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Praise for the novels of

STEPHANIE

BOND

“The perfect summer read.”

—Romance Reviews Today on Sand, Sun…Seduction!

“[My Favorite Mistake] illustrates the author’s gift for weaving original, brilliant romance that readers find impossible to put down.” –Wordweaving.com

“This book is so hot it sizzles.”

—Once Upon a Romance on She Did a Bad, Bad Thing

“An author who has remained on my ‘must-buy’ list for years.”

–Romance Reviews Today

“True-to-life, romantic and witty, as we’ve come to expect from Ms. Bond.”

—The Best Reviews

“Stephanie Bond never fails to entertain me and deserves to be an auto-buy.”

–Romance Reviews Today

Also by Stephanie Bond

BABY, COME HOME

BABY, DRIVE SOUTH

6 KILLER BODIES

5 BODIES TO DIE FOR

4 BODIES AND A FUNERAL

BODY MOVERS: 3 MEN AND A BODY

BODY MOVERS: 2 BODIES FOR THE PRICE OF 1

BODY MOVERS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

STEPHANIE BOND was raised on a farm in Eastern Kentucky where books— mostly romance novels—were her number one form of entertainment, which she credits with instilling in her “the rhythm of storytelling.”

Years later, she answered the call back to books to create her own stories. She sold her first manuscript in 1995 and soon left her corporate programming job to write fiction full-time.

Today, Stephanie has over fifty titles to her name, and lives in midtown Atlanta.

Visit www.stephaniebond.com for more information about the author and her books.

Baby Don’t Go

Stephanie Bond

www.mirabooks.co.uk

This book is dedicated to every person who recognizes that home is wherever you are loved.

1

Alicia Randall burst into her editor’s office. “I have my next story!”

Nina Halleck, executive editor of Feminine Power magazine, looked up from her desk and laughed. “Please, come in.”

Alicia smirked. “Sorry, Nina, but you’re not going to believe this. There’s a small town in Georgia that imported women for their men.”

Nina squinted. “Mail order brides?”

“More like bringing the entire catalog to town for the men to browse,” Alicia said dryly.

Nina pursed her mouth. “Okay, that’s a spin on matchmaking. What’s the name of the town?”

Alicia settled a hip on the edge of Nina’s desk, distantly registering the Manhattan skyline view. “The place is called Sweetness. Isn’t that great? I can’t make this stuff up.”

“Was there a shortage of women in this Sweetness?”

“Apparently, it was an abandoned mountain town that was being rebuilt, and there were no women. So a year ago the town leaders—all men—took out an ad in a newspaper in the town of Broadway, Michigan for—” she looked at her notes “—single women with a pioneering spirit, offering free room and board, and lots of single, Southern men.”

“Why Broadway, Michigan?”

“From what I can gather, Broadway was hit particularly hard by the downturn in the economy. I guess they thought women there would be desperate to relocate.”

“Did anyone respond?”

“Yes…a large group of women went down, a hundred or so.”

“And?”

“And—” Alicia leaned forward. “I want to go down there and see what’s going on. It could be my next topic for the Undercover Feminist column.”

Nina set down her pen. “Do you think they’re doing something illegal?”

“Not necessarily. But doesn’t it assault your sensibilities to think of a group of Neanderthals advertising for women to come and service them?”

“Do the Neanderthals have a name?”

Alicia checked her notes again. “Armstrong— Marcus, Kendall and Porter Armstrong—brothers. Apparently they grew up in Sweetness. About ten years ago, an F-5 tornado blew the town off the map.”

Nina grimaced. “Loss of life?”

“None. It was called the Sweetness Miracle.”

“I think I remember when that happened. I was writing copy for TV news.” Nina glanced upward, as if she were searching her memory banks. “No one was killed, but every building and home was destroyed…and maybe a water tower survived? Something like that.”

“Sounds right.”

“Hmm. So these Armstrong brothers are restoring their hometown?”

“According to the town website, they have a federal grant to rebuild based on a green initiative—recycling, alternative energy, tree-hugger stuff.”

“Sounds…wholesome.”

“It’s a great cover,” Alicia agreed. “Especially if they’re starting their own commune.”

“So what do you have in mind for a story?”

“I want to do an exposé of this chauvinistic matchmaking experiment of theirs.”

“By going undercover? As what?”

“What else? A woman with a pioneering spirit looking for a single, Southern man.”

Nina released a laugh. “You, on a manhunt? Alicia, when was the last time you even had a boyfriend?”

Alicia narrowed her eyes. “I wrote an entire feature on why that B-word should be stricken from every woman’s vocabulary.”

“I remember,” Nina said. “Sorry—old habits die hard. Besides, when I called Henry my manfriend, he said it made him feel like a butler.” She tilted her head. “But you digress…what administration was in power when you last had a man in your life?”

Alicia frowned. “I don’t need a man in my life, and I don’t want a man in my life.”

“My point exactly—so how do you propose to pass yourself off as a woman on the prowl?”

“I took acting classes in college,” Alicia said with a shrug. “Besides, anything for a good story, right?”

“If there is a story. The Armstrong brothers didn’t exactly coerce those women into moving there, did they?”

“Not that I can tell.”

“So…it’s a free country. Maybe they have the right idea, bringing men and women together to build a community from scratch.”

It was Nina’s job to play the devil’s advocate, Alicia conceded. “Tell you what—I have a few weeks of vacation coming, and my mother has been after me to visit her since she moved to Atlanta. Why don’t I head down and check out this place while I’m there?”

“When did your mother move to Atlanta?”

“Six months ago with her new boyfriend…um, Bo.”

“Bo? That’s his real name?”

“Evidently.”

Her boss considered her with shrewd eyes. “Alicia, are you sure this idea isn’t to satisfy some sort of personal vendetta to prove men and women can’t be happy together?”

Alicia scoffed. “The divorce rate in this country already proves that. Whatever I find in Sweetness will merely be anecdotal. Come on, I have a gut feeling that something will come of this. Will you authorize the expenses?”

Nina gave a rueful laugh. “Okay, it’s your vacation.” Then Nina took off her glasses and leaned back in her chair. “Alicia…the magazine has been approached about making your column a syndicated blog.”

Surprise and happiness shot through Alicia. “That’s great news!”

“Yes, it is,” Nina agreed with a smile. “Congratulations. I wasn’t supposed to say anything yet, but if this trip you’re planning turns up something interesting, it might be the right material for a blog series. It could be your first piece, a way to pull in readers right up front and develop a following.”

Alicia nodded. “Maybe I can get some of the women from Broadway to tell their personal stories…anonymously, of course.”

“I like it,” Nina agreed. “It has broad appeal and a human factor—I think readers will go for it.” Then she gestured to Alicia’s dark razor-cut hair, Nanette Lepore pantsuit and Stuart Weitzman pumps. “You’re going to have to take it down a notch if you’re going undercover in a mountain town, don’t you think?”

Alicia gave a dismissive wave. “I’ve been camping before.”

“When?”

“When I was nine, my dad and his second—no, third wife took me to the Met to camp overnight.”

“The Met?”

“It was a special program—the museum set up tents in the atrium.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s exactly the same as living in a mountain town.”

Alicia laughed. “Nina, I know this place will be different than my condo on the Upper East Side, but it’s not completely primitive—I’ve read they have wi-fi and cell phone service.”

“And spas and Starbucks?”

“I can acclimate.”

Nina smiled. “This assignment is suddenly starting to sound more interesting. And who knows—maybe you’ll find a big, strapping guy and live H.E.A.”

Alicia squinted. “H.E.A.?”

“Happily ever after.”

She gave her boss and friend a pointed look. “That’s funny…and pretty much contradicts everything this magazine stands for.” She pushed off the desk. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

Brimming with excitement, Alicia left Nina’s office and strode back through the noisy bullpen to her own office, with a smaller but equally nice slice of skyline view. The haze of summer hung over the city—it was a good time to get out of the brutal heat. The South would be steamy, but a change from the sizzling asphalt. Her mother had assured her a sweet magnolia-scented breeze blew round the clock.

She booked a flight to Atlanta and a hotel room in the area where her mother lived, then picked up her cell phone and dialed her mother’s number. Candace didn’t answer—she was probably out on Bo’s fishing boat, Alicia thought with an eye-roll—so she left a voice message telling her mother when she’d be arriving.

She glanced over her emails, grimacing at a “save the date” message from her father for his fall wedding to socialite Miranda Kitt, Mrs. Robert Randall number six. She wondered why he even bothered with a ceremony anymore, but each of his young wives had wanted the pomp and circumstance.

Alicia heaved a sigh. Her parents’ behavior had moved beyond humiliating years ago. It was almost comforting in its familiarity, and in some ways, she appreciated that they hadn’t given her unrealistic expectations of romance like most women her age. The time her peers in college, grad school and her early career had spent trying to find a mate, Alicia had spent working odd jobs, honing her skills and furthering her network. As a result, at thirty-one, she was the youngest staff writer in the forty-year history of the heavy-hitting Feminine Power magazine, and making a name for herself with exposés in her Undercover Feminist column.

To date, she’d taken on the system by going undercover to reveal job applicant and interview inequities, discrimination in the health care system and academic tenure programs, plus gender service inequalities in everything from car repair to dry cleaning. The Undercover Feminist column had spawned a couple of investigations by national news networks, garnering lots of coverage for the magazine. If the town leaders of Sweetness, Georgia, had initiated a mass matchmaking trend that was detrimental to women, she intended to get the word out.

Alicia paged through the rest of her emails, then brought up a browser screen and typed in the website address for Sweetness, Georgia, The Greenest Place on Earth.

She moved from screen to screen, on the hunt for tidbits she could use once she arrived. The fledgling town featured a boardinghouse, a clinic with a helipad, a school, a General Store, diner, bank and hair salon. A business of recycling tires and other materials into indestructible mulch had proved to be lucrative, as had the windmill farm and produce from an expansive organic garden.

A lost and found warehouse of items recovered after the tornado had its own social networking page for former residents to stay in touch. A restored covered bridge was being touted as a tourist destination. A scientist had built a laboratory to study the medicinal effects of a mountain vine called kudzu. And the town was having a Homecoming weekend in a month to welcome back anyone who had ever lived there.

On the About page was a photo of the three Armstrong brothers standing outside, dressed in dirty work clothes. Theirs was a strong gene pool, Alicia acknowledged with grudging approval, all of them as big as trees and rather attractive in a rugged sort of way.

The youngest looking one—Porter Armstrong, according to the title underneath the photo—was obviously the personality of the three, grinning at the camera. The one standing in the middle—Kendall Armstrong—looked approachable, if less gregarious. The oldest looking one—Marcus Armstrong—looked the least pleased to have his picture taken. From his body language, she could tell he was the natural leader of the group, yet he seemed to hold himself apart…a loner. She could relate.

Those eyes… Alicia’s stomach tightened. Marcus Armstrong had the most intense stare of any man she’d ever seen.

What would it be like to gaze into those eyes while sharing a pillow? Desire stabbed her low and deep. She shook off the sensation with a little laugh—Nina’s teasing was getting to her.

But those eyes…

She picked up the phone and dialed the Research Department. “Neil, this is Alicia. I need a full background report on a Marcus Armstrong, currently residing in the town of Sweetness, Georgia. M-A-R-C-U-S….”

2

“Okay, let’s get started,” Marcus Armstrong said to his brothers, gesturing to the current month’s schedule mounted on the wall of the trailer they’d chosen as their construction office. “We have a lot to go over.”

A country song erupted in the room. “C’mon baby, drive south,” the singer sang before Porter could get his phone out of its clip. “Hang on—it’s Nikki,” he said, then connected the call. “Hi, baby, what’s up?”

Marcus bit down on the inside of his cheek. His youngest brother had become even more woman-whipped lately because he was feeling the pressure of not yet having proposed to his girlfriend, Dr. Nikki Salinger, who had come to Sweetness and started their family clinic. Porter, who had been a tough foot soldier in the U.S. Army and taken shrapnel in Afghanistan, turned into a blob of ooze when it came to Nikki. Marcus tamped down irritation as his brother made goo-goo small talk, then finally ended the call.

“Sorry,” Porter said. “Nikki wanted to square away dinner plans. Go ahead, Marcus.”

Marcus gave him a flat smile. “Thanks. As I was saying—”

Another song erupted in the room, this one blue-grass. “Baby, come home…baby, come home,” the tenor crooned before Kendall could get to his phone. “Just a minute, that’s Amy.” He connected the call. “Hi, baby, what do you need?”

Marcus pushed his tongue into his cheek. His other brother, Kendall, had recently reunited with his first love, Amy Bradshaw, an engineer who’d returned to Sweetness to rebuild the Evermore covered bridge and, to Kendall’s surprise, had revealed the existence of their twelve-year-old son, Tony. After a bumpy start, the three were now a family, although Kendall, too, was feeling the pressure to marry and make it official.

Marcus could add his brothers to the pile of love-addled workers who strung into the men’s barracks late every night because they couldn’t bear to leave their girlfriends.

And while he was happy enough for his brothers, in the scheme of things, having the influx of women here in Sweetness had been a royal pain in his ass. Sure, they had helped to move the town forward in some areas, but overall, they were a huge distraction from getting work done, and the to-do list to meet the federal deadline in six months was still long enough to keep him awake at night. If at that time they hadn’t achieved a level of expected success in manufacturing and infrastructure, the land within the city limits and everything on it reverted back to the government and the future of Sweetness would be out of their hands.

Marcus glanced at his watch. But apparently, he was the only person concerned about yet another day getting away from them. He glared at Kendall and gestured with a rolling motion to hurry the hell up.

Kendall wrapped up the call and closed his phone. “Sorry about that. Amy wanted to firm up plans for dinner, too. We’re all eating together tonight at the boardinghouse, Marcus. Join us.”

“Yeah, join us,” Porter said.

“No, thanks,” Marcus said, less than thrilled at the idea of being the fifth wheel to their foursome… again. “And do you think the two of you could get rid of those pansy ringtones?” He gestured to the office door. “Maybe we should take the day off to look for the balls both of you seem to have misplaced.”

Porter grinned. “One of these days, brother, you’re going to meet someone who will inspire their own ringtone.”

“Someone you’ll be happy to hand your stones to,” Kendall added.

“Right,” Marcus said dryly. “That’s never gonna happen.”

Porter looked at Kendall. “Famous last words.”

Kendall made a rueful noise. “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

“Can we get back to work?” Marcus barked.

Porter scoffed. “Lighten up, Marcus. We’ve made tremendous progress in the past few months. We can afford to relax a little.”

“I have to agree,” Kendall said. “The bank will be open any day now, that’s huge. Dr. Devine’s laboratory is underway, and he’s been written up in at least six national newspapers. The General Store has expanded, and now we have a pharmacy in the clinic. Our mulching business has doubled again in the last six months. The recycling plant is hiring. We’re breaking ground on the hotel today. We have a new fire truck and fire hydrants on the sidewalks my beautiful fiancée built for us.” He smiled a proud smile. “And our population is growing every month.” He pointed to the black chalk board next to the door exhibiting the number “845.”

“The hair salon is busy, too,” Porter added.

“Well, that’s a huge relief,” Marcus said dryly.

“I’m just saying that at this rate, the strip of retail stores we built will be filled in no time.”

“We have business applications now for a tax preparer, a real estate broker, a shoe store and a bakery,” Kendall added.

“Any applications for a Justice of the Peace?” Marcus asked. “Because we have to have a peacekeeper in residence before the deadline.”

“No,” Kendall said. “But Regina Watts, the recruiter who’s been helping us get word out about open positions, is working on it. The problem is, the salary we’re offering is a tad less than what the market is paying.”

“How much less?”

“The average salary for a Justice of the Peace is about fifty grand…and our budget only allows for fifty dollars. Regina’s hoping to find an attorney who’s retired…or independently wealthy.”

Marcus sighed. “Keep me posted.” He looked at Porter. “When will the church be completed?”

Porter squirmed in his chair. “The basement is finished. The building sections are supposed to be here by the end of next week.”

Kendall clapped Porter on the shoulder. “Does that mean a proposal is on the horizon?”

Porter frowned. “Nikki and I aren’t in a hurry to tie the knot.”

“Really? So you don’t mind if I mention it tonight at dinner?”

Porter’s frown deepened. “I’d rather you didn’t. Have you and Amy set a date?”

“Not yet,” Kendall admitted. “But she knows how I feel.”

Marcus grunted. “The whole damn town knows how you two fools feel—you spray-painted it all over our water tower!”

Kendall shrugged. “I couldn’t let Porter show me up. But at least I’ve already asked and gotten my answer.”

“I’m not worried about Nikki saying yes,” Porter said with a nervous little laugh.

“Then why haven’t you broken ground on your house?” Kendall asked.

“Why haven’t you broken ground on your house?” Porter retorted.

“Girls,” Marcus snapped, “can you save the chitchat for later?”

Porter straightened in his chair. “There are plenty of other couples waiting for the church to be built. The place will be stampeded.”

“Then I guess you’d better be finding us a minister, too,” Marcus said to Porter.

Porter sighed. “Okay.”

Kendall smiled into his hand. “Before the marriages get underway, we’re going to have to turn one wing of the boardinghouse into a family wing. And we need someone dedicated to managing the house. It’s getting too much for the volunteers to keep up with.”

Marcus nodded and made a note of it on his list. “What else?”

“The tourist traffic to see the covered bridge has ballooned,” Kendall added. “I see more strangers in town every day.”

“Which brings us to our most pressing problem,” Porter piped up. “The diner. We aren’t prepared to feed tourists. Or the crowd we’re expecting for Homecoming weekend.”

“Right,” Kendall said. “Plus the Department of Energy representative will be back any day for another inspection, and we need to pass with flying colors. If we could make sure there’s no food fight in the diner this time, that would be a plus.”

Porter laughed. “We’ll have to keep Colonel Molly and Rachel Hutchins at opposite ends of town.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Kendall said. “I noticed Rachel’s been hanging around Devine’s laboratory quite a bit since he moved in.”

“Much to Dr. Cross’s consternation,” Porter added.

Marcus frowned. “What does one thing have to do with the other?”

“Didn’t you know?” Porter said. “Dr. Cross has a huge crush on Rachel.”

“But he’s got to be a foot shorter than her,” Marcus said.

Kendall splayed his hands. “The man is ambitious.”

Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. Now even he was being pulled into the soap opera the town had become. “Can we get back to the D.O.E. report? All our recycling initiatives passed on the last inspection except for the dining hall. But since then, we converted it into a bona fide restaurant, and we’re recycling ninety-five percent of the restaurant waste.”

“But the food is still terrible,” Kendall said, “and the service is lousy. They can’t handle a big crowd. Colonel Molly is impossible to work with—the waitresses don’t last long.”

Marcus frowned. “I’ll talk to her.”

“The diner stands to make or lose a lot of money as the town grows,” Porter pressed. “It needs your business know-how behind it.”

Marcus bit down on his cheek. “Let’s keep our eye on the goals for the federal deadline. In addition to a Justice of the Peace, we need to show we have adequate emergency response systems in place—fire and rescue. We have to break ground on a housing development, a jail, a library and city hall before cold weather sets in. Then we have to prepare for elections and buy polling machines.”

“We’re on track for all of those things to happen,” Kendall said calmly, making a steeple of his hands.

“But we can’t afford for anything to go wrong at this point,” Marcus said. “An explosion at the laboratory, or the discovery of something toxic where we want to put the housing development, would sink us.”

“We know, Marcus,” Kendall said. “But our first priority is still the diner. It’s the key to making everything else we have planned go smoothly.”

“So I hope you’re ready to do battle with Molly,” Porter said.

Marcus frowned. “I can handle her.” But he’d have to tread carefully—they were indebted to the retired U.S. Army colonel. She’d fed their original crew of two hundred and fifty men three meals a day for the first several months single-handedly.

Those were the days, Marcus thought. Before the women from Broadway, Michigan, had arrived, bringing with them their Northern attitudes and their endless high-maintenance demands—not the least of which was insisting the town charter include provisions that key positions be held by females, including the manager of the diner. The next thing he knew, they’d be unionized.

“Speaking of the diner,” Kendall said, “don’t forget we have a meeting this afternoon with Rachel for an update on plans for Homecoming weekend.” He arched an eyebrow at Marcus. “I understand she has lots of parties planned, so you’d better line up a date.”

“I already have a date,” Marcus said.

“Who?” they demanded.

“Mother,” he said. “Remember, she’s moving back Homecoming weekend.”

“How could we forget?” Porter asked. “She only reminds us every time she calls.”

“Amy is taking Tony down to help Mom pack a few of the heavier things,” Kendall said.

Marcus nodded. Kendall’s son was an Armstrong, through and through. Marcus loved the boy like he was his own. The thought of having a son sent a shot of longing through his loins…until he thought about having to deal with the child’s mother. Women were just too much trouble.

To confirm his point, Porter’s and Kendall’s phones started singing with their telltale “baby” ringtones.

“Are we finished?” Porter asked.

“Oh, yeah, you’re both finished, all right,” Marcus muttered as he headed toward the door. He planned to spend the morning at the recycling plant, then fish over his lunch hour…and count his lucky stars he wasn’t tied to a pesky, demanding woman.