.

was the first conflict-free meal we’ve had in years around here.”

      Walt made his move with a thoughtful scowl. “Still not enough reason to hire Ms. Stayton without due diligence.”

      “Walt, I appreciate your sentiments. As a private investigator, you’ve seen things I could never even imagine. But I trust Emily Stayton.” On a gut level, Dan amended silently. “And the decision is made. I want her to be our cook. Not a housekeeper, just our personal chef, for however long we can manage to get her.” Hopefully in the interim he’d be able to figure out how to get Emily to come to work for them full-time. “And I don’t want you doing anything to interfere with that.”

      Walt turned his attention back to the computer screen. “You ask me,” he grumbled, “you’re making a mistake.”

      “I didn’t ask,” Dan stated flatly.

      Still, he couldn’t help thinking about it as the night wore on.

      He couldn’t explain it. He just knew, on some deep fundamental level, that Emily Stayton was The One to help solve his family’s problems. And Dan never discounted his instincts when they were that strong.

      

      EMILY HAD PROMISED TO CONTINUE the consultation at nine Saturday morning. She arrived right on time. Dan went to answer the door and found her standing on the porch, much as she had the evening before—with one difference. Instead of looking pink-cheeked and healthy, she looked a little green around the gills.

      “Are you okay?” Dan asked.

      Emily swallowed hard, waved a vague hand, even as she moved past him. “It’ll pass.”

      What will pass? “Are you sick?”

      “Oh. No. I…I…Bathroom?” Her words were more a command for direction than a request.

      Able to see what was about to happen, Dan hastened down the hall and opened the door. “In here.”

      Simultaneously hitting the light and the fan, she barreled past him and slammed the door. The unmistakable sounds of retching followed.

      The kids came tromping down the stairs at the commotion. “What’s going on?”

      “Is someone…?”

      “Ohhh.” Tommy, Ava and Kayla looked at one another in recognition.

      “Go upstairs,” Dan ordered. “I’ll call you.”

      They bolted, as was usually the case, when illness that might involve icky cleanup was involved.

      “See?” Walt said, passing with his stiff-hipped gait. “You don’t know everything about her. For all you know, she’s got a problem that will leave her unable to do mornings—”

      “Actually…” The door opened and Emily stepped out, still looking pale and shaky. She leaned weakly against the door frame. “Walt could be right.”

      Walt looked at Dan. “I’ll leave you to handle this.” He went into the study and shut the door behind him.

      Dan guided her into the kitchen and onto a stool at the counter. “Can I get you something?” he solicited kindly. “Water? Stomach med?”

      Emily regarded him gratefully. “Maybe a glass of ginger ale or a soda cracker if you have it,” she said.

      Dan paused.

      Their eyes met.

      As he worked to fulfill her request, he began to put two and two together.

      “I’m pregnant,” Emily said, flashing a guilty-as-charged smile.

      Hence the loose-fitting shirts she wore, the fullness of her breasts in comparison to her slender figure.

      “Congratulations!” Dan handed her a ginger ale and pack of crackers.

      “Thanks.” She ripped open the wax paper and extracted a cracker.

      “How far along are you?”

      She munched and sipped. “Almost four months.”

      “Who’s the lucky guy?”

      Her blue eyes glinted with unexpected humor. “76549823-CBGT.”

      Dan blinked. “You hooked up with a robot?”

      Emily’s melodious laugh filled the kitchen. Her soft lips parted as she prepared to take another sip of her ginger ale.

      “A sperm bank. All I know about my baby’s daddy is that he has an IQ over 140 and is Caucasian, blond, greeneyed and tall. And of course has no major inherited health problems I’d have to worry about.”

      Dan had lots of questions. None of which would have been polite to ask.

      “I’m thirty-five, my eggs aren’t getting any younger, and I wanted a family. The luck of the draw wasn’t working—I just never met anyone I wanted to settle down with.”

      “Except Tex Ostrander.” Dan recalled the name of the guy who had caused her so much grief the night before.

      Emily’s lips thinned. “Don’t remind me. I’m still mad at him.”

      She didn’t appear to still have romantic feelings for her ex. Although why that should matter to him, Dan didn’t know. “Did you talk to him?” he asked casually, forcing himself to move on.

      “No.” Looking to be bouncing back from her bout of morning sickness, Emily leaned her spine against the back of the stool. “Although, not surprisingly, he called me several times. But back to the job you offered me last night—I’ve been thinking about it and I can’t commit to a permanent family gig. It just wouldn’t work out for a lot of reasons,” she stated firmly. “But I could help you out on a temporary basis—until I have a chance to get some other chef gigs lined up.”

      This, Dan hadn’t expected. He studied the new color in her cheeks and the professional competence in her eyes. “How temporary?”

      “I was thinking through Thanksgiving. That would give me time to figure out what the problems are with mealtime around here—from a cooking perspective.”

      Maybe there weren’t any, Dan thought. Maybe all they needed was a woman in the house again. “There wasn’t a problem last night,” he said.

      Emily disregarded her success. “That was an anomaly. They were caught off guard. They were hungry. Someone set a table of hot food in front of them.”

      “Hot delicious food,” Dan corrected.

      Finding his mouth dry, he poured himself a glass of ginger ale, too.

      “Whatever.” Emily waved off the distinction. She rested both her forearms on the breakfast bar and leaned in deliberately. “The point is, these complex family issues are not going to be resolved just because I’ve showed up.”

      Trying not to be distracted by the fragrance of orange blossoms and the silk of her hair that fell seductively over her shoulder, he lounged against the opposite counter. “I think you’re selling yourself short.”

      She mocked him with a waggle of her brows. “And I think you’re minimizing the problem,” she teased. “But we digress—”

      Dan frowned in confusion. “Do we?”

      Her gaze was completely serious now. “You haven’t said if you would be okay with the fact that I’m pregnant,” she pointed out softly.

      Dan’s glance moved involuntarily to the slight swell of her tummy beneath the blue-and-lavender paisley tunic before returning to her face. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

      “I’m unmarried.”

       And incredibly sexy, and likely to be even sexier in a deeply maternal way as your pregnancy progresses…

      “You