As he reached the open doorway, Stephen saw Jill approaching.
Backlit by sunlight, he couldn’t see the expression on her face. She stopped when she saw him. Before she could react, he reached out and grabbed her arm.
“Why?” he said through clenched teeth. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her whole body trembled. “T-tell you what?”
“Don’t play innocent with me, Jill. I know Jordan is my son. And you had no right to keep that from me. No right at all.”
He thought she would continue to deny it, but she didn’t. She just looked at him. Tears glistened in her eyes. The sunlight pouring into the barn lit her hair from behind, giving the impression of a halo. But this was no angel standing there.
This was a warm-blooded, sexy woman—and the mother of his child.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
For a moment Stephen wasn’t sure what he wanted more: to kiss her or shake her. The desire to kiss her won out, and he yanked her into his arms and covered her mouth with his own.
Dear Reader,
This book was truly a labor of love. I got the idea several years ago and it simply would not let me go. Finally I decided to see if I couldn’t figure out a way to tell the story so that it could have a happy ending, for that was the problem. In my head, I could see the story going so far and then no farther. But eventually all fell into place, and His Brother’s Bride-To-Be was born.
There were other problems besides the elusive happy ending. For one, I was setting the story on a ranch and I know absolutely zero about ranches, even though I live in Texas. Second problem was my complete lack of knowledge about horses. But these two problems were easily solved since my two critique partners are both avid horsewomen and were able to supply the background information I was missing. So a hearty thank-you goes to Alaina Richardson and Colleen Thompson. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
I love to hear from readers. Please visit me at www.patriciakay.com and drop me a line. I promise to write back.
Happy reading!
Patricia Kay
His Brother’s Bride-To-Be
Patricia Kay
PATRICIA KAY
Formerly writing as Trisha Alexander, Patricia Kay is a USA TODAY-bestselling author of more than thirty contemporary romances. She lives in Houston, Texas. To learn more about her, visit her Web site at www.patriciakay.com.
This book is dedicated, with love,
to all the wonderful readers who have written to me over the years. Your letters and e-mails have meant so much. Knowing that my books have brightened your lives or helped you through a bad time is a gift I will always treasure. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
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
Epilogue
Chapter One
Stephen Wells winced when he heard the unmistakable ring of his cell phone. Dammit. He’d meant to turn the blasted thing off before entering Jake Burrow’s office because he knew how much the old man hated interruptions. He especially hated cell phones.
Sure enough, Jake glared.
“Sorry,” Stephen said, digging the phone out of his pocket. He was about to switch it off when he saw the number displayed. Caroline? Giving Jake an apologetic look and a murmured, “I’ll just be a minute,” Stephen rose and walked out of the office.
“Hello?”
“Stephen? Thank God I found you.”
Although she was a year older than him, Caroline was his niece, the daughter of his older half-brother, Elliott. Stephen could hear the barely concealed panic in her voice, and he froze. All he could think was that something had happened to Elliott. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Daddy.”
Stephen couldn’t breathe.
“You’re not going to believe this, Stephen. He’s getting married!” With each word, her voice climbed higher.
Stephen blinked. Married? Elliott? That was impossible. “Where did you get that idea? Just who is he supposed to be marrying?” She had to be mistaken. To Stephen’s knowledge, Elliott hadn’t even dated anyone since the death of his wife fourteen months earlier.
“Where do you think I got that idea? From him! He called not five minutes ago to say he’s bringing this woman home with him.”
“I don’t—”
“And that’s not all. She’s younger than me!” Once again, her voice had climbed.
“Younger than you?” Caroline was thirty-four. Elliott was fifty-seven. “How do you know that?”
“Because
