Cara Colter

The Pregnancy Secret


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       “There is lots of room here. There’s a guest room.”

      Logically, Jessica knew she could not stay. But it felt so good to be here. It felt oddly like home to her, even if it didn’t to Kade. Maybe it was because she was aware that for the very first time since she had been attacked in her business, she felt safe.

      And so tired. And relaxed.

      Maybe for her, home was where Kade was, which was all the more reason to go, really.

      “Okay,” she heard herself saying, without nearly enough fight. “Maybe just for one night.”

      The Pregnancy Secret

      Cara Colter

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CARA COLTER shares her life in beautiful British Columbia, Canada, with her husband, nine horses and one small Pomeranian with a large attitude. She loves to hear from readers, and you can learn more about her and contact her through Facebook.

      To my friend, and mentor, Joan Fitzpatrick, whose wisdom and compassion have guided and inspired me for three decades.

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

      CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

       CHAPTER TWELVE

       CHAPTER THIRTEEN

       CHAPTER FOURTEEN

       CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       CHAPTER SIXTEEN

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

       CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

       CHAPTER NINETEEN

       CHAPTER TWENTY

       Extract

       Copyright

       CHAPTER ONE

      A BLOCK AWAY from a destination he had no desire to reach, it pierced Kade Brennan’s distracted mind that something was wrong.

      Very wrong.

      There were no sirens, but the strobes of the blue and red bar lights on top of half a dozen police cruisers were pulsing strenuously. It was jarringly at odds with the crystal clear morning light that filtered, a suffused lime green, through the unfurling spring leaves of the huge cottonwoods that lined the shores of the Bow River.

      Now, above the sounds of a river bloated with spring runoff, above the sounds of the cheerful chirping of birds, above the sounds of the morning rush of traffic, Kade could hear the distinctive static of emergency frequency radios. A robotic female voice was calling a code he did not understand. It looked as if there was an ambulance in that cluster of emergency vehicles.

      Kade broke into a run, dodging traffic as he cut across the early-morning crush of cars on Memorial Drive to the residential street on the other side.

      It was one of those postcard-pretty Calgary blocks that looked as if nothing bad could ever happen on it. It was an older neighborhood of arts and crafts–style houses, many of them now turned into thriving cottage businesses. Nestled under the huge canopies of mature trees, Kade noted, were an art-supply store, an organic bakery, an antiques shop and a shoe store.

      This neighborhood was made even more desirable by the fact it was connected to downtown Calgary by the Peace Bridge, a pedestrian-only walkway over the river that Kade had just crossed.

      Except at this moment the postcard-pretty street that looked as if nothing bad could ever happen on it was completely choked with police cars. People walking to work had stopped and were milling about.

      Kade, shouldering through them, caught bits of conversation.

      “What happened?”

      “No idea, but from the police presence, it must be bad.”

      “A murder, maybe?” The speaker could not hide the little treble of excitement at having his morning walk to work interrupted in such a thrilling fashion.

      Kade shot him a dark look and shoved his way, with even more urgency, to the front of the milling crowd, scanning the addresses on the cottagey houses and businesses until he found the right one. He moved toward it.

      “Sir?” A uniformed man was suddenly in front of him, blocking his path. “You can’t go any farther.”

      Kade ignored him, and found a hand on his arm.

      Kade shook off the hand impatiently. “I’m looking for my wife.” Technically, that was true. For a little while longer anyway.

      “Kade,” Jessica had said last night over the phone, “we need to discuss the divorce.” He hadn’t seen her for more than a year. She’d given him the address on this street, and he’d walked over from his downtown condo, annoyed at what his reluctance about meeting her was saying about him.

      All this was