Bachelor Father

Even if she did have amnesia, and even if she did look like Christie, it didn’t mean she was Megan’s mother. Mentally, he noted the differences in the two women. The voice. The clothing. The jewelry. The figure.

“Because you can’t remember who you are does not make you Christie Anderson,” he stated firmly, as much for her sake as for his.

“But I could be,” she said with a spark of hope in her eyes.

“No, you’re not Christie. She died, Faith.” He kept his voice deliberate. “Six months ago, while sailing her small boat. The St. Louis County coroner signed her death certificate.”

“You said they never found her body,” she reminded him.

He didn’t want to believe any of what she suggested could be true, nor did he want to remember that only a few hours ago he’d wondered about the very same possibility.

Dear Reader,

Intrigued by a news story about an amnesia victim, I found myself thinking about the consequences of memory loss. I know how frustrating it can be to forget the smallest of details. I could only imagine what it would be like to wake up and discover that I’d forgotten my entire past. As I thought about how different my life would be if I couldn’t remember the people I love, a story began to take shape in my mind and a heroine was born—Faith Miller.

As you begin this story, you know as much about Faith as I did when I first met her. She is a woman with amnesia, remembering nothing prior to the night she was found on the side of a road with a head injury. The only clue she has to her identity is a bracelet with the letters F-A-I-T-H imprinted on it.

In order to write this book I had to uncover the mystery of her past. Did she have a family? Where was her home? What was her occupation? Did she have a happy childhood? How did she end up on the side of a road?

I’m happy to say I found the answers to all of those questions and many others. And with the help of a bachelor father and his six-year-old daughter, Faith finds them, too. She also discovers the answer to another question that’s very important to her. It’s one even those of us who don’t have amnesia ask. “Where do I belong?”

Because that’s what every romance story is really about—finding that special someone who makes you feel as if you’ve come home.

If you would like to write to me, I love hearing from readers. Send your letters to Pamela Bauer, c/o MFW, P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424, or you can visit me via the Internet at www.pamelabauer.com.

All the best,

Pamela Bauer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For someone who shares my love of books,

my aunt, Opal Ronning, and her real life hero, my uncle Jim.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“ISN’T IT ABOUT TIME for a changing of the guard?”

Faith glanced up to see Dr. Avery Carson walking toward her, his dark wool parka peppered with melting snowflakes. Wearing a plaid woolen cap with earflaps and a pair of clunky rubber boots, he looked more like the guy who plowed the snow from the driveway than a retired doctor.

Faith smiled. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you here today.”

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I might as well stop in and offer you a ride home. It’s not much fun waiting for a bus in this weather and I find having a pretty girl next to me makes the traffic tolerable,” he said with an endearing grin.

“Is the driving difficult?”

“Only if you’re not used to a Minnesota winter. I’ve been here sixty-eight years. I can navigate through a bit of snow.” He glanced at the baby in her arms. “Who’s that little bundle of joy?”

“Her name is Emma,” Faith said, loving the scent of baby powder that emanated from the infant. “Isn’t she precious? She fell asleep the minute I started rocking her.”

“She certainly looks content in your arms. Will she wake if you put her down?” he asked with a nod toward the row of cribs along one wall.

“I don’t think so, but I’d rather hold her until her parents return.”

“That might not be for a while,” he warned.

“I know. I don’t mind staying. Actually, I was thinking I should stay since one of the other volunteers called in sick.”

“No one will ever accuse you of not putting in a full day,” he remarked.

“Hard work is healthy for the body and soul. Besides, rocking babies isn’t exactly what I would call work.” She glanced again at the angelic face peeking out of the pink blanket.

“I think the hospital is fortunate to have someone so devoted to other people’s children. Anyone who comes through that door can see you’re good with kids.”

His compliment warmed her insides. For two weeks she’d been volunteering in the hospital’s child-care center where there had been a steady stream of infants and toddlers who had sat on her lap in the wooden rocking chair. Most of the hospital staff knew that Faith had a talent for quieting even the unhappiest of visitors. What they didn’t know was that she found comfort in tending to them. It made her feel useful and wanted, but more importantly it gave her an identity—something she needed desperately. As long as she was at the hospital she knew who she was. She was the baby rocker.