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.