The Tycoon's Cupid Surprise (a Valentine's novella) (Holiday Babies) by Tabitha Robbins Page A

trouble.
    Xander strode over and grabbed the door knob. Before he could charge inside, however, he caught sight of Brooke through the opening. She was cradling a baby swaddled in a soft blue blanket. A bottle was warming in a saucepan, which sat atop a single burner set up on a bench. A timber cot was wedged into one corner, a recliner with a back cushion waited next to that. As Brooke Hart smiled down, cooing and singing softly, the whimpering eased.
    Holding his breath, Xander pulled quietly away.
    Normally h e noticed whether an attractive woman wore bling on her left hand, specifically the third finger. An engagement ring or wedding band indicated a no-fly zone. Well, obviously.
    Had his father adhered to that simple philosophy, Xander’s childhood would’ve been different. Of course he could thank that confusion and hurt for instilling inside of him the desire—the passion —to overcome any obstacle and succeed. For as long as Xander could remember, his motto had been: roll up your sleeves and find a way .
    Right or wrong, t hat’s how he felt about the mysterious Ms. Hart now. If she hadn’t put herself in for that draw, who had? The rules had been clear: only single females need apply. The rules said nothing about babies. If that was the reason she withdrew from the contest, what was he prepared to do about it?
    A s he left the shop and its blend of perfumes behind, he recalled those dimples, that defenceless whimper, and the fact that Brooke Hart wore no ring. As sure as double-chocolate ice-cream made him smile, Xander knew one thing...
    He needed to return to this shop, and sooner than Ms. Hart might imagine.

Chapter 2
     
    Wincing, Brooke yanked her finger away from her mouth. The part she had gnawed was left stinging and raw. There’d been times when she’d thought she had conquered the habit. For a while, she had even worn real polish, not some foul-tasting nibble inhibitor that made her gag. Her friend and employee, Heather Barnes, had suggested acrylic tips or gel.
    G oodbye crappy nails!
    Only Brooke couldn’t waste money on manicures now. For the past ten weeks, she’d had a new baby to care for. Not that he was a burden. God knows she would give anything, everything , to know Chance was happy, safe…content. 
    She’d already kicked one giant mistake to the kerb; to think she’d dated Jake Bentley a whole six months. Now Brooke was free again—and, man, did she love her independence, being her own boss, running her own life. She only wished her shop had more orders. Instead sales were looking, well, dismal.
    Times were tough for everyone.
    After closing the order database on her laptop screen, Brooke tiptoed away from the counter to the entrance that led to the shop’s adjoining living space. She always left that door open a sliver so she could peek inside. At this stage, Chance caught plenty of z’ds during the day, which meant—with Heather’s help when she was here—shop duties ticked over nicely. Nights were long, though, with bottles and lullabies and midnight promises that everything would turn out fine.
    It just had to.
    Brooke adored her new role as mom. She loved her little guy’s smile, the way he kicked those strong baby legs. Chance had become her world, her life...even if she wasn’t the one who had carried him to term.
    This time when Brooke jerked that nail from her mouth, she smothered a yelp. At the same moment she tasted blood, the shop doorbell tinkled and her heart leapt. Please God, make it a bride with a dozen bridesmaids and a church booked next week.
    I t wasn’t a customer.
    “Is my sweetie -pie awake?” Wearing a yellow spandex jumpsuit, Ella Hart crossed the floor using her recently perfected don’t-wake-the-baby tiptoe technique. “I haven’t had a cuddle in two whole days. Major withdrawals happening here.”
    Brooke gave her younger sister a big squeeze. 
    “No classes today?” Brooke asked. Ella was an Arts History major , with top grades,