“There’s not much time left to live up to your end of the bargain. I’ve come to check on your progress.”

Xavier’s silent while the man—Xavier’s father—looks me up and down.

Out of old habit, I can’t help looking at his suit. The cut is excellent. And the fabric. Top of the line tailoring. Tortoise shell buttons. Hand stitching.

And his shoes. He’s standing out here in a horse paddock full of cow pies in a pair of goddamned Stefano Bemer’s, if I haven’t lost my old touch. Not a household name, but those shoes can retail at three to four thousand dollars a pair. We’re talking stupid money.

“But I see you’ve made a start of it.” The corners of Xavier’s father’s mouth turn down. “I can’t imagine where you found her. Farmer’s Monthly?”

Xavier steps in front of me, blocking me from his dad’s sight.

“Get the hell off my property.”

His father sighs even as I strain to look over Xavier’s shoulder. I can’t help but want to get a peek at the man who sired my surly, mountainous lover. He looks a little familiar. Maybe I’m just seeing Xavier’s features in him?

“Look, I’m sorry,” his dad says, holding out a hand. He’s a tall man but not nearly as broad-shouldered as his son.

Maybe his mom was a female heavyweight champ or did Olympic shot put?

“We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot again,” his dad continues, sighing heavily. “I just want to talk. Maybe we could go inside and…” He lifts his leg and tries to shake some caked up mud off his fancy shoe—at least hopefully it’s mud.

He looks beseechingly at Xavier.

Xavier stands unmoved with his beefy arms crossed over his chest.

Awkward silence doesn’t even begin to describe the quiet that falls over the three of us. Xavier might be cool with that and even his dad bears it out bravely, but I’m a wimp and my Chatty Cathy instincts bust to the fore.

“We haven’t been introduced.” I step around Xavier before he can stop me. “I’m Melanie Va—” I catch myself just in time. It’s been half a year but I doubt the world has forgotten so quickly about my father’s scandal even though out here, it feels a million miles away and about three centuries ago. “I’m Melanie,” I finish a little lamely but smile as I hold out my hand.

Xavier’s dad seems glad for the reprieve and he takes my hand and shakes it warmly. “Lovely to meet you, Melanie. I’m Pritchard.” There’s a bit of silence, then he looks between Xavier and me. “So, how long have you known my son?”

“Wow, Dad, that took you a whole three seconds after introductions,” Xavier says scathingly.

I glance back to Xavier, then swallow, and, on what is probably the wrong impulse—decide to tell the truth. “We met about six months ago when we agreed to this mutual experiment,” I rub my baby bump. Then I wince at my wording. “I mean, you know, this amazing adventure,” I rush on in a gushing voice. “Nothing more amazing than bringing a child into this world!”

I lean in chummily to Pritchard. “Except giving one a good kick in the pants when they deserve it,” I point a thumb back at Xavier and then force a chuckle of camaraderie. “Am I right?”

Oh God, oh God, someone shut me up. Am I really trying to bond with the enemy? The way Xavier was acting, it sure seemed like his dad was an enemy. But, holy information Batman. This is my baby’s grandfather. And there’s so much I don’t know about Xavier. Surely this is the man who can give me the motherload—or rather, fatherload—of info I’m so hungry for. And what did he mean bargain? Like the baby was some sort of bet or something between them.

Pritchard chuckles along with me. “You have no idea. He’s been a constant pain in my ass since he was about eighteen months old and mastered the word no.”

I keep a pleasant smile on my face in spite of my roiling thoughts. “Come on, join us for dinner. We’ve got a shepherd’s pie warming in the oven.”

Both men look at me in surprise. I’m not sure who looks more so.

“That sounds… delightful…” Pritchard says with a broad smile that belies the reluctance of his words.

Xavier scoffs. “I don’t know, Dad. Do you think your highly developed palate can handle something as common place as shepherd’s pie?”

Pritchard ignores his son and looks at me. “As I said, it sounds delightful. If you might show me where I can clean up for our meal?”

I struggle not to react to his overly formal speech and mannerisms. I glance back at Xavier one more time and he makes an overexaggerated gesture for me to lead on.

I start back toward the house and am surprised when not only Pritchard but Xavier himself follow me. Once the house is in view, I gesture on ahead.

“You can let yourself in through the kitchen, the bathroom is down the hall and to the left. You can clean up there.”

Pritchard pauses, his gaze briefly locking with his son’s before he heads up toward the house.

I immediately swing around to Xavier.

“Holy shit!” I smack him on the chest. “You never told me your father was Mr. Moneybags. I mean, I guessed you were rich because of the whole get-my-Dad-out-of-the-country thing.” I pace in front of him. “But you don’t wear it like that.” I pause and look at him again. “So, what is it? Are you guys old money? Did you strike it rich back in the day like the Rockefellers? Or do you run guns?” I start nodding. “I thought mafia from the beginning.”

Xavier just stares at me, totally deadpan. “Worse than all of those.”

My mouth drops open and I stop pacing right in front of him. “What? What is it?”

“My family are career politicians.”

I pause and frown. “What’s your last name again?” I heard it once briefly the day Holy Hellfire died but everything was happening too fast for me to really catch it.

His jaw goes taut. “Kent. My dad is Pritchard Kent.”

“Shit.” I can feel my face draining of color.

“Language.” The chastisement barely has any energy to it, though.

“He’s the Speaker of the House,” I whisper.

Xavier nods, apparently completely unimpressed by this fact.

“Oh God, did he invest with my dad?” I put a hand to my forehead.

“No, but your father was already on my radar,” Xavier watches me gravely.

I stumble back from him. He denied it in the beginning but what if he was lying? “Oh God, please tell me—” Dad said he’d borrowed from bad, powerful men. “Were you out for my Dad all along?”

Xavier shakes his head, vehemently. “No.” He takes a step forward, closing the gap between us. “But I know who is and, yes, it’s someone else in my father’s world. Years ago when they lent your father money and went into business with him, I knew about it because Dad and I talked about everything back then. We had a brief period of getting along.” His mouth tightens. Obviously that didn’t last too long. “He was trying to groom me to walk in his footsteps and he didn’t want me heading into the family business naïve or blind to how things actually work in Washington. When I saw in the news about your father’s indictment, I knew you were both in danger. I figured you and I could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement. Help each other out.”

I lean over and put my hands on my knees. “Your dad said something about a bargain, I don’t get it. What was he talking about?”

Xavier rubs my back and I’m not sure if I want to pull away from his touch or lean into it.

“My grandfather was a very rich man.” Xavier’s voice is short and to the point. “There’s an inheritance. I live on a yearly stipend until then. But the inheritance is enough to let me continue and even expand the rescue comfortably for the rest of my life. I could have accessed the money earlier, when I was twenty-five, as long as I sought public office. Continued the family tradition.”

His voice drops off and when I turn my head, though his hand still moves methodically over my back, he’s staring off into the distance.

“That didn’t work out,” he finally says. It’s obvious there’s more to the story he’s glossing over, but he moves on. “I got back from the army and opened this place up. I thought I got the money when I turned thirty. But no, it turns out there’s a provision that I have to have a natural-born child by the time of my next birthday in order to inherit the money.”

“So me and the baby.” I take a sharp breath in. I guess when I thought about it I assumed family was just something that was very important to Xavier. I never guessed it was about… that it was all part of some… “You just need us to get the money?” I can’t help the accusation in my voice.

“Don’t twist my words.” He grabs both of my hands when I try to turn away from him. “You.” He pulls me close and drops a hand to my stomach between us, his blue eyes burning into mine. “This child.” His head starts to shake back and forth. “You’re nothing I ever thought I would—” He swallows and looks down. It’s unlike him to be at a loss for words and I can’t help pressing.

“What?” He can’t close up on me now. After learning what I just did, I can’t deal with vague half-truths.

His eyes come back to me. “You’re a dream, all right? Something I’m afraid I’ll wake up from and you’ll be gone. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.” It’s the second time he’s said that in the space of half an hour. What the hell is that all about? But he keeps talking so there’s no more time to unpack it. “I thought with the inheritance that maybe I could do something good. I could live out my life in peace without hurting anyone, maybe help some old horses. Then I found out about the heir clause.” His nostrils flare. “And then there was you.”

The intensity of his gaze is making my stomach curl, with warmth and love and the lingering embers of the orgasms he gave me not fifteen minutes ago. But there are still so many questions.

“So what does all this have to do with your father? Does he get the money if you don’t?”

Xavier’s mouth tightens. A sure sign I’m hitting a nerve.

“If I don’t have a child, my father can direct the money toward the political super PACs and political charities of his choosing. So while he doesn’t get the money per se, he’s still invested in the outcome of where it goes.”

“But I guess,” he kicks at the grass, another very out of place gesture for my usually so in control man, “he still thinks he might be able to spend that money on my candidacy.”

My eyes pop open at that. Xavier’s… what?

“My father was never happy with the career path I’ve chosen. He was very invested in me joining the family business. And I was a rank and file soldier who went along,” he tilts his head back and forth, “if a bit grudgingly at times. He’s still got it in his head that all of this is a phase.” He nods out at the land then back at the stable. “Not to mention this is not the face of a politician. You can’t exactly kiss babies when one look at you makes them scream.”

Now I’m the one scoffing. “It’s not that at all. It’s just that I can’t even imagine you in a suit.” I try to circle one of his muscular biceps using both of my hands and they still don’t touch. “Do they even make suits in your size?” I shake my head. “God, I just can’t picture you anywhere but out here in the open air. You have such a sense with the horses. You’re so natural with them.” I can’t stop shaking my head, it’s too strange an image to even try to compute.

“I’ve told him enough times that this is my future. My only future. When I had my lawyer look into the inheritance issue right after I turned twenty-nine last year, I was shocked to find out about the stipulation that I had to have a child for the inheritance to pass to me.”

His voice takes on a lower, growling quality. “Dad knew the whole time. He kept it from me because he was trying to force me back into politics. So I’d effectively have to depend on him for my livelihood through his influence and financing of my campaigns. He said we could play off my deformity for votes because in Afghanistan I was an American hero.” He spits the last words like they’re filthy curse words.

His hand is fisted and when I look closer, I see that his whole arm is shaking.

What the hell happened to him over there?

“Xavier—” I reach out to him but he turns his broad back to me.

“No.”

I can’t help flinching. It hurts. God, it hurts that he won’t open up to me.

“I just can’t, Precious.” His voice sounds ragged. Raw. “Please don’t ask me.”

I sigh deeply, feeling overwhelmed by this entire conversation.

“All right. I guess we should go in.” Then I look over my shoulder toward the pastures behind us. “I haven’t brought in Sugar yet or brushed her down.”

“She’s fine.” Xavier’s voice still sounds off, but it gains strength as he talks about the more mundane topic of his horses. “I leave her out to pasture for whole weeks sometimes in the summer. Let’s just go try to survive this dinner.”

We take a few steps before something else occurs to me and I stop again.

“Wait, so when do you turn thirty?”

He’s still faced away from me when he answers. “December 23rd.”

I gape. That means…

If I hadn’t gotten pregnant when I did… that would have been it. Inheritance lost. He only ever had two months to get me pregnant.

And apart from a couple tries, he basically wasted the whole first month I was here! Wtf?! I assumed it was because he had all the time in the world, but he only had two months and he—

“Why?” I tug on his arm. There’s no way my tiny pull would move him, but he turns back at the pressure.

His eyes meet mine and he obviously reads the meaning of my question in my face. “I needed to know you would be safe. Before we really tried.”

That I would be safe? What does that—? My first impulse is to be insulted.

He needed to know he could control me is what he really means. He needed me to be a dog begging at his feet for scraps.

But— No, that doesn’t feel exactly right.

He never gave me just scraps. He fed me richly. He’s taken care of my every need. Sumptuously.

His nightly massages in the bath. Touching me whenever we’re near. Holding me so close after his nightmares. He’s needed me too.

Suddenly a barrage of things he’s told me over the months come flooding back like one of those cheesy montages in a movie.

I’ve been training you because I wanted you to stay. So I could keep you.

When he talked about Sugar that time: She was always a sweet girl underneath. She just had to learn how to trust. It took a while for me to break through with her.

And:

Trust is the most precious gift you can give to any being.

After those first couple of attempts, he realized he wasn’t willing to have a baby with me until he could trust me.

And that whole begging for his cock thing?

Well, there was no better way to prove that I trusted him than allowing him to be intimate with me.

But… he had so much to lose.

Turns out, everything was on the line.

“It mattered that much to you?” I ask him. I can still barely wrap my head around the idea that he gambled so much on me. “That I trust you first?”

“There was no point otherwise.”

My mouth drops open. “That’s insane. What if I hadn’t come around in time?”

The right side of his mouth hitches up. “No chance. You were panting every time I came into the room. You licked your lips when I took off my shirt and you couldn’t keep your eyes off my ass.”

I make an outraged noise and the smile teasing at his lips turns into a full-out grin. He wraps his arms low around my waist and then yanks me up and against him.

I gasp in a deep breath and lift my hands to his shoulders.

“Yep,” he says, leaning in, his breath warm on my ear. “A little like how you’re panting right now.”

He’s joking and playing it off, but still. He had so little chance to start with. Only two months. Two opportunities to get me pregnant, two of my eggs. If he was only concerned about the money and securing the inheritance, then the smartest move would have been for him to screw anything with a viable uterus and spread his seed far and wide. Or even to have gone the scientific route and fertilized a bunch of eggs in a lab for surrogacy.

But no. Not my Xavier.

He hikes me up just enough so that his rapidly growing hard on digs into the perfect spot between my legs. He drops his head to kiss me and I lick my lips to moisten them in anticipation.

He grins in the way that takes my breath away.

“Just proving my point, Precious.”

I startle, then realize I just licked my lips. Annoyed, I start to push him away, but he just chuckles and lands the most loin-tingling, soul-searing kiss.

I’m half crawling up him by the time he pulls away, still chuckling but also with lust darkening his blue eyes.

“If my father weren’t waiting and no doubt spying on us out the kitchen windows, I would drag you to the ground right here.”

I groan as he sets me back on my feet and starts leading me toward the house.

***

Dinner is as awkward an affair as I might have imagined. I fill in with mindless chitchat about life on the farm. Xavier’s father tries to look interested but I can tell it’s a strain to keep his attention focused on our equine feeding schedules or even how Xavier is training Samson.

“It’s really incredible,” I continue gushing. “He was completely wild only a few months ago and now he’s gentle as a kitten when Xavier’s got his hands on him.”

Xavier scoffs. “I don’t know about that. He’s still got some snap in him. He about took my finger off when I approached him from the right flank the other day.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise and Pritchard drinks some of his ice water, clearly biting back some comment.

“You haven’t worked on that side as much, I guess.” I look to his dad. “I didn’t know this before I came here, but apparently ideas and things they learn don’t automatically transfer between both spheres of their brains like they do for humans. So if you teach a horse a skill from the left side, you have to teach him the same skill starting from scratch on the right side. Totally crazy, I had no idea.”

Xavier nods. “Ranchers joke it’s like getting two horses every time.”

I shake my head. I can’t believe I never knew that. It just seems like one of those fun facts people would talk about all the time. Xavier jokingly talks about Samson as Lefty and Righty. As in, oh, I spent the day with Lefty today.

“Guess you need to focus on spending some time with Righty, then,” I smile at him.

Xavier inclines his head before shoveling in a huge bite of shepherd’s pie. I’m really happy with how it came out today. Since I’ve gotten pregnant and don’t have to work so hard out on the ranch, I’ve taken to experimenting in the kitchen.

Well, at least the past couple weeks once the first trimester was over and the smell of meat didn’t send me running for the nearest bathroom. This is one of my favorite recipes because it’s hard to screw up. It’s the third time we’ve had it in the last two and a half weeks.

What? So I’m slowly expanding my menu of things I can cook. I grew up a New York where take-out was a major food group.

It’s also a bit odd to be using a fork and feeding myself. God, it’s the first time in months and it feels a bit… well, unsettling and lonely being so separate from Xavier all the way over there at the head of the table with his father sitting across from me. I can’t believe him feeding me has become such a source of comfort and connection after how much I fought it in the beginning.

The few times I catch Xavier looking at me, his eyes focused on my fork disappearing between my lips, I wonder if he isn’t thinking something similar.

“So, son,” Pritchard says after Xavier’s midway through his second helping, “what will it take to get you to come home?”

Xavier’s fork only pauses briefly on its way to his mouth. Behind him, I notice it start to rain outside.

He continues to take his bite, chews normally, and washes it down with his water. He has beer in the fridge, and I’m surprised he didn’t want to take the slightest edge off for this meal with his father. I take a sip of water as I look back and forth between the two men like I’m at a tennis match. Oh dear. Is this where the yelling starts?

But Xavier only says with an easy smile, “I am home, Dad.”

Pritchard gives a half-roll of his eyes and puts his napkin down on the table after wiping his mouth. “Be serious. Your mother and I indulged you long enough with this horse farm fantasy, but it’s time to grow up. Especially now that you’ll be starting a family—” He gestures in my direction.

“Leave Melanie out of this,” Xavier says. It’s shocking to hear him use my name. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard him even say it out loud.

“I won’t change my mind on this, Dad. You need to let it go. I left that path a long time ago.”

Pritchard exhales loudly and sits back in his chair. “Why? That’s what I don’t understand. Sure, what happened over there was unfortunate but it wasn’t your fault—”

“Stop.” Xavier’s voice is cold.

“No, I won’t stop,” his father continues earnestly. “I’ve talked to some doctors and they say you have all the classic symptoms of PTSD and survivor’s guilt. But it wasn’t your fault all those people died. You weren’t even directly involved in the Quran burnings. You just happened to be in command of those men.”

“Stop.” Xavier’s jaw is working and I can tell he’s barely managing his usually easy control.

His father just continues on, though, oblivious or too desperate to press the subject, I can’t tell. “Then with the insanity of the riot— I understand. Really, I do. I know you find it difficult to believe, but in Vietnam I—”

“You were a REMF in ‘Nam, Dad,” Xavier explodes, standing up and pushing his chair back. I startle and grab the table’s edge. I’ve never seen him so worked up apart from the moments right after one of his nightmares.

“Just like you tried to make me in Afghanistan. Station the boy in the center of a green zone at a big air base so he can get some military experience,” Xavier spits out the words mockingly. “Looks great for the future political career but keep him safe from any of the actual shit of war. Well, guess what, Dad? My fancy Ivy League education didn’t help me when the protestors were at the gate throwing acid at anyone wearing a military uniform. And I was one of the fucking lucky ones. I came home with a fucking heartbeat.”

Oh my God!

“Xavier,” I cry, stepping forward.

The rain has been picking up and thunder rumbles so loud, it seems to shake the house. Or maybe that’s just everything that’s been revealed in the last few minutes.

Xavier yanks back from me. “I’ve gotta go check on the horses. Stay here.”

He turns and stomps out the door, grabbing his coat and hat before slamming it behind him.

Xavier’s father sits down heavily in his chair at the table and sinks his head in his hands. I wonder just how old he is and if Xavier isn’t wrong about his motivations for coming here. Sure, he might still have political aspirations for his son—you don’t get to his position in American politics without being an extremely motivated man… but maybe he just wants his son back, too.

Men. I sigh, thinking of how my own father spent his life trying to protect me because he loved me but ended up screwing things up so royally.

Why couldn’t he have just said the words?

I love you.

Three simple words that seem so impossible for these emotionally stunted men.

The words Xavier has yet to say to me.

I walk toward the door, looking at Xavier’s retreating shape through the heavy sheets of rain. I press my hand to the glass. More than anything, I want to run after him but I have the feeling he needs to be alone.

I turn back and look at his dad. “So what exactly happened? There were protests at the airbase? And,” I gulp down tears, “someone threw acid at him?”

Pritchard looks up at me, bags that I didn’t notice before heavy underneath his eyes. “He’s right. I did send him there because I thought it would look good for his career. But if I’d had any idea.” His face crumbles and he looks away from me. “If I’d known it would have lost me my son…” His voice trails off.

After a few long seconds, he finally continues, still facing away from me. “He went to Afghanistan as a commissioned officer, a lieutenant. He was a good officer. He was always a natural leader. Probably why we got into as many scuffles as we did during his growing up.”

He shakes his head. “He was only there two months when it happened. Barely enough time to get his feet wet and no chance at all to really get a feel for the place. No one blamed him.”

“What happened?” I press.

“He was stationed at the detention center at the base. Not a top position but he had responsibility enough. He was smart and he discovered that Taliban prisoners were using their religious text as a means of communicating with each other. They were writing notes in the margins of the Qurans in the prisoner’s library. Xavier reported it and had his men remove the Qurans.”

Pritchard’s head bows. “Well, apparently some of them thought that removing the Qurans meant sending them to the incinerator, not just taking them out of circulation and sending them up the line of command.”

I frown. “Okay.”

Pritchard finally turns and looks at me. “You don’t get it. Burning a holy book is enough to start a jihad over there.”

Oh no. My stomach sinks. I’m starting to get where this is going.

“Some Afghan workers on base saw the Qurans in the incinerator pile and pulled them out, half-burned.” He closes his eyes. “They told the Afghan guard and went to the press. The entire country started rioting. The airbase itself was taking a constant barrage of petrol bombs and stones. One of the Afghan soldiers the Americans were training within the gates started shooting American soldiers before being shot down. Another threw open the gates to the rioters. Seven American soldiers died at that site alone. Some of the other rioters had bottles of acid.”

I step back, a fist to my mouth, but Pritchard’s not done.

“Xavier shouldn’t have even been there.” He shakes his head, devastated eyes beseeching mine. “He was stationed inside the detention facility. But as soon as he realized what had happened and that the facility was surrounded by protestors and rioters, he immediately went to the front lines of the air base’s defenses.”

He drinks down the rest of his water like it’s a shot glass. “Damn fool.”

I look toward the door. “Hero,” I whisper. Then I look back up at him. “But none of it was his fault.”

His father laughs darkly. “Try telling him that. He blames himself for not stressing to those under his command how holy documents should be treated. For not walking the Qurans personally to HQ after he discovered them.” He gestures toward the door. “For living when other men died. You heard him.”

I look out the window. It’s raining even harder now and lightning flashes, illuminating the dark sky. It should only be near twilight, but with the storm, it looks to be full dark.

Where is Xavier?

Is he having trouble with the horses?

I cross my arms and then stop and look down, surprised like I am all the time by my suddenly larger stomach.

Oh, sweet little baby. What hell did your father live through? And what torment does he still go through daily, blaming himself for things he had no control over?

I go to the window and look out, trying to see if I can get a glimpse of Xavier between the flashes of lightning that are coming at regular intervals. Thunder cracks almost as quickly.

God, the storm must be right on top of us.

But it’s not so loud that when the gunshot rings out, both Pritchard and I don’t know it for exactly what it is.