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Will they…?
Won’t they…?
Can they…?
The possibility of parenthood: for some couples it’s a seemingly impossible dream.
For others, it’s an unexpected surprise….
Or perhaps it’s a planned pregnancy that brings a husband and wife closer together…or turns their marriage upside down?
One thing is for sure, life will never be the same when they find themselves having a baby…maybe!
This emotionally compelling miniseries from Harlequin Romance® will warm your heart and bring a tear to your eye….
Their Doorstep Baby (#3718)
by Barbara Hannay
Grace Green grew up in Scotland but later emigrated to Canada with her husband and children. They settled in “Beautiful Super Natural B.C.” and Grace now lives in a house just minutes from ocean, beaches, mountains and rain forest. She makes no secret of her favorite occupation—her bumper sticker reads: I’d Rather Be Writing Romance! Grace also enjoys walking the seawall, gardening, getting together with other authors…and watching her characters come to life, because she knows that once they do, they will take over and write her stories for her.
Books by Grace Green
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3622—THE BABY PROJECT
3658—TWINS INCLUDED!
3706—THE NANNY’S SECRET*
The Pregnancy Plan
Grace Green
MILLS & BOON
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For John
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
SHE came to him in the garden, on a morning gray with fog.
“The decision is yours, darling.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “But you must make it soon.” Her voice caught. “This waiting…it’s breaking my heart…”
Dermid ached to hold her, to comfort her, but even as he reached for her, she began to slip away.
“Wait!” he called, panicking. “Alice, wait!”
But she was already disappearing into the mist, the loose sleeves of her cloud-white dress billowing out behind her like angel wings floating her heavenward.
“Alice!” he cried again and tried to follow her, but the mist snaked wet tendrils around him, binding him—
“Dad!” A shake on his arm, a child’s low urgent voice. “Dad!”
He groaned, and jerked from his nightmare, he came slowly, blearily…gratefully…awake.
Jack stood by the bed, in his unironed flannel pyjamas, his brown hair tufted, his hazel eyes anxious—far too anxious, Dermid thought with a pang of guilt—for a boy who had yet to celebrate his fifth birthday.
Leaning up on one elbow, clearing the rust of sleep from his throat, he said, “Sorry, son. Did I wake you?”
“You were shouting really loud. Was it bad?”
“It’s been worse.”
“But the same old nightmare?”
“Yup, same old one. And no, don’t ask, I’m not going to tell you what it’s about. Someday I will, when you’re old enough to handle it.” Dermid swung his long legs over the edge of the bed. “But right now—”
“But right now it would give me nightmares, too.”
“You got it.”
Dermid stood, and setting a firm hand on his son’s shoulders, walked him to the window. “Now enough about nightmares. Will you just look at that
