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From Megan Maitland’s Diary
Dear Diary,
Today the past reached out to me. I recognized the handwriting on the package the moment I saw it. It was the same round, unformed hand I had read on the note pinned to Garrett’s shirt all those years ago, begging me to find a home for her babies.
Inside the box was more of the past. Tiny pink and blue sweaters painstakingly embroidered with Lana’s, Shelby’s and Michael’s names, and a ragged-eared teddy bear that could only have belonged to Garrett.
But that’s all. Only the mementos and a short note asking me to give them to the Lords. No signature, no address, not even a telephone number.
Terrence and Shelia’s children are as dear tome as my own. How will they feel to know their birth mother has stepped back into their lives, and in such a mysterious fashion?
And why after all these years has she tried to contact them at all?
There’s never a dull moment at
MAITLAND MATERNITY
Lana Lord: Hearing a voice from her past only reinforced Lana’s belief that it didn’t take the bonds of blood to make a family. Now she had to teach this lesson to Dylan before it was too late.
Dylan Van Zandit: Dylan wanted to do right by the tiny life in his care. Could he overcome the betrayal he’d felt ever since his late wife had told him the baby wasn’t his?
Megan Maitland: Though never happier than when putting children into the arms of loving parents, what would happen if Megan gave the Lord siblings a message from the mother they never knew?
LeeAnn Larrimore: Her decision to give up her children all those years ago had affected countless lives. Would her attempt to reach out bring joy or more sorrow?
Baby 101
Marisa Carroll
MILLS & BOON
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Marisa Carroll is the pen name of the award-winning writing team of Carol Wagner and Marian Scharf, two sisters born and raised in northwestern Ohio. They have won several industry awards, including Romantic Times magazine’s Career Achievement Award, and have appeared on numerous bestseller lists, including USA TODAY ’s. Together, Marian and Carol have published over thirty romance novels in the past fifteen years, and have established a goal of fifty published books, a kind of golden anniversary for the partnership. And they intend to stick to it—no matter how many arguments it takes.
Contents
PROLOGUE
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
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
PROLOGUE
SHE COULD SEE the sign as soon as the taxi turned the corner. It was halfway down the block in a row of sand-blasted brick storefronts. It was pink and blue neon, with a baby cradled in a diaper hanging from a stork’s beak. The name Oh, Baby! hung beneath it. The style was nostalgic, in keeping with the twenties-era feel of the street. Trees in wooden planters with waves of red and pink petunias at their bases lined the brick sidewalks, and wrought-iron tables and chairs in front of coffee shops and German delis were shaded by green canvas awnings. People sat at the tables and strolled along the street looking in the windows of art galleries and vintage clothing stores, enjoying the unusually cool and clear early September day.
The neighborhood had a cozy, small-town feel. It was hard to believe she was only three blocks away from bustling Mayfair Avenue in the heart of downtown Austin, Texas, and the noisy lunchtime crowd at Austin Eats Diner.
“Park there, driver,” she said, motioning. “In front of the baby shop.” The taxi driver maneuvered into the space and waited for her to make up her mind.
He caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “You want to get out, ma’am?” he asked. He’d seen how difficult it was for her to open the heavy door when she went into Austin Eats.
“No, not yet.”
She had given him fifty dollars when she got into the cab. She didn’t want him to be tempted to leave her stranded somewhere along the route or to worry that she would stiff him for a large fare. “Just let me know when you want to go inside,” he said, and settled back in his seat, content to wait.
She didn’t know if she was going to go inside. She wanted to, she wanted to as badly as she’d ever wanted anything in her life. But if there was one thing LeeAnn Larrimore had learned in forty-seven hard years, it was that you didn’t always get what you wanted.
Forty-seven. Not young anymore, but not old enough to die. She looked at her hands, clutching the cardboard box in her lap. They were skeletal, her wrist bones jutting below the sleeves of her shirt. Her whole body looked like that. She was dying of cancer and she didn’t have much time left. But even that sense of
