The Father of Her Child (The Baby Bet #3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Other Books By

  About the Author

  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

  Copyright

  Oh, Lord, he was in love. How had that happened?

  How could a man suddenly find he was deeply in love with a woman and not have been aware of his changing feelings?

  Love sure was sneaky, Ted decided. Powerful, potent…and sneaky.

  His first reaction was shock. That shifted almost instantly to pure joy. An incredible warmth suffused him, and he had the urge to shout his declaration from the rooftops.

  But then…

  Then it really began sinking in. And it felt like a punch in the gut.

  He, confirmed bachelor Theodore Sharpe, was in love with pretty, pregnant Hannah Johnson.

  Ah, damn. What a mess!

  * * *

  “Robin Elliott sheds her pseudonym to write under her own name—the popular and beloved Joan Elliott Pickart.”

  —Harriet Klausner, Affaire de Coeur

  Dear Reader,

  Spring is just beginning in the month of April for Special Edition!

  Award-winning author Laurie Paige presents our THAT’S MY BABY! title for the month, Molly Darling. Take one ranching single dad, a proper schoolteacher and an irresistible baby girl, and romance is sure to follow. Don’t miss this wonderful story that is sure to melt your heart!

  Passions are running high when New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts pits a charming ladies’ man against his match—this MacKade brother just doesn’t know what hit him in The Fall of Shane MacKade, the fourth book in Nora’s series, THE MACKADE BROTHERS. Trisha Alexander’s new series of weddings and babies, THREE BRIDES AND A BABY, begins this month with A Bride for Luke. And Joan Elliott Pickart’s THE BABY BET series continues in April with The Father of Her Child. Rounding out the month is Jennifer Mikels with the tender Expecting: Baby, and Judith Yates’s warm family tale, A Will and a Wedding.

  A whole season of love and romance has just begun from Special Edition! I hope you enjoy each and every story to come!

  Sincerely,

  Tara Gavin

  Senior Editor

  Please address questions and book requests to:

  Silhouette Reader Service

  U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

  Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A SX3

  THE FATHER OF HER CHILD

  JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART

  Books by Joan Elliott Pickart

  Silhouette Special Edition

  *Friends. Lovers.…and Babies! #1011

  *The Father of Her Child #1025.

  Silhouette Desire

  *Angels and Elves #961

  *The Baby Bet

  Previously published under the pseudonym Robin Elliott

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Rancher’s Heaven #909 Mother at Heart #968

  Silhouette Desire

  Call It Love #213

  To Have It All #237

  Picture of Love #261

  Pennies in the Fountain #275

  Dawn’s Gift#303

  Brooke’s Chance #323

  Betting Man #344

  Silver Sands #362

  Lost and Found #384

  Out of the Cold #440

  Sophie’s Attic #725

  Not Just Another Perfect Wife #818

  Haven’s Call #859

  Silhouette Intimate Moments

  Gauntlet Run #206

  JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART

  is the author of over sixty-five novels. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys watching football, knitting, reading, gardening and attending craft shows on the town square. Joan has three daughters and a fantastic little grandson. Her three dogs and one cat allow her to live with them in a cozy cottage in a charming small town in the high pine country of Arizona.

  Chapter One

  Ted Sharpe leaned against the wall of the elevator, closed his eyes and drew a weary breath.

  He could easily fall asleep standing right here on his feet, he thought. He’d just ride the elevator up and down for ten or twelve hours until he had rejuvenated his tired body.

  If anyone poked him and questioned what he was doing there, he’d switch into his tough-cop mode and tell them he was on official elevator-security detail. That ought to impress ‘em.

  He and his partner, Ryan MacAllister, had pulled a double shift of duty in their patrol car, due to the fact that the Labor Day weekend brought people flocking to Ventura and the surrounding area. It was the last hurrah of summer, and the party goers did it up royally, overindulging in food, drink and reckless driving.

  Police officers all along the California coast were kept busy, hauling in the drunken drivers and the brawlers who lost their common sense for the duration of the extra-long holiday weekend.

  But now, midmorning on Tuesday, things were back to normal, as though someone had waved a magic wand and restored peace and order. People had returned to work, some a bit worse for wear, the visitors had exited and Ventura was once again as it should be.

  Sleep, Ted thought foggily as the elevator bumped to a gentle stop at his floor. His kingdom for a long stretch of blissful, uninterrupted sleep.

  The doors swished open and he left the elevator. His feet felt as though they weighed a hundred pounds each. As he plodded along the carpeted hallway, he absently noted that the door to the apartment before his was ajar and two men in white coveralls were coming out, leaving the door open behind them.

  The men stopped in their tracks when they saw Ted, a common reaction when suddenly confronting a police officer in full uniform.

  In spite of his bone-deep fatigue, Ted cataloged a detailed description of the pair, including the red stitching above the pockets on the upper left of the front of their uniforms. The red thread spelled out the message that they represented Ace Moving and Storage, one of them was Pete, the other was Jake.

  “Hi,” Pete said. “Nice day, huh?”

  Ted stopped his sluggish trek. “Yep. You must be moving someone in. The previous tenant left a couple of weeks ago.”

  “You live in this building?” Jake said.

  Ted nodded. “Next apartment.”

  “Good,” Pete said, smiling for the first time. “We’ve had the cops called on us twice in the past year. People watch television one night, see a dumb flick about robberies pulled off by guys posing as moving men, and the next day…bingo…they’re reaching for the phone when we show up at the house next door. What a hassle.”

  Ted smiled and nodded. “My partner and I went out on a call like that a few years ago. It was a false alarm, just like you’re talking about. You guys are covered today. That place has been empty, so there’s nothing to rip off. You have to be bringing stuff in, not out.”

  “Are we ever,” Pete said. “The big pieces don’t fit in the elevator. We just hauled a sofa up four very long flights of stairs. We’re really earning our pay on this one.”

  “Well, enjoy,” Ted said, starting away. “Me? I’m hitting the cool sheets. Someone could probably rip off the whole building, brick by brick
, and I’d sleep right through it.”

  “See ya,” Jake said.

  “Yep,” Ted mumbled.

  As he entered his apartment, he gave fleeting thought to the fact that he should have asked ole Pete and Jake about the person, or persons, who were moving in. His previous neighbor had been a mousy little guy, an accountant, who was as quiet as the mouse he looked like.

  Since Ted had the last apartment on the floor, he only had one close neighbor to be concerned about, as far as noise sifting through the connecting wall. A tiny, elderly widow lived directly above him on the fifth floor, and he never heard her footsteps.

  A man on shift work was very often asleep while others were awake, and neighbors could play a bigger role than normal in his life.

  Yeah, he thought, removing his gun and holster. He definitely should have asked the movers about who was taking up residence beyond the mutual wall. Well, too bad. He was so beat, he didn’t have the energy to retrace his steps. He’d just wait and be surprised. Pleasantly surprised, he hoped. Yep, he was casting his vote for another mousy accountant.

  Ted yawned three times in succession as he stripped off his clothes, then sighed in pleasure as he sank onto the unmade bed, pulling the rumpled sheet and blankets over his naked body.

  “Mmm,” he said at the sheer ecstasy of the soft pillow cushioning his head.

  Within moments, he was asleep, wrapped in a protective cocoon of soothing silence.

  Two hours later, Ted shot straight up in bed, his heart beating wildly. He’d been having a rather nondescript, boring dream. He’d been ambling through a huge grocery store, pushing a cart and tossing things in without bothering to see what he was taking from the shelves. The dream no doubt meant that he was hungry.

  So what had jolted him awake?

  A sound reached him and he shook his head in disbelief, attempting to dispel the lingering fogginess of sleep.

  He was now, he knew, wide awake, and the noise was real, not a leftover memory from the dream. He was hearing…Yes, it was a piano being played with a great deal of enthusiasm and volume. Someone was pounding out “Yankee Doodle” on a piano!

  “No way,” Ted said, flinging back the blankets. He left the bed and pulled on the uniform trousers that he had dumped on the floor in a heap. “Not a chance. I need sleep. I’m going to get some sleep. Mr. Doodle can take a hike.”

  Adding nothing more to his limited apparel, he strode from the bedroom with heavy, angry steps. Leaving the apartment, he stopped for a moment to determine the source of the music.

  “Mmm,” he said, starting down the hallway.

  The door to the apartment next to his was open, as it had been earlier. Ted went to the doorway, intent on marching right in and making it clear to the merry music-maker that playing the piano at an ear-splitting level was not remotely close to acceptable. Not when the closest neighbor was a wiped-out cop who had just gotten off a grueling double shift.

  Instead, he took one step into the living room and stopped so suddenly that he teetered for a second. His eyes widened, and he had to order himself to close his mouth that had dropped open as he took in the view before him.

  The piano was on the far side of the room at an odd angle, as though not yet placed in its designated spot by the movers. The piano player was facing him, although obviously unaware he was there.

  The “Yankee Doodle” enthusiast was a woman.

  And she was absolutely beautiful.

  Because several cartons were stacked next to the piano, Ted could only see the woman’s face and shoulders.

  Like a cameo, he thought. Lovely.

  She had silky black hair that swung in graceful waves around her face and brushed the tops of her shoulders as she moved her head to the beat of the peppy tune. Her eyes were large and very dark, further accentuating her fair skin. Her features were delicate…femininity personified.

  And she was smiling.

  Man, oh, man, Ted thought as heat rocketed through his body. This woman could wake him up any day of the week if she wanted to. He would wholeheartedly prefer, however, that when she did, she be next to him in bed, wearing nothing more than that pretty smile.

  Forget the mousy accountant type. This was a new neighbor a man could really appreciate.

  No, now wait a minute, he thought in the next instant. His rapidly heating-up body was running roughshod over his mind. Gorgeous or not, the lady had to be made to understand that pounding on a piano was not socially correct apartment-living behavior.

  Ted moved farther into the room, stopped, crossed his arms over his bare chest and cleared his throat to gain the woman’s attention.

  She continued her rousing rendition of “Yankee Doodle.”

  “Hey,” he yelled, “Ms. Doodle. Could I have a minute of your time here?”

  Hannah Johnson jerked at the sudden bellowing sound of a man’s voice, her hands crashing onto the piano keys. She snapped her head up, then stared at the man standing in the middle of her cluttered living room.

  Heavenly days, she thought. From where had this half-naked, magnificent specimen of a man come? He was tall, with blond, sun-streaked tousled hair, tanned skin and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.

  His shoulders were wide, his chest broad, his arms nicely muscled. The curly hair on his chest was a shade darker than the hair on his head. His features were rugged, removing him from the pretty-boy arena to a place clearly labeled male.

  Oh, yes, he was gorgeous.

  But if the volume of his voice and the frown on his face were clues to his frame of mind, he was not a happy camper. So, what was Mr. Body Beautiful’s problem?

  “Hello,” she said pleasantly. “You startled me. I’m Hannah Johnson.”

  “Ted Sharpe,” he said gruffly. “I’m your neighbor.” He nodded briskly in the direction of his apartment. “I live next door. I also sleep over there when I’m not jarred awake by a piano concert.”

  “Oh, I see,” Hannah said slowly. “You’re a late sleeper? It is past noon, you know.”

  “I realize that, but I’ve only been asleep for two hours. Ms. Doodle, I’m a cop. I just put in a helluva double shift. I need sleep. Are you with me here? Knock off pounding on that damn piano.‘’

  Hannah matched his frown. “There’s no call to be rude, Mr. Sharpe. A quiet explanation as to the fact that I was disturbing you would have sufficed.” She slid her eyes over him from head to toe. “Do you always greet your neighbors half-naked?”

  “I’m half-dressed. You’re lucky I stopped long enough to put on my pants before I came over here. A dead-tired man who is blasted out of a sound sleep by a lousy rendition of “Yankee Doodle’ is not in a friendly-neighbor mind-set.”

  “Lousy rendition? Lousy! I’ll have you know, Mr. Sharpe, that I play the piano extremely well. Thank you very much.”

  “No, you play very loud.“

  “You really are rude. What happened to the motto of ‘Policemen are our friends’?”

  “It got blown away by ‘Yankee Doodle.’ I assume we’ve reached an understanding here? If you’re going to play that damn thing, do it quietly.“

  “Or what? You’ll arrest me?”

  Ted nodded. “You’ve got it, darlin’. I’ll slap you with a citation for disturbing the peace, Ms. Doodle.”

  “Johnson. It’s Hannah Johnson.”

  “Whatever.”

  “And I’ll have you arrested for indecent exposure. You can’t waltz into my home half-naked.”

  “Like I said, I’m half-dressed. And your door was open. You don’t have a case.”

  “My door,” she said, “is about to be closed. Behind you. After you leave. Now.” She got to her feet and came around the stack of cartons.

  Ted’s eyes widened as he stared at her.

  Ms. Doodle, his mind hammered, was pregnant!

  “You’re pregnant,” he said.

  “Really? Gosh, I’m glad you pointed that out. I wondered what this funny lump was under my blouse. My, my, I’m going
to have a baby. I certainly appreciate your telling me that, Mr. Sharpe.”

  Ted rolled his eyes heavenward. “You must drive your husband totally nuts. You’ve got a real temper there, Mrs. Doodle.”

  “It’s Ms. Doodle. I mean, Ms. Johnson. I’m divorced, Mr. Sharpe. There’s no husband to drive totally nuts. I sincerely hope for the sake of Mrs. Sharpe that there isn’t a Mrs. Sharpe. You are not a pleasant man.”

  “There’s no Mrs. Sharpe, and I can be as pleasant as the next guy, once I’ve had a decent stretch of sleep.”

  “Fine,” she said, starting toward him. “Go tuck yourself back in bed with your teddy bear. If I decide to play the piano, I’ll do it more quietly.”

  “Thank you,” Ted said, glaring at her.

  Just then, Pete and Jake entered the room carrying boxes, which they set on the floor.

  “That’s the last of it,” Pete said. He took a clipboard from the top of one of the cartons. “If you’ll sign this receipt, we’ll be on our way.” He glanced at Ted. “Let me guess. You got yourself mugged and they ripped off your cop suit.”

  “Cute,” Ted said.

  Hannah signed the paper, thanked the men, then followed them to the door.

  Pregnant, Ted thought, watching her. Divorced and pregnant. Ms. Doodle had a lot to deal with on her own. She sure was feisty, though; gave as good as she got.