“Actually,” she said, stalling for time. “The father isn’t in the picture.”
This was the line she’d been giving everyone who asked.
Only, it wasn’t true anymore. Not exactly.
Because he was in the picture again. He’d almost run over her goat.
And he deserved a better explanation than she’d just given him.
WEST MORGAN HAD BEEN so preoccupied on the drive back to Promise, he almost hadn’t seen the goat standing in the middle of the road. Thank God for antilock brakes.
And even now, his brain was a muddle of conflicting thoughts as he tried to make sense of the fact that Soleil Freeman, the woman he’d spent the past five and a half months trying to forget, was standing in front of him, pregnant.
What the hell?
Still beautiful, perhaps even more so now, her formerly wiry frame had been softened by lush curves. She’d done something with her hair, too. In the summer it had been a wild mess of springy curls, but she had it in two braids today that gave her a young earth-goddess aura.
He stared into her pale green eyes, made all the more stunning by her café-au-lait skin, trying to see some truth there that hadn’t been spoken aloud yet.
But all he saw was her looking as though she wanted to get away from him. The thin, brittle smile she wore wasn’t fooling anyone, definitely not him.
“Um, I would stay and catch up,” Soleil said after an awkward silence, “but I’ve left the kids unsupervised on the farm and I need to get back there. I’m shorthanded today.”
She was already edging toward her property, stepping over a downed section of fencing.
“Hey, can I help you out? My dad isn’t expecting me for a few more hours.” West had the feeling Soleil would disappear forever if he didn’t pin her down right now. Ridiculous thought, given how tied she was to the farm. Still, he couldn’t let this conversation end with so many questions forming in his head.
“Oh. No, thank you, but no. Really, I’ll be fine.”
“Looks like you need a fence repair.”
She glanced down. “Right. Before any more goats escape. Thanks for the reminder—I’ll get someone on it.”
“Seriously, I’d love to see what you’ve got going on around here. Why don’t you let me stick around for a while, do a quick fix on the fence and give you a hand wherever else you need it. In fact, I insist.”
Soleil looked like a cornered animal. Her eyes wide, she froze—probably contemplating her options.
Before she could produce an argument, he closed the deal, “I’ll drive around to the house and come find you once I’ve parked.”
“Oh. Well,” she said as he crossed the road to his SUV. “Really, I don’t need your help.”
But she did. She was meticulous enough that she’d never let a section of fence remain unmended unless she was overwhelmed.
On the short trip to the farmhouse, his brain tried to make sense of Soleil being pregnant, while doing the math. Even without knowing how far along she was, there was every reason to believe he was responsible.
Yet her comment about the father not being in the picture implied that not only did the father know about the kid, but also that he’d chosen not to participate. That ruled West out, didn’t it? No way would he bow out of his kid’s life. Especially if Soleil was the mother. Men looked their whole lives for a woman as sexy, smart, beautiful, funny and capable as Soleil.
Besides, they’d taken precautions against this very thing happening. They’d used a condom—every time.
Wait. There had been that one time when the condom supply had run out. They’d both sworn to being healthy and she’d claimed to be on the pill. Hadn’t she? Or had he filled in the blank in his urgency to get her naked? Either way, did it really matter? If he was the father, wasn’t figuring out the details of when and who said what akin to closing the barn door after the horse escaped—or, more appropriately, fixing the fence after the goat got out?
The more important aspect was what to do from here. And that necessitated talking to Soleil—openly and honestly. Something he didn’t hold out a lot of hope for if her earlier evasion was anything to go by.
But maybe there was a reason for that evasiveness. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions without all the facts. What if he wasn’t the father? What if the father actually did know and chose not to be involved? What if the guy had dumped her and she was embarrassed about the situation? It seemed unlikely that Soleil would be dumped—it was far more probable that she’d dumped him. That was her usual M.O.—get out before emotions get too complicated.
Still, when would she have gotten pregnant by someone else? Before West? After? The last time they’d slept together had been in June, which would make her five or so months pregnant now. He was no expert on how big women got in any given month of pregnancy, but she did look as if she was at least five months along—not huge yet, but with a noticeable bump in front. Was it possible there’d been someone before or after him?
Dammit, he needed some clarification.
West parked in front of the white Victorian farmhouse, got out of the car and strode toward the field behind the barn, his dread growing with each step. His legs felt shaky, as if at any moment they might fail him.
Him, a father.
He couldn’t be a father right now, could he? He’d envisioned fatherhood occurring at some point off in the distant and fuzzy future once he’d found someone he liked enough to marry and settle down with. In the meantime, he was too busy living life to worry about the future.
But now…Soleil was pregnant.
Could he handle it? Did he have any choice?
He’d been in some pretty sketchy situations as a Special Forces officer, but this notion of impending, unexpected fatherhood—he’d never felt so terrified in his life as he did right now.
CHAPTER TWO
SOLEIL NEEDED WEST showing up right now about as much as she needed a few more holes in the fence. Not only did she have to keep up her five teenage interns—without the help of her assistant, Michelle, who was out with the flu—but she had to act as their counselor, friend, warden and supervisor all day, too. She didn’t have time for a major life drama on top of everything else.
She hadn’t physically recovered from bumping into West. She was shaky still, and desperately wanted to hide out here in the barn with a box of Twinkies and a glass of milk until he went away.
But gastro-self-indulgence would have to wait. Right now she had to negotiate Silas and a teen terrified of all dogs.
“The dog won’t hurt you, I promise.” She reached for a dose of patience that seemed in short supply at the moment.
Tonio stood on the far side of the fence, refusing to enter the field and help with the goats so long as Silas was there.
“I already told you, I hate dogs.” He eyed Silas and shook his head. “No way you’re changing my mind.”
She didn’t want to deal with this. Not now, not with West lurking nearby, threatening to upset the balance of her universe.
“I understand how you feel. Dogs can be dangerous. Did you have a bad experience with one?”
He kept watching the dog as he answered. “Something like that.”
“Why don’t you tell me about it.”
He shook his head.
“Here’s my problem,” Soleil said. “Silas is a working dog. He has an important job here at the farm, and if I keep him penned up in the barn, he can’t do the work I need him to do, and more goats could wander off.”
“I’m not helping with the goats then.”
“Fair enough. For now, I’ll find other work for you to do.”
She didn’t add that later, she’d get to the bottom of his dog fear, but she intended to. It was hard to go through life terrified of dogs, especially when that very fear could put Tonio in danger around aggressive canines. She took note of the pale, barely visible scars on his arms and neck and realized he’d likely been mauled.
A moment later, West ap
peared, striding toward them in that confident, ready-to-conquer-the-world way he had, and her hunger pangs morphed to anxiety.
She wasn’t ready for him. Wasn’t ready for this conversation. She’d known it was coming, but she’d thought she had more time. She’d expected him to show up in town for the holidays, and she’d planned to approach him in her own time, prepared to give him a firm talk about how she intended to raise the child on her own, and how he could have as much or as little involvement in the child’s life as he wanted, but that she didn’t need his help.
It all sounded so perfectly reasonable in her head, and yet, she was terrified of saying any of it aloud.
“Oh, hey,” Soleil said stupidly. “You’re here.”
To Tonio, she said, “You’ve got chicken duty. You won’t have to worry about the dog if you’re in the chicken zone.”
The chickens would keep him busy for a little while. They needed to be fed, and their coop cleaned once any fresh eggs had been collected. He’d already done the job twice thanks to his dog fear, so he knew the drill.
His shoulders slumped. “Do I have to? The chicken coop smells.”
“Your other choice is mucking out the barn. Which would you like?”
“Chicken duty,” he said sullenly, then slunk away.
West watched the boy go. “How’s your current batch of kids doing?”
He’d spent enough time at the farm with her during the summer to have a rough idea what she did here—take the most promising applicants who applied to her program and give them an internship at the farm, where they could learn skills to take back to their community and help run urban-garden projects.
“They’re doing well,” she said, glad to focus on something innocuous.
He nodded. “I’m going to repair that fence. Where can I find a hammer and nails around here?”
She thought of protesting his help again, but really, she needed the fence fixed, and there wasn’t much sense in turning down a free hand today. And if he was occupied away at the property line, she’d have time to mentally brace herself for the inevitable baby conversation.
“Just inside the barn, to the left, you’ll find what you need.”
He nodded, and strode toward the barn without another word. Something about his expression had been a little off. He hadn’t looked as happy and relaxed as he had during their initial encounter.
Had he figured out the truth on his own? Well, duh. How could he not have?
She chewed the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit since childhood, and headed for the house to prepare lunch.
As she approached the porch, which was bedecked in wreaths and holiday garland she and the kids had hung the day before, it hit her that her own child would be playing here in a few years, toddling around after the ducks, swinging on the porch swing, pulling up flowers from the garden.
She may not be able to give her baby a perfect, intact nuclear family, but she could give the child this place—the happiest moments of her own childhood had happened here at this farm, and the same would be true for her baby. This idea, she loved.
Her own child.
The notion still made her a little dizzy sometimes. But she’d already felt the baby’s fluttering first movements, had seen its tiny heart beating on an ultrasound screen, and she knew that soon enough, her reality would be permanently, drastically altered.
How would she do it? She didn’t exactly have any great role models for motherhood to turn to. Her own mother’s drinking, raging, depressive style was not one she would ever emulate. Or at least she hoped she wouldn’t. With every ounce of her being she wanted to be a better mother than her own had been—more loving, more attentive, more centered.
And yet she didn’t know how she’d do it.
Her train of thought was interrupted by a scream from inside the house, then someone else yelling, “Bitch!”
Soleil headed down the hall to the kitchen, where she found Lexie with milk dripping down the front of her, and Angelique looking as though she wanted to throttle her.
“What’s going on here?” Soleil demanded.
“She called me a crack whore.”
“You are one!” Lexie cried.
“Both of you, stop! Lexie, you go to the bathroom right now and get cleaned up. Angelique, you sit down,” Soleil commanded in her most authoritarian tone.
At five feet six inches and a hundred and forty pounds of pure pregnancy, she doubted she was all that intimidating, but she’d never had a discipline situation get out of hand in all the five years she’d been running the farm.
Lexie rolled her eyes and stormed out of the room, and Angelique stared after her for a few moments before relenting and sitting down at the table.
Soleil sat opposite her. “Tell me your version of the disagreement,” she said calmly.
“She’s such a spoiled bitch.”
“Without profanity,” Soleil added.
“Okay, she’s such a spoiled female canine.”
Behind all her street attitude, Angelique was wickedly smart.
“Why do you say that?”
She crossed her arms over her chest, slumped in the chair and refused to say anything more.
Soleil leaned forward and put her elbows on the table. “She hurt you, and you wanted to lash out.”
Angelique narrowed her eyes. “Don’t give me your dumb social-worker strategies.”
Soleil sighed. Why hadn’t she learned by now? “Okay, keeping it real,” she said in her best south Berkeley accent. “She dissed you, and it pissed you off, which is understandable. But we have to live here together without fighting. Part of this program is learning to work and live cooperatively.”
The girl shook her head, sending a cascade of long cornrowed hair, accented with white beads, across her shoulder. “I want to go home.”
Was there a full moon? Between the escaped goat, the fighting teenage girls and West showing up out of the blue, Soleil was beginning to feel weary beyond measure. And she wanted ice cream.
“I need you here,” she said calmly. “And your neighborhood needs you to go back ready to help run the garden.”
“Nobody gives a damn about that stupid garden. I just came here to get out of school.”
Soleil tried not to feel insulted by this—Angelique was pushing her buttons. It was no easy feat getting chosen to come to Rainbow Farm. The kids were referred by teachers or social workers, yes, but they still had to show the interest to apply, write a compelling essay to compete for an internship and commit to a year’s service in their local garden afterward.
For teenagers who were otherwise usually not salt-of-the-earth nature lovers, this was a huge commitment.
“In your application essay, you said you wanted to be the change you hoped to see. You said you wanted your neighborhood free of guns and full of healthy kids playing in the street.”
Angelique blinked and rolled her eyes, unable to conceal the dampness there all of a sudden. Beneath her tough facade, she was a soft, sensitive girl, full of wide-eyed idealism the likes of which Soleil hadn’t seen since she herself had been that young.
“I just made all that crap up,” she said weakly.
“I know you and Lexie have some differences. She grew up in a wealthy family and never had to worry about money, while you grew up never knowing if your mom would come home, let alone whether there’d be anything to eat for dinner.”
Angelique’s face hardened when she looked at Soleil again. “Yeah, so?”
“It can be hard to understand each other when you come from such different upbringings.”
“No kidding, Einstein.”
“You two will work separately for the rest of the day, and later tonight, once you’ve both calmed down, I want both of you to talk and work through your disagreement.”
Soleil was afraid the girl would stick with the idea of going home, but she was relieved when Angelique simply crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged.
“After you’ve clea
ned up the milk on the floor, you’ll go out and help Tonio with the chickens. I think he could use the company.”
“Whatever,” she answered, then got up and grabbed a towel from the counter to wipe up the mess.
Soleil went in search of Lexie, whom she found lying on her bed upstairs, staring at the ceiling.
“You and Angelique are going to work separately for the rest of the day,” she said as she sat on the bed opposite Lexie’s.
In response, the girl sighed but said nothing.
“Do you want to tell me your side of what happened?”
“I got sick of her bragging about her rough life and how hard she has it and all that crap.”
“You think she was bragging?”
“Yeah, ’cause I’m not street enough since I grew up in a nice house and my family has money. She said I might as well be white, for all I know about being black.”
Soleil had seen this dynamic of clashing cultures played out before here at the farm, and there wasn’t always an easy way to engender respect between kids with vastly different life experiences. But sometimes, with patience, she succeeded.
“I know how it feels to be told I’m not black enough. It hurts.”
“Just because I speak using proper English, I’m white? We’re never going to have equality when we’re racist and judgmental.”
Soleil was more intimately familiar with this issue than most people. She’d felt the same pain as a kid. Having a mother who was a famous poet and a Berkeley professor hadn’t done a damn thing for her street cred.
“You know,” Soleil said, “my mother is white and my father is black, but we never lived together as a family after I was six years old. So here I was, this girl with black skin being raised by a white woman in Berkeley, living in a white neighborhood. When I went to school, I felt like I had more in common with the white kids, but I so wanted to be accepted by my black peers.”
“So what did you do?”
Baby Under the Mistletoe (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 2