You can count on me. The words echoed in Diana’s head.
“Cam, I really don’t need help.”
He stared down into her wide eyes. “Yes, you do,” he said firmly. “Di, I know you can do this on your own. But, since the baby’s father isn’t around to help you, I’ll be around—in case something happens or whatever. You don’t have to be alone.”
To her horror, her eyes were filling with tears. She fought them back. Tears were a sign of weakness, and she couldn’t afford to show that side to anyone. But as she fought for control he was kissing her lips, moving slowly, touching gently, giving comfort and affection and a sense of protection that left her defenses crumbling.
She swayed toward him like a reed in the wind. He was so wonderful. How could she resist him? A part of her wanted to do whatever he said, anytime, anywhere. And that was exactly the part she had to fight against.
Dear Reader
Say ‘California’ and most people around the world picture sun-drenched beaches and sun-tanned bodies, along with movie stars and palm trees. But anyone who has been there knows there is a lot more to California than that. Most of the state is actually rural, and the Central Valley is one huge farm. There’s a reason it’s called the Land of Fruits and Nuts—the real kind, not the metaphorical version!
And then there is Gold Country—the area where this story is set, and one of the reasons California is called the Golden State. Gold was discovered at Sutter’s Mill in 1848, and people streamed in from around the world—by covered wagon, by boat, on horseback—to find their fortune in the hills. A few actually got rich, and some established towns and dynasties along Highway 49 that remain today. It’s a beautiful and historic area, far from the coast but just as interesting.
Cameron Van Kirk, the hero of my story, belongs to one of those dynastic families. The heroine, Diana Collins, comes from the opposite extreme—one of the many families who didn’t make it rich. I hope you enjoy reading about how they tackle the family obstacles between them and find their way to a loving future.
Regards
Raye Morgan
Raye Morgan has been a nursery school teacher, a travel agent, a clerk and a business editor, but her best job ever has been writing romances—and fostering romance in her own family at the same time. Current score: two boys married, two more to go. Raye has published over seventy romances, and claims to have many more waiting in the wings. She lives in Southern California, with her husband and whichever son happens to be staying at home at that moment.
Look out for Raye Morgan’s
next Mills & Boon Romance in the New Year
The Italian’s Forgotten Baby
January 2010
KEEPING HER BABY’S SECRET
BY
RAYE MORGAN
This book is dedicated to the Mother Lode and all the wonderful towns along Highway 49.
CHAPTER ONE
DIANA COLLINS woke with a start and lay very still, her heart beating hard in her chest. She stared into the dark room. She’d heard something. She was sure of it.
It was midsummer and her windows were all open. That was nice for ventilation, but not so wise for safety, even out here in the country. Silently she railed at herself. She’d known she should do something about getting bars on the windows or…
But wait. There it was again. The intruder wasn’t stumbling around in her little turn-of-the-century cottage. He was still outside. He was…singing.
Slowly she lifted her head. She knew that song. She knew that voice.
“Cam,” she whispered, and now a different brand of adrenaline was shooting through her veins. She smiled.
“Cam, you idiot!”
Slipping out of bed, she went to the window and looked down toward the lake. She could just make out a dark figure lounging on the pier. The moonlight glinted on a bottle he was holding as he leaned back to let out a wobbly high note.
“Oh, Cam,” she said despairingly, but she was laughing. It must have been ten years since she’d last seen him. Joy flashed through her as she dashed around the room, searching for a robe to throw over her light night-gown—and to conceal, at least for the moment, her rounded belly.
Everything was going to be…well, not okay, but better. Cam was back.
Cameron Garfield Wellington Van Kirk the third was feeling no pain. There was no denying it—he’d been indulging. And since he almost never had more than a single glass of wine at dinner these days, he’d been affected more quickly and more thoroughly than he’d expected. He wondered, fleetingly, why he seemed to be bobbing in a warm, mellow glow. It was unusual, but rather nice.
“Maybe a little too nice,” he muttered to himself in a Sam Spade accent, trying to look fierce and world-weary at the same time. It didn’t really work. But did that matter when there was no one here to witness it anyway?
Never mind. He was going to sing again. Just one more swig from this nice bottle and he was going to sing that song about Diana.
“‘I’m so young, and you’re…’” he began tunefully, then stopped, frowning. “Wait a minute. I’m older than she is. This song doesn’t make any sense.”
An owl called from across the water, then swooped by, its wings hissing in the air.
He turned and there she was, coming down toward the pier, dressed in lacy white and looking like something ethereal, magic—from another world. He squinted, trying to see her better. He wasn’t used to thinking of her as part angel, part enchantress. The Diana he’d known was a girl who had both feet firmly placed in a particularly earthy sort of reality. At least, that was the way he remembered it.
“Diana?” he whispered loudly. After all, he didn’t want to wake anybody up. “Is that you?”
She came closer and he watched, fascinated, then blinked hard and shook his head. It was his old friend Diana all right but it looked like she was floating. Were her feet even touching the ground? Her cloud of blond hair shimmered around her and the gown billowed in a gust of wind and he felt a catch in his breathing. She was so beautiful. How was it that he’d managed to stay away this long?
“Cam?” she said, her voice as clear as the lake water. “Is that really you?”
He stared at her without answering. “If this is heaven,” he mumbled as he watched her, enchanted and weaving dangerously right next to the water, “it’s more than I deserve.”
“It’s Apache Lake, silly,” she said as she came onto the pier and headed right for him. “Heaven is still to come.”
“For you, maybe,” he muttered, shaking his head as he looked her over.
She might look magical but she was all woman now—no longer the barefoot girl with the ragged cutoffs and the skimpy cropped top and a belly-button ring—and like as not a set of bruises administered by her bully of a father. That was the Diana he’d left behind.
This new Diana was going to take some getting used to. He made no move to give her a hug or a kiss in greeting. Maybe that was because he wanted to with a sudden intensity that set up warning flares. And maybe it was because he’d had too much to drink and didn’t trust himself to keep it simple.
“Some of us are still holding our options open,”