The Surprise Christmas Bride. Maureen Child

      “White, no. Pink, yes,” Casey announced.

      “What did you say?” Jake asked.

      “White, no. Pink, yes.”

      Casey’s eyes were fixed on the plastic stick in front of her as if it meant life or death. Irritation simmered inside him. He glanced around the room, looking for clues. Suddenly his gaze landed on an unfolded set of instructions lying half in the sink. Frowning, he reached for them at the same moment she spoke again.

      “Since it’s pink, do you suppose that means it’s a girl? No,” she continued, “pink just means pregnant. It could be a boy.”

      Girl? Boy? Jake’s mouth went dry and his brain blanked out. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? No. Of course not.

      But when she lifted her head and met his gaze through wide teary eyes, he knew it was true.

      “Congratulations, Jake. We’re pregnant….”

      The Surprise Christmas Bride

      Maureen Child

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MAUREEN CHILD

      Maureen Child is a California native who loves to travel. Every chance they get, she and her husband are taking off on another research trip. The author of more than sixty books, Maureen loves a happy ending and still swears that she has the best job in the world. She lives in Southern California with her husband, two children and a golden retriever with delusions of grandeur.

      You can contact Maureen via her Web site: www.maureenchild.com.

      To the gang at Sunshine Books: Nita, Betty and Ron.

       You guys are the best.

      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

      Epilogue

      One

      “Maybe I should put the top up before I drown.”

      Casey Oakes pushed wet hair out of her eyes and squinted into the freezing rain. A deep hard shiver rippled through her. “Too late now to bother,” she grumbled, and told herself that maybe it would be a blessing if she did drown. At least then she would have done something no other Oakes had ever managed. Drowning in a convertible while cruising the back roads outside Simpson, California, wasn’t, as her mother would say, “what society expects of an Oakes.”

      Accomplishing that feat in a wedding gown would only add to the myth, she told herself. A few years from now, her little ride would probably become the stuff of local folklore. People would tell the story of Cassandra Oakes in hushed tones around campfires. Parents would discipline misbehaving children with the threat of a nighttime visit from the Drowned Bride.

      Still smiling to herself, Casey flinched when her soggy veil flew in front of her face and blocked her view of the road. She slammed on the brakes, heard something under her car snap, then came to a shuddering halt.

      She cut the engine, and when that powerful noise disappeared, all that was left was the sound of the heavy rain pelting on and all around her. The windshield wipers continued to slap rhythmically as they futilely tried to do battle with the downpour. Nearly an inch of water covered the floorboards, no doubt ruining the plush scarlet carpet. Casey winced as she realized that the leather seats probably weren’t faring any better.

      “Well, hell,” she muttered to no one, “who expected rain?” But then, with the way the rest of her day had gone, why not rain? Heck, why not a blizzard?

      Reaching up, she pushed her veil to the back of her head and looked around at the drenched countryside. The road wasn’t much more than a narrow dirt track, covered yearly by a thin layer of gravel. Now the ground-up rock was practically floating atop a sea of churning mud. On either side of the road wooden fence posts, strung with barbed wire, stood at attention for miles. Behind those fences lay open ground. Meadow grasses, waving and dipping with the wind and rain, a few gnarled leafless trees that looked as though they’d been there for centuries, a veritable forest of giant pines, their needles dipping with the weight of the rain—and that was it.

      No houses.

      No lights.

      No people.

      To top it all off, it had been so long since she’d been back in Simpson she didn’t know if she was close to the Parrish ranch or not.

      Casey inhaled sharply and felt the familiar sting of tears filling her eyes. Roughly she brushed them away with the backs of her hands.

      She already had all the water she could handle.

      Then she heard it.

      The call came softly at first, then built into a low throbbing moan.

      Frowning, Casey stepped out of the car and grimaced as the cold mud oozed over the tops of her white satin pumps. When her right foot slid out from under her in the muck, she forgot all about her ruined shoes. She grabbed at the car door for balance and managed somehow to keep from landing facedown in the thick brown river at her feet.

      “Yuck.” A sucking noise accompanied the movement as she lifted one shoeless foot from the icy mud. She heard the moaning sound again and turned her head to find the source.

      Her eyes widened and a rush of sympathy for something besides herself washed over her.

      “Oh, you poor little thing,” she crooned, and started slogging through the mud.

      “No, I don’t want to tell you what it is.” Jake Parrish laughed, shook his head and reached for his coffee cup. His sister, Annie, hadn’t changed a bit over the years. Grown-up or not, she still couldn’t stand suspense.

      “C’mon Jake,” she pleaded over the phone. “One little hint. Just one.”

      “Nope,” he told her, and took a sip of coffee. “You’ll just have to get out here first thing in the morning if you want your curiosity satisfied.”

      “You really are an evil man, big brother.”

      “Yeah, I know.” He grinned, then added, “Oh, and would you mind bringing Dad, Uncle Harry and Aunt Emma, too?”

      Annie sucked in a gulp of air and Jake could almost see his younger sister’s black eyebrows shooting into her hairline. Lord, how she hated not knowing everything.

      “This must be big,” she finally said.

      “Big enough,” Jake assured her.

      “Dammit, Jake!” Annie’s voice dropped into the stern no-nonsense tone she used on her three-year-old, Lisa. “You know I hate surprises. If you don’t give me something to go on, I won’t get a wink of sleep all night.”

      She wouldn’t, either. Memories rushed through him. The night before her birthday, Annie would lie awake all night, wondering what she might receive. And Christmas Eve was even worse. Then she was so bad not only did she stay awake, she kept Jake up, too.

      “All right,” he said with a smile. “One little