Dream Baby. Ann Evans

gasped. “You don’t want to do that. You love the Hideaway.”

      “I do. And I’d eat bread and water before I’d let it’go. But a baby needs things, expensive things...”

      “The baby needs someone to love him. And that he will have. You mustn’t give in to Trip’s demands. He has his own selfish reasons for wanting you to sell.”

      Nora smiled at her. Isabel made no secret of her opinion of Trip. “I know he’s not without his faults, but he’s still my brother and the only family I have left.”

      “Better to be completely on your own, perhaps,” Isabel grumbled.

      Nora decided to ignore that remark. How could Isabel hope to understand the relationship Nora shared with her brother? The girl had grown up in a large family, with so many siblings jockeying for position, vying for their parents’ attention.

      But childhood had been completely different for Nora and Trip. The Hideaway had gone through years of financial difficulties, and although loving, Nora’s parents had been too busy trying to keep the family business afloat to spend much time catering to the whims of their children. Trip had been a demanding baby, and Nora, a lonely little girl of eight had gladly taken on the task of looking after him. Through sickness and poor grades and driving lessons, he had relied on her, and though Trip was spoiled and self-centered at times, Nora still thought of him as the scared little boy who needed her.

      It was probably too late to change the way Trip was, but was it too late to change her life? Was she only hanging on to the Hideaway out of stubbornness? Since her father had died, six years ago, and her mother shortly after that the profits had grown smaller and smaller each year. Bracing her head on her arms, she grimaced. “I don’t know, Iz. Maybe it’s just time to—”

      “Oh, no!”

      Nora straightened. Isabel’s face had gone white. “What’s the matter? Is it the baby again?”

      “Oh, it can’t be. What is he doing here?”

      “Who?”

      The girl gripped Nora’s forearms tightly. “I can’t see him. I won’t.” Her frightened eyes flew to the window. “Don’t let him see me. Don’t even tell him I’m here.”

      “Who?” Nora asked, a bud of panic beginning to bubble to the surface of her own senses. While she stood in stunned silence, Isabel practically leaped from behind the registration desk and disappeared through the doorway that led to the private quarters of the lodge. “Where are you going?” Nora called after her. “Izzie, for Pete’s sake, don’t tell who—”

      A car door slammed, and Nora whirled to look out the front window. A car had pulled into the semicircular driveway, and a man was just coming around the front of the vehicle. In the passenger seat, Nora caught a glimpse of a young boy, but her gaze quickly swung back to the man.

      She lost him for a moment when he reached the front doors. That damned beveled glass! It turned his body into nothing but cuts and angles. Then he was inside, walking toward her in a purposeful stride.

      He didn’t look dangerous. Determined, maybe. Nora could see the hard set of his chin, the way his eyes scanned one side of the room and then the other before fixing steadily on her. For no reason she could name, Nora suddenly wished that she was dressed in her three-piece suit, the one she’d worn to the IRS audit last year.

      Only this guy didn’t look like an auditor, or any kind of government employee for that matter. His clothes were too casual, his tan was too dark and his golden-brown hair a little too long to meet any policy manual’s expectations. He had strong features—the kind of genetic marvel that great ancestry could bestow upon a person. Any woman would want to know more about this man. So why was Isabel so—

      Realization dawned about the same time that the man came to a halt directly in front of Nora.

      Even in her advanced stage of pregnancy Isabel was gregarious, outgoing. She’d never have run away from a great-looking guy like this. Unless...

      This man had to be the father of her child. The irresponsible, insensitive Bobby. He was older than Nora expected, but it had to be him.

      Nora’s heart bumped a little—the man was wonderful to look at—but she ignored it. Whatever reason Bobby had decided to show up on their doorstep now, Nora’s allegiance lay with Isabel. And the baby.

      Her baby.

      CHAPTER THREE

      JAKE COULD TELL right away that the woman was going to be difficult.

      He didn’t know what he had done to put her off him so fast, but he didn’t much care. He gave her a once-over look meant for intimidation.

      “Can I help you?” she asked.

      Her words were pieces of crystal. He kept his own tone firm, but pleasant. “I hope so. I’m looking for a young woman named Isabel Petrivych.”

      “Isabel Petrivych,” the woman repeated slowly, as though trying the name on for size. Then she shook her head. “I’m sorry—”

      “Ben at the Whispering River Café told me I could find her here.”

      That threw her, he could tell. She wasn’t a very good liar. The base of her neck went pink, and she swallowed, trying to regroup like an actress who realized she’d just muffed a line. “Oh. Well, Isabel was here. But she’s not now.”

      “That’s odd. I thought I saw her as I was coming up the walkway.” Jake jerked his head toward the wide picture window. “It’s a pretty good view from the front driveway.”

      “You must have been mistaken. It’s just me here today.”

      The cool flatness of her tone irritated him. His eyes narrowed, taking in her sleek, toned length. The electric-blue leotard did marvelous things for her body—and a few unexpectedly pleasant things to his. He looked away, annoyed that he was noticing how attractive she was when he was trying so hard to be imposing. “So you’re working out alone.”

      “Yes.”

      “But Isabel will be back.” He made it a statement, not a question.

      “Who knows?”

      “I’m betting she will be,” Jake replied with a tight smile. He bent to retrieve a pair of sneakers that lay on the floor nearby. They were small, and even though he’d met Isabel only once, he distinctly remembered her as petite. “She might need these,” he said, taking a chance. When the woman looked momentarily stunned, and then opened her mouth to speak, he shook his head and tossed the sneakers on the desk. “Don’t bother. You’re at least a size eight.”

      “Seven, actually.”

      He started to smile at the response, then caught himself. “Look, I don’t know you, or why you and Isabel have decided to play this little game—” “I’m Nora Holloway. I own this place.”

      “Ah, yes. NLH. The artist.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “I saw your paintings at the café. Ben was right.”

      “About what?”

      “You are pretty.”

      It was her turn to look annoyed, which was a shame because the compliment had been a sincere one. The generous mouth, large, brown eyes—the bones in her face were the kind you wanted to linger on. He liked the thick auburn ponytail that swayed back and forth over her shoulder, and that cute little trio of freckles across her collarbone. Too bad she was turning out to be such a royal pain in the butt.

      “Mr....”

      “Burdette.”

      “Mr. Burdette,” Nora Holloway said succinctly. “I’ve told you that Isabel isn’t here. I don’t know when she’ll be back, so there’s