People were crowding around her hospital bed…
And Caroline didn’t recognize a soul!
“I thought she was okay,” said a man in blue jeans.
Caroline couldn’t help but admit her attraction to him—and she liked the anxious look he sent the doctor.
“She is,” the doctor returned. “But with the baby…”
Baby? Caroline’s hand shot to her stomach. She was pregnant! She couldn’t be. Could she? Oh dear, what had she gotten herself into? And with whom?
A look at the shocked faces told her that no one had known.
“I demand to know who the father is!” the eldest man present suddenly shouted.
With that tone, Caroline was pretty sure he was her father.
“Who?” he repeated.
Then three men stepped forward. In unison, as if rehearsed, they all said, “I am.”
Who’s the Daddy?
Judy Christenberry
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Judy Christenberry has been writing romances for more than nineteen years because she loves happy endings as much as her readers do. A former French teacher, Judy now devotes herself to writing full-time. She hopes readers have as much fun with her stories as she does. She spends her spare time reading, watching her favorite sports teams and keeping track of her two daughters. Judy lives in Texas.
CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
“MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, on line one.”
James Adkins, one of the wealthiest men in Denver, reared back in his chair, ran a hand through his gray hair, slammed his bifocals onto the table and glared at his secretary. “I told you I was not to be disturbed.”
“Yes, sir, but it’s Caroline. She’s in the hospital.”
“That girl of mine is always running around getting involved in causes. Tell her we’ll discuss it over dinner.” He turned away, assurance in every ounce of him that he’d be obeyed. After all, he always was.
“Sir,” the secretary persisted, desperation in her voice, “she’s there as a patient.”
He turned to stare at her, his frown of impatience turning to deeper emotion. “What? That’s ridiculous. I saw her this morning.”
“There was an accident,” the secretary said quickly.
James Adkins moved faster than one would have expected from his less than sleek figure, overweight from rich foods and no exercise. He grabbed the phone and barked into it. “Who’s speaking?”
The two men with whom he’d been meeting both stood and moved closer to the phone.
“She’s what?” Adkins shrieked, and then listened again. “Yes, yes, I’ll be right there! Yes, I’ll bring her mother.” He slammed down the receiver and looked at the two younger men, for the first time unsure of his actions.
“Caroline’s been in an accident. And…and she’s got amnesia.”
“Is she all right?” one of them asked.
“I just told you she has amnesia!” James snapped.
“But the accident— Is she hurt?”
“No, only bruised. Prescott, go to another phone and tell Lewis to bring the limo around. Adrian, you call Tucker and tell him he’ll have to wait on my decision. I’ve got to call her mother and Chelsea.”
As was their custom, the two men jumped to do his bidding. He growled to his secretary, “Find my wife. I believe she’s attending the symphony auxiliary this morning. I’ll try to reach my younger daughter.”
The woman scurried from the room, as if grateful to have escaped.
“Chelsea? This is your father. Are you dressed?”
“Hi, Daddy. No, I’m still resting. Expectant mothers should get lots of rest, you know. Roddy agrees with me.”
“I’m coming to pick you up. Your sister’s been in an accident. She’s not badly hurt, but she’s lost her memory. The doctor thinks familiar faces will bring it back.”
“But Daddy, why do I have to go? Pregnant mothers shouldn’t get upset or go to hospitals. They have germs there.”
“Chelsea, you have ten minutes to get ready. Don’t keep me waiting,” he warned in ominous tones.
“Your wife is on line two, sir,” the secretary said softly from the door.
James nodded and told his daughter goodbye in the midst of another protest.
“Amelia? Caroline’s okay but she’s been in an accident.”
“Oh, dear. But she’s all right?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. Amelia might not be the perfect mother, but she loved her children. “Yes, well, she’s lost her memory. It’s temporary, of course, but—”
“Her memory? You mean she doesn’t remember who she is? That’s horrible. Why—why, she might think she’s some—some common woman, not—”
“Amelia! We’ll be there to pick you up in five minutes.”
“Pick me up?” she asked in puzzled tones.
“Yes, the doctor said you should come. It might help Caroline’s memory come back.”
“But—but I’m in the middle of my meeting. Couldn’t I come when I’m free? After all, I’m sure—”
“Five minutes, Amelia. I’ll come in and drag you out if you’re not waiting.”
“James!” Amelia squealed as he hung up the phone.
Damn females! They drove him crazy. First Caroline with her independence, then Amelia with her social life. And he didn’t know what to do about Chelsea.
He rushed out the door, hearing his secretary murmur, as he passed her, that the limo was waiting downstairs. Of course it was. The driver was a man and always did exactly what he was supposed to do. It was only females—three particular females—who gave James any difficulty.
When he reached the front door, he found both men who’d been in his office standing in front of the limo arguing.
“What’s going on?”
“I think I should come with you, James. After all, Caroline and I have been seeing quite a bit of each other, and I might be able to help,” Prescott Brownlee said at once.
“She was with me last