Lola tossed the sunny side up eggs in the trash and scraped the rest off the pan, then turned on the tap to run some water over it. Non-stick my ass.

“Buenos dias to you,” Consuelo said when she appeared in the kitchen and pointed at the clock. “You’re trying to steal my job? It’s not even seven o’clock.” Consuelo put her bag on the table and shot her an amused look.

“I wouldn’t last one morning.” Lola turned off the tap, wiped off her hands on the apron. “I felt like trying to perfect my sucky eggs.” What better distraction to get a break from the crazy doubts lurking in her mind?

“What went wrong?”

You want a list? Lola removed the apron and bunched it into a ball. “Probably me. Anyone else knows how to do it, that’s for damn sure.”

“Yes, it’s you.”

Lola plopped on the chair and sighed. She rubbed her knuckles on her eyes. She should have slept better—but thinking about the baby in her belly didn’t help. What if she became a mother like Margo? Bile floated up her throat. Not possible.

“You aren’t a cook. So what? You don’t need to excel at everything.”

“I know, but I had mastering eggs as one of my goals,” she said in a small voice.

Consuelo tapped her shoulder and shook her head. “It takes time. All we want in life takes time.”

“Yes, but we don’t always have time to wait for things to happen,” she said, remembering her nine month deadline. She touched her belly. She’d only found out she was pregnant two weeks ago, but she already wanted to shelter the life growing inside. A part of her wanted to do it immediately, but she wrestled her impulsiveness and willed herself to slow down and come up with the right approach. She needed to have a plan when she delivered the news. This time, nothing would go wrong. “Some things come as a surprise.”

Consuelo glanced to the sides as if to make sure no one heard them, then pulled a chair for herself and sat across from her. “How far along are you?”

Lola shifted in the chair. Am I so obvious? “I found out two weeks ago. How did—

Consuelo’s lips broke into a knowing smile. “Mija I’ve helped deliver babies. I can tell when a woman is pregnant.”

Lola swallowed. “Please don’t say anything. I haven’t told Jack yet.”

Consuelo reached across the table for her hand and gave her a light squeeze. “Your secret is safe with me. What are you going to do? You can’t hide it forever.”

“I’ve been thinking. I’m worried about telling Jack when I still have so much to figure out.”

Consuelo tapped her hand. “Don’t overdo it. Take it from a woman who’s been married for almost three decades.”

“How did you make it last so long?”

Consuelo chuckled. “I come from a different time. Separating was never an option.”

Ouch. “Sometimes it’s the only option,” she said, more to herself than to Consuelo, and let the words sink in. When she’d married Jack, she’d been smitten by him, and the fact he wanted her so badly—bad enough to marry her. But the ink on their marriage certificate had barely dried, and he’d started talking about creating a family. That had scared her silly, and his unwillingness to wait—especially when she never specified for how long—created a wedge between them that they never overcame. What about now?

Lola straightened on the chair. What if she gave them all a chance? “We dated, then got married, then hated each other, then became friends, then had sex…” Lola said more to herself than to Consuelo.

“Did you care for him even when you hated him?”

Lola slowly nodded, realization dawning on her. One way or another, she’d loved Jack through their ups and downs. She’d never admitted it to herself before. She longed for the warmth of his embrace, the sweet spot on the curve of his neck where she loved to rest her head after they had sex. Yes she loved him, but she wouldn’t tell him about the baby until she found out if he felt the same for her. Because she wanted him to stay with her for all the right reasons, not just because she’d gotten pregnant.

Jack paced the floor from side to side like a jittery horse.

For the past two months, they’d given each other a truce—some truce. Without talking about the future, they succumbed to their sexual attraction whenever they could. Her smiles chipped away at his resolution of rooting against her bed and breakfast, little by little. Maybe he’d been holding onto the house for too long. And for what? When he’d been the foreman’s son, he’d dreamed of occupying it one day. A silly, nonsense dream that turned into reality. Somehow, every time he looked around the place, he was reminded of all he had. More than the homes he owned elsewhere. This. This house was a reminder of all he’d achieved.

Do I still need it? He watched the living room. A few guests from Lola’s list had arrived for the grand opening. The two waiters she had hired had already made the rounds. Consuelo busied herself in the kitchen—she had insisted on coming on her day off to help with the party even though everything seemed to be running on schedule.

He pulled at his suit. She did it. Whether he had believed her or not in the beginning, Lola managed to make the needed changes to the ranch, had executed a stellar marketing plan and booked the place solid for the first few weeks after it opened. Glancing down at his tumbler, he smiled. She had seen her project through.

So she could finish something she started. He thought about the pregnancy book he’d found tucked inside her drawer two days ago. He took another swig of scotch.

He’d waited to confront her. The past had taught him timing was everything. Talking about his baby’s future with her while she ironed out the last minute details leading to the B&B’s official grand opening wasn’t fair. Now the ring he’d bought that morning weighted his pocket heavier than a horseshoe.

“Everything okay?” she asked, stepping into the living room.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, and before she answered, stretched out his hand. He’d wanted to make it to the end of the party, but shit, he couldn’t deal anymore. He had to talk to her.

“What’s so important?” she asked.

He closed the door behind him, and reached for his collar. The pulse on his neck throbbed, like his throat was about to burst.

She gave him a tempting smile and stepped back. “Wait. You’re not… wanting a quickie, are you?”

“No. I have something else planned,” he said, admiring her red cocktail dress. Lola was ridiculously sexy. She… glowed. He reached inside his pocket and clasped the velvet box.

When he produced it, she lifted her hand to cover her mouth.

“I know we’re already married. And today’s when we agreed I would let go. But I don’t want to let go of you, Lola. I want us to try. To really try this time.”

“Oh, Jack… that’s amazing.”

Feeling foolish, he opened the box and showed her the ring. Her eyes widened, and pride tugged at his gut. Go big or go home. When he’d called Cartier, he’d asked for the type of ring no woman could refuse. Judging by her mouth, slightly parted, he had been right.

“I. Wow. This is unbelievable, Jack.” She kissed him.

“You haven’t said yes.”

“Maybe you need to just guess my answer. You know. Take it out of me.”

He placed the ring on the shelf. His cock stirred. Maybe they were going for a quickie after all. “Taking it out of you is not hard to do.”

She nibbled on his ear. “No pun intended,” she said, cupping the bulge on his pants.

Shit. They were supposed to talk, but he too, was taken by emotion too much to utter more than a groan. She hadn’t said no. She wanted this—this life again, with him, and their baby. The thought brought an upsurge of energy through him, and he kissed her with everything he had.

She linked her arms around his neck, her body molding to his.

A knock almost made him jump.

Again.

He withdrew his lips from hers. Really what he wanted was to kiss her senseless and ignore whoever stood behind the heavy oak door. But what if it was something important—what if it was about her bed and breakfast? Tonight marked a huge success for her and he didn’t have the right to diminish it in any way. “You should open the door.”

She pouted her lips. “It can wait.”

“No. What if someone needs you? I’ll take this,” he said, putting the box into his pocket, “and we’ll continue from where we stopped later.”

“It better be a promise.”

“It’s a vow.” He winked at her.

She sauntered to the door, and opened it. “Margo?” she asked, taking a step back.

Her mother walked into the room, looking not a day older since the last day Jack had seen her, even though it’d been years. Tall and slim, Margo St. James hugged her daughter.

“Jack sent me an invitation,” she said, outing him.

“He did?”

Jack nodded. How could he say, since she didn’t find her birth mother, he had thought bringing Margo would make her happy? Truth to be told, when he contacted Margo a couple weeks ago he didn’t count on her coming.

“I see you two are as good at communicating as ever.” Margo rolled her eyes and observed the space. “It’s strange being here without your father.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Jack said, resolute to give Lola space to deal with her problems from now on. The thought released a rush of adrenaline through him. A lot would change, and he couldn’t be happier.

“I must say I never thought you could really do this. Country living,” Margo said.

“It’s only been a few months, mother. And there’s WiFi and premium cable. It’s not like a redneck version of Guantanamo Bay.”

Her mother laughed. An infectious sound, one she hadn’t heard much of during her childhood. Lola’s heart squeezed, and she folded her arms over her chest. Margo continued to walk around, treading carefully. “What I’m trying to say, Lola Jean St. James, is I’m proud of you.”

Lola bit back a smile. “Thank you.” She walked to the desk, and grabbed the photograph she’d been keeping even though she found no answers. She gave it to Margo. “Who is this?”

Margo’s eyes widened. She held the picture like it was some sort of weapon of mass destruction. Her fingers trembled, making the photograph shake and it almost fell from her hands.

A knot of confusion tightened in Lola’s throat. “Who is she?”

“How did you get this picture?” Margo asked, eyes still glued to the picture of the woman.

“I found it when I was going through Daddy’s old boxes in the cottage.”

Margo’s eyes watered, and she blinked. At last, she let go of the picture and placed it on a book shelf. With her index finger, she wiped the tear forming on the corner of her glossy eyes. “Of course. All these years I thought I’d find a trace of her somewhere, and your father hid it well. Damn him.”

“So you know her.”

Margo massaged her forehead. “Yes. Her name is Cristina Calberon. She’s your birth mother.”

A weight crushed Lola. She’d always thought she’d find relief when she discovered whom her birth mother was, but Margo’s answer brought more apprehension than anything. Her knees wobbled, and she plopped down on one of the over sized chairs. A chill spread through her, first zapping down her spine, then claiming her stomach. If Margo knew who Cristina was… so did Daddy. Why else would he keep a picture? “Did you know this all along? Did… did Daddy know?” She choked out the words.

Margo sat down on one of the other chairs, glanced down at the floor and fiddled with her pearl necklace. Was she buying time? Her mother rarely showed discomfort or uneasiness; even during the most stressful situations. She excelled at passive-aggressiveness, no doubt, but Margo always had a neutral smile on her face. A smile that hid any betraying emotion. And now, looking at her mother, at the unsure expression on her face, was heart wrenching.

Margo raised her gaze and clasped the necklace. “We both did.”

Margo palmed the arms of the chair as if some windstorm would swing open the colonial windows, and yank her away. Leaving her without ground to step on—which, in many ways, was exactly how Lola felt. Powerless. Drained of energy.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” It’s not like she had never asked. Sure, she’d tried not to insist, but off the top of her head, a few times she had questioned if they knew more about her biological parents or her heritage. And the answer had always been the same… due to the closed adoption, and how things were back in the day, no. They didn’t know much except her parents couldn’t keep her. A conclusion she could have gathered herself.

“Your father wanted to. I didn’t let him.” Margo let go of the necklace, and her hands fell to her sides as if admitting defeat. “If you want to blame someone for this, blame me.”

“Tell me. Do you know who my father is too?”

“Yes.” Margo braced herself, her voice wavering. “Milton was your biological father.”

Couldn’t be. Is she joking? Lola bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood. The rest of her body stilled for a second. Then her heart thumped hard like a jackhammer, and the blood thrumming through her veins burned like a matchstick tossed into a puddle of gas. “What? Are you for real?”

Margo stood and walked to the console and opened the scotch bottle. She poured a generous amount into a tumbler, and took a swig without any finesse, the amber liquid splashing out of the glass.

Lola closed her eyes, hoping this was some sort of a nightmare. But when she opened them, there was Margo, sitting on the windowsill, with tears smearing her makeup, and her hand still holding the drink.

“I suppose I have to tell you everything now,” Margo said. “Your father and Cristina dated. Her family came from a traditional Mexican background, and they never really accepted him as one of them. So Cristina broke up with him, under pressure. He and I started to date, and we got engaged. I wanted to go to Los Angeles after school, and he… I think he just wanted to be away from her.”

Lola drew in a breath, her palms clammy.

“When she got pregnant, she told your father. Her family didn’t want her to have the baby. She was only seventeen. So they decided they’d send the baby off for adoption. Your father said he’d keep and raise the baby. They said he could do it as long as he didn’t bother Cristina again, otherwise they could accuse him of statutory rape since he was two years older than her. He could never give you up. He came to me, and asked me if I’d stand by his side and build a life with him. I… I said I’d marry him only if we didn’t tell you that you were his daughter.”

“Why?”

“I wanted us to be equals. Blood shouldn’t matter. Yet I worried you would see me as the third wheel if you knew the truth.”

Really? Her own mother kept the information from her because of self-preservation and insecurity? Nausea brewed at the base of her throat. “Your vanity knows no bounds.”

“I was young, and insecure.”

“Not much has changed.”

“This is exactly what I feared.” Margo raised her voice, then took a deep breath, exhaled and continued in a quieter tone. “You loved him more than you loved me. Do you think it was easy, raising someone else’s daughter? When I knew deep down your father still loved her. When you are the spitting image of her. I could never compete.”

Tears filled Lola’s eyes. She placed her hand on her belly vowing to give her child space to love and be loved unconditionally no matter what. “This wasn’t a competition, Margo. This was supposed to be love. Selfless and unconditional. I’m sorry you had to deal with me. But don’t think I loved him more because of the blood ties I didn’t even know existed. Daddy always made me feel good about myself. With you… there was always a distance. You made me someone else’s daughter instead of your own. And that had nothing to do with blood. That was you.”

“Hurting you was never my intention.”

“Well, it happened. I’d hate to disturb you for one second longer. I still don’t know what Jack told you to make you leave your latest lover and come see me. You are free to go.” Maybe her mother expected a bigger affair with Hollywood paparazzi instead of locals. Maybe she wanted more glitz, and a less wholesome B&B vibe. One thing was certain—she never came for Lola.

Lola surged to her feet, and stormed out of the library.

She ordered her feet to walk, even though a part of her was numb. She needed Jack. She wanted to talk to him, to tell him what she’d found out. She was broken and lost, and Jack could piece her back together again.