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I get a swat on my backside for that one.
I laugh and jump ahead a few steps. He naturally chases me. I’m still giggling when I get out of the stables and freeze at seeing a serious-looking man in a business suit frowning at us.
I back up a few steps and run into Xavier, who’s arm immediately snakes around my stomach protectively.
Standing as close as we are, I feel the sudden tension that makes Xavier’s muscles go rigid. I look up and his face is hard, his jaw stiff.
“Father,” he bites out. “What are you doing here?
Nineteen
“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.
