The Baby Bet: The Royal MacAllister Part 1

The Royal MacAllister.

JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART.

JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART.

is the author of over eighty-five novels. When she isn't writing, she enjoys reading, gardening and attending craft shows with her young daughter, Autumn. Joan has three all-grown-up daughters and three fantastic grandchildren. Joan and Autumn live in a charming small town in the high pine country of Arizona.

For my dear friend and agent, Laurie Feigenbaum.

with special thanks for understanding that authors are mommies, too.

Chapter One.

Alice "Trip" MacAllister stood outside the five-star restaurant engaged in a heated argument with her toughest opponent...herself.

She did not, she fumed as she began to pace, want to be here, taking part in the huge family dinner that would include the royal family of the Island of Wils.h.i.+re.

Royal family. Her cousin Maggie was going to marry an honest-to-goodness prince, for crying out loud. Maggie had met Devon Renault on New Year's Eve while on duty in the emergency room at the hospital, and it had been practically love at first sight for the dewy-eyed pair.

It was now the first week in March, and Devon's family had finally managed to make all the necessary arrangements to enable them to travel to Ventura, California-the upscale city where the MacAllisters lived.

Unbelievable, Trip thought, continuing her trek. Ever since Maggie was a little girl she'd dreamed of marrying a prince, had made it her wish each time she blew out the candles on her birthday cake, and-ta-da-she was going to do exactly that...marry her Prince Charming.

She was happy for Maggie, she really was, but... The wedding would be held on the island in six weeks, and would be a gala affair with all the royal pomp and circ.u.mstance. And she, Trip MacAllister, in what must have been a mentally diminished state at the time, had agreed to attend.

But that was a nightmare to think about later. What had her nerves jangled to the point of near-hysteria now was that she was expected to attend the dinner inside this restaurant, was in fact late in showing up.

But she didn't want to be here. Family gatherings were not her thing, per se, hadn't been for as long as she could remember. She always felt uncomfortable, edgy, constantly ticking off the seconds until she could leave whenever she was surrounded by the mult.i.tude of MacAllisters.

And this dinner also included a royal family, for Pete's sake, who had just arrived early this morning. Devon's father, King Something...oh, what was his name? Chester. King Chester had decided it would be best to get acquainted with his son's fiancee and her family in a more relaxed setting rather than amid the hoopla surrounding the wedding.

Dandy, Trip thought with a sigh, as she stopped wearing a path in the sidewalk. But why hadn't she begged off? Even worse, she was wearing a dress she'd borrowed from her sister Jessica. A slip dress, Jessica had called it. It was skimpy and clingy and made her feel like a little girl playing dress-up.

She'd recently worn the one nice outfit she owned to Jessica and Daniel's wedding and couldn't show up in the same thing. The remainder of her wardrobe consisted of jeans, shorts and casual tops. Oh, yes, and the tacky polyester number that was the color of Pepto-Bismol that she wore when waiting tables at the cafe. Asking Jessica to loan her a dress had seemed like a good idea at the time, but this creation was absurd.

She was going home, Trip decided. She'd send a message inside to her parents saying she had the flu, or a killer headache, or the chicken pox, or some lame thing, and hightail it out of there. Yes.

No, she thought in the next instant. That wasn't fair to Maggie, or to the rest of the family she was attempting to mend fences with after years of keeping emotional and physical distance between them. A goal that, in her opinion, wasn't going too well so far.

Get a grip, Trip told herself, patting her cheeks. March in there, and smile while you're marching.

Trip took one step toward the door of the restaurant, then halted in her tracks as a man came striding past, obviously not seeing her as he fumbled with a tie while muttering under his breath. He stopped two feet beyond where Trip stood.

"Dumb," he said. "Why does a man have to put on a tie to eat dinner? Who made up these rules? And who invented these G.o.d-awful things? It must have been a woman who hated men." He flipped one end of the tie around the other, pulled it through, then turned slightly as he shoved the knot to the top of his s.h.i.+rt. "There."

"It's lumpy," Trip said. "And the tail is too long and...you'd better start over."

"Well, h.e.l.l," the man said, yanking the tie apart. "For two cents I'd ditch this s.h.i.+ndig."

Trip laughed. "I'd ditch my party for one cent."

"Oh, yeah?" he said, looking at her for the first time. "Would you be dead as a post if you did?"

"In spades," Trip said, matching his smile.

Good grief, she thought, he was handsome. He was grumpy as all get-out, but he was drop-dead gorgeous, that was for sure. He was tall, probably six foot or more, had thick, black-as-midnight hair, rugged tanned features and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, surrounded by long, dark lashes a woman would kill to have. Broad shoulders, long muscular legs, dark suit custom-fitted to perfection... Absolutely gorgeous.

"Well, I guess I've put this off as long as I can," Trip said with a sigh. "I'd better go in there, apologize for being late, and smile, smile, smile."

"Wait," the man said quickly and a tad too loudly.

"Wait?" Trip said, c.o.c.king her head slightly to one side. "Could you add something to that command so I know what you're talking about?"

"What? Oh. It wasn't a command, it was a plea. Would you help me with my tie? Then I'll go find my group, too, I guess. I'm already late, I'm probably in hot water and I don't dare show up without a tie."

"Well, I..." Trip started, then shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

The man stepped closer, and Trip gripped the tails of the tie, her eyes widening for a moment as she saw that her hands were trembling slightly. She drew what she hoped was not an obviously steadying breath, then completed the task, giving the knot a pat when she finished. Before she could drop her hands, the man grasped them between both of his.

"Thank you," he said in a raspy voice. "I mean that. Thank you very much."

"You're welcome," Trip said, then met his gaze.

Dear heaven, she thought, she couldn't breathe. The heat from the man's work-roughened but gentle hands was traveling up her arms and across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, causing them to feel heavy and achy.

Oh, mercy, now the heat was swirling throughout her, lower, hotter, pulsing deep. Those eyes. Those incredible blue eyes were like a mysterious ocean holding secrets yet to be discovered. They were pulling her in, making it impossible to move, or to think clearly. This man, this stranger, was...was dangerous, so blatantly, sensually masculine it was overwhelming.

"I..." Trip started to say, then realized she didn't have enough air in her lungs to speak.

"Look," the man said, his voice rather gritty, "we're about to go our separate ways, now that we're going inside the restaurant, but I'd really like to know your name. Please? I'm Brent Bardow."

Brent Bardow? Trip thought. Why did that sound familiar? No, forget it. If she'd met this man before, she most definitely would remember.

"I'm Tr- I mean, I'm Alice," she said, after drawing in much-needed air. "Alice MacAllister."

"You're kidding," Brent said with a burst of laughter. "Did my name ring a bell?"

"Yes, but..."

"I'm Devon Renault's cousin from the Island of Wils.h.i.+re." Brent's smile grew bigger. "Shame on you, Alice MacAllister. You don't want to go to the party set up for our families to meet before the big wedding bash."

Trip pulled free of Brent's hold, took a step backward and planted her hands on her hips.

"Shame on me?" she said. "I seem to recall that two cents would have been enough to get you to head south rather than go in there."

"Guilty as charged," Brent said. "Well, you and I are obviously the black sheep of the family. Black sheep who are very late in showing up for this s.h.i.+ndig. Shall we go face the music? Everyone will be on their best behavior tonight so maybe we won't catch too much h.e.l.l."

Trip laughed. "Don't count on it." She paused. "Okay, partner in crime, let's go."

The private dining room reserved for the party was enormous, yet managed to maintain a rather cozy atmosphere with its dark paneling. The crystal chandeliers were dimmed just enough to add soft light to the candles on the long, gleaming table, which boasted the restaurant's finest china and crystal.

When a still-smiling Trip and Brent entered the room, an immediate hush fell and close to forty pairs of eyes were riveted on the pair.

"Sorry I'm late," Trip and Brent said in unison, then looked at each other and burst into laughter.

"Your tardiness is not excused, Brent," Byron Bardow, Brent's father, said, scowling at his son.

"Well, they're here now," Jillian MacAllister said as she directed a rather speculative look at her daughter. "Dare we ask where you've been?"

"It was my fault," Brent said. "I was faced with a crisis situation." He ran one hand down his tie. "Alice was good enough to a.s.sist me in rectifying the dilemma." He grinned. "How's that?"

"Not worth a plugged nickel," Brent's mother, Charlane, said smiling. "But your excuses for being late, or not showing up at all, rarely are, dear." She swept her gaze over everyone seated at the table. "This is our son, Brent, who should be introduced to the members of this gathering, then given a test on the names to see if he'll be allowed to have dinner."

"Thanks a bunch, Mother." Brent chuckled. "I a.s.sume those two empty chairs are for Alice and me?"

"Indeed they are," King Chester said from the far end of the table. "Your salads are there. Sit down and eat and catch up with the rest of us."

Robert MacAllister, Trip's grandfather, had the place of honor at the head of the table, at the opposite end from the king.

"You look lovely this evening, Alice," Robert said. "That dress is very becoming."

Forrest MacAllister frowned. "I think she forgot to put on her dress. She's wearing a slip."

"Got it in one, Dad," Trip said, sitting in the closest of the vacant chairs. "It's all Jessica's fault. She loaned me this slip, then got in a huff about something and wouldn't give me the dress to wear over it." She shrugged. "What can I say?"

Brent settled on the chair next to Alice, mentally thanking whoever had arranged the seating for the evening.

"That's not true," Jessica said, laughing, then looked at her husband, Daniel. "See what I went through growing up? This is a recording... it's all Jessica's fault. Trip was a master at getting me into trouble."

"Amen to that," Emily, the third member of the MacAllister triplets, said. "Remember the puppy Trip found and dragged home, not caring whether he wanted to come or not? Then told Mom and Dad that the mangy beast had followed me?"

"Let's not get started on those kind of stories." Robert laughed. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Brent. Let me introduce my family. As for a test on who is who, that's still open for discussion."

Brent nodded and smiled as Robert delivered the mult.i.tude of names.

Trip? he thought, only half listening to the names to go with the faces. Alice's grandfather had called her Alice, but her sisters had used the strange t.i.tle of Trip, which must be some kind of rather weird nickname. To him she was Alice, because that's what she'd called herself outside the restaurant.

Alice, he mused. Like Alice in Wonderland, who embarked on a mystifying journey when she'd fallen down the rabbit hole and had no idea where she was going? Interesting thought.

He didn't want this beautiful woman to disappear, never to be seen by him again. She was exquisite. Tall, slender, about thirty years old, he'd guess, and she had big, brown eyes that were accentuated by her peaches-and-cream complexion. Her hair was blond, very short and just wavy enough to be extremely feminine.

That dress. Whew. It clung...what there was of it... in all the right places and seemed to change colors as she moved like...yes, like a lovely pastel opal.

He had a great deal to learn about the enchanting Ms. MacAllister and could not deny that he was looking forward to discovering the pieces to the puzzle.

Conversation around the table resumed, and the noise level was high as Trip and Brent concentrated on eating their salads.

"Trip?" Brent said quietly to Alice.

Trip flipped one hand in a dismissive manner. "Old news. Long story."

"I'm interested. Will you share your old, long story with me?"

Trip popped a radish cut to look like a flower into her mouth and shook her head.

"Ah, a secret, is it? This will be challenging." He stared into s.p.a.ce for a long moment, then looked at Alice again. "Try this on for size. Trip is a nickname you were given at some point in your life before you became the lovely, graceful creature that you are. You were in a stage where you constantly fell... tripped... over your own feet. Did I nail it?"

"Not even close," Trip said, then followed the radish with a cherry tomato.

"Well, d.a.m.n, I'll give this more thought. Unless, of course, you want to put me out of my misery and just tell me what the deal is."

"Nope."

"How's the food at the Pop In Cafe, Trip?" her cousin Bobby asked.

Trip shrugged. "No one has died from it in the two months I've been waiting tables there. The only thing I've tried is the homemade pie and it's delicious."

"Maybe I'll stop by and sample the pie," Bobby said. "If I eat in your area do I have to tip you?"

"Big time, cousin." Trip smiled.

"Forget it," Bobby said. "You still owe me two dollars and twenty-two cents for the lizard I sold you when we were kids."

"I'm never paying for that crummy lizard." Trip laughed. "You failed to mention that it had been dead for a week before you convinced me to buy it. I thought it was sleeping in that shoe box you toted it around in, but the poor little thing had croaked."

"That's why I gave you such a smokin' deal on it," Bobby said, grinning at her. "My original asking price was five bucks when it was still breathing. Hey, I'm about to become a father. I need that two twenty-two to feed and clothe my firstborn child, Trip."

Trip rolled her eyes heavenward. "I moved back to Ventura over the Christmas holidays, and I already know that some things have not changed during all the years I was...where I was. I am not giving you the money, Bobby MacAllister, so put a cork in it."

Laughter erupted around the table, and Brent smiled politely while gathering his data about Alice from what he had heard.

Curiouser and curiouser, he thought, was that Alice was a waitress at a place named the Pop In Cafe. A waitress? There was certainly nothing wrong with that profession, but it was hard manual labor as far as he was concerned. Not only that, it didn't fit the picture of the MacAllister family that King Chester had painted.

The MacAllisters, Brent thought, reaching into his mental memory bank, were highly respected in many areas of the professional careers arena. Their reputation was one of power, wealth, intelligence, indisputable honesty, and they also were known for giving back to their city by being involved as volunteers in various charitable activities. The name MacAllister had clout. They were upper-crust, movers and shakers.

But Alice was a waitress?