“You’re such a love,” Whitney murmured Welcome to DADDY BOOM! Title Page Dedication CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN Copyright
“You’re such a love,” Whitney murmured
She ran her fingertips lightly over baby Troy’s crown, breathing in the wonderful baby scent. “How come someone so sweet can have such a bad-tempered man for a father!”
Troy chuckled, as if he could understand her.
“Your papa,” she continued, “is rude, arrogant...and when he was a teenager he had every girl in the valley chasing after him—except me! Luke Brannigan is a heartbreaker of the worst kind. You think I’m being too hard on him? Well, tell you what, if I can ever find something good to say about him, you’ll be the first to know. But don’t hold your breath!”
Welcome to DADDY BOOM!
Just look who’s holding the baby now! Following on from our highly popular BABY BOOM series, Harlequin Romance® is proud to introduce a brand-new series, DADDY BOOM, full of babies, bachelors and happy-ever-afters Meet six irresistible heroes who are about to discover that there’s a first time for everything—even fatherhood!
First in our series is Brannigan’s Baby by Grace Green We’ll be bringing you one deliciously cute DADDY BOOM title every other month
Look out in April for Daddy and Daughters by
Barbara McMahon
Who says bachelors and bables don’t mix?
Brannigan’s Baby
Grace Green
FOR MIKE HANNAY
CHAPTER ONE
WHEN WORD GOT AROUND that Luke Brannigan was back in town, business at Hetty’s Beauty Salon picked up within the hour.
‘Dixie Mae saw him get off the Greyhound bus, didn’t you, Dix?’ Beth Armour wriggled excitedly in her seat as Hetty worked styling mousse into her hair.
‘Sure did.’ Seated next to her, Dixie kept her eyes fixed admiringly on her own reflection in the mirror. “Course, I just saw him from the distance, but that sexy swagger...’
She shrugged. Unmistakable.
‘Where was he going then?’ somebody asked. ‘Home?’
‘Looked that way. He hiked off along the side road that winds up through the vineyards to Brannigan House.’
‘He must’ve heard his grandmother passed away.’ Patsy Smith’s voice came from under one of the dryers. ‘But if he got off that bus, he’d be too late for the funeral. He’ll be rich now,’ she went on dreamily. ‘And he’ll have every female in the valley chasin’ after him, just like before—’
‘Every female ’cept for Whitney McKenzie.‘
Dixie’s declaration was met with a moment of silence.
Then Beth said, quietly, ‘That’s right. There was no love lost between those two. And now he’s back, he’ll send her packing! Well, you can’t blame him, considering...’
Patsy sighed. ‘Cressida Brannigan made one huge mistake taking that girl into her home. Hadn’t been for her, Luke woulda never gone and taken off the way he did. He and his gran were close...real close... before...’
Begonia Bright poked her head out from under the end dryer. ‘I’d give most anything—’ her beady eyes glittered ‘—to be a fly on the wall when those two meet again.’
And though none of the others really liked Begonia, they all, without exception, felt exactly the same way.
Whitney McKenzie eased her aching feet out of her high-heeled black pumps and shifted wearily in the leather wing chair. Cressida’s funeral had been emotionally draining, as had been the long year leading up to it. She needed time alone, peace to start grieving...
And a chance to catch up on lost sleep.
Swallowing back an incipient yawn, she tried to look alert as Edmund Maxwell—senior partner of Maxwell and Maxwell, the only law firm in the nearby Okanagan town of Emerald, B.C.—extricated a document from his briefcase. He set the case on top of Cressida’s intricately carved Chinese desk, and moved his stooped figure across to the hearth.
Somberly his gaze passed over the trio seated before him in the Brannigan House library: Whitney, Alice the cook and Myrna the housemaid.
‘It is no longer the custom,’ he began, ‘for lawyers to read out wills; however, as I’m sure you all know, the late Cressida Brannigan cared not one jot for custom. So, in accordance with her declared wishes, I shall now read out to you her Last Will and—’
The door behind Whitney clicked open.
Edmund Maxwell lifted his head, and over the top of his half glasses frowned at the intruder.
Slumping back in her seat, Whitney closed her eyes. She felt exhaustion seep into her very bones—
‘What the hell’s going on here?’ A male voice, aggressive and vaguely familiar, rasped into the quiet room.
Whitney’s
