Her Ready-Made Family (Silhouette Romance #1848)

by Jessica Hart

Overview

As a successful businesswoman, she has millions in the bank, but Morgan Steele has decided her life is empty…. So she's giving up her career and moving to the country!

When handsome Alistair Brown meets his new neighbor he believes she's another spoiled city girl playing at country life—just like his ex-wife. But his twin daughters seem captivated by Morgan's warmth—and her huge swimming pool!

Slowly, as Morgan gets closer to Alistair and his girls, she begins to realize that what she's been looking for in life is right under her nose—a ready-made family!

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780373198481
Publisher:	Harlequin
Publication date:	01/09/2007
Series:	Silhouette Romance Series , #1848
Pages:	192
Product dimensions:	4.10(w) x 6.50(h) x 0.60(d)

Read an Excerpt

ALISTAIR eyed the dog on the table and sighed. It was obviously one of those days.

It had started with an early morning call out to one of Jim Marsh's heifers that was having trouble calving, and gone steadily downhill from then on. He hadn't been able to save the calf, and had returned home at last to find a particularly unpleasant email from his ex-wife Shelley, threatening a visit. He'd been bitten by a gerbil, scratched by a rabbit, pecked by a goose, kicked by a horse and had had to put a much-loved cat to sleep.

And frankly the last thing he felt like doing now was dealing with a pampered pooch in a jewelled collar.

Or rather, with its neurotic owner.

Alistair's jaundiced gaze travelled to the owner in question. He had to admit that she didn't look the neurotic type. She was tall and slender, with dark glossy hair and a strong face that was striking rather than pretty, and she was immaculately, if inappropriately, dressed in soft suede trousers, pointy boots and a silk shirt. She looked cool, intelligent, stylish and absurdly out of place in this plain country surgery.

Not the kind of woman one could imagine owning a dog at all, let alone putting it in a pink collar studded with faux diamonds, but if Alistair had learnt one thing in his years as a vet, it was that people were funny about their animals.

He turned his attention back to the dog, who peered nervously back at him through its shaggy fringe. Tallulah, she had said it was called. What kind of name was that for a dog? Alistair wondered irritably.

"There's nothing wrong with this dog that some decent exercise won't cure, Mrs...er..." Alistair glanced at the computer screen to remind himself of the woman's surname, and her strong dark brows snapped together.

"It's Ms," said Morgan sharply. She hated the way people insisted on labelling women by their marital status at the best of times, and right now, when her own marital status, or lack of it, was such a sore point, she didn't feel like being laid back about the issue.

She saw the vet lift his brows at her apparent sensitivity. He didn't exactly roll his eyes, but she could tell that he felt like it, and she set her teeth.

"I'm Morgan Steele," she said, wondering if he would recognize her.

He didn't. There was not so much as a flicker in the coolly assessing grey eyes.

Morgan didn't know whether to be pleased or miffed about that. She wasn't exactly a celebrity, but her name was fairly well-known, and there had been an interview with her in the local paper after all.

Not that this Alistair Brown probably read anything but Calf Castrators'Weekly, she thought, eyeing him with a shade of resentment. She had hoped to find a cheerful, kindly country vet like the ones you saw on television, but this one didn't seem the least bit cheerful or particularly kindly. Instead, he had a nondescript face rescued from blandness by acute eyes, a stern mouth and an air of badly concealed impatience. "Well, Ms Steele," he said caustically, "I can tell you that your dog is verging on obese.'He prised Tallulah's jaws gently apart to peer at her teeth, and then ran his hands over her tubby body once more. With a different owner, she would have been a nice, sturdy little Westie but as it was she had been completely ruined.

"It's a form of cruelty to let an animal get this overweight," he told Morgan in a crisp voice. "You shouldn't have a dog unless you're prepared to look after it properly."

Morgan bridled at his tone. It was a very long time since anyone had dared to speak to her like that, and she didn't like it one little bit.

"Tallulah's my mother's dog," she said, tight-lipped. "She would have been horrified at the suggestion that she was cruel in any way. My mother was very attached to her."

"Not attached enough to take her for a walk," said Alistair, shaking a thermometer and inserting it under Tallulah's tail, ignoring the dog's yelp of surprise and discomfort.

Morgan averted her eyes. She bet that thermometer was cold. "My mother was ill for the last couple of years," she found herself explaining, although she didn't see why she should have to justify herself to him. "She could hardly walk herself, so Tallulah was a wonderful companion for her. When my mother died a few months ago I took her to live with me."

"There's nothing wrong with your legs, though, is there?" Alistair said pointedly.

He could see for himself that there wasn't. They were, in fact, spectacular legs, he found himself thinking as his eyes travelled up from the smart pointed boots.

"You could have given the dog some exercise," he pointed out as he withdrew the thermometer to Tallulah's evident relief and squinted at it for a moment. "It must have been obvious that's what she needed." 'Tallulah doesn't like walking," said Morgan defensively. "She hates the rain and can't bear getting her paws muddy. She's not really a country dog."

"Evidently,'said Alistair, and the dry note in his voice made Morgan flush. His eyes rested on her silk shirt and suede trousers. "And not really a country owner either, is that it?"

"No, that is not it!" snapped Morgan, more ruffled than she cared to admit by that ironic grey gaze. "I happen to be making my home here. There's no law that says you have to wear green wellies and a Barbour in the country, is there?"

"It's not a law but, given the weather here, it's certainly more practical than what you're wearing at the moment!"

Morgan sucked in her breath and counted to ten. She had faced down boardrooms and impatient investors and hostile journalists and she was not going to let some country vet make her lose her cool.

"I'm sorry you don't approve of my wardrobe," she said icily, "but I didn't come here for fashion advice. My dog has been wheezing and panting for the last couple of days and she seems in some distress, so perhaps you could do a little less criticizing and a little more diagnosing?"

Most people quailed when Morgan spoke to them like that, but not Alistair Brown.

"I've done my diagnosis," he said, facing her across the table where Tallulah stood with her tail miserably down, her fat body shivering with nerves, and his voice was as cold as hers. "You're welcome to go elsewhere for a second opinion, but I can tell you what any decent vet is going to tell you. The dog is seriously overweight and needs to go on a strict diet for a start."

"A diet?'Morgan felt as if she should cover Tallulah's ears. Her mother had constantly fed the dog little titbits and insisted that she had a whole gingernut at coffee time. "I'll give you some special dried food to give her,'Alistair was saying. "You'll have to make sure there's plenty of fresh drinking water available, but don't give her anything else."

Morgan's heart sank. "She hates that stuff. She won't eat it." 'She will if she's hungry," he said brutally.

He felt Tallulah all over once more, and Morgan was annoyed to find herself thinking how strong and capable his hands looked. She fixed her eyes on his face instead, but that wasn't much better as she only started noticing the determined set of his jaw and the cool, quiet but somehow disturbing line of his mouth.

"There's nothing much wrong with you apart from the excess weight," he told the dog, and fondled her ears for a moment before lifting his eyes to Morgan once more.

His gaze was sharp and light, and, caught unawares by its piercing effect, Morgan's heart gave a stupid little lurch.

"Stick to the diet I've prescribed—no treats!—and see if you can shift some of that weight by taking her for at least one good walk every day. No tottering down to the end of the road and back," he said, as if reading Morgan's mind. "I suggest you find yourself a pair of wellies and be prepared to get dirty!"

Morgan's heart, having only just settled back into place after that odd little jerk of excitement, set off into action once more, this time in a distinctly downward motion.

Alistair read her dismayed expression without difficulty. "Look, it'll only take an hour out of your day. Surely you can spare that?" he said, irritation threading his voice. "I presume you care about the dog or you wouldn't have brought her here?"

Morgan looked at the quivering dog on the table. The truth was that she had never had much time for Tallulah. Her mother had been frankly silly about her pets, and treated them as if they were children, an affectation that Morgan had always found more than a little embarrassing—and annoying when they turned out, as Tallulah had done, to be greedy, spoilt and badly behaved.

"I feel responsible for her," she conceded. "I'd be lying if I said I was fond of her, but I promised my mother I'd look after her, so that's what I'm doing."

"Well, be responsible then," said Alistair brusquely. "She could be a nice little dog if you looked after her properly.'The cold grey gaze swept over Morgan, taking in her carefully groomed appearance, the subtle make-up and polished nails. "Give her a fraction of the attention you give yourself, and bring her back in a month," he said. "We'll see if you're still wearing those boots then."

Morgan was seething with rage and embarrassment as she wrote out a cheque for the fresh-faced veterinary nurse who was manning the reception desk. On top of everything else, it appeared that she had to pay through the nose for the privilege of being insulted and humiliated by the local vet.

So much for country life! Morgan had never had any reason to go to a vet in London, but she was sure that they were charming compared to Alistair Brown, who had obviously taken lessons in how to be a dour Yorkshireman.

"We'll show him!" she told Tallulah, hefting her into the front passenger seat. "We'll come back in a month and you're going to be so trim and fit he won't recognize you—and I'll wear my boots!"

How dared he suggest that she was irresponsible? Morgan scowled as she got into her car and slammed the door shut. She wanted to shout at him that she had spent her whole life being responsible and she was sick of it.

She had looked after her mother, and Minty, and her friends, and her employees, and even her mother's dog, and now, just when it seemed she had a chance to look after herself for a change, some country bumpkin vet presumed to suggest that she was irresponsible!

She didn't want to go for long hearty walks over the moors. She didn't want to get wet and tired and dirty, or to starve Tallulah and listen to her whimpering for her gingernut, but because Mr High-and-Mighty Alistair Brown had decreed that it would be irresponsible not to, she was going to have to do it all anyway.

"Relax,'her twin sister, Minty, was always telling her. "The trouble with you, Morgan, is that you think you're the only one who can do anything. You should chill out a bit and let everyone else sort out their own problems."

Minty hadn't wanted Morgan to take Tallulah. "She'll just become a substitute child, and you'll end up one of those batty old spinsters who wear tweed and battered hats and talk to dogs as if they're people,'she said. "If you're not careful, you'll start calling yourself Tallulah's mummy, and what will that do to your reputation as a tough, successful businesswoman?"

"I've spent years telling Mum to treat Tallulah like a dog instead of a baby," Morgan protested. "As you've just pointed out, I'm a tough businesswoman. I'm hardly likely to start doting on a dog now, am I?"

"Who knows what you'll do now you're moving to the country?" said Minty unhelpfully. "Anyway, you're not as tough as you pretend to be. If you were, you'd have found another home for Tallulah, or had her put down."

"I couldn't do that," said Morgan, shocked. "I promised Mum we'd look after her."

"There you go. I told you that you weren't tough." 'Look, you take her then," said Morgan crossly. "I can't. You know Sam's allergic to her." 'Then it looks as if it's going to be me, then, doesn't it?" Somehow it always ended up being her, Morgan thought.

She glanced down at the dog, who was still looking dejected. It couldn't have been a nice experience to be plonked on a table, felt all over by a cold-eyed man with hard hands, criticised for being fat and then have a thermometer shoved up your bottom.

Well, the feeling all over bit might not be too bad, Morgan amended, remembering how strong and sure his hands had looked. She would pass on the criticism and the thermometer, though.

It was all very well for Minty to tell her to leave everyone else to sort themselves out, but how could she do that with Tallulah?

"You're not going to put yourself on a diet or take yourself off to the gym every day, are you?'she said to Tallulah, whose ears pricked up at the sound of her voice.

Oops, here she was talking to the dog already. Maybe Minty was right. It would be the tweed skirt and the battered hat next.

Perhaps eccentric spinsterhood was her fate after all.

At least the slimming of Tallulah would be a project, Morgan told herself as she started the car, and the engine broke into a low, throaty growl that never failed to give her pleasure. She might be hopeless at relationships but at least she was good at making money, enough anyway to buy this fabulous car. Morgan loved its sleek lines, its sumptuous leather upholstery and its leashed power.

No doubt Alistair Brown would say it was impractical for the country, but there was no way Morgan was giving it up. She might, after all, slope into Askerby and buy a pair of rubber boots, but she would draw the line at buying a sensible car. She might be trying to change her life, but there were limits.

It would certainly be a challenge to slim Tallulah down and train her to be a good country dog, but then she had always liked a challenge, Morgan reflected as she swung the car round and away from the surgery. She was good at identifying goals and meeting them. That had been the secret of her success so far, and there was no doubt that she was short of goals now that the house was finished.