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  Baby Kisses

  Romance on the Ranch Series

  By

  Verna Clay

  This book is dedicated to everyone who has something to overcome.

  Baby Kisses

  Romance on the Ranch Series

  Copyright © 2012 by Verna Clay

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For information contact:

  [email protected]

  Website: www.VernaClay.com

  Published by:

  M.O.I. Publishing

  "Mirrors of Imagination"

  Cover Designer: Elaina Lee (For the Muse)

  Pictures: Dreamstime

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dear Readers,

  Writing the love story of Tooty and Miles has been challenging. Of the three books, Dream Kisses, Honey Kisses, and Baby Kisses, this one has been the most difficult. I'm not sure of the reason except that maybe it was the sub plot of Eli and Annabelle that I found demanding. I don't mean demanding in the sense of writing, but in the sense of emotional expense. Whatever the reason, my characters finally matured and found their way to another happily-ever-after. Oh, and for fun, I hid a treasure in this story.

  Enjoy the Treasure,

  Verna Clay

  Sequence of books in Romance on the Ranch Series:

  Dream Kisses

  Honey Kisses

  Baby Kisses

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Not an Airhead

  Chapter 2: Personal Assistant

  Chapter 3: Promotion

  Chapter 4: Certified Delivery

  Chapter 5: Rewrite

  Chapter 6: Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder

  Chapter 7: It Is What It Is

  Chapter 8: New York, New York

  Chapter 9: Harebrained Idea

  Chapter 10: Midnight Snack

  Chapter 11: Sightseeing

  Chapter 12: Family History

  Chapter 13: Home Sweet Home

  Chapter 14: Differences of Opinion

  Chapter 15: Inevitable

  Chapter 16: Annabelle's Solution

  Chapter 17: Take It or Leave It

  Chapter 18: Bumpkin Girl

  Chapter 19: Published

  Chapter 20: Surprises Go Both Ways

  Chapter 21: Confessions

  Chapter 22: The Search Begins

  Epilogue

  Author's Note

  Chapter 1: Not an Airhead

  Tooty drove her old Ford Ranger, gray in color under all the oxidation, to the front of Jacob and Julie's cottage. Parking in a cloud of dust, she sat for a minute and tried to calm her nerves. She was about to meet Maxwell Henry—the famous author. Sarah had explained his real name was Miles Brightman, and he was staying at the cottage while Julie and Jacob visited Maude and Clyde Hix in Alaska. Tooty had often heard stories about the former employees of the Lazy M Ranch and how they had struck it rich as gold prospectors. Now in their eighties and sixties, with Maude being the older, they still lived in the same cabin they'd built after moving to the wilds years earlier. Tooty understood Julie's desire to spend as much time as possible with the old-timers. She and Jacob were going to have a blast.

  Okay, you've stalled long enough. It's time to get the embarrassing part over.

  Tooty bit her thumbnail and still didn't move to open her door. She remembered Miles from Julie and Jacob's wedding reception. He was the guy in the wheelchair. Actually, he was the hot older guy in the wheelchair. Even now, she cringed remembering their encounter. She'd gone in search of her mischievous four-year old and seen him checking out the man's wheelchair. When she'd approached, she'd heard Harris say, "Hi, my name is Harris and, hey, that's a really cool chair. Ya wanna take me for a ride?"

  Rushing forward, she hadn't reached Harris in time to stop him from climbing onto the man's lap. The startled expression on the guy's face had said everything. He wasn't used to kids. Besides that, she didn't know how severe his physical challenge was and whether Harris could injure him. When she'd reached to grab her son off his lap, he'd said, "No, leave him." After that, he'd told Harris about his wheelchair and shown him how to operate it, both manually and with battery assistance. Of course, Harris had been fascinated and oblivious to his faux pas of just climbing on the guy's lap. With a mixture of mortification and gratitude, she'd stepped to the sidelines to watch.

  The man had finally said, "Well, Harris, looks like your mother is waiting for you, you better hop off now."

  That's when Tooty had stepped forward. As she'd bent to help her son down, he'd glanced from her to the man and said, "Hey, I need a daddy. You wanna marry my mommy? Don't you think she's pretty?"

  Tooty had looked from her son's innocent brown eyes into the man's Mediterranean blue ones and literally froze. She'd seen his shocked expression and then a slight quirk of his lips, like he was trying not to laugh. Before he could say anything, she'd jerked Harris off his lap. "I'm really sorry. My son just says whatever pops into his mind."

  Harris defended himself. "But Mommy, Grammy says it too. She says I need a daddy and you need a man. What's wrong with him?"

  "Ah…ah…I'm really sorry." Knowing there was no way to salvage their fiasco, she'd simply walked away carrying Harris. She'd never felt so embarrassed in her life. Every cell in her body had felt on fire—even her scalp.

  Shaking the memory and inhaling a calming breath, Tooty forced her hand to the door handle. She was turning scarlet again just thinking about meeting Mr. Brightman and she had half a mind to flip the ignition key, back the truck up, and peel out of the driveway, never looking back. Of course, she wouldn't do that. She needed to earn money, but, more importantly, she'd never forgive herself if she turned down an opportunity to work with a famous author—an author whose every book she'd read at least twice.

  * * *

  Miles shifted his wheelchair so he could see out the living room window. He watched the young woman step from her battered pickup. So this was the girl with the strange first name Sarah had referred. Her dark, strawberry blonde hair looked familiar. When she'd almost reached the porch, recognition slammed him and he groaned. It was the girl from the wedding; the one with the cute, but rascally little boy—the boy who'd ask him to marry his mommy and become his daddy. He groaned again when the doorbell rang.

  Rolling his chair to the door he opened it and pasted on a smile. "Hello, please come in," he said politely.

  The girl opened the screen and he backed his chair up.

  "H-hello. My name is Tooty Townsend and Sarah said you were looking for a personal assistant."

  He rolled toward the back of the house. "Let's go to the kitchen. I've got coffee brewing and we can talk about it." He paused at the kitchen entrance and waited for her to enter. She waited for him to enter. Finally, he said, "Please go in and pour yourself a cup of coffee; that is if you drink coffee. I think there's tea in the fridge."

  Self consciously, she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Okay." She walked past him. At the counter, she reached for one of the cups he'd set out and lifted the pot. "Can I pour you one, too?"

  "Yes, please." He rolled his chair to the drop leaf table and motioned for her to sit across from him. She set his coffee in front of him and took a seat. He poured cream into his brew and motioned with the pitcher to see if she wanted some. She nodded, and he poured. "Tell me when."

  "That's good."

  "Sugar?"

  "No, thank you."

  When she lifted her cup to her li
ps, he noticed her hand was trembling. Shit. He didn't want to scare the girl. She didn't look much older than eighteen or nineteen. She was probably much too immature to work as a personal assistant, but then again, she already had a child. That could mature a person fast.

  "I–"

  "Please–"

  They both spoke at the same time. Miles cleared his throat, "You first."

  She looked at him with big brown doe's eyes. "I just want to apologize for the incident at the wedding reception. My son can be quite vocal, but he's only four years old…" she defended him, but didn’t finish her sentence.

  Miles chuckled. "No apology needed. At least he speaks his mind. No beating around the bush."

  His words seemed to ease her nervousness and she sipped her coffee again without trembling.

  "Your turn," she said.

  It took him a second to realize that she was waiting for him to say what he had been about to. "Oh, I was just going to ask you to convey any experience you've had in working as a personal assistant." He watched her eyes slide to the table.

  "Um, I-I haven't actually worked as a personal assistant, but I did good in school and I'm an avid reader. I've read all your books. I also worked for Mrs. Smiley at Beautyluscious Beauty Shop as the receptionist for six months. The reason I'm not still there is because she retired and the new owner laid me off to save money."

  Miles wanted to groan. He'd let her down easy. Keeping a straight face, he asked, "Are you working anywhere now?"

  "Uh, yes."

  She didn't elaborate, and he finally prompted, "Can you tell me where you're working and what you're doing?"

  "I-I work after hours at Boot Bustin' Barn cleaning the club. The owner said he's gonna work me into a waitress position."

  Miles stared at his coffee. This interview was going nowhere fast. Even though she'd indicated she'd read his books, he wondered how literate she was.

  "Do you know anything about computers? Do you think you could handle checking and replying to emails?" He glanced up, surprised to see an almost hostile expression on her face.

  Before he could say anything, she said, "I think I can handle checking emails and writing correspondence. And yes, just in case you're wondering, I have a high school degree and I can read and write. Sarah wouldn't have sent me if she didn't think I was capable. However, it appears that you have doubts, so I'll just say goodbye and wish you the best in finding the right person."

  She started to stand and Miles darted his hand to hers. "Wait. I didn't mean that to come out quite the way it did. It's just that you're so young and I want to be sure–"

  She interrupted, "You want to be sure I'm not an airhead."

  Damn it. She was twisting his words. He looked at her, and said, "Exactly."

  A tiny smile drew up the corners of her mouth. "Mr. Brightman, I had a child when I was sixteen and I've been taking care of both of us ever since. I assure you I am not an airhead. But I'll release you from having to make the decision of whether or not to hire me. Good day." She stood.

  "You've got the job. Be here at nine tomorrow morning."

  Chapter 2: Personal Assistant

  Tooty tucked Harris into bed in the tiny bedroom they shared at her parents' house. It was the same room she'd had all her life.

  She tickled her son and said, "Can I have some baby kisses?"

  "Mommy, I'm too old for that. I'm not a baby anymore. Next year I'm going to school."

  "You certainly are. You might even have my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Schwartz."

  "That’s a funny name."

  Tooty tickled Harris again. "Well, don't tell her that."

  "Mommy, I liked playing with Toby and Preston today. Their daddy played with us, too. They got all the Happy Horse toys. I can't wait to play with them tomorrow." He yawned.

  Tooty bent and kissed his soft cheek. Maybe, if she was even more frugal, she'd have some money left over after her first paycheck from Mr. Brightman to buy Harris a Happy Horse toy. She heard him sigh and glanced lovingly at him. As he drifted to sleep, he said, "Sure wish I had a daddy to play with me."

  A lump the size of a golf ball lodged in Tooty's throat and she swallowed to keep from crying. Crying never solved anything. She hadn’t cried since Harris' father had denied his paternity and told her to get the hell out of his life. All she'd been to him was a one night stand—an easily forgotten castaway.

  Instead of crawling into her own bed across the room, she slipped in next to Harris and cradled him to her heart. She had enough love for both a father and a mother. Besides, the way she felt about men, it wasn't likely she'd ever meet one who could live up to her standards.

  Precisely at nine the next morning, after dropping Harris off with Sarah and her boys, Tooty returned to the cottage to begin her first day as personal assistant to Miles Brightman a.k.a. Maxwell Henry. He opened the door as soon as she knocked and backed his wheelchair up for her to enter.

  "Good morning, Tooty."

  "Good morning, Mr. Brightman."

  He winced, "Please call me Miles. Mr. Brightman is my father."

  "Okay." She felt tongue-tied. The man may be in a wheelchair but he oozed testosterone. She tried not to look at his muscular chest and shoulders in his form molding T-shirt. The fact that he needed a shave and his longish mahogany hair looked mussed, didn't help. Even now, he absently combed his fingers through its thickness. The man had definitely been on the receiving end of "gorgeous" genes.

  He said, "Why don't we get some coffee and get to work. I only have you a couple hours a day, so I want to make the best of those hours."

  Tooty almost winced at his innocent words. Girl, don't even go there in your thoughts.

  He motioned for her to precede him into the kitchen and this time she didn't make the mistake of waiting for him to enter first. In a repeat of the day before, she poured them both a cup of coffee. After that, he led her to one of the two bedrooms that had been set up as an office.

  "This is your workspace." He pointed to a small desk with a laptop. "I'll be in the living room on my other laptop. Go ahead and have a seat."

  Tooty pulled out the office chair and Miles wheeled beside her. He said, "Please don't take offense, but have you used a computer before. I'm only asking so I know where to start my training."

  "I used a computer in school."

  "Good. Okay, there's a notepad and pencil for you to jot notes while I lead you through the motions of getting my emails."

  Tooty listened and wrote while he explained how to sign on the internet and call up his different email accounts.

  "These are folders I've set up for different types of emails: fan, publisher, family, junk, miscellaneous. Even though I screen for junk mail, sometimes it gets through. If you think something's junk, put it in that folder and I'll look at it later. Here's how you move things around. Just hold the left mouse clicker down and drag it to the folder." He demonstrated.

  "Got it," said Tooty.

  "Okay, let's look at some of the emails. But don't open any attachments. That's how computers get destroyed by viruses. If there's an attachment you think I might need to open, just let me know and I'll decide whether I want to or not."

  "Got it."

  "Oh, I almost forgot." Miles twisted in his seat to reach for a folder on top of a file cabinet. "You need to sign a contract that states you understand everything you see is confidential and you won't reveal anything to anyone."

  Tooty gave him a surprised look. "Well, of course, I know that. I would never–"

  "Don't get your hackles up. This is something that all my personal assistants have to sign, even my New York assistant. I'll leave the contract with you to read. Let me know after you've signed it and you can begin work." He handed the folder to her and started to wheel out of the room.

  Tooty frowned. "I don't need to read it, where's the pen?"

  Miles gave her an incredulous look. "Tooty, you should always read contracts before signing them."

  "I'm not go
ing to tell anyone anything, so what does it matter?"

  "It matters to me because the contract states that if you reveal anything, I can sue you for everything you've got, and then some."

  "Mr. Brightman, Miles, if you sued me for everything I've got, you might get blood out of a turnip. That's all."

  Miles sighed, "Tooty, please read the contract." He rolled out of the room.

  Tooty speed read the damn thing, signed it, and then waited a few minutes before letting him know because he'd think she hadn't read it. Basically, he could sue the crap out of her and take everything she owned if she spilled the beans on him about anything; even his favorite food. Finally, she walked to the living room and waved it. "All read and signed."

  He looked like he didn't believe her, but accepted it. Back in the office he proceeded to open emails and demonstrate the folders he wanted them to go in.

  "You sure get a lot of fan mail," she mused aloud.

  "Yeah, and my publisher has it in my contract that I have to respond to appropriate ones."

  "Do you get inappropriate ones?"

  "Sometimes." He didn't elaborate and opened an email that said, LOVE YOUR BOOKS.

  His cell phone buzzed and he shifted his attention to answering it. Tooty read the email that started out very nicely.

  Dear Mr. Henry,

  I have read all your books and absolutely loved them. I can't wait for your next one to be released. I was at a signing you did a couple years ago in Ft. Lauderdale and I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. Even though you're in a wheelchair, I just know you're a great lover. I would be a willing partner for anything you had in mind. I can get really kinky.

  The letter continued with some very descriptive language and Tooty's mouth dropped. She looked at the keyboard because she couldn't read anymore. Miles disconnected from his phone call.