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ONE

A persistent wind whistled around the ancient walls of Rita Jory’s Seahaven Bay farmhouse, but inside the kitchen was a haven of warmth, the Aga radiating a gentle heat to keep the autumn chill at bay.

Jago Jenken’s hands could now barely span the curve of his fiancée’s stomach as they sat at the table, their breakfast plates empty in front of them.

Rita’s giggle turned into a huge yawn. ‘Will you please stop manhandling me?’

‘Never.’ The handsome farmer kissed her forehead. ‘I will also never get over how there are two actual little humans living in there. It’s just mad.’

A sharp kick caught his right hand and his eyes and mouth widened in delight. Before he could recover, another rolled across the left.

‘Sibling rivalry clearly starts early.’ Jago laughed, his hand staying put. ‘I can tell that’s the feisty one.’ He grinned.

‘You say that about both of them.’ Rita groaned softly as she pushed herself up from the wooden chair.

‘Don’t you wish we’d found out the sexes before now? Properly.’ Jago followed, pushing his arms out into an exaggerated stretch.

‘No.’ Rita shook her head. ‘If Zenya says it’s two boys, then it must be.’

Jago raised his eyebrows and smiled. ‘And if your delightful spiritual guru isn’t right in her unpredictable forecasting?’

Rita met his gaze. ‘Then we have to look at some girls’ names sharpish.’

She straightened her back and groaned again. ‘Not going to lie, it was easier carrying Sennen and Thom in my twenties.’

‘You’ve got this, lady. You may be forty-seven, but you still look a decade younger.’

‘Try telling my stretch marks that.’

‘And just five days to go.’ Jago let out a huge breath. ‘Then they’re here. Two of them. Two car seats. Two cots. Two university funds.’ He pressed his palm briefly to his chest. ‘I need a lie-down at just the thought… and possibly a lottery win.’

‘You’re not the one about to be sliced open, then used as a milking machine on zero sleep,’ Rita reminded him dryly.

‘Ew, the romance of it all.’

‘You really have no idea what’s coming, do you?’ Rita sighed.

He reached over, kissing the side of her neck. ‘Not a clue and I’m beginning to feel that ignorance really is bliss here.’

Rain sudden rattled heavily against the glass.

‘Right.’ Jago stood with purpose. ‘Get on that sofa. I’m feeding the animals today and I won’t take no for an answer. Stan is in charge of all duties at Hawthorn Acre, so I’m all yours.’

Since they’d got engaged in the summer, the couple had taken to living between their farmhouses: two sets of keys, two separate front doors, an arrangement that suited them perfectly. They had still fallen asleep together every night at Rita’s Seahaven Bay farmhouse until recently, when the bed had become less a place of closeness and more a battleground of elbows, pillows and the ever-expanding territory of her stomach. At Rita’s firm insistence, Jago would eventually retreat to the spare room, though only once she was settled, unwilling to leave her alone and awake at night while she was pregnant.

A voice note pinged into Jago’s phone. As he listened, his face fell.

Rita was clearing the table. ‘What’s wrong, darling?’

‘It’s Stan. My other gorgeous milking machine, Buttercup, has somehow got her head stuck in the watering trough. You know him; he rarely sounds panicked.’

Rita went to open the front door. ‘Just go then. Quick! I’m absolutely fine.’

Jago’s voice lowered. ‘It’s raining. Please get Teo to help you.’

‘He’s off today, and when did a little bit of rain ever stop anyone? I’m not ill; I’m pregnant, Jago. Women have been doing this for centuries.’

Jago shook his head. ‘But in the twenty-first one, I expect those carrying twins with a caesarean booked in five days’ time usually put their feet up.’