About the Baby Read online

  After this, nothing is the same!

  Kara Steward and Lucas Montgomery have always been the best of friends. As doctors, they’re too busy saving the world to commit to anything more. Still, Kara knows exactly who to go to when she needs a little support. But one night she turns to Lucas and…everything changes. And once they’ve crossed that line to more than friends, it’s impossible to go back.

  Their situation is even more tangled when Kara’s job calls her away for several weeks. How can they talk about the new “them” when she’s half a world away? She can’t put off this discussion too long, however. Not after she discovers there’s a baby to consider….

  Kara’s breath hitched in her throat

  Sitting there, Lucas looked dark, sexy and a little bit rumpled. He looked gorgeous, really, and despite all of her best intentions, her heart kicked into high gear. Her stomach fluttered even as her mouth went desert dry. Trying to get some moisture back, she rubbed her lips together. Licked them. And felt Lucas stiffen against her even as a deep, rumbling growl started in his chest.

  “Kara.” It was a warning, and a blatant one at that, and she felt it sizzle along every nerve ending she had. Drowning now in the scent and sight and sound of him, she reached up and rested her hand against his cut-glass jaw. Stroked her thumb over his dark stubble and lost herself in the dark pools of his eyes.

  “Kara.” He whispered her name this time, his hand coming up to cup her own face. “What are you doing?”

  Dear Reader,

  Every once in a while, if she’s very lucky, an author gets the chance to write a series of books that really speaks to her. For me, these three Harlequin Superromance books about doctors who work in Africa—From the Beginning, February 2012, Healing Dr. Alexander, May 2012 and this one—is that series. About the Baby was the most difficult of the three to write, I have to say. Partly because my hero, Dr. Lucas Montgomery, is an all-around great guy (I usually specialize in writing bad boys) and partly because I have to say good-bye to six characters who I really like and admire.

  When I was in college, I always thought I would graduate then join the Peace Corps or another such group that did humanitarian work in places that desperately need help. Though I knew my parents would not be overly excited to let me go off to a part of the world that was constantly war and disaster torn, I never doubted that one day I would do it.

  Well, life has a way of taking paths you never intend. When I left college I went straight into grad school where I fell in love with a wonderful man (from Africa, by the way), got married and had a baby all before I finished my master’s degree. Needless to say, I’ve never made it to Africa for more than a three-week visit. And while I have since volunteered my time here in America for numerous women’s and children’s organizations, there’s a part of me that still feels like I should have gone to Africa, should have tried to help. It is this part of myself that I tapped into when I wrote About the Baby, and when I conceived of this trilogy.

  Thanks so much for giving About the Baby a try. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I love hearing from my readers either at my email [email protected] or at my blog, www.tracywolff.blogspot.com. If you get the chance, please stop by and say hello!

  Happy reading!

  Tracy Wolff

  About the Baby

  Tracy Wolff

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks, and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great novel. At six, she wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a prince—and at seven, she ventured into the wonderful world of girls’ lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten, she’d read everything in the young-adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d found her lifelong love. Tracy lives in Texas with her husband and three sons, where she pens romance novels and teaches writing at her local community college.

  Books by Tracy Wolff

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1529—A CHRISTMAS WEDDING

  1568—FROM FRIEND TO FATHER

  1607—THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT

  1649—BEGINNING WITH THEIR BABY

  1676—UNGUARDED

  1703—DESERVING OF LUKE

  1760—FROM THE BEGINNING

  1781—HEALING DR. ALEXANDER

  Other titles by this author available in ebook format.

  To my mom, the most amazing woman I know.

  Acknowledgement

  Thank you, Wanda, for your never-ending patience with me as I struggle to get things right, usually at the last possible minute. I really appreciate your support.

  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

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Excerpt

  CHAPTER ONE

  April

  “CAN I BUY YOU A DRINK?”

  Dr. Lucas Montgomery turned with a frown, annoyed at having his few minutes of hard-won solitude disturbed. The annoyance turned to something else entirely, however, at his first glimpse of the leggy redhead with the killer curves and impish smile. She was holding out a glass of champagne, her green eyes twinkling in the dim courtyard lights of the hotel terrace.

  “The champagne’s free,” he told her.

  “And yet you’re not drinking any.” She gestured slightly with the glass. “Come on. Live a little.”

  Raising an eyebrow at her teasing, he reached for the champagne flute and kept his gaze locked with hers as he downed the effervescent liquid in one swig.

  “Shall I get you another?” she asked dryly as he set the glass on top of a stone ledge.

  “Shouldn’t that be my line?”

  “Perhaps, but I haven’t finished my drink yet.” She held up the nearly full glass for his inspection.

  “I won’t hold that against you,” he answered with a smile. He couldn’t help it—he really liked looking at her. Clasping her free hand in his, he murmured, “Dance with me.”

  Her lips twisted in contemplation and when she didn’t immediately answer, he slipped the glass of champagne from her hand and set it next to his empty one.

  “Come on,” he urged. Wrapping his right arm around her waist, he pulled her against him and started to glide over the redbrick patio.

  “You want to dance here?” She paused for a moment, refusing to budge as she considered.

  “What’s wrong with here? Live a little,” he mimicked, certain the dare would get to her.

  She laughed then, a husky, full-bodied sound that made him laugh along with her. “Nothing’s wrong with
here. I just didn’t realize terrace dancing was one of your specialties.”

  It wasn’t, but he had a feeling it was right up her alley. And when she stopped resisting and allowed him to propel her out of the shadows and into the small pool of light cast by the old-fashioned globe lantern, he knew he was right.

  They were close enough to the ballroom to hear the music, and for long seconds neither of them talked as they moved together under the heavy branches of a centuries-old magnolia tree. With her heels on, she was only a couple inches shorter than his own height of six foot four.

  He liked the way she fit against him. When the song ended, she tried to step away, but he held on. She indulged him for a moment, eyes closed and head resting against his shoulder. Then, with a sigh, she stepped away. He let her go, but when she tugged a little in an effort to free her hand, he refused to relinquish it. “How was Africa?” he asked softly.

  “Same as always.” While the reply was flippant, the sadness that moved behind her eyes was anything but. “Beautiful, but nightmarish.”

  “Did you get everything taken care of?”

  “As much as we could. Cholera isn’t something to play around with. We managed to vaccinate nine refugee camps as well as educate them on prevention measures and the handling of blood and tissue samples. It’s not enough, but at least this outbreak is under control. But I’m sure it will pop up again soon and then we’ll be right back where we were two months ago.”

  His stomach clenched a little at the thought of Kara going up against such a miserable illness¸ but he made himself ignore it. After all, it wasn’t the first time she’d taken on a deadly disease and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be the last. She was an epidemiologist for the Center for Disease Control. Traveling to hot spots around the world and figuring out where and how the outbreak happened was her job—and her calling.

  Concern about his best friend’s safety might keep him up some nights, but he was the only one. An adventurer through and through, Kara rarely worried about herself. She relished the thrill of running a virus to ground, as well as helping the people who so much of the world preferred to forget.

  He understood her drive, her need to make the world a better place. He’d done his stint in For the Children, one of the leading organizations that brought doctors into developing nations, and in doing so had seen just how desperately people needed help.

  But, unlike Kara, he hadn’t been able to hack it long-term. He’d gotten out early, had chosen to start a low-income clinic in the poorest area of Atlanta instead. Not because he didn’t believe in helping those who couldn’t help themselves, but because he knew that staying in Africa, witnessing the soul-deep suffering, would eventually kill him—as it nearly had his clinic partners, Amanda Hart and Jack Alexander.

  Together the three of them dealt with everything at their clinic, from gunshot wounds to diagnosing cancer. And while there never seemed to be enough time, enough money, enough anything, at least here he could see that he was making a difference. When he’d been in Ethiopia it had felt like everything he’d done had been barely a drop in a leaky bucket.

  Though he knew Kara didn’t feel the same way about her time in Africa, he couldn’t help asking, “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. A little tired is all,” she admitted with a grimace. “I got in late last night and my body’s clock is all messed up.”

  “So what are you doing here? You should be home sleeping.”

  “Well, that was the plan. But earlier, I called the clinic to see if you could do lunch today but you had scheduled appointments right through your lunch hour, as usual. Your receptionist told me about this benefit event. And since I know how much you love these things, I figured it was my duty as your oldest and dearest friend to dust off my dancing shoes and suffer right along with you.”

  “Have I mentioned lately that you are a terrific best friend?”

  “A time or two.” She pretended to buff her nails on her dress. “But it’s a sentiment that bears repeating.”

  “No doubt.” He draped an arm around her shoulders, gave her a quick squeeze. “And I very much appreciate your sacrifice.”

  “And well you should. I’ve been in Somalia for the last seven weeks, running around in hiking boots and tennis shoes. Squeezing my feet into these heels—” she held up one slender foot encased in a pair of red-sequined stilettos “—has been absolute torture.”

  “I don’t deserve you,” he said with a grin.

  “Well, that’s obvious. But since you’ve got me, at least until the next crisis rears its ugly head, what do you say we blow this pop stand and go find something more interesting to do—after I sit down for five minutes.”

  “I can’t leave. I’m one of the hosts,” he said as he cupped a hand around her elbow and escorted her to the closest stone bench.

  She sat, gratefully, and kicked off her right shoe so she could rub her toes. “Which is why you’re hiding out on the patio? Because you’re so concerned about your hosting duties?”

  “I’m taking a break. I wanted a breather before I had to start making the rounds to say good-night to everyone.”

  “So take a longer break. I was just in the ballroom. It’s well after midnight and the party has already started to break up. Amanda, Jack and your mother have everything under control.”

  “No doubt. But Amanda threatened me with many, many painful things if I stepped out of line tonight. Not to mention what my mother said she would do if I embarrassed her. Somehow I think ducking out right before I’m supposed to position myself near the door and thank everyone for the copious amounts of money they’ve spent here tonight definitely falls into both categories.”

  “Okay, I can understand your fear of your mother’s wrath. She can be scary when she gets going. But don’t tell me you’re afraid of a pregnant woman?”

  “Damn right I am. Amanda’s mean,” he said with affection, so Kara would know he was teasing.

  “I have to admit, I wondered how she got you here. Normally it’s impossible to get you to attend a big charity event, even if it is for your own clinic.”

  Lucas shook his head. “I’m not even sure how we ended up having a big charity event, to be honest with you. One second I’m complaining about how hard it’s been to pry funding out of the government and our regular donors—at a time when we need it most. The next thing I know Amanda’s dialing her husband to see if his cable news network might like to sponsor a ball to raise money. She got Jack’s girlfriend, Sophie, involved along with my mom and sisters, and here we are.”

  “Nobody throws a party like your mom and sisters.”

  “Isn’t that the truth?” He heard the harsh edge of sarcasm in his voice, and tried to smooth it out. “They throw magnificent parties.”

  The knowing look Kara sent him told him he hadn’t quite managed it. That was the problem with best friends—they’d been around long enough to know your dirty family laundry whether you liked it or not.

  “I think they’ve done a wonderful job,” she told him. “The ballroom looks gorgeous and the turnout is huge. You guys are going to make a bundle for the clinic.”

  “I hope so. Amanda’s worked so hard on it that I’d hate to see it fail.” Especially since she’d spent all her free time organizing the benefit when she should have been concentrating on her new marriage to Simon and impending motherhood.

  “It won’t fail,” Kara reassured him. “You guys are amazing, and everyone here—especially the ones with deep poc
kets—has figured that out.”

  She reached for her champagne and quickly downed it. Then shot him the mischievous look that had first gotten his attention all those years ago. “Last chance to duck out before we head back into the ballroom and get swallowed by the legion of Dr. Montgomery fans. And, as extra incentive, if you leave with me now, I promise to buy you the biggest and best piece of apple pie in Atlanta. There’s this great diner right down the street, but they close at one, so if we’re going to go, we need to hustle.”

  Thinking she was joking, he started to refuse a second time. But when he looked at her, really looked at her, he saw. There was something wrong, something in her eyes that said she needed a shoulder to cry on. His had been her shoulder of choice since they’d met in the freshman dorms seventeen years before—and vice versa. It wasn’t like he could turn her away and he didn’t want to. Kara so rarely needed comforting, or anything else, from him. The fact that she needed it now—that she had so obviously sought him out—worried him enough to have him shifting his priorities.

  “So, if we were to attempt an escape,” he said, kneeling down to slide her shoe back onto her foot, “what do you think our best way out of here is?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Really? You want to leave?”

  “Darlin’, I’ve wanted to break out of here since two seconds after I arrived. You’re just the impetus I’ve been waiting for.”

  Obviously afraid he’d change his mind if she let him think about it too long, Kara jumped to her feet. “Let’s go, then. I’ve got the escape route all planned out. Simon has Amanda resting at a table near the ballroom entrance where they can bid everyone good-night. They’re dealing with a steady stream of doctors, socialites and news people alike and they’re fielding questions about the baby, so they should be occupied for quite some time.

  “Jack and Sophie are dancing—he can’t keep his eyes—or his hands—off her. And your mom and sisters, along with their dates, are still holding court in the center of the room.” She grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the edge of the terrace. “And can I just say, go Mom! She’s with Nicholas Vega, newsman extraordinaire. He’s hanging on her every word.”