He took home the wrong baby...

But gained a wife!

Single dad Liam Mercer loves his son with all his heart. But the unthinkable has happened—his beloved baby isn’t really his! And Shelby Ingalls is reeling to discover that her baby was accidentally switched with Liam’s. Their solution? Marriage! And in this new Wyoming Multiples miniseries by the former Meg Maxwell, the sparks flying in this marriage of convenience sure look a lot like love.

MELISSA SENATE has written many novels for Mills & Boon and other publishers, including her debut, See Jane Date, which was made into a TV movie. She also wrote seven books for Mills & Boon True Love line under the pen name Meg Maxwell. Her novels have been published in over twenty-five countries. Melissa lives on the coast of Maine with her teenaged son, their sweet beagle, Lemon, and a lap cat named Cleo. For more information, please visit her website, www.melissasenate.com.

Also by Melissa Senate

Santa’s Seven-Day Baby Tutorial

Charm School for Cowboys

The Cook’s Secret Ingredient

The Cowboy’s Big Family Tree

The Detective’s 8 lb, 10 oz Surprise

A Cowboy in the Kitchen

Mommy and the Maverick

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

The Baby Switch!

Melissa Senate

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07754-5

THE BABY SWITCH!

© 2018 Melissa Senate

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Extract

Chapter One

Liam Mercer’s agenda for Friday, April 14:

*Negotiate 2.4 million-dollar acquisition of Kenyon Corp.

*Take six-month-old son for first haircut at Kidz Kutz, where apparently there was a baby seat in the shape of a choo-choo train, and a puppet show video to distract criers.

*Preside over four meetings, sign countless documents, approve hiring of VP in New Business Development, prepare quarterly report for board of directors.

*Repair lifetime rift between his father, the imperious Harrington Mercer, and his I’ll-do-what-I-want-it’s-my-life younger brother over the weekly family dinner tonight at the Mercer ranch.

Just another Friday. Well, except for the haircut. That was new. Liam loved firsts when it came to Alexander and noted them all in the leather-bound baby book his cousin Clara had given him, along with a seven-foot-tall stuffed giraffe, the day after Alexander was born. The first notation of the first first: at barely a half hour old, Alexander West Mercer wrapped his tiny fist around Liam’s pinky. Every worry and fear that a single, twenty-eight-year-old corporate president who’d had no idea he was even going to be a father could actually raise a helpless living creature on his own, fell away. Of course, every one of those worries returned two seconds later, but his heart had been swiped by the little guy. A love he’d never felt before had come bursting out of Liam’s chest. And that was that.

He shifted Alexander in his arm, nudged the heavy baby bag higher up on his other shoulder and pulled open the door to Mercer Industries. Despite the fleece jacket with its bear-ears hood covering his son’s dark hair, the silky wisps were getting so unruly they were peeking out. The plan was to knock off the acquisition, deal with two of the meetings, then slip away at lunchtime to Kidz Kutz and be ready with his camera.

“There’s Wyoming’s luckiest baby!”

Liam turned around in the reception area. Clara, his favorite cousin and right-hand woman, VP of Mercer Industries, bent forward to coo at Alexander. As it was just before nine o’clock, employees began streaming through the doors, smiling at Alexander as they passed through to the elevator bank.

Clara gave the baby a little tap on the nose. “Yup, luckiest. Millionaire at birth, gorgeous gray-blue eyes and the Mercer dimple and a doting extended family, including myself. Oh, and let’s not forget a daddy who refuses to hire a nanny and instead keeps him close by at the cushy company day care and visits twice a day.”

“Three times, actually,” Liam said. He couldn’t spend enough time with his son.

And at least it was Friday. Even though Liam always had work crowding his weekend, he was looking forward to his plans to take Alexander on a hike up Wedlock Creek Mountain to see the huge Cottonwoods. Alexander would watch the scenery from his perch in the backpack carrier, one of the zillion baby gifts he’d received from family and friends and coworkers in total shock that Liam Mercer, who wasn’t exactly a playboy but lived for work, had become a father.

After the hike it would be library time, where he’d sack out on the huge bean bags dotting the children’s room and read Alexander’s favorite book three times, the one with the talking pear named Joe. On Sunday they’d head to his family’s ranch, a huge spread with a small petting zoo that his father had created just for Alexander. He was a good eight months away from feeding a goat pellets from his hand, but his dad wanted the zoo in place “because clearly Alexander is advanced.” His father was way over-the-top when it came to Alexander, but Liam had to admit the grandfatherly pride was touching. Especially from Harrington Mercer.

Liam’s phone buzzed in his pocket, as it had been doing for the past half hour, par for the course for the president of Mercer Industries. But he couldn’t reach his phone with Alexander in one arm and his baby bag in the other. “Hold him for a sec, will you, Clara?”

She wrinkled her nose. “And risk baby spit-up on my dress for the big meeting with Kenyon Corp? No way.” She did a few rounds of peekaboo, covering her face and opening her hands to reveal a big smile to a rapt Alexander. “Peekaboo, I see you! And I swear I love you even if I won’t risk what happened last month at your grandmother’s birthday dinner. Oh, yeah. I know you remember, drool-boy.” She blew a kiss at Alexander, then headed through the frosted-glass double doors on her very high heels.

Liam rolled his eyes with a smile. Six months and a day ago, he’d been the same way. He’d no sooner go near a sticky baby than pet an animal who’d get white hairs on his Hugo Boss suit. But six months and a day ago, Liam hadn’t even known he was about to become a father.

Life could change just like that. And had.

And now Liam knew how wrong he and Clara were about their expensive clothes and perfect hair. Spit-up didn’t bother him at all. Changing diapers—no problem. Alexander’s new favorite solid food—Toasty Os cereal—thrown at his hair with a giggle? Good arm, kid. It was amazing how Liam had changed in six months because of one tiny baby. His baby.

And Clara was wrong about something else. Alexander wasn’t the luckiest baby in Wyoming. He didn’t have everything.

He didn’t have a mother.

After the shock had worn off, when Liam had stepped into his new role as someone’s father, when he’d sit with Alexander in the middle of the night in the rocking chair in the nursery, feeding him a bottle, holding him, rocking him, breathing in the baby-shampoo scent of him, staring at every beautiful bit of him, all Liam could really focus on was the fact that his baby’s mother had died during childbirth, that this innocent child in his arms was motherless.

Liam was doing okay as a father, maybe even better than okay. It had been some learning curve. He’d forced himself to take two weeks off from the office, hired a baby nurse to teach him the ropes, which had involved waking up every few hours, warming baby bottles, changing diapers, acquainting himself with ointments and lotions and baby bathtubs, and figuring out which cry meant hungry or diaper rash or gas or pick me up. Now, six months later, he basically knew what he was doing. But no matter that Liam was there, really there, he was no substitute for a mother.

The problem with finding a mother for his son was that Liam wasn’t looking for a wife.

“There’s our little heir,” came the voice of Harrington Mercer. The fifty-eight-year-old CEO took Alexander and held him high in the air, his own expensive suit be damned. “Good, Alexander, you’re all ready for a day of soaking up the corporate culture. You’ll intern here through college, then get your MBA, and you’ll be in line to take over Mercer Industries, just like your father and your grandfather did from great-granddad Wilton Mercer.”

Liam mentally shook his head. “Dad, he’s six months old. Let’s get him sleeping through the night before he starts as a junior analyst at MI.”

His father waved his hand in the air. “Never too soon to immerse the heir in the learning process. Anyone knows that, it’s you, Liam. Heck, you grew up in this building.” His dad smiled and kissed Alexander on the cheek. “Oh, I have a little present for you, Alexander.” He set his briefcase on the reception desk and opened it, and pulled out a tiny brown Stetson. “There. We may be businessmen, but we’re Wyoming men and cowboys at heart.”

Harrington Mercer took off Alexander’s hood and settled the little hat, lined with fleece, on his head, nodded approvingly, then handed him back to Liam and headed through the double doors.

“One minute I don’t understand your grandfather at all,” he whispered to Alexander. “And the next, I want to hug him. People are complicated. Life lesson one thousand five.”

Alexander smiled and reached out to squeeze Liam’s chin.

“You know what’s not complicated?” Liam whispered as he shifted his son to push open the door. “How much I love you.”

Liam took the elevator to the fourth floor, which held the company’s health club, cafeteria and the day care, using his key card to open the door to the day care center. The main room, separated from the door with a white picket fence-gate decorated with grass and trees and flowers, was for the toddlers and preschool-age kids. Liam waved at one of the teachers, then headed into the nursery for babies under fourteen months. The room, with its pale blue walls bordered with smiling cartoon animals, was cozy with its decor and baby gear, the play mats and bouncers and bassinets with little spinning mobiles playing lullabies. Two babies were already there, having tummy time on the thickly padded mats. There were seven babies currently, ranging in age from three to twelve months.

“Morning, Liam,” the nursery director said with a smile. “And good morning, Alexander. I like your hat.”

Liam signed in his son and handed him over, always feeling like he was handing over a piece of his heart. Another employee came in with her four-month-old and stood for a while by the window, nuzzling her little daughter’s cheek before finally giving her to the director with a wistful smile.

I know how you feel, he thought, staring at his baby son. It’s so hard to say goodbye, even for a few hours.

The day care center had been started almost sixty years ago by his grandmother, Alexandra Mercer, for whom Alexander was named. Back then, when the brilliant businesswoman, then president of Mercer Industries, became a mother, she’d insisted that her husband, Wilton, the CEO, agree to open a day care center on site for all employees. She’d hired the best nannies in Wedlock Creek to staff the new corporate day care and told off anyone who dared say that she should be at home, raising her child herself. Back then, not many employees partook in the service offered. But now, with women comprising over half the employees at MI, the day care center was almost always filled to capacity. Knowing their babies and toddlers and preschoolers were well taken care of just an elevator ride away made for happier, more productive employees. Liam could attest to that firsthand.

He kneeled down on Alexander’s play mat and pulled out his phone to take a photo of Alexander in his cowboy hat, noticing an unfamiliar number on the screen. The same number had called three times in the past half hour. As he snapped the photo of Alexander, the phone buzzed again.

“Can I throw this thing out the window?” Liam asked the director.

She laughed. “You go ahead—answer it, I mean. We’ll take good care of Alexander.”

Liam smiled and nodded. “See you in a few hours for lunch and a haircut, cowboy,” he said to Alexander, then finally answered the call on his way out the door.

“Liam Mercer,” he said.

“Oh, thank goodness we finally reached you,” a female voice said. “Mr. Mercer, my name is Anne Parcells. I’m the administrator of the Wedlock Creek Clinic. We need you to come to the clinic right away and to bring the minor child, Alexander West Mercer, and your attorney.”

He froze. The minor child? His attorney? What the hell was this?

Liam frowned. “What’s this about?”

“We’ll discuss everything at the meeting,” Parcells said. “If you can get here by 9:15, that would be appreciated. The others will be here by then, as well.”

“The others?”

She didn’t respond to that. “Can we expect you by 9:15, Mr. Mercer? Please come to my office, two doors from the main entrance.”

Liam glanced at his watch. It was 8:55. “I’ll be there.”

There for what, though? Alexander was born in the Wedlock Creek Clinic. If the administrator was referring to his son as “the minor child” and talking attorneys, there was probably some kind of liability issue regarding the night he was born. A class action lawsuit, maybe. Liam closed his eyes for a second as memories of the snowstorm came back, memories he’d tried to block. Alexander’s mother phoning him, a desperation in Liza Harwood’s voice he’d never heard before, not that he’d known her very long.

Liam, there’s no time for explanations. I’m nine months pregnant with your baby and in labor. I should have told you before but I’m telling you now. I’m on my way to the clinic. The snowstorm is so bad. If anything happens to me, I left you a letter...

Nine months pregnant with his baby. And something had happened to Liza.

Most of Wedlock Creek had lost power that night, and the clinic’s backup generator had blinked out twice. There had been so many accidents in town—from tree limbs falling on houses to car wrecks and pickups in ditches. Liza had made it to the clinic in one piece but had not survived childbirth. A tragedy that had had nothing to do with the storm or the clinic.

Liam closed his eyes again, then shook his head to clear it. He had to call his lawyer, reorganize his morning and get to the clinic.

He headed back inside the nursery for Alexander. At least he’d have some unexpected extra time with his son this morning, after all.

* * *

Shelby Ingalls sat in an uncomfortable folding chair in the Wedlock Creek Clinic’s administrator’s office, holding her baby son against her chest in the sling he was fast asleep in. She glanced at the doorway, hoping the woman would come back and get this meeting—whatever it was about—underway. Opening time at Treasures, her secondhand shop, was ten o’clock, and Shelby wanted to display the gorgeous antique frames she’d found at an estate sale the other day and the cute new mugs with napping beagles on them. She knew several of her regular customers would love those.

She’d been about to head down to the shop when Anne Parcells had called, asking Shelby to come in and “bring the minor child” and her attorney. The phrasing and the word attorney had freaked her out, but the administrator had refused to say anything else. Shelby had been so panicked that it had something to do with Shane’s blood test, that he was terribly ill after all. A week ago she’d brought him into the clinic for a stomach virus and had been waiting for the results, which she’d been sure would reveal nothing since the virus had cleared up and Shane was back to his regular happy little self. But despite the director assuring her that Shane was perfectly healthy, Anne Parcells again requested that she come immediately to the clinic—and to bring an attorney.

First of all, Shelby didn’t have an attorney, and despite the size of her extended family, there wasn’t a lawyer in the bunch. Nor did she want this weird request from the director to become family fodder until she herself knew what it was all about. Her sister, her mother, her aunt Cheyenne and a bunch of cousins would be crowded in the back of this room if she’d let anyone know. So she’d called her sister, Norah, who despite being a chatterbox who knew everyone and all the town gossip, could keep a secret like no one else. Turned out, Norah was newly dating a lawyer, an ambulance-chasing type, and so much of a shark that she was thinking of breaking up with him because of it. A few minutes later Norah had called back and assured Shelby that David Dirk, attorney at law, would meet Shelby at the clinic by 9:10—and that the meeting was probably about some lawsuit from the night Shane was born because of the storm and the generator failing twice. In any case, Norah had promised to keep mum about the meeting and texted:

I get to know what it’s about, though, right? Call me the minute you’re out of there!

Shane stirred against her chest, and she glanced down at her dear little son, caressing his fine brown wisps. A moment later, an attractive guy in his early thirties appeared in the doorway. He had a baby face and tousled hair, but he wore a sharp suit and had intelligent eyes behind black-framed glasses. Not Norah’s typical brawny rancher type.

“David Dirk,” he said, extending a hand and sitting down beside her. “When the administrator arrives and says her spiel, don’t comment, don’t agree to anything, don’t answer anything with yes or no. In fact, let me speak for you.”

“I always speak for myself,” Shelby said. “But I’ll listen to your advice and we’ll go from there.”

Before he could respond, two other men appeared in the doorway, and at the sight of the one holding a baby wearing a brown cowboy hat, Shelby almost gasped.

She knew him. Well, she’d seen him before. And she’d never forget his face. Not just because he was incredibly good-looking—six feet one or two and leanly muscular with thick, dark hair and gorgeous blue eyes, a dimple curving into the left side of his mouth. It was that she’d never forget the combination of fear and worry that had been etched into his features, in those eyes. The night she’d given birth, he’d been sitting in the crowded waiting room of this clinic, his head in hands, when the ambulance EMTs had rushed her inside on a gurney. He’d looked up and they’d locked eyes, and despite the fact that she was already in labor and breathing and moaning like a madwoman, the complex combination of emotions on the man’s face had so arrested her that for one single moment, she’d been aware of nothing else but him. Given the pain she was in, the contractions coming just a minute and a half apart, that was saying something. A second later she’d let out a wail that had even her covering her ears, and the EMT had hurried into a delivery room.

She’d wondered about the man in the waiting room ever since, if whomever he’d been waiting on had been okay. There had been one hell of a storm that night, so much blinding snow that a ten-minute ride to the clinic from her apartment above her shop had taken almost an hour.

Because she was now staring at the man with the baby cowboy, he glanced at her, and she could see he was trying to place her.

“Good morning,” a woman said, her voice serious as she appeared behind the two men in the doorway. “I’m Anne Parcells, administrator of the Wedlock Creek Clinic. All parties are here so let’s begin. Please,” she said, gesturing for the men to enter and to sit in the two chairs positioned to the left of her desk. Shelby and her attorney were seated to the right. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Ingalls and Mr. Mercer.” Introductions were made between attorneys and parties, the door was closed and everyone was now seated.

Please get to the lawsuit or whatever this is about so that I can get back to the store, Shelby thought. Three of her favorite regular customers, the elderly Minnow sisters, came in every Friday morning at the shop’s opening time of ten o’clock to see what she might have added to the shop for the weekend rush. She hated to keep them and any new customers waiting. Wedlock Creek was a small town, but had its own rodeo on the outskirts and a bustling downtown because of it, so folks came from all over the county to enjoy a bit of the Wild West, then walk the mile-long Main Street with its shops and restaurants and movie theater with the reclining seats. Business was semi-booming.

The administrator cleared her throat, her expression almost grim. Shelby felt for the woman. The Wedlock Creek Clinic, a nonprofit that included an urgent care center, was a godsend for so many in the county, since the county hospital was forty-five minutes away. A lawsuit had the potential to close the clinic.

“I’m going to just say this outright,” Anne said, looking up from some paperwork. “A week ago, Ms. Ingalls—” she gestured to Shelby “—brought her six-month-old son, Shane, to the clinic with a stomach virus. A standard blood test was run. This morning our lab returned the results, noting a discrepancy with Ms. Ingalls’s blood type and Shane Ingalls’s blood type.”

A discrepancy? Huh? Shelby leaned forward a bit, staring at the woman, who glanced at her for a moment, the expression in her eyes so compassionate that the hairs rose on the back of Shelby’s neck.

Anne Parcells looked down at the papers in her hands, then back up. “Based on the results, it would be impossible for Ms. Ingalls to be Shane’s biological mother.”

What the ever-loving hell? Shelby bolted up, her arms around Shane in the sling. “That’s impossible! Of course he’s my son! I gave birth to him!”

The administrator’s expression turned grim again. “The test was run three times. I’m afraid that Shane Ingalls cannot be your biological son, Ms. Ingalls.”

Shelby’s legs shook and she dropped down on her chair, her head spinning. She tried to make sense of the words. Not your son. Discrepancy. Impossible.

This had to be a mistake—that was the only explanation. Of course Shane was her son!

Dimly, she could hear her sister-appointed lawyer requesting to see the paperwork, the ruffling of sheaves of paper as Anne handed over the stack and David Dirk studied them, flipping through the various documents.

“Jesus,” David mutter-whispered.

Shelby closed her eyes, trying to keep hold of herself despite the feeling coming over her that sh∆e was going to black out. She felt herself wobble a bit and grabbed David’s chair to steady herself.

He put a bracing arm around her. “We’ll have your and Shane’s blood drawn again and retested in a different lab,” he said.

She sucked in a breath and nodded. Yes. Redone. A different lab. It was a mistake. Just a mistake. The results would prove she was Shane’s mother. She was!

“Excuse me,” Liam Mercer’s lawyer said, darting a compassionate glance at Shelby. “But what does this have to do with my client?”

The administrator took a deep breath. “Based on the results and a discussion with a night-shift nurse who retired three months ago, we believe your babies—Shane Ingalls and Alexander Mercer—born within minutes of each other in the early-morning hours of November 5, were accidentally switched at birth.”

Chapter Two

Shelby gasped.

“That’s impossible,” Liam Mercer said, his gaze narrowed on the administrator, then on Shelby. “Come on.”

The woman glanced from Shelby to Liam, then said, “In the chaos of the storm, the nurse didn’t follow procedure to secure an identifying bracelet around the male babies until the generator kicked back in. She was positive she’d put Ms. Ingalls’s baby in the left bassinet and Ms. Harwood’s in the right. But because we now know that Shane Ingalls can’t be the child Shelby gave birth to, she thinks she must have made a mistake.”

Liam stood up, tightening his hold on the baby in his arms. “That’s ridiculous. Like Mr. Dirk said, the blood test results are a mistake. A mislabeled vial, and voilà, mother and baby are suddenly not related. There was no switching of babies.”

“Mr. Mercer,” Anne Parcells said. “I wish that were the case. However, given that the generator failed at precisely the time when both babies were taken, within minutes of each other, to the pediatric clinic to be weighed and measured and cleaned up, it’s entirely possible that the nurse accidentally switched the babies. I also wish that the blood type issue could be a mistake, but Ms. Ingalls’s blood was drawn twice on prior visits to the clinic during prenatal care—and documented, of course. Her blood type is not compatible with Shane’s.”

Oh, God. There went her last hope.

“Entirely possible isn’t good enough,” Liam said, his voice ice-cold. “Either the nurse did switch the babies or she didn’t. If you don’t know for sure, then...” He shook his head, then stared at Anne Parcells. “Wait a minute. Alexander was born here, so you must have his blood type on record and his mother’s. Are they compatible? I’m sure they are.”

The administrator nodded. “Alexander’s blood type, one of the most common, is a match for Liza Harwood’s. However, it’s also a match for Ms. Ingalls. Which leads to next steps. DNA tests must be conducted.”

“There,” Liam said, “Alexander’s blood type is compatible with his mother’s. And mine, I’m sure. He’s my son.”

“You visited the urgent care center twice in the past five years, Mr. Mercer. Your blood type is on record. Your blood type is compatible with Alexander’s, as well.”

The relief that crossed Liam’s face almost had Shelby happy for him. But she was barely hanging on.

“This is all some mix-up with Ms. Ingalls and her son’s blood type but it has nothing to do with me.” He looked over at Shelby then, his expression a mix of confusion and worry. Just like the night she’d first seen him. “I don’t mean to sound cavalier at your expense, Ms. Ingalls, but this is a mistake,” he said to her. “It has to be.”

“He’s right!” Shelby shouted, panic and bile rising. “It’s all a mistake. It has to be a mistake!”

“There were four babies born the night of November 5,” the director said. “Two boys and two girls. If there was a switch, it was between Shane Ingalls and Alexander Mercer.”

The lawyers began talking, but Shelby’s ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton. As Liam began pacing, she glanced at the baby in his arms—and gasped.

“What?” Liam asked, freezing, his gaze narrowed on her again.

“The little birthmark on his ear,” she whispered, standing up. “I have it, too. So does my grandmother.” Norah didn’t have it. Her mother didn’t have it. But Shelby did.

Everyone peered at the tiny reddish-brown spot on the baby’s earlobe. Then at Shelby’s ear.

“Oh, for God’s sake. It’s nothing,” Liam said, shifting Alexander in his arms so that he was out of view. “It’s a mark that will fade away.”

Shelby’s legs shook to the point that she dropped back down in her chair. She stared at Shane’s dark hair, so unlike her own, which was blond. But Shane’s father, a bronc rider she’d foolishly married after a whirlwind courtship and who’d left town with another woman the moment Shelby told him she was pregnant, had Shane’s same dark hair. He had blue eyes, too, just like Shane.

But the baby in Liam Mercer’s arms was also dark-haired. Also blue-eyed.

In fact, the babies looked a lot alike, except for the shapes of their faces, and Shane’s features were a little sharper than Alexander’s. Did Shane look like Liam Mercer? Okay, yes. But he also looked a little like Shelby. Even if no one ever commented on that. He must look like his daddy, she’d heard someone say a time or two as they’d peered in Shane’s stroller, then at her.

She suddenly felt dizzy and put her hand on her lawyer’s chair to brace herself again. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. This could not be happening.

It was a mistake. Shane was her son.

Liam’s lawyer also flipped through the paperwork, then looked up. “As there’s no reason to believe that Alexander West Mercer is not my client’s biological child, based on blood type, we’ll await DNA results before any further discussion.”

Shelby’s lawyer nodded. “We’ll have Shelby’s and Shane’s blood tested for type at a separate facility. Until those results come in, we also will proceed with the understanding that Shane Ingalls is Shelby Ingalls’s biological child.

Thank God Norah was dating a lawyer. Shelby’s mind was in such a state that she’d never have thought of that.

“If that is agreeable to both parties,” the administrator said. “Of course I’ll need you both to sign some documents.”

Shelby stared down at Shane, the voices retreating as everything inside her went numb. She held him as close as she could without squeezing him. He was her son.

“I saw you,” Liam said, a reluctant awareness edging his deep voice.

Shelby looked up. Liam was standing in front of her and staring at her.

“The night Alexander was born,” he said. “I was in the waiting room and you were suddenly wheeled in, but another gurney was blocking the doorway. I was afraid you’d deliver right there in front of me.”

“I remember,” she said. The sight of you, the way our eyes met, gave me something concrete to focus on.

“I’d like to confer with my client,” Liam’s attorney said.

“As would I,” Shelby’s lawyer said.

Liam and his lawyer stepped to the back of the room. Shelby and hers stayed at the front.

“Until we have your blood tested again, Shane is your son same as he was a half hour ago,” David said. “Even if the results indicate that you and Shane can’t be biologically related, operate under the assumption that he is your child under the law until the DNA tests are in.”

He is. He is my son! But she heard herself ask the impossible. “What if he isn’t?” she said, her voice strangled on a sob. “What if he’s not my son?”

“Then the four of us will meet again, Shelby. But until we know for sure, don’t agree to anything Mercer or his attorney asks of you and for God’s sake, don’t sign anything. Do you hear me?”

She nodded. “I hear you.”

The administrator took Shelby and Liam and their attorneys into a room, explained in detail how the DNA test worked, then had a technician swab the inside of their mouths and draw blood for good measure, vials labeled with their names. In addition to their attorneys, two techs served as witnesses and the entire process was videotaped to assure all was handled correctly. Shelby and Liam both watched, eagle-eyed, as the swabs and vials were sealed into separate bags.

“I’ll also have my and Shane’s blood drawn at Cottonwood County Hospital today,” Shelby said. “I’ll ask for the results to be forwarded to all parties.”

Finally, after another clipped speech about how sorry the administrator was and that she’d call the moment the DNA test results reached her desk, the attorneys left, and Shelby and Liam Mercer were alone.

Liam had the same expression on his face that Shelby had to have on hers. Shock. Confusion. And fear. He was looking down but not at his son or at the floor.

“I’m hanging on to useless hope,” she said. “If Shane isn’t my biological son, if the babies were switched, then the baby in your arms is my child?” She shook her head. “This is crazy.”

“Alexander is my son,” Liam practically growled, his expression so fierce she took a step back. “Sorry,” he said. “I know you’re going through the same thing I am. I don’t mean to take this out on you, of all people.”

She bit her lip and let out a breath. Was the baby in Liam’s arms her son? Had she walked out of this clinic six months ago with someone else’s child? And left her own behind? Tears pricked her eyes.

“May I see him?” Shelby asked, blinking back hard on the tears. “Up close?”

Liam hesitated, then stepped toward her. Shelby tried to stifle the gasp. Alexander Mercer did look an awful lot like her. Down to the shape of the eyes, his face, something in his expression and the little Ingalls birthmark. But he had a dimple—like Liam. None of the Ingallses had a dimple.

But Shane’s father did.

Still, hair and eye color and a birthmark and a dimple didn’t mean Shane wasn’t her son.

Even if the baby in her arms looked a lot like Liam Mercer.

Shelby shook her head, suddenly unable to speak. She sucked in a breath. “I love Shane with all my heart. I’m his only parent. I’m his mother. He’s my son.”

“I feel the same way about Alexander,” Liam said. “His mother died in childbirth.”

Oh, no. That was why he looked the way he had that night. “I’m so sorry.” She let out a breath. “And I’m scared. Really, really scared.”

“I don’t say this often, Ms. Ingalls. But so am I.”

That made her feel better. Especially because he was a Mercer. And the Mercer name in Wedlock Creek meant two things. Power and money. Shelby barely broke even every month. And her lawyer was on loan.

“Liam,” she said. “My son looks a lot like you. And your son looks a lot like me.”

He turned away, then stared down at the baby in his arms. Then at her. Then back to his son. “Yeah. I know. And I’m worried as hell. That the babies actually could have been switched. I mean, I saw you here, in this clinic, in labor, at the same time Alexander’s mother was in labor. I saw you with my own eyes. You gave birth to a baby boy. That’s not in dispute. If Shane isn’t yours, then...” He shook his head, then stared at the ground.

She expelled a breath. “So now what?”

Alexander gurgled and cooed, “Du, wa,” his gaze on Shane. The two babies eyed each other, smiles forming. Alexander reached out to touch Shane’s arm and Shane smiled, reaching to touch the brim of the little Stetson.

“They like each other,” Liam said softly, his voice hollow. “Look, let’s go to the hospital and get your and Shane’s blood drawn for typing. For all we know, the clinic here has been making mistakes for years. Let’s find out for sure that you and Shane can’t be related.”

Should she go anywhere with Liam Mercer? Maybe she should run it by her lawyer. But then again, there was only one person on earth who knew what this insanity felt like: Liam. She wanted to hear what he had to say. She needed to be around him right now.

She let out a breath and nodded. “I’m in no position to drive. My hands will shake on the wheel.”

“I’ll drive. I’ll install Shane’s seat in the back of my SUV.”

Which meant he was calm. Outwardly, anyway. Because he knew that no matter what, he wouldn’t lose anything? That was very likely how things were for Mercers. Money and power talked.

“I want to make something clear, Mr. Mercer. I know the Mercer name. You and your family are wealthy and powerful and own half the commercial real estate and the rodeo. I’m a single mother without much to my name but a secondhand shop. Regardless, if you push me, if you try anything underhanded, I’ll fight you with everything I have.”

“Whoa,” he said, his blue eyes steady on her. “We’re going through the same thing, Ms. Ingalls. We’re in the same position. Money and power are meaningless here. If Alexander isn’t my biological son, all the money in Wyoming won’t make it any less true.”

She stared at him. He was right—to a point. Money and power could take Shane away from her. He could end up with both boys.

“I might be rich, Ms. Ingalls. But I’m not underhanded. I’m a single parent, just like you are. And I’ll swear on anything you want. I’ll never do anything to hurt you or these babies.”

The sincerity on his face made her feel better. And truth be told, she needed to believe him or she’d spontaneously combust. “Call me Shelby.”

He nodded. “And call me Liam.”

He gestured for her to walk ahead out the door. “Let’s get the hell out of this clinic.”

As she watched Liam zip up his son’s fleece bunting, the tenderness on the man’s face almost stole her breath.

He loves that baby. Like I love Shane.

Dear God, this was a mess.

You’re my son, no matter what, she whispered silently to Shane.

As they left the office, each holding a baby, Shelby was barely hanging on. If the DNA tests proved the impossible, that they’d each taken home a baby who wasn’t theirs, would Liam try to seek custody of both babies and win because of his power and money and influence? Right now it was easy for him to say he’d never do anything to hurt her. His back wasn’t up against a wall—yet, anyway. Not like hers was.

Stop getting ahead of yourself, Shelby. He might be a Mercer, but she had a loud, bossy, big family in Wedlock Creek. They’d have her back. Her sister had managed to supply her with a lawyer in less than five minutes, after all. One step at a time, one piece of information at a time.

Feeling a little stronger, she watched as Liam headed across the parking lot to his car, a sleek, black SUV, settled Alexander in his car seat, then drove it over to where she stood next to her twelve-year-old Ford.

She could not, would not, lose Shane. But the little boy in that black car was very likely her baby, too.

Oh, God. Suddenly she wanted to tear Alexander from his car seat, take him in her arms and explain it had been a mistake, she hadn’t known, she was so sorry she let someone else take him home and raise him these past six months.

As tears slipped down her cheeks, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

She hadn’t even realized Liam had gotten out of his car and had come over to her. “We’ll figure this out together,” he said.

At the word together, she calmed down again and looked up into Liam Mercer’s eyes. She saw sincerity there. But the last time Shelby had trusted a man she’d ended up pregnant and alone.

Careful, she told herself. Proceed with utmost caution. Agree to nothing. Sign nothing. You’re a smart woman. Keep your head.

She was glad when Liam let go of her shoulder and opened her car door to get Shane’s car seat, busy with installing it in his SUV. They were not united. They were not anything. His use of the word together would likely only serve him. She didn’t know this man at all.

She was on her own here and had to remember that. Or she’d lose everything.

* * *

Liam’s hands had been steady on the wheel during the drive to the hospital, but inside he was a mess. Every time his mind latched on something that would make Alexander his biological son, three more yeah, but what about xyz, yeah, but remember when the administrator said socked him upside the head. Shelby had been silent for the almost hour drive, and he was glad. He didn’t want to talk about any of it. He could barely handle thinking about it.

Alexander wasn’t his son? He damned well was, no matter what a piece of paper said. That was the one thing that kept reverberating in his head. He was sure it was the same for Shelby, which made him want to be around her and never see her again at the same time.

Was the baby in the back seat, the one without the cowboy hat, his biological child?

Maybe. Probably? No. Yes. He went round and round as Shelby and Shane were ushered into the lab room to get their blood drawn. As he sat in the waiting room, Alexander playing his favorite game of squeeze Daddy’s chin, women around him commenting on Alexander’s cuteness and big cheeks, he could hear Shane crying behind the closed door. Which made him hyperaware of the timing; his tiny vein had just been pricked, a vial filling with his blood. Which would prove, once and for all, if the clinic hadn’t made a mistake with the typing. From prior visits, at that.

Hell, it was unlikely, but he was hanging on to hope. If Shelby could be Shane’s biological mother, then they could all just walk away, go back to their lives and live happily-ever-after. Liam would have one heck of a story for tonight’s dinner at the Mercer ranch.

Shelby finally came out of the lab room, holding Shane, who had a little round Mickey Mouse Band-Aid in the crook of his right arm. Liam stared at his little tear-stained face, seeing not only his own expression in Shane’s, but Liza’s, also.

He almost fell out of his chair.

“Are you all right, Liam?” Shelby asked, rushing over.

He slowly shook his head. He was not all right.

Calm down and go back to hanging on to hope. Wait for the blood results. If they still say Shelby isn’t Shane’s mother, then you’ll wait for the DNA tests. You’re Alexander’s father. You are.

As they left the hospital, Shelby told him that the lab had promised to expedite the results, based on a call from the clinic requesting it. She would know by three o’clock today.

“I want to stay with you and Shane until we know,” he said. “I need you in my sight.”

“Because you’re afraid I’ll run away with your heir?” she snapped. “If Shane is your son, then Alexander is my son,” she reminded him, her green eyes flashing.

He stared at her. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

“I don’t know you,” she pointed out. “And I don’t trust easily. Add in who you are...”

“I told you, Shelby, I—”

“Won’t do anything to hurt me or Shane. I know. I’ve tucked that away to remind you of it when you really have to face the truth of what’s happened.”

He shook his head. “Let me change how I put it, then. I want you and Shane in my sight because I’m going out of my mind. I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t want to tell anyone about this yet. That leaves you. To be with someone who gets it without my having to say a word.”

Her expression softened. “I know exactly what you mean.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, God, I really need to head over to my shop and put a sign on the door that we’re closed for the day. The Minnow sisters are probably worried about me, and I had an appointment scheduled for ten-thirty to look through a bag of stuff.”

“Minnow sisters? Bag of stuff?”

“For Treasures, my shop. The Minnows are three elderly sisters who stop by every Friday at ten to see what I’ve added for the weekend shoppers.”

He nodded. “The secondhand store. Next to the bakery, right? My cousin Clara loves that place. I once complimented a painting of a weathered red barn in her hallway and she said she got it from Treasures. I stopped by one day to check it out but left when I realized it was a secondhand store.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? Honestly, you never know what you’ll find at Treasures.”

Like dust? Falling apart old junk even its owner didn’t want? The painting had to be an exception. “Well, why don’t we head over there? We can talk there or not talk there and just keep each other occupied until the call comes from the hospital lab. I could use a few cups of coffee. At some point later I’ll drive you back to the clinic to pick up your car.”

Forty-five minutes later Liam pulled into a spot in front of Treasures. As they got out of the car, Shelby taking out Shane, and Liam taking out Alexander, he saw Shelby craning her neck to look down Main Street.

“I can just make out the Minnow sisters heading into the library,” she said. “They’re easy to spot since they always walk three across the sidewalk. They must have waited all this time for me and gave up.”

As she opened the door with an ornate gold key, he realized he actually had been in the shop once before with Clara. His cousin had insisted on dragging him along to find a present for her mother, who despite being Liam’s dear aunt, was the biggest snob alive. Liam hadn’t thought his aunt would want anything from a secondhand shop, but the next time he’d seen her, she’d been wearing the brooch that Clara had insisted she’d love. It’s antique, it’s history, it has a story, Clara had insisted. Who knows where the brooch has been, what love story it was part of. It’s so romantic!

It’s so...used, was what Liam had thought. He appreciated the shiny and new. But hey, if it worked for his cousin and aunt, all the better for Shelby, now that he actually knew the shop’s owner.

“I’ll keep the shade drawn on the door and the closed sign hanging,” she said as they stepped inside. “I hate to disappoint my customers or keep new ones away, but I can’t open the store. Not in my frame of mind.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, scooting Alexander a bit higher in his arms. The baby snuggled against his leather jacket. “I had a day full of meetings, including a very important one. I canceled everything and delegated what I could.” His cousin had been incredulous when he let her know he was counting on her to seal the deal on the Kenyon Corp acquisition, that he had full faith in her. Incredulous that he was skipping the meeting and that he believed in her so much; that part of their relationship had never really been tested before.

“What the hell could be so important that you’d miss the negotiation?” Clara had asked when he’d called her after dropping off Shelby and Shane at the hospital entrance. He’d let Shelby know he’d park and meet her after alerting his office he’d be out for the day.

“I can’t talk about it right now, Clara. Just knock them dead.”

“Oh, I will. Hope everything’s okay.”

“Talk to you in a few hours,” he’d said and ended the call, which he knew would worry her, but his very focused cousin would set her mind to the negotiating and nothing else and she’d do great. She’d burn up his phone later and ring his doorbell until he answered later, though. Of that he had no doubt. To both tell him about the meeting and to hear what had kept him from it. But he had no idea when he’d be ready to talk about what was going on. If he’d talk about it.

He turned his attention to the stuffed shop, every table, every bit of space, taken up by things, from lamps to flower pots and vases to cases of jewelry to paintings and knickknacks of every kind imaginable. There was a bookcase of old, leather-bound classics and an entire table full of various teapots with little cups and saucers.

He glanced up at the wall near the shop’s entrance. “Look, Alexander, it’s a cuckoo clock. The little bird is about to come out because it’s almost the half hour.” He walked a bit closer and as the clock chimed that it was 1:30 p.m., a gold bird with a red beak popped out.

Alexander giggled and pointed.

“Cuckoo,” Liam said. “Cuckoo!” Yup, this whole thing was cuckoo, all right.

Alexander giggled, and Liam smiled, snuggling his little boy close.

She smiled. “Fatherhood agrees with you.”

He looked at Alexander, the little boy he loved more than anything on earth. “Alexander changed my life. For the good.”

“Must have been hard, though, going from Wedlock Creek’s most prized eligible bachelor to the father of an infant. On your own.”

“It was. I guess I was too shocked to pay attention to how hard it was and just went day by day. But every night, when I’d be up with Alexander at two and four a.m., the house dead quiet except for his tiny burp after having his bottle, I was just overtaken by devotion. By a sense of responsibility to this little life I helped create.”

She bit her lip and looked at him, then set Shane down in a bouncy seat behind the counter and handed him a teething ring in the shape of a rabbit. “With this...new information, I hate to put him down, for him to be out of arm’s reach for even a moment, but honestly, he’s getting big. He’s eighteen pounds now.”

Liam smiled. “So’s Alexander.” He glanced at Shane, watching the little stuffed animals twirl around on the mobile attached to the bouncer. “This is some mess, huh? Everything we thought we know about our lives is suddenly turned upside down.”

She was staring at Shane, and he could see tears glistening in her eyes. He wanted to hold her, to tell her they’d get through this, somehow, that they’d get through it together. But what comfort would that be? They were practically strangers.

The light shining through the windows caught on her blond hair and the side of her delicate face, and she looked so alone and lost that he reached out and took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. I’m not the enemy, the squeeze was supposed to say. But yeah, this sucks.

She looked up at him, surprise crossing her pretty face, and she squeezed back.

“I have another bouncer if you want a breather yourself,” she said.

“Sure.”

She disappeared into a back room and returned with a yellow bouncer with a stars and moon mobile. Alexander pointed at it.

“You like it?” Liam asked the baby. “Let’s get you settled in it next to your buddy, Shane.”

He put Alexander in the bouncer, buckling the little harness, and turned the reclining seat so that the boys could see each other. He stood and came back around the counter when Shelby’s phone rang.

She glanced at the cuckoo clock. “It’s only one forty-five. Could that be the hospital lab?” Her phone rang again, but she seemed frozen in place. On the third ring she grabbed it from her tote bag. “Shelby Ingalls speaking.”

“It’s them,” she mouthed to him, the phone against her ear. He watched her listen, her eyes full of hope. Tell me what I want to hear, those eyes beseeched. But then the light went out of the green depths, and she clearly couldn’t contain the sob that rose from inside her.

She croaked out a “Thank you for calling,” then put the phone down on a table next to a teapot, her eyes welling, anguish dropping her to her knees on the circular rug.

“Oh, no,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment. Oh, no. No.

She burst into tears. “It’s official. Shane is not my son.”

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