his father’s words made a lot of sense. Had he planned on being a father? Unequivocally, no. Did that change things one iota? Again, no.
He leaned back in his chair, rocking slightly. Well, then, it only stood to reason that this particular Sparks should live up to his responsibilities, didn’t it?
He sprung from his chair as though it had catapulted him. No way. He couldn’t believe he was even contemplating such an option. No, not an option. It didn’t even near possibility status, as far as he was concerned.
He paced one way, then the other, but stopped when he caught himself tucking in his short-sleeved shirt and hiking up his pants.
What would Darby expect him to do?
The mere thought of her made his stomach pitch toward his feet. Not because she was pregnant, although that detail didn’t exactly have a small impact on him. No. Just thinking of her made him long for something he’d never known he wanted. Something he couldn’t quite define. Filled him with an unnamable something that made him want to hop in his SUV and head straight out to her house.
He decided to do just that.
Pressing the button to forward his calls to his cell phone and plucking his hat from the desktop, he headed for the door. He still didn’t have a clue about what he was going to do or say. But he suspected he’d figure it out by the time he got there.
Chapter Three
T he four-bedroom farmhouse on the outskirts of town sat nestled in the middle of the Promised Land Farm, 150 acres of ripe farmland that had just been plowed and planted. Having been raised in an apartment over the Laundromat in downtown Old Orchard, Darby usually took great satisfaction in her home, her surroundings, living the life she’d always longed to but never had until she married Erick.
Right now, however, she just wished the world would stop spinning for thirty seconds.
No, ten. That was all she needed. Just enough time to find the patience she usually had for the people who tried to help her out since Erick’s death but somehow managed to make life even more of a challenge.
She’d returned home after her doctor’s appointment to find that the teenage girl from up the road had left the pen gate open when she’d fed the animals. Everything from a llama to a miniature horse was left trampling all over the crooked rows of corn Old Man McCreary had planted last week. And now Erin had let Billy the Goat into the kitchen, the dinner potatoes were boiling over, Lindy was on Darby’s heels with nonstop questions, and somewhere in the house the cordless phone was ringing, even though Darby couldn’t for the life of her remember where she’d left it.
“Mom, do babies really come from mommies’ stomachs?” Lindy’s latest question nearly sent Darby skidding across the tile as she tried to keep Billy from devouring the blue-and-white checkered tablecloth. She tugged on the full-grown goat’s collar, and he in turn tugged on the tablecloth, sending the dinner placements crashing to the floor.
Darby sighed, nearly backing into Lindy. “Yes, sweetie, babies really do come from mommies’ stomachs.”
She swallowed hard. There wasn’t even a remote chance that her six-year-old daughter was talking about her own mommy, or the brother or sister who was on the way.
She tousled the girl’s blond curls as she bent over to retrieve the plastic cups. She’d learned long ago that while plastic might not be the most refined choice, it was the most practical. And the latest mishap only served to prove the point.
“But…” Lindy began.
Darby began stacking the plates and gathering the silverware, then leaned over and switched off the heat under the pan of potatoes. “Lindy, you remember when Petunia had her colt last year, don’t you?”
From the corner, where Erin was ineffectually pulling on Billy’s lead, came a laugh. Then Lindy said, “Mom, Petunia’s baby came out of her butt.”
Darby snapped upright, finding the imagery on top of everything else a little much. She wasn’t going to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. The girls were six. She’d explained where babies come from when Petunia gave birth and wasn’t quite up to another run-through just now. Not considering she’d be coming awfully close to describing the circumstances that had led to her own current pregnancy.
“It did not come out of her butt, stupid,” Erin said, giving up trying to control the goat and planting her hands on her hips.
“What did we agree about name-calling, Erin?” Darby asked.
“Dummy,” Lindy said to her sister, then stuck out her tongue.
Darby put her hand on Lindy’s head and turned her in the other direction. “Go see if you can find the phone before it stops ringing, okay?” As soon as one twin was out of the room, she turned to the other. Completely oblivious to her mother, Erin opened the back door and gave Billy a swift kick to the hind leg. The goat brayed and darted outside.
“Erin!” Darby gasped, appalled at her daughter’s actions.
“Whoa there, buddy,” a male voice sounded.
Darby’s heart hiccupped as she waited for the visitor to show himself. A second later, John’s hesitantly smiling face appeared on the other side of the screen.
“Hi,” he said.
Hi, indeed. Amidst the chaos swirling around Darby, just looking at John standing there, crisp and fresh in his sheriff’s uniform, his hair neat, his chin shaved, his grin warm and sexy, made her feel a different kind of chaos swirl inside of her. He looked better than any one man had a right to. Always had. But now that she’d not only been intimate with him but carried his child, she felt a connection that bound them as surely as the attraction that hummed between them.
“Um, hi,” Darby managed, hoping her smile wasn’t silly or too revealing. But so what if it was? She was glad to see him.
She watched his hazel eyes water. He turned his head, then sneezed.
Allergies. The goat…
Erin soundly closed the door in John’s face even as he murmured a “Pardon me” for the sneeze.
“Erin!” Horrified, Darby stared at her daughter. First the kick to the goat, then slamming the door on John. What had gotten into the girl? While Erin’s tongue could be sharper than a rapier, Darby had never known her daughter to be cruel to any of the animals, and she’d certainly never displayed anything but adoration for her “Uncle Sparky,” a title bestowed on John before the girls could even walk. Just that morning she’d flung herself at him as if he were king of the world. What had happened to change that?
Darby hurried to the door, nearly tripping over Lindy as she came rushing in from the other room, the cordless phone in her hand.
“It’s Aunt Jolie, Mama.”
“Thanks, sweetie.” Darby took the phone, then opened the door. John still stood there, his shocked expression likely mirroring her own. “I’m so sorry, John. Come. Come in.”
Darby moved from the door and whispered to Erin, “That was very rude. Apologize.”
Erin
