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Standing before the large round mirror of her antique dresser, Rachel studied herself with a critical eye. She never had been what she would call a girlie-girl. She couldn't remember the last time she'd painted her fingernails, and she wasn't one of those women who spent hours in front of the mirror, messing with her hair. Half the time, she twisted it up on top of her head, clipped it out of the way, and walked out the door without even looking at it twice. Lipstick was an afterthought, perfume was the smell of sugar and yeast that clung to her from the bakery. She wore jeans and a baker's smock to work, and given the chance, tennis shoes.

So how was she supposed to dress to attract a man? she wondered wildly. It had been so long since she'd had a date that she didn't even know where to begin.

More blush, she decided, frowning at her pale, reflected image. She needed more color in her face, and jewelry. Her neck looked bare, her earlobes naked. What did the kids call it now days? Bling-bling. That was what she needed. All she had, however, was a simple gold locket that her grand-mother had given her. Would that date her? Or make her look like some kind of innocent who'd been living in a convent?

Undecided, she slipped it on, then added blush to her cheeks and painted on red lipstick. Stepping back, she frowned at her reflection. The woman who stared back at her in the mirror was a stranger. Dressed in red, her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders, she looked hot, sultry, sexy.

It was the dress, she decided. There was no question that it was designed to appeal to a man. It hugged her slender figure and ever so slightly dipped between her breasts, revealing just a hint of cleavage. Paired with strappy, spiked sandals, the dress gave her the look of a woman on the prowl.

Suddenly having second thoughts, Rachel seri-ously considered chickening out right there and then. Maybe Abby and Lily and Natalie were right. There was another way to have a baby. What dif-ference did it make if she actually met her baby's father? It wasn't as if she would have a chance to learn that much about his character. She was never going to see the man again.

She wanted a baby, not a relationship, she reminded herself. And with a sperm bank, she wouldn't have to worry about some man calling all the time, wanting to get to know her—and his baby—better. All she wanted was his sperm. So what if it was clinical? What could be more clinical than picking a stranger out of a bar to be the father of her baby?

Don't second guess yourself now, a voice in her head warned. You don't have a lot of choices here, you know. Unless you want to get pregnant the old-fashioned way—by a man you fall in love with—you've only got two options. The sperm bank or seducing a stranger. If you want to know for sure that the father of your baby is not only intelligent, but a kind and caring man, then don't you think you'd better meet him face-to-face?

Her heart stopped dead at the thought. Could she really pull this off? What if he guessed what she was up to? Any man in his right mind would be furious, and she couldn't say she'd blame him. She intended to use him in the worst way a woman could use a man, but she truly had no other choice. She'd already tried the fairy tale, love and marriage, but there'd been no baby to make three. thought, she on the woman front door and Bug a few she was was shut her what she So could she. called last week and asked her to be in their weddings, and she'd yet to do anything. And who could blame her? She was going to have sex with a stranger in order to get pregnant! And that wasn't something she did lightly. On top of that, the father of her child had to be someone special. Someone who was caring and kind and smart, someone any child would love to claim as his father. And she'd decided there was only one place where she could find such a paragon, in a hospital. The father of her child needed to be a doctor.

Still, even after she'd come to that conclusion, she'd done nothing. Then she'd turned thirty-five on Monday, and she'd felt time slipping through her fingers, time she would never get back. And she'd known she couldn't wait any longer. She had to do something. Now.

The man she was looking for wasn't in Hunter's Ridge, Texas. The town was too small, barely eight thousand people, and ever since she'd moved there five years ago and started running her grand-mother's bakery, she'd met just about every inhabi-tant of the place. The only doctors in town were pushing retirement and happily married to little white-haired old ladies. If she wanted to find someone, she would have to go into Austin.

The city was forty miles and a world away. No one knew her there, but her pounding heart took little comfort in that as she drove toward the city lights. She was about to make one of the most im-portant moves of her life, and she was a nervous wreck. Her palms were sweating, her mouth dry, and every instinct she had urged her to turn the car around and race back to Hunter's Ridge. In her head, however, she could hear her biological clock ticking. Her chin set at a determined angle, she headed for the medical center.

The bar she chose was trendy and popular, and a friend who was a nurse had told her that if she wanted to meet a doctor, this was the place to go. It was one of the favorite watering holes of residents and medical students alike. As Rachel pulled into the parking lot, she could well believe it. She couldn't find a single parking space and had to park on the street.

Cutting the motor, she stepped from her car, her heart skipping every other beat. It was game time, she thought grimly. No more excuses, no more pro-crastinating. If she really wanted a baby, this was her chance. All she had to do was walk inside the bar and find a man who met her requirements for a father, then seduce him.

It should have been easy. The second she walked through the front door, she drew every male eye in the place. All she had to do was smile, find a seat at the bar and wait for someone to join her.

She didn't have to wait long. "Hey, sweetheart," a tall, dark-haired man greeted her with a leering grin as he sauntered up to the bar. "I bet you could use a drink. Bartender, the lady would like a beer."

Taking a position just inches away from her, he never touched her, but he didn't have to. He stroked her with his eyes, letting his gaze dip to her breasts, the curve of her waist and hips, then focusing on her mouth in a way that made Rachel's skin crawl.

Just barely suppressing a shiver of distaste, she said, "Thanks, anyway, but I don't like beer."

"No problem," he said smoothly, his eyes once again dropping to her breasts. "I appreciate a lady with class. How about a glass of wine? Cham-pagne? You name it, it's yours."

She could have him if she wanted him—the offer was right there in his beady little eyes. Okay, here's your chance, the irritating voice of reason drawled mockingly in her head. Just how desperate are you to have a baby?

Not as desperate as she'd thought, she realized. Not tonight, anyway. "Actually, I'm waiting for someone," she said stiffly. "Thanks, anyway."

His eyes narrowed with irritation, and for a moment, she thought he was going to refuse to accept no for an answer. Then a tall redhead walked in wearing a skirt that could only generously be called a mini. Just that easily, he lost interest in Rachel and moved to intercept the other woman.

Shaken, Rachel gave serious consideration to walking out then and there. But she'd known this wasn't going to be easy. One of the disadvantages of looking for a father for her baby in a bar was that she would have to deal with bar flies who thought they were modern-day Casanovas. Okay, she'd dealt with her first one. She could do this.

Drawing in a calming breath, she ordered a Coke from the bartender, then waited to see which man in the crowded bar would step forward next. The place was packed with people in the medical field—she caught bits and snippets of conversation all around her about patients and surgeries and long hours of work and study. She tried to take comfort in the fact that she was in the right place. Surely somewhere in the happy-hour crowd had to be a decent man. The trick was finding him.

Later, she couldn't have said how many men ap-proached her over the course of the next hour. It seemed like dozens, though in reality it couldn't have been more than seven or eight. And although most of them weren't nearly as obnoxious as the first man who'd approached her, they either drank more than she liked, weren't particularly attractive or didn't seem to be as kind and caring as she'd hoped for. Discouraged, she sent them packing one by one.

By nine-thirty, the crowd had thinned signifi-cantly. The bartender told her that the second wave came in after eleven, when there was a shift change at the six hospitals in the area, but she couldn't wait that long. She'd done nothing but sit at the bar and visit with the men who'd approached her, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so stressed. She was exhausted. And if tonight was any indication of things to come, finding a man to father her baby was going to be far more difficult than she'd originally anticipated. And she readily admitted she was worried.