Home for the Baby's Sake

By Christine Rimmer

He’d do anything for his son…

…Including returning to the town he left behind.

Valentine Bay’s the perfect place for real estate developer Roman Marek to raise his infant son. But when he snaps up the charming local theater, he doesn’t bargain for tempestuous director Hailey Bravo. Hailey won’t let Roman wreck the thing she holds most dear—and she’s certainly gotten under Roman’s notoriously thick skin. As the duo spar and sparks fly, Roman’s surprised to find that Hailey’s the perfect missing piece for his family. But how can he convince her that this partnership’s for keeps?

New York Times Bestselling Author

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlequin
• Release date: Oct 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781488070112

Christine Rimmer

A New York Times bestselling author, Christine Rimmer has written over ninety contemporary romances for Harlequin Books. Christine has won the Romantic Times BOOKreviews Reviewers Choice Award and has been nominated six times for the RITA Award. She lives in Oregon with her family. Visit Christine at http://www.christinerimmer.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

On a balmy afternoon in early September, Roman Marek stood on the sidewalk at the corner of Carmel Street and Pacific Lane in Valentine Bay, Oregon. His hands in his pockets, he scowled at the excess of arches and scrollwork adorning the facade of the building directly in front of him.

The Valentine Bay Theatre was nothing short of a nightmare—at least, to Roman it was. He’d made his fortune in Las Vegas real estate and he had a definite preference for efficient, light-filled, modern spaces. The last thing he would ever invest in was a run-down, century-old theater in the Venetian Gothic style.

But invest in it he had—in fact, he’d bought the damn thing outright. His mother had insisted. And Roman Marek would do just about anything for his mother. He loved her and he owed her.

As for her ridiculous fondness for the old theater, when Roman was a kid, his mom used to bring him here to watch second-run movies and attend community events. She looked back on those days through rose-colored glasses. And that was why, a few weeks ago, when Sasha learned that the elderly owner had died and the heirs wanted to get rid of it, she had demanded that Roman buy the place.

Buy it, he had. And now he needed to decide what the hell to do with it.

To him, a wrecking ball seemed the most effective solution to the problem—just knock it down and build something better. But demolition wasn’t going to fly with his mother. To keep Sasha happy, the building would need to remain standing and to retain at least a semblance of its original design.

As Roman glared at his recent acquisition and continued to consider his limited options, a skinny guy in khakis and a plaid shirt strode past the ticket booth and went inside.

With a shrug, Roman followed. Might as well have a good look around, get a better idea of what he was up against.

He entered a lobby that was pretty much as expected, with an aged maroon-and-black carpet in a dizzying pattern of interconnected medallions. There were lots of arches, fussy plaster moldings and several Tuscan pillars marching relentlessly toward the back wall. Curving stairs topped with fussy ironwork led up to the balcony.

The good news? Though the air smelled kind of stale, he detected no odor of mold or mildew. He might get lucky and not have to call in a mold abatement crew.

Roman found his way into the backstage area and saw that there was some kind of planning meeting happening out on the stage itself. There were a couple of hot blondes and a few long-winded middle-aged people, all of them sitting in a circle in folding chairs. He eavesdropped without shame as they droned on about a Festival of Fall Revue, a haunted house and a Christmas show—community events, complete money wasters, as far as Roman was concerned. Unfortunately, the former owner had signed on for them and it was part of the deal that Roman would honor those commitments.

Thus, the upcoming events were money wasters Roman could do nothing about. It would be the first of the year before he could get going on his plans to make something useful of this musty pile of concrete and stone.

He stood in the shadows behind a narrow black velour drape, watching the meeting, unnoticed, for several minutes—and not because he was interested in community events.

One of the hot blondes had caught his eye. She wore green shorts and a white shirt and had a pretty face—a gentle oval with wide-set eyes, a small chin and a delicately shaped, shell-pink mouth. The other hot blonde was pretty, too, her face more angular, her pale hair even longer. He would guess that the two of them were sisters, possibly fraternal twins. But he liked the one in the green shorts the best.

As if it mattered in the least.

Shaking off the weird spell the pretty blonde had cast on him, Roman turned away and continued his self-guided tour of the property. Come the new year, when he could finally boot the theater people and community boosters out, he wanted to know where he was going with the building, to have everything in order to start ripping out walls.

The more he looked around, the better he felt about the situation. It could have been so much worse. The place needed a boatload of work, but it wasn’t a bad space. And it was big. He explored the warren of rooms backstage and the large storage and docking area at the rear of the building.

The property could be a killer boutique hotel. Valentine Bay had a burgeoning tourist trade. When the transformation was complete, Roman would have the out-of-towners lining up for a chance to stay here. Already, he was envisioning the extensive remodel that would keep a sense of the old theater and yet be streamlined, modern and welcoming to hotel guests.

By the time he returned to the backstage area, only one hot blonde remained—the one he liked, in the green shorts. Everyone else had cleared out. She was busy on a tablet. Her thick, straight platinum hair fell forward to mask her face as she bent over the tablet on her lap, typing out notes or maybe an email.

He hesitated offstage again, watching her, smiling a little at the tender curve of her back, the way she had her knees braced together supporting the tablet, her lower legs apart, ankles wrapped around the chair legs. She wore battered Converse All Stars and she was so damn cute, even with her sweet face obscured by her hair.

He should move the hell on. But some random impulse held him in place, had him hoping that maybe she would glance over her shoulder and spot him, give him an opening to find out her name.

Just as he was about to give it up and turn away, a tall, gangly dude appeared from the wings on the opposite side of the stage. Roman remembered him, the guy in the plaid shirt, the one he’d followed inside.

Hailey, said the lanky guy. He had a distinctive voice, low and commanding for a man his size. At last, I have you alone. He sounded like the villain in some tacky old-time melodrama. All he needed was a tall black hat and a greasy mustache to twirl.

The blonde was not impressed. She didn’t even bother to look up as she waved a dismissing hand. Doug. Don’t you have levels to check in the light booth or something?

When are you going to let me take you to dinner?

Her focus still on her tablet, the blonde muttered, Don’t even go there.

I can’t seem to help myself. Doug moved clear of the wings and onto the stage.

I mean it, Doug. Don’t.

But Doug was nothing if not persistent. He took another step. "There’s always been such powerful energy between us. Remember senior year? The Crucible? I was John Proctor and you were the feisty, wild, troublesome, angry and headstrong young Abigail..."

The blonde did look up then. Roman watched her spine draw straight. Shaking her head, she stood and set her tablet on the chair. You need to just give it up. You get that, right?

Doug put a bony hand to his heart. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it—bam! Like a bolt of lightning every time our eyes meet. I promise you, no one else ever has to know. He moved in close to the blonde named Hailey.

And then he reached for her.

Roman didn’t even realize that he’d let out a low growl until he’d already started to her rescue—only to halt when she grabbed Doug’s arm and kicked his legs out from under him.

Doug let out a shout of surprise as he landed on his ass at her feet, center stage. Ouch, he whined. His wounded expression was pretty damn comical. Groaning a little, he dragged himself upright again, one hand at his back. That was just mean.

Hailey scoffed. You’ll live—and you should know better.

There are names I could call you, Doug grumbled.

Just don’t try that again. You’ll end up back on your butt.

With a low, derisive sound, Doug turned and limped off the way he’d come.

It’s called harassment, Doug, and you need to quit it, Hailey called to his retreating back. You come on to me again, I’m giving Mariette a call.

Leave my wife out of this, Doug grumbled as he disappeared into the wings on the other side of the stage.

Thoroughly entertained, Roman let out a chuckle.

The blonde whirled to face him. He was close enough to her now to see that her wide eyes were a gorgeous lavender blue.

He put up both hands. Sorry. I saw what was happening and I hung around in case you needed backup.

She regarded him warily. Who are you?

Roman Marek. He tipped his head toward the spot where Doug went down. That was impressive. You have to do that often?

She studied him for a slow count of five, apparently trying to assess if he was any kind of threat. He knew he was in the clear when she scoffed and flipped her hair back over her shoulders with both hands. Please. Men never come on to me. I tend to give off an antirelationship vibe.

He dared to move out onto the stage. Oh, I don’t think Doug was looking for a relationship.

She laughed then. It was a husky, inviting sound. I’m Hailey Bravo.

The Bravo family was well-known in Valentine Bay. I went to school here in town. Same grade as a guy named Connor Bravo.

Connor’s my brother—he’s third-born, after Daniel and Matthias.

I remember Matthias, too. Surly and usually high on weed or something stronger, that was how Roman remembered Matt Bravo.

Hailey seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts. Matt was not a happy guy in high school. A smile bloomed on those pretty pink lips. "But about two years ago, he got married. He moved up near Astoria to live with his wife on her family farm. He is happy now—you know, the wonder of true love and all that."

I’m sure, Roman said with a shrug, though he wasn’t. He’d been married twice. Both times, it had ended badly.

A frown wrinkled Hailey’s smooth forehead. You don’t look all that sure.

He frowned back at her. Of what?

Love, Roman Marek. Love.

On the contrary, he was sure about love—sure that he wanted nothing to do with it. And he should get going. But he liked Hailey Bravo. She seemed so self-possessed and confident. She’d put that Doug character on the floor without breaking a sweat. Plus, she was very easy on the eyes.

"So where are you in the Bravo family birth order?" he asked.

I was born seventh.

That makes you how old?

You ask a lot of questions, Roman.

He gave her a lazy shrug. I’m a curious guy.

I’m twenty-five.

He was thirty-two. And he found himself thinking that seven years was an acceptable age difference between him and a woman he might possibly get involved with. Not that it mattered. He had no plans to get involved with any woman anytime soon. As I recall, there are a lot of you Bravos, aren’t there?

Ten total, nine by blood.

He wasn’t following. You mean one of you is adopted?

No. One of us was switched at birth, so there’s the switched sibling and the sibling we grew up with. The one we grew up with is a sibling, too. So that makes ten.

He eyed her sideways. You’re blowing smoke.

Nope. It’s true. One of us was switched at birth.

Which one?

I can’t tell you which one. She put a finger to her lips and whispered, It’s a family secret.

Why?

Reasons, Roman. Reasons I’m not at liberty to disclose.

You’re very mysterious. And charming. And so damn cute.

Not mysterious at all. Not really. As he watched, her sweet mouth turned down at the corners and those fine eyes seemed sad. We lost Finn years and years ago—he’s sixth-born, two years older than me. He vanished on a family trip to Russia.

Roman vaguely remembered the story of Finn Bravo’s disappearance. It had happened when Roman was twelve or maybe thirteen, four or five years after he and his mother had fled the only other home he’d ever known, stopping for the night in Valentine Bay. And somehow, never moving on.

Come to think of it, the Bravo parents had died on another trip a couple of years after they lost Finn, hadn’t they? Both stories had made the local newspaper.

We’re still searching for Finn. Hailey tipped her pretty chin high.

Roman gave her a long, slow perusal, from the top of her blonde head to the toes of her All Stars—because it gave him pleasure to do so. I hope you find him someday.

We will. We Bravos never give up.

The mood had darkened considerably. Now, Hailey seemed both determined and sad. A change of subject was in order. So what’s up with that Doug character, anyway?

She scoffed. We were in drama club together back in high school, Doug and me. He helps out here at the theater. And he also pretty much considers it a point of pride to make a pass at every woman who wanders by. She tipped her head to the side, studying him. Got kids?

He thought of his little boy and almost smiled. Why?

Right now, we’re staging the Festival of Fall Revue. Almost every kid in town will be in it. We can always make room for one more.

He considered telling her he had an eleven-month-old son. She seemed to like kids. But if he mentioned Theo, he would probably end up having to explain what had happened to Theo’s mother and that wouldn’t be fun.

Uh-uh. It was the wrong moment to go there. "I’m just having a look around the building—and what do you do here at the theater?"

Her smile got wider. She looked so happy to be here, onstage in her hometown’s shabby old theater. I work with the local arts council, putting on seasonal-themed shows and programs. It’s a community endeavor and we try to get everyone involved. He listened, absurdly enchanted, as she chattered on about how her title at the theater was artistic director. Also, my sister Harper and I have our own little production company, H&H Productions. In the past year, we’ve coproduced all the events here at the theater. Frankly, our budget makes a shoestring look fat. But Harper—she’s our tech director—can do amazing things. She’s a genius when it comes to making something from practically nothing. She’s building five major interlocking sets for the Festival of Fall Revue. Wait till you see them, Roman. They’ll blow you away.

Sounds impressive, he said, and found he almost meant it. He could not have cared less about theater sets—interlocking or otherwise. But Hailey Bravo’s enthusiasm was contagious.

She gazed up at the catwalk overhead and then out past the lip of the stage, over row upon row of worn, maroon-velvet seats. The place could use updating, she said. But overall, it’s a great space. Her expression turned wistful. Unfortunately, it’s been sold. We’re not sure what the new owner plans to do with it.

Roman made a noncommittal sound and gave no indication that he was the new owner she was so worried about. Yeah, he should tell her.

But he just couldn’t quite make his mouth say the words. She would only want to know what would happen when the contract with the arts council ran out at the end of the year, and she wouldn’t like his answer. That could mean the end of this conversation.

He didn’t want that—didn’t want her walking away. He was enjoying himself. She was a breath of fresh air, full of energy and enthusiasm.

So, Roman, she said with a teasing little grin, if you’re here to contribute to the worthy cause of community theater for all the kids in town, I would be only too happy to accept your check made out to H&H Productions—or if you’re uncomfortable writing a check to our family business, you can make it out to the Valentine Bay Arts Council. Most of the theater’s budget comes through them.

I might just do that.

You’re a generous man.

No, I’m not. But I do want to get in good with the artistic director.

---

Hailey Bravo grinned up at the tall, broad-shouldered guy with the compelling jade-green eyes. He was gorgeous, really, with that jawline cut from granite and that mouth she couldn’t stop staring at, that full lower lip and a distinct, beautifully shaped bow on top. His big, hard arms were shown off to perfection by his short-sleeved knit shirt.

And better than mere gorgeousness, those fine eyes gleamed