“I tried to be true to myself. I am who I am. I’m not a race, and I’m not a racial identity. I’m an individual. I hung out with the kids who accepted me—and I tried not to get beaten up by the kids who didn’t,” she said wryly.
Lexie finally smiled. “I bet you got your butt kicked.”
“A few times, but I won a few fights of my own.”
“I’ve never been in a fight. Today was the closest I’ve ever come.”
“What made you apply to come here?” Soleil asked.
She remembered what Lexie had written in her application essay, but she wanted to hear the girl’s own words. Lexie was her least likely applicant, a resident of the wealthy Oakland hills who attended a prestigious private school. Her life was far removed economically, if not geographically, from the communities where Urban Garden worked to transform empty lots into organic gardens for communities that didn’t have easy access to fresh, local produce.
“I don’t like driving through bad neighborhoods on the way home and feeling like I’m not a part of the solution to the problems around me. It’s like, I’m the opposite of the solution, you know?”
“I don’t blame you for feeling that way.”
Lexie wasn’t interested in being soothed. “It’s stupid, because people like Angelique don’t even want my help.”
“Maybe she does and maybe she doesn’t. That doesn’t change the fact that we need you as much as we need her.”
The girl said nothing as she stared at the ceiling. Stretched out on the bed, her curly black hair was almost dry, and she wore a pink T-shirt in place of the one that had been soaked with milk. Her faded jeans still bore a few milk splatters, and in spite of her simple attire, there was no way for her to disguise the fact that her jeans were expensive, and her T-shirt was designer. She had an elegant polish that made it clear she was an upper-middle-class kid.
Soleil felt her pain, but she couldn’t help but sympathize with Angelique, too. It was hard for such an idealistic kid to understand how the world could dole out disparities in life to people who’d done no more than be born to unlucky circumstances.
“Look,” Soleil finally said, “I have to go make lunch. You’re back on garden duty until lunchtime.”
Lexie shrugged as she sat up. “Okay. So long as I’m working alone.”
Soleil didn’t see any point in arguing now that being at the farm meant working together, whether Lexie wanted to or not. She already knew that, which was why she was so upset in the first place. When she came here, she hadn’t bargained on being the only kid from a privileged background, or on being rejected by her peers for that very fact.
As Soleil went back to the kitchen, she allowed her thoughts to stray to West and the impending discussion she’d have to have with him. Her stomach knotted with anxiety.
It was only half past noon, and already she was exhausted. Being pregnant made her want to take a nap every day, and yet her work didn’t allow that luxury. So she dealt. But, God, what she wouldn’t have given to curl up in bed and shut out the world.
As she passed the rear kitchen window, she could see West walking in from the field, headed right in her direction. Yep, definitely the part of the world she wanted to shut out right now.
PREGNANT, PREGNANT, pregnant, pregnant…
The word would not leave West’s head. It loomed there, bigger than any other thought, refusing to get out of the way. Soleil. Pregnant. With his baby.
No, he shouldn’t have been getting ahead of himself. He needed to wait and hear her story, and trust that if she was really pregnant with his child, she’d have had the decency to tell him right away.
But as soon as that thought formed in his head, he hated the idea of it because it implied that she really was pregnant with someone else’s child.
Which was a stupid way to feel since she’d made it clear that she wasn’t interested in a relationship with him anyway.
Dammit.
Round and round his thoughts went as he strode across the field. The day had remained gray and misty, though no rain was falling. Not too far away, he could see the teenagers overseeing the goats, and for the briefest moment he experienced a surge of misplaced pride in the work Soleil did. Sure, she was a pie-eyed idealist, but she lived by her ideals every waking moment, and she did good work with the kids.
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.”
<
br /> 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 you’re pregnant with a child.”
My child, he almost said.
“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 his hands, one on each thigh, remained tense.
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” she said.
“You’re sure.” This time, a statement instead of a question.
Soleil watched the storm of emotions in his gaze, and she grew more terrified by the second. Before she could come up with any lame excuses for not having told him sooner, he stood and looked as if he might explode.
“What the hell, Soleil? What the hell? You didn’t tell me? You were just going to go on your merry way without letting the other parent in the situation know this key piece of information? It didn’t freaking occur to you that the father might like to know he’s the father?”
“I—I—”
“You thought maybe you could slip this one by me?”
His voice was too loud now, nearly a shout, and Soleil was painfully aware of all the adolescent ears nearby that could be hearing the argument.
“Could you please lower your voice? The kids—”
“Oh, what, now you’re worried about being a good role model?”
“That’s not fair.”
“You don’t need your baby daddy? Is that it? Is that what you tell the kids here?”
She winced at his bad imitation of a street accent. Any other time, she’d have given him an earful for that kind of comment, but now she didn’t have any room to talk—not literally or figuratively.
“West—” she said as calmly as she could, but he was closing the distance between them now, and panic rose in her chest.
“It’s crap!” he said, in her face now, close enough that she could inhale his woodsy scent. “You don’t do this to people. This is utter crap!”
She didn’t have any right to lose her temper now. It was his turn, and she had to take whatever he doled out. She owed him that. So she bit her tongue.
“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
Her apology seemed to take the wind out of his sails. His shoulders slumped, and he retreated a step.
Shaking his head, he said, “How could you? How could you do this? How could you keep this from me?”
“I wanted to tell you in person. I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”
“You wanted to tell me in person,” he repeated numbly. “All this time, you didn’t even call me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“I think this warranted a phone call before now,” he said.
He didn’t sound calm so much as he sounded defeated. West Morgan, in the time she’d known him, had never sounded defeated. In fact, part of what had made her so willing to spar with him was that he’d seemed undefeatable.
“You’re right. I kept putting off deciding how to tell you, another day, then another and another until all of a sudden there you were driving down the road toward my goat.”
His expression turned wounded. “Did you really plan to tell me?”
Busted.
Her mouth went dry, and she worked to find the ability to speak again.
“Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to do. I knew it would be wrong to keep it from you, but I…I put off deciding. That’s the truth.”
“Okay.”
She could see him processing the information, trying to decide on his next course of action, which was what she feared most.
Captain West Morgan would have a very narrow idea of the right way to handle this situation. Get married. Settle down. Make the best of it. She’d become the target of his next mission: Operation Family.
With the echoes of their last argument and his 1950s clichés ringing in her head, she had no interest in becoming a cozy family of three. She had no interest in any of the things that would entail—the compromises, the subjugation, the loss of freedom.
“I decided on my own to have the baby, and I don’t expect anything from you. Just so you know.” Though she knew these words were wasted and unnecessary.
“Of course I’m going to be involved,” he said.
“Of course,” she echoed weakly.
“I’m the father. I won’t let my own child grow up without a father.”
He looked stunned but determined, and Soleil knew she wasn’t going to convince him of anything now. But she couldn’t help standing her ground—she was just as unyielding as he when it came to her ideals.
“You live in Colorado, and I live in California. So what? You’re going to commute here to do diaper duty and m
idnight feedings?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. You’ve had months to think about this, and I’ve had a couple of minutes.”
Right. It wasn’t fair of her to be sticking it to him now.
“Maybe I should skip lunch and go,” he continued. “We’ve both got a lot to think about.”
She cast a glance at him, so much larger than her, so much more male. So foreign, so other…
He both intrigued and repelled her, even now. She wanted to run away from him, and she wanted to reach out and knead the tension from his shoulders.
“I’ll be around. You’ve got my number,” she said. “Feel free to call if you want to discuss this further.”
His posture, beneath the gray wool fisherman’s sweater he wore, remained slumped. She hated to acknowledge that she’d been the one to take that toll on him. Even at her best, she’d never felt as if she’d beaten him. Until now. It was a bitter win, if it could even be called that.
He turned to go, and as she watched him walk toward the door, she had a bewildering urge to grab hold of him and beg him not to leave. But she didn’t.
Of course not.
It wasn’t in her vocabulary to ask for help.
Except now, walking out the door was the man she had a sneaking sense of dread she might need, whether she wanted to need him or not.
JULIA MORGAN had never set out to try online dating.
And as she sat in the Guerneville coffee shop, nervously scanning the passersby outside the window for a familiar face, she could hardly recall why it had ever seemed like a good idea.
It had all sort of, well…happened. First came the laptop computer her three sons had given her for her birthday. She’d never been a computer person, and she didn’t really see the need for it since she’d managed to teach for thirty years without one.
Then came her newfound love of e-mail. Who knew it could be so much fun. Instant communication with her friends, children and grandchildren. It was almost too good to be true. She could even get pictures of them on the computer, just like in all those commercials.
And, she’d figured out how to upload the pictures to the Internet and order prints from a Web site.
Baby Under the Mistletoe (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 3
