I don’t know how it feels to lose the person you love,” Michael said. “But I’d guess it must be just about as bad as it can get.”

“It is,” she said forcibly, staring at the river. “One minute I was telling him I was pregnant and watching his face, and he…” She shook her head as if shaking off a nightmare. “No matter. The next thing, the hotel phone’s ringing and they’re telling me Peter’s plane crashed and I’d best get to the hospital because he’s dying.” She flinched, and her eyes looked inward. “Peter died four days later, but in the hospital we talked about the baby… And his mother came from England and he told her…told Gloria…”

“Told Gloria what?”

“That I was pregnant.”

He frowned, still not understanding. “So there’s a problem with that? I’d imagine it might have been the only piece of good news in the whole tragedy.”

“But you don’t know Peter’s mother. She’s Gloria Hepworth-Morrow, eighth Duchess of Epingdale,” Jenny said bitterly. “The title makes a difference.”

“I imagine it might.” Then he shook his head. Maybe he couldn’t imagine. “No. I can’t. Why does it make a difference?”

“Because Gloria wants my baby.”

SHE LOOKED DESOLATE.

It took sheer, Herculean effort for Michael not to lean forward and take her in his arms.

Which was stupid. He didn’t get involved. Not ever.

Did he?

“Why does she want your baby?” he asked, and if his voice ended up sounding half-strangled, she didn’t seem to notice.

“You have no idea what she’s like,” Jenny said bitterly. “She’s so…regal. She swans around chairing her charities and opening fairs and making pronouncements on the state of the world, and people think she’s wonderful. What a matriarch, they say. But she controls everyone. She must. Her husband had no will of his own, and Peter…”

“Peter, your husband?”

“Yes. Peter, my husband, her son. She never let go, even though he could never live up to what was expected of him. She tried to control him every way she knew how, and I saw what it did to him. She used every means in her power to impose her will, and when he married me…”

“She didn’t like the match?”

“My father was a coal miner from Wales,” Jenny said bitterly. “What do you think?”

“I think Peter made a very good choice of wife,” Michael said, and Jenny flushed.

“Do you? It’s nice of you to say so, but I’m not so sure Peter did. In fact, I know he didn’t. After a while…after a while I figured that he’d just married me as one more act of rebellion. He didn’t stop, you see. It wasn’t enough that he’d married someone she hated and was ashamed of. He kept taking risks, doing things she disapproved of—making headlines in his own right.

“He brought us to Texas because there were so many extreme sports over here that he hadn’t tried before, and he was killed doing aerobatics in an aerolite that was sold to him by people only a fool would be crazy enough to trust. We fought about it all the time. I was so frightened. We’d…we’d been thinking of separating, and then I found I was pregnant.”

“Which was a disaster?”

That brought her chin up and the spark into her eyes. “No! There’s no way I regret my baby. He wasn’t planned, but I want him so much.”

“And so does Gloria?”

“Of course. And I have no money to fight her. My parents died a long time ago, I have no family, and Gloria’s moving in for the kill. As far as she’s concerned I’m only the breeder—a very poor-class breeder at that—and I deserve no say whatsoever in the way he’s raised. My baby is the next Earl of Epingdale, and that’s all she’s interested in.”

He thought this over and found a flaw. “Your baby might be a girl.”

“No such luck. I checked.” She grimaced. “It was a strange reason for gender testing, but there it is. I was desperate. So yes, I’m carrying the ninth earl. Gloria doesn’t know it yet, but the minute he’s born she will. She’ll pay to find out, and her spies are everywhere. That’s why the immigration officers arrived today. She’ll have been watching, waiting, and she’ll see her chance to move.

“I was lucky in a way that we were here when Peter was killed, but if she gets me back to England, there’s no way I can immigrate here—or anywhere else—with a tiny baby. She’ll have bribed whoever she had to bribe, or blackmailed them if they can’t be bought.”

“But, Jenny, you’re this baby’s mother,” Michael said gently, still puzzled. “No court in the land will take your baby.”

“No, but…” She shook her head. “You don’t understand. If I stay in England it’ll be easy for Gloria to take control. I saw what she did to Peter. She ruined any chance he had for happiness, and she’s not doing the same for my little one. She’s already told the British press I’m pregnant, so there’ll be no privacy. The minute my baby’s born she’ll be showering him with expensive gifts, pushing me into the lifestyle she dictates.”

“Maybe it’s not such a bad lifestyle. Other people have learned to live with money.” He tried a smile, but she didn’t smile back.

“You don’t know Gloria. She just takes. She’s so strong. Peter tried to fight her, but she destroyed him. She’ll destroy my baby with her corrupt values. The only things that matter to her are publicity, money and power. I won’t let her give my son those values.”

“You don’t have to accept.”

“Ha!” She laughed mirthlessly. “Can you see a child refusing what she offers? Being given a trip to Disneyland with his wonderful grandmother, and his dragon of a mother refusing? Or me refusing to let him go to the most expensive schools? Gloria will make sure the press knows, and the press would have a field day. ‘Mother makes ninth earl live in poverty.’ I can’t afford to do anything but send him to a government school and live in an apartment. Do you think Gloria will let her heir do that?

“She can be charming and she’s absolutely ruthless. She wants this child, and if she has her way he’ll be brought up in a goldfish bowl of publicity with the eyes of the world press on him. But there’s no way. He’s mine!”

And she put her arms around her swollen body and hugged it, as though she was protecting her baby while it was still in the womb.

Michael sat back, stunned.

Things were starting to be clear, but the clearer they became, the less he liked them. If so much money and power were involved…

What would he have done, he thought, if he’d been Gloria and he wanted this child home in England?

Exactly what Gloria had done, he decided. Keep tabs on Jenny while she was pregnant. Watch from afar because there was little he could do to pressure her before the baby was born. Then, as the birth neared and Jenny wasn’t in England, he’d make sure she returned. Warn the immigration officials that she was planning to make a run for it. Even offer…

“How much money does Gloria have?” he asked, and Jenny shuddered.

“Millions. I don’t know, exactly. I’ve never asked, but Peter said it was ridiculous for one person to control so much wealth.”

“So if she wanted you back in England, she could offer immigration a private jet with a doctor on board?”

“I’d imagine so. Yes. Of course.”

“They’d go for that, too,” Michael guessed. “It’d get the problem out of their hair, and you could hardly plead the case that you needed refugee status. Fleeing from money doesn’t meet any refugee criteria I’ve ever seen.” He sighed. “Jenny, why didn’t you leave the U.S. before this and go someplace where there was a chance of you staying permanently? Pregnant, with no family support, you meet no immigration criteria at all.”

“No, but…” She sighed. “Have you any idea how hard it is to get immigrant status anywhere when you’re pregnant? Unless you’re rich. The U.S. isn’t the only country with tight immigration laws.” She flashed him a smile that contained a hint of her usual spunk. “Anywhere’s impossible, really. I wanted to stay away from England—as far as I could. That was all I could think of to start with. I was shocked, bereaved, confused—and Gloria scared me to death with her assumption that the baby would be hers. I’d be paid off and I’d have no say at all. She has so much power… It scared me to death. So I stayed here.”

“And hoped.”

“And hoped. Stupid, really, but desperation makes for stupidity. I guess I hoped I’d be inconspicuous and Gloria would lose track of me. I found the job with you, you were happy with me, I was enjoying working for you, and the Maitlands were great. Then, when I tried to apply for permanent residency, I discovered it was impossible. As my pregnancy advanced, everywhere else seemed to close their doors, too. So I had a choice—stay here illegally or go home to Gloria. There are so many illegal immigrants, and I was desperate. The choice seemed obvious, given what was at stake, but now… I might have known Gloria wouldn’t give up.”

She shrugged. “But hey, I guess there’s still Mexico and a whole bunch of immigration officials who mightn’t be as efficient. And I’m a great secretary. As soon as the baby’s born I’ll be able to work.” She was smiling, reassuring him that she’d be okay, but he was grim. She was trying to make light of it, but…

“Even if you make it into Mexico, she’ll find you,” he said.

“No.”

“Yes. Or you’ll starve. For heaven’s sake, Jenny, you’ll have no health insurance, and as an illegal immigrant you’ll have no status. What if something goes wrong during the birth?”

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

“Then I’ll cope,” she said flatly. “Stop scaring me, Michael Lord. I can manage.”

“I don’t think you can.”

“Watch me. Or rather, don’t watch me.”

“I’m not letting you go to Mexico on your own,” he told her. His mind was racing, and it didn’t like a single thing it was coming up with.

“There’s no alternative.” She tilted her chin, and a trace of fear shadowed the courage in her eyes. “Unless you’re planning to put me on Gloria’s plane. Hand me over to the authorities.”

She wasn’t quite sure that he wouldn’t, he realized. She didn’t quite trust him.

She must. There was no other way out of this mess.

“I won’t hand you over to the authorities.” He gave a self-mocking smile. “After all, you’re not illegal until Monday.”

“Yeah, heaps of time.”

“Not enough—but there is an alternative,” he said softly, his voice steady. An idea had flashed into his head. It was a crazy, lunatic idea, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the only way out of this mess. “It’s the only one.”

“Which is?”

“You’re sure you won’t go home?”

She swallowed, but the look in her eye was one of iron determination. “No way. I’ll lose my baby.”

“For this to work, you’d have to trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone,” she said flatly. “Not where my baby’s concerned.”

“You need help, Jenny.”

“You’re proposing to hide me in the basement until Gloria goes away? She won’t. Now she knows where I am, she’ll be around forever.”

He smiled. “I don’t think hiding in a basement is a sensible solution.”

“No, but…” She shook her head. “Believe me, there’s nothing you can do. There’s no possibility I can stay here legally, and now the immigration officials are aware of me, I have to move on.”

“There is one thing you can do.”

“Which is?”

“You can marry me.”

CHAPTER THREE

AS A conversation stopper it took some beating. Jenny sat with her mouth open for all of two minutes. There was not a single word she could think of to say.

It was Michael who finally broke the silence. Jenny looked as if she’d still be goggling in half an hour. “Aren’t you going to say something?” he asked, half amused.

“I don’t think I can,” she said breathlessly. She sounded as if it took a real effort to make her voice work. “I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face by a wet fish.”

“Gee.” He chuckled again, the second time in one day. Amazing! He smiled at her stunned expression. “As a romantic, maidenly reply to a proposal of marriage, that takes some beating. Slapped in the face by a wet fish. Good grief!”

She smiled, but her face was worried—humoring-a-lunatic worried.

“Michael, this is just plain crazy. You don’t want to marry me.”

“No,” he agreed. “I don’t.”

“Well…”

“But that’s just it,” he continued smoothly. “I don’t want to marry anyone. So it might as well be you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He sighed, and his face tightened. He didn’t discuss his private life with anyone, but there was no getting out of this. Not if she was to take his proposal seriously.

“Jenny, let me tell you something. Like you, I’ve done the love thing.”

“I don’t…”

“Just shut up and hear me out.” He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was no longer seeing her. He was seeing events of two years ago, and he was seeing them as though they’d been yesterday. “You know I’ve been a cop?”

“Yes.” Her frown deepened. What on earth was he talking about?

“And I left the force when my partner was killed?”

“I’ve heard that, too,” she admitted. Gossip among the staff at Maitland Maternity had told her that much about him, though Michael’s private life was very much a closed book. He kept himself to himself—absolutely.

“What people don’t know,” he said heavily, “was that my mind wasn’t on my job the night my partner died.” He hesitated, then went on, but he sounded as if it hurt to say every word. The pain was real and terrible. “I’d gotten myself into a relationship,” he confessed. “My first. I’d never had much time for women. But Barbara… Well, she seemed different—special—and I thought I could get involved.” He shrugged. “Okay, so I got involved, and I was stupid.”

“But what happened?” This wasn’t making any sense.

“Dan and I were on night duty, but we’d just attended a call near Barbara’s place. It was quiet, we were due for a meal break, so Dan went for a hamburger while I dropped in to see Barbara.”

“And?” She didn’t want to ask, but she knew he had to tell. The words were being torn out of him.

“She was with another guy. In bed. Stupid, sordid, the sort of thing that happens every day—but to others, not to me. I was so damned angry, so hurt that I slammed out of the house without a word—and then Dan got killed.”

He still wasn’t making any sense. “Would you mind telling me,” Jenny said carefully, “how you getting two-timed by some woman with no taste in men could get your partner killed? I don’t see it.”

Part of his mind registered the compliment, and a weary smile curved the corners of his mouth, but the story was too black for humor. The smile died.

“It was easy,” he said bleakly. “My mind wasn’t where it should have been, and I needed every scrap of attention that night.” His words were savage, and she could tell the night was still nightmare fresh. “We had a call to say there’d been an armed robbery. What they didn’t say was that the owner had shot one of the intruders. So we got to the store and the owner was out on the pavement yelling about a carload of kids that had got away. As I said, I wasn’t on the ball. I radioed in details of the car, and while I did that, Dan went into the store to check damage.”

“Oh, Michael…”

“The kid was lying on the floor, wounded, out of sight of the doorway, and he shot Dan from almost point-blank range,” Michael said bleakly. “And then he died himself. It was a stupid, stupid waste.” He shook his head. “So when backup arrived, I was blubbering like a baby, and I left the force soon after. To this job.” He compressed his lips and squared his shoulders.

“That was the first time in my life I’ve ever tried having a relationship,” he went on bleakly. “My sisters and brother—they’re the emotional hotheads. I’ve always had a sense that I should stand apart. Be alone. Maybe it’s because our birth mother dumped us—who knows? I only know the feeling’s deep-seated and real. And then, the one time I cracked and let Barbara close, the world exploded around me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. So you see, I’m not in the market for any sort of relationship. Ever.”

Jenny shook her head. What on earth…? His birth mother dumped him? There was so much she didn’t understand about this man, but maybe it needed to be put aside for now. He was holding himself responsible for another man’s death, and who could believe that of Michael?

“Michael, Dan’s death couldn’t have been your fault,” she whispered. “Even if your mind was a hundred percent focused, it might have happened anyway. Dan must have assessed the risks, too. You won’t always feel like this.”

“Yes, I will,” he said flatly. “I’ve never felt emotional. I told you—my brother and sisters have enough emotion for the four of us combined. I’ve never seen the sense of this love bit, and when Barbara betrayed me and Dan was killed—well, that was the first and last time I’ll ever feel like that. Giving yourself to someone…”

He shrugged again and gave a self-conscious grin. “Enough. We’re not talking about me. All I’m saying is that I intend to stay a bachelor, which means there’s no reason I shouldn’t marry you to get you immigrant status.”

“A green card marriage.” Her mind switched to her problems, but a part of her stayed with his.

“It’s been done before.”

“It’s not legal.”

“Legal enough.” He gave a bitter smile. “We’ll be married. I have a huge town house.”

She gasped and almost visibly withdrew. “You’re saying you want me to live with you?”

“No, but we’ll need to for a bit.” He gave one of his characteristic self-mocking grins. “Call it self-preservation. This way I’ll get myself a decent secretary again.”

“You’d want me to keep working for you?” Her voice was rising to squeak level.

“Not right away,” he said, considering. He’d gone into the efficient mode she knew so well—the Michael Lord she worked with every day of the week. “I mean, I guess the baby will keep you busy for a while, and if you need me to, then I’m happy to support you while you do that.” He gave a slight shrug. “My adoptive parents were wealthy, and I have a good income. And apart from that…”

“Apart from that?” She couldn’t believe she was having this conversation.

But Michael was totally believable—honest through and through. He gave another wry smile. “Yeah, well, I’m not all that proud of it, but after Dan was killed I took to gambling for a bit. Stupid. The only problem was, I won, and it started getting addictive. Luckily, reality hit home somewhere along the line, or maybe it was my sisters and brother worrying themselves into a white-hot melt, but I was smart enough to get out while I was ahead. It well and truly bankrolled me, so there’s no rush for you to head back to work. When you want to, well, that’s okay, too, and if there’s one thing Maitland Maternity is good at, it’s child care. So there’s your permanent status fixed up.”

“But, Michael…” She was staring at him as if he’d arrived from another planet.

“Yes?”

“There’s no way you’re supporting me,” she said flatly. “No way in the wide world. Thank you for the offer, but no, thanks. I’ve saved. I can support me and my baby until I can go back to work.”

“Okay, then.” He spread his hands as if surrendering. “Fine by me. I’m offering marriage, though, Jenny. If it’ll help.”

She gazed at him for a long, long moment. “Do you have any idea what you’re letting yourself in for?” she asked. “Marrying a pregnant woman, offering to support her, even offering to share your apartment—with a baby?”

“The guest room is on the other side of my living quarters and downstairs from my room,” he told her, still in efficient mode. “I don’t expect I’d hear it. I only use the place to crash at night.”

This was like a business proposition. Calm. Considered. Crazy!

“You think we could run separate lives?”

“I do. Otherwise I wouldn’t offer. I mean…you loved your husband, right?”

“Right.”

“Then you don’t want another relationship yet, either. It could suit us both.” He grinned. “Hey, and it’d get my family off my back. My sisters are always trying to set me up with some woman.”

“But I can’t…” She closed her eyes, and her fingers touched the band of gold on her left hand. “I don’t…” For the life of her she couldn’t stop her fingers trembling.

He reached out and closed his fingers over hers, stopping her shaking. For the first time a hint of tenderness came through the efficiency. “You can. It would work.”

“You don’t want to marry me.”

“I don’t mind. Honest.” He tilted her chin so she was forced to look at him, and the smile in his eyes was infinitely gentle. It gave her a massive jolt.

On one level this Michael was just as calm and in control as the man she worked for—but on another level he was about a zillion miles from the aloof Michael Lord she knew at Maitland Maternity.

“It could work, Jenny,” he told her. “And don’t look too worried. It’s not forever, so let’s not push this too far. In time you’ll be over Peter and want to be free, and maybe…well, maybe I’m wrong and maybe I’ll want a life, too. So then we divorce. But as long as we can stick it for a couple of years and your baby’s born into our marriage, then you’ll have a little U.S. citizen as a baby and you’ll be safe. Meanwhile, tell me what your options are. Run? I don’t think so.”

“I can.”

“You can’t.” He lowered his broad hand to the rising bulge of her pregnancy and placed it there almost unconsciously. It was a gesture of comfort and warmth, nothing more, but it set every fiber in Jenny’s body tingling in response. “You have a baby to think about. I have a stupidly gained fortune I don’t mind supporting you with. It’d take the edge off my guilt a bit. And once you’re married to me, your dreaded Gloria can’t touch you.”

His smile faded, and the look in his eyes was suddenly dangerous. “The worst she could do is give us a bit of unwanted publicity, but it’ll fade. There’s no way she can touch you if you’re my wife,” he repeated. “I’d like to see her try.”

“But…” Jenny’s eyes searched his, troubled. “Michael, I don’t want to be beholden.”

“Can you cook?”

“I…yes.”

“Then there’s our deal,” he said triumphantly. “Let’s leave the beholden bit out of it. I hate eating out, but I do it all the time because I’ve been known to burn baked beans. You cook for me, and we’ll live happily ever after.”

“I’m not living with you.” There was an edge of panic in her voice.

“No?”

“No! No way. Not in a million years.”

“Jenny, this is not for a million years,” he said as he watched the confusion in her eyes mount to panic. “It’s just until we have your immigration legalized, this baby safely born and Gloria off your back. It’s just until you have a breathing space to figure out what you want to do with your life. If you raise this baby in the U.S. there’s not a lot Gloria can do to control you. You can raise him the way you want, and then when he’s old enough, he can make his own decisions about his inheritance. But you’ll be the one who’s influenced him.”

She took a deep breath. She couldn’t think. She was so confused….

The temptation to let this man take charge was irresistible, but to be so indebted… The thought was unbearable.

“Michael, are you sure? I mean…”

“I’m sure.” He wasn’t. He was as confused as she was, but he wasn’t letting on. Somehow he made his voice firm, and he looked down and saw the bulge beneath her dress move all on its own. His eyes widened, and he grinned.

“I’m guessing your son’s in agreement, too,” he said. “Will you look at that?”

Jenny wasn’t looking at her bulge. She was looking straight at Michael. “You realize if we’re married—if people found out that you’ve married me, and they will—then people might assume you’re his father. I mean, why else would you marry me? And the immigration people… I don’t know what we’d tell them. But you’ll have a pregnant wife. Even the person who marries us will assume it’s a shotgun affair. That this is your baby. That’s why he’d be a U.S. citizen. I don’t want you to face that. It isn’t fair.”

Michael’s eyes widened.

Hey, things were happening too quickly here, he realized, doubts surfacing thick and fast. He hadn’t thought this through.

But an image, insidious in its strength, slid into his mind and stayed—an image that had been with him all his life. A woman walking toward Maitland Maternity and leaving four babies on the steps.

And then walking away.

Jenny was fighting every way she knew to keep this baby. She wasn’t walking away, and by marrying her, he’d give her the only chance she had.

“I can handle that,” he said, and if his voice didn’t sound so sure to himself, it was convincing enough to cause a flood of gratitude and absolute relief to wash across Jenny’s face.

“You really mean it?”

“I mean it.” He grinned, lessening the tension. “Hey, there’s a few things we should clear up before we make a final pact.” He thought hard. “Like, I hate custard.”

“We’re not living together!”

“Maybe we have to, for a while at least. Tell me you won’t make me eat custard.”

She choked. “Hey, it’s good for you.”

“You make custard, and the deal’s off.”

She managed a wavering smile. “You drive a hard bargain. But okay. As long as I don’t have to eat pumpkin.”

“No pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving?” He sounded shocked, and she chuckled.

“I’ll make you Spotted Dick instead,” she promised, and his brows rose.

“Spotted Dick?”

“My very favorite dessert. England’s soul food.”

“You eat something called Spotted Dick?”

“Sure do.” She chuckled. “And so will you.”

“What am I letting myself in for? Aagh!” He clutched his stomach in mock horror and then managed a shaken grin. “Okay. I guess I can live with that. What else should we work out? You don’t snore too loud?”

“Nope.”

“Or watch WWF wrestling on TV?”

“Nope again.” She smiled. “You?”

“Nope. Promise.”

“And you don’t decorate your apartment with Playboy centerfolds?”

“I’ll move ’em all into my bedroom,” he said magnanimously, and she laughed again. Then her smile died.

“Michael, you won’t expect… I mean…”

He knew what she was asking, even though she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “No, Jenny,” he said. “No way. This marriage is in name only. I promise you that.”

She believed him. Maybe she was being a fool, but she looked into his deep green eyes and she trusted him. Absolutely.

But she’d been down that road before. Trusting a man whose reasons for marrying her weren’t what they seemed.

“You don’t fly aerolites?” she asked, and there was a faint tremor in her voice.

“No, Jenny, I don’t fly aerolites. Do you?”

“What do you think?” She grinned, her good humor flooding back. Okay, this was crazy, but it was better than the alternative—getting on a bus and heading for Mexico alone. A million miles better. “I’d weigh down any aerolite so much it wouldn’t make it two feet off the ground.”

“Only for a little bit,” he said. “Until the ninth earl is born.”

“Not the ninth earl,” she said sharply. “Baby Morrow. That’s all.”

“How about Baby Lord?” he asked. “Does that make sense?”

“I…” She stared at him in confusion. “I don’t know.”

“We have heaps of time to think about that,” he said, and turned on the ignition. “Meanwhile, if we’re getting married today—”

“Today?”

“Can you think of a good reason why not?”

“I…”

“Didn’t think you could,” he said smugly. “Okay, Jenny, let’s go find us a preacher.”

THEY HEADED for the border.

“El Paso,” Michael said as he turned his car onto the highway. He was thinking as he moved, discarding plan after plan and coming up with the one that made most sense. “It’s the only place we can get everything done.”

“I thought… Can’t we marry here? In Austin? Or even Las Vegas? It’d be simpler.”

She was still afraid, Michael thought as he turned the car toward the border. She was expecting any minute that the men in suits would come at them with sirens blazing and cart her forcibly away to the dreaded Gloria.

“By the time you see any immigration official—or Gloria—we’ll be married,” he said softly. “The advantages of El Paso are twofold. First, there’s a judge near there I know from my days on the force. If it’s for me personally and I tell him the baby’s on the way, he’ll waive the three-day license period so we can marry right away. He’d even enjoy it. Second, it’s a border town, so we can fill out all the immigration forms and get the rubber stamps and signatures you need to make you legal. By the time you get back to Austin we’ll be so legally correct, officialdom won’t have a chance.”

“But…” Her voice faltered. She still looked pale, and he couldn’t help noticing how many times she glanced behind them.

“Jenny, don’t worry,” he told her gently. “They’re not after us, guns blazing. This is not a bad movie. Sure, Gloria will have told them you intend overstaying, but you’re not illegal yet. No matter how much money and influence she has, she can’t bribe the department to throw the entire weight of the law into finding someone who hasn’t broken the law yet. Even if they found us—”

“They’d deport me.”

“They wouldn’t.” He put a hand out to touch hers. “You’re my intended bride, and we’re heading off to get ourselves married before our son in born. There’s not a way in the world they can stop us.”

“Then why aren’t you stopping off to collect your toothbrush?” she asked, and he grimaced.

“Sharp, aren’t you?”

“I have a lot hanging on this,” she told him. “And I need honesty here.”

“Okay.” He put his hands on the steering wheel and focused on the road. He still had the top down. The sun was on their faces, and they were heading toward the border for all the world like a married couple on vacation.

“It’s just that I don’t know Gloria,” he confessed. His brow was furrowed, his red eyebrows beetling in concentration. It was a gesture that was peculiarly Michael, and Jen was discovering how much she liked it. And the sound of his voice…

“Gloria sounds like an elderly, aristocratic nutcase, and my first reaction is to discount a heap of your fear,” he said. “I can’t figure her intentions, but I’m trained never to underestimate an enemy I don’t know. So I’m assuming the worst—that she has the resources to fight for what she wants.”

“But—”

“Once we’re safely married, there’s no way she can touch you,” Michael said, cutting across her protest. “I know how to look after my own. But let’s get married before we go taking any chances.”

THEY ARRIVED at El Paso late, far too late to get married that night. They’d stopped briefly to eat, but Jenny was so nervous Michael had barely time to bolt a burger before she was edging him back to the car.

“I told you, Jenny. There are no blazing guns.”

“I just don’t trust her. She’s known all along what I was doing. Now she’ll be thrown right off track, and I don’t know what she’ll do.”

Her nervousness was infectious, and by the time they reached the decent, plain hotel Michael knew, it was as much as he could do not to look over his shoulder.

He felt crazy to be worrying about an elderly aristocratic female half a world away.

Never underestimate an enemy you don’t know.

“Do you have a suite with two bedrooms?” he asked the woman at the hotel desk, and Jenny looked at him, startled.

“No, sir,” the woman said primly. “We have adjoining rooms with a communication door.”

He thought about that for all of two seconds and rejected it absolutely. “Nope. A twin room, then.”

“Certainly, sir.” She cast a curious glance at Jenny. Married couple having a fight, the clerk’s face said, and the tension in Jenny’s eyes confirmed it.

“You sleep well, then,” she told them as she handed over the key. “And…” She took a deep breath and beamed at the pair of them. “If I can butt in here… You’re such a lovely couple and with the baby so close, well, whatever’s bothering you, you try real hard to sort it out. Those twin beds are on rollers. If you want, they roll together real quick.”

“GREAT!”

“What’s the problem?”

Jenny had plunked herself on the farthest bed and was glaring at her intended husband as if her life depended on it. “She thinks we’re married,” she snapped.

“Get used to it, Jenny,” he said lightly, but there was an underlying seriousness beneath his words that had her staring. “We’re going to have to play this as if we mean it.”

“Why?”

“The immigration officials won’t give you a green card unless they think this marriage is real. The judge we see tomorrow has to waive the three-day license period. He won’t do that unless he thinks this is a real marriage and we’re only rushing it because of the baby. So we convince everyone we’ve been falling in love over the last few months, and the day before you were due to walk out of my life, I proposed and you fell into my arms.”

“But—”

“And we don’t convince them by sharing separate bedrooms.”

“We’re not married yet, Michael Lord,” she said with asperity. “I don’t see why we have to share tonight.”

He paused, but there was no room for dishonesty between them. This was too important.

“You’re afraid of what Gloria can do,” he said. “I don’t know Gloria and I don’t know what her resources are, but I don’t trust what I don’t know, and I want you where I can look out for you. I don’t want you down the hall.”

“You think…”

“I don’t think anything,” he said wearily, “but I’m taking no chances. We’re a couple, Jenny. Get used to it.”

EASIER SAID than done. Jenny was so tired she should be asleep on her feet, but she was so aware of Michael that every nerve in her body was still wide awake and screaming that there was a man in her bedroom—a very large, very…well, very male man.

A man who for the past few months had been her boss and was now to be her husband.

It was too unnerving for words. She went into the bathroom, washed, changed into her pajamas and made a dive for the bed. Safely there, she hauled the bedclothes up to her neck and then glanced over to see Michael sitting on the other bed laughing at her.

“Very sexy,” he approved, his eyes dancing. “Baggy pajamas wide enough to hide a small house. Just what I’d always dreamed my bride would wear.”

“Yeah, well, you try being eight months pregnant and figure how to be sexy,” she snapped, glowering. “Go get your own pajamas on.”

“I don’t have pajamas,” he said soulfully. “The drugstore only carried toothbrushes and razors—not pajamas.”

“That’s your problem.” Her voice was breathless. “I’m going to sleep.”

“You do that, Jenny,” he said, his voice gentling. “You must be beat.”

She was, at that. Why else would the sound of the concern in his voice make her want to weep?

It was too strange for words. She lay with her eyes closed as she listened to him head for bed—listened to him wash and use his brand-new toothbrush and then secure the room.

He didn’t just lock the door. He was taking no chances. He hauled his bed across the doorway so no one could enter without stepping right over him. Surely the precautions were unnecessary, Jenny thought sleepily, but she felt safer all the same.

She lay still until she heard him slide beneath the sheets, pummel his pillows, then settle down. The sound of his deep, even breathing was infinitely reassuring.

She shouldn’t let him do this, she thought, but there was no way she’d stop him. Not now.

“Michael?”

“Mmm.” He sounded half-asleep already.

“I—I appreciate this,” she stammered. “You don’t know how much.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said sleepily. “You wanted rescuing and I rescued you. You have no idea how satisfying it is. Maybe I always knew I wanted to be Sir Lancelot and rescue a few damsels in distress.”

She furrowed through her memory bank. “I thought Lancelot was taken up with Guinevere—the king’s wife.” She frowned. “Did Sir Lancelot rescue damsels, as well?”

“Sure he did,” Michael said easily into the dark. “In his pre-Guinevere days he was quite a boy. He dashed around on his white charger rescuing maidens all over the place.”

“What, lots of maidens?”

“Yep.”

She smiled into the dark. “Didn’t it get a bit crowded? Up on his horse, I mean?”

“It might have,” he agreed reflectively. “I guess he must have had some sort of system. You know, when the horse got crowded, the damsel on the back fell off, the dragon got her and he had to rescue her all over again.”

Silence.

“I don’t think, then,” she said at last, staring at the darkened ceiling, “that I want to fall off. Not quite yet.”

“Then you just hang on for all you’re worth, Jenny,” he said, and he chuckled into the darkness. “And let’s see where this dratted horse takes us.”

THEY WERE married at eleven the next morning.

It was the strangest wedding Jenny had ever attended, though in fairness she’d only been to the formal white weddings the British were so good at. Although her wedding to Peter had been quiet, they’d done it in a church, she’d worn white, and a vicar had married them in his crimson robes.

The man who married Michael and Jenny was a portly little judge in a too-shiny suit. He’d known Michael from way back and greeted him like a long-lost friend.

“I never thought I’d see you facing a shotgun marriage,” he said jovially, and Michael grinned.

“Have you any idea how hard it is to persuade a girl to marry you these days? Independent, single-minded females—”

“Hey, she sounds just like the sort of wife you need.” The judge beamed at Jenny. “Step right up, girl, before he changes his mind. If there’s one thing I’d like to see this boy do, it’s marry.”

So they married, exchanging rings bought half an hour before at a cheap jeweler’s in the next block. A secretary witnessed their signatures, and the entire process took just fifteen minutes.

“And not a moment too soon, by the look of it.” The judge inspected the last of the documents and nodded his satisfaction. “That’s that, then, and I’m glad to make your little one legal.” He fixed Michael with his sternest look. “You look after them, you hear?”

Michael smiled and took Jenny’s hand, for all the world as if he was a real-life husband.

“Yes, sir,” he said softly. “I intend to do just that.”

“Then there’s only one thing left.” The judge grinned.

“What’s that?” Michael asked.

“You may now kiss the bride, boy.” He chuckled. “My favorite part. My wife says it’s the only reason I aimed to be a judge. Go ahead, boy. Kiss her like you intend to kiss her five times a day for the rest of your lives. Or more.”

He had no choice. Michael looked into Jenny’s confused eyes, and he knew this was what he must do. He must kiss her.

But for an obligation, it didn’t hurt one bit. He gathered her into his arms, and his mouth met hers, and what was meant to have been a formal kiss of acquiescence suddenly became much more than that.

He felt her softly yielding to him—but he sensed the tremor running through her and tried to kiss away the doubts and the fears and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

And somewhere in that kiss, something changed between them—something that would stay changed for all time. Because when he pulled away—finally—after a kiss that had gone on forever and must have satisfied any onlooking judge, it felt as if he was tearing himself apart to let her go.

It was as if in her touch, he was where he needed to be, he thought dazed. Forever.

That was crazy. He needed emotional attachment like a hole in the head!

And Jenny… She looked at him while their hands were still linked. He could see the faint indentation where his mouth had pressed against hers—like a shadow—and he could see matching shadows of doubt and fear in her eyes.

And the fear had deepened.

IT DIDN’T END there. There was a day of legal formalities in front of them. “One of the reasons I brought you to El Paso is that we can do everything at once,” Michael told her. “We’ll get your immigration forms filled in here and take the first steps to get you legalized. That way if immigration officials are waiting when we get back to Austin, they won’t have a leg to stand on.”

“Or Gloria.”

“Or Gloria,” he agreed gravely.

“She’ll be so angry. She seems so demure, so ladylike, but she has such power.” Jenny shivered in the warm sunshine, and Michael’s hold on her arm tightened. She’d been subdued since they’d left the judge’s office.

“There’s nothing she can do to touch you now, Jenny. Nothing.”

“I know that.” But still she shivered.

MARRYING WAS EASY compared to immigrating. The forms Jenny filled in were endless.

She and Michael went from one bureaucratic counter to another, and her guilt deepened all the while.

“You shouldn’t be here. You should be at work. You know you had appointments today,” she told him.

“You sound like my secretary,” he teased, and she glared at him.

“That’s what I am underneath all this pregnancy-bride stuff. Ellie won’t know where you are. She’ll be worried.”

“I called this morning and told her secretary I wouldn’t be in.”

“Did you tell her why?”

“I didn’t give her a reason, no.”

“But you’re always in,” Jenny said, alarmed. “She’ll be worried sick, especially if you’re not at home if she tries to contact you. You call her right away.”

“I don’t need—”

“Michael, people care about you,” she said sternly, finding a shadow of her old autocratic self. “Even if you don’t believe in emotional attachment, they do. Call.”

His eyebrows rose, but the look on her face told him she wasn’t kidding. It was her best schoolmarm look, and he answered accordingly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

HE DIDN’T leave her. Michael wasn’t letting Jenny out of his sight, not until the last of the legal documents had been signed. Instead, as she sat with head bent, plowing through questionnaire after questionnaire, he sat at the back of the office and used his cell phone.

Ellie answered on the first ring.

“Michael!” He could hear relief echoing in her voice, and he felt a twinge of guilt. Okay, he should have phoned earlier, he acknowledged. Jenny was right. It never occurred to him that anyone worried about him—it never had, which was a side of his personality that drove his sisters nuts. “Where on earth are you?” Ellie demanded. “I’ve been calling everywhere and you’ve had your phone turned off.”

“I’m not in Austin,” he told her obscurely. “I’m out of town on business.”

“And would this business have anything to do with Jenny Morrow?”

“It might.”

“Then don’t tell me,” she said hastily. “I don’t need to know. What I don’t know I can’t be forced to tell.”

“We’re not talking torture here, I hope, Ellie,” he said, startled, and she gave a reluctant chuckle.

“Not quite. But the people asking questions…they have all the right authority and they’re very insistent. They say Jenny’s taken off and plans to stay in the country illegally.”

“Ellie, how many illegal immigrants do you guess are in the U.S.?” Michael asked slowly. “Rough guess? Ballpark figure?”

“I don’t know. Thousands?”

“That’d be my guess.” He frowned into the phone. “So why do you think there’s all this interest in our Jenny?”

“Our Jenny?”

“She’s my secretary,” Michael said, stifling the impulse to lay claim to a closer relationship. That could wait. “I’d like to know what the heck is going on.”

“I thought you might know,” Ellie said thoughtfully. “Being away from work and all.”

“Ellie, when did I last have time off work?”

“Beats me,” she said. “I don’t think you have. Not since you started here two years ago.”

“Permission to take the rest of the day off, then? With that and the weekend… That should do it. I’ll be back at work on Monday.”

“Should do what?” Her voice rose. “No. Don’t hang up. I take back what I said about not wanting to know. I do. Michael, what’s going on?”

“I want you to find out. You’re closer to the action than I am.”

“There’s a strange woman here,” Ellie said suddenly, as if she was looking around reception as she spoke and her gaze had rested on someone. “Not a bureaucrat. English, upper crust. Mid-sixties. Looks like Wallace Simpson on a good day. Not a hair out of place. Expensively dressed and smooth as silk. You know the type—or maybe you don’t. It’s a female thing—on the surface polite and sweet and a little bit helpless, and underneath as tough as nails. She’s questioning all the staff about where Jenny might be—says she’s Jenny’s mother-in-law, and she’s worried sick.”

“Is she now?” Michael turned away so Jenny couldn’t hear him. “What’s she saying?”

“She thinks Jenny’s run away because the immigration officers have come. She says Jenny’s pregnant and alone, with practically no money. She told me the immigration officials are trying to deport Jenny, and she’s desperate to help her daughter-in-law and her poor little unborn grandchild. So do I know anything I’m not telling the immigration people?”

“What did you tell her?”

“I didn’t tell her anything,” Ellie said frankly. “When she asked the staff in accounts where Jenny might be and they didn’t know, she offered them money. A heap of money. To be honest, she gives me the creeps. So no, she has nothing from me except blank stares. I can be a real dope when I try.”

“Good girl.”

“Don’t patronize me, you toad. Just tell me—”

“Watch her, Ellie,” Michael interrupted. “You’re right not to trust her. I don’t understand yet if there’s just cause, but Jenny’s frightened of her, and Jen doesn’t scare easily. And don’t worry. I’ll see you at work on Monday.”

“Michael!” Ellie’s voice rose in a wail, and Michael grinned and disconnected.

For a change, it wouldn’t hurt Ellie not to know what he’d eaten for breakfast that morning.

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