If he had more time during this leave, he’d love to hang out here and get his hands dirty. But that option didn’t seem likely considering the reason why West was on leave. His father had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease two months ago, and his mental state had deteriorated drastically in the past six months. Now he needed constant care, but he’d managed to drive away the first three caregivers West had hired, leaving him with no choice but to deal with the situation in person. It was a complicated mess made worse by his complex feelings for his father.
He arrived at the rear door of the farmhouse and knocked.
Soleil called out for him to come in.
As he opened the door, the scent of fresh-baked bread greeted him. He inhaled deeply-he was ravenous.
“Join us for lunch?” Soleil said, though her lack of a smile reminded him that she’d probably prefer he not.
“I will, thanks.”
Would she have been inviting him for lunch if she had any big, life-altering news to report?
“We’re having sandwiches and potato salad. Hope that’s okay.”
“Sounds great. Your fence is fixed, by the way.”
“Thank you so much. I meant to get out there this morning and totally forgot about it. I’ve been pretty forgetful lately-it’s a side effect of…” She trailed off, seeming to realize too late that she’d brought up something she didn’t want to discuss.
“Pregnancy?” he finished for her.
“Yeah.” She smiled weakly.
“You look great. Really glowing and healthy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Everybody says that. I think it’s supposed to make me feel better about my jeans not fitting anymore.”
“I always thought you could stand to gain a few pounds. You were tiny before-you nearly disappeared when you turned sideways.”
This conversation between them felt too weird. Last time they’d talked face-to-face, they’d been in a canoe together, having one of their predictable lovers’ quarrels, then Soleil had given West a possibly well-deserved shove into the lake and rowed away.
The subject matter of that final argument-motherhood and pregnancy-now seemed eerily timed.
Here they were, five and a half months later, talking like casual acquaintances when what they should have been doing was picking up that conversation where it had left off before she’d abandoned him in the lake.
Too, too weird.
She turned back to the loaf of brown bread she was slicing on the counter.
“How can I help?” West asked as he went to the sink to wash his hands.
“Whatever you’d like to drink, you can get for yourself from the fridge. You and I can eat first, before I call the kids in.”
So she was allowing him a few moments alone with her. Did that mean she was ready to confess the truth? Over sandwiches and potato salad? It didn’t exactly sound like Soleil’s style.
“How about you? What would you like to drink?” he asked.
“I’ll have mineral water. It’s in the door of the fridge.”
They were still doing the awkward polite small-talk thing, conversing as though they didn’t really know each other.
Did they really know each other?
It was hard to say. He felt as if he knew the essence of her. But there had to be a lot he didn’t know, such as whether she was a woman with whom he wanted to share a child.
“Listen, Soleil, there’s something I need to say.”
She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. “Yes?”
“About last summer-what happened between us, I know we had our conflicts, but I’m willing to put all of that aside.”
She leaned against the old Formica counter. Sagged more than leaned, actually. “Okay,” she said vaguely.
“Besides, our conflicts were really more about having fun than they were serious disagreements, right?”
She frowned. “That’s not how I remember it.”
“Oh?”
“I’m a left-leaning organic-farming peacenik, and you’re a dedicated member of the military-industrial complex. We had great sex, but that’s it.”
“Is your beef with me really because I’m in the military?”
“Partly. And it’s also because I know you want the traditional married-with-children life, and that makes us inherently incompatible.”
West laughed. “You’re the one wearing an apron and slicing freshly baked bread, not me.”
Her frown turned to a scowl, and West kept a close eye on the bread knife just to be safe.
“You’re not funny,” she said, her voice flat.
“Oh, and
“But I’m not married, and I never will be. I don’t believe in it.”
They’d have to wait and see about that. If she was carrying his child, they’d be talking commitment. He didn’t see any harm in a shotgun marriage, if the situation called for it. And in spite of all her big talk, he’d have bet the sun and moon she was damn scared of raising a child alone.
It was time to find out the truth-pleasantries be dammed. Speculation was counterproductive. Only with the facts could he make a solid plan for the future.
“Soleil is there something you need to tell me about your pregnancy?”
CHAPTER THREE
SOLEIL FELT as if the words were lodged in her throat, refusing to exit. A wave of nausea the likes of which she hadn’t felt in weeks hit her, and her face broke out in a cold sweat.
West was not a man she wanted to raise a child with. She’d yet to meet anyone she wanted to raise a child with, but especially not a trained killer, whose politics and values were as opposite hers as they could possibly be.
Despite that, he deserved the truth.
“Yes,” she said, her mouth too dry.
No sooner did she speak than the nausea turned into a very real need to throw up. This wasn’t morning sickness-that had gone away around the twelve-week mark-it was a full-blown case of nerves.
Covering her mouth, she darted across the kitchen and down the hallway to the bathroom, and bent over the toilet just in time to lose it.
West followed her. She felt his hand on her back then, and he was holding her pigtails away from her face as she vomited.
When she was finished, he said, “That was pretty spectacular.”
“Shut up,” she mumbled.
She went to the sink and rinsed her mouth, then wiped her face.
She took a few deep, steadying breaths, then turned to face West again. But she couldn’t quite meet his gaze in this small, claustrophobic space. Instead, she edged past him and went into the living room, where she dropped to the couch and put her face in her hands.
West followed, and she could feel the couch sag as he sat next to her.
She could feel the tension in the air so thick it was hard to breathe, and she had to break it now before she suffocated. He was a good man, regardless of their differences. He didn’t deserve this.
She looked him in the eyes again.
“It’s your baby,” she said quietly.
Worry transformed into understanding, and he exhaled loudly, leaning back against the couch as he did so. But
