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He slapped his palms on his thighs as though the matter were settled. “Fine. Let's go home.”

Pippa eyed him warily. He hadn't put up much of a fight, but if he thought he could wear her down, he was wrong. She would hold her head high and face the tabbies in Underhill. She would defy them all. And she would prove to her father that this baby was no “mistake.” She would love her child despite its father. And she would do it all in the town where she'd grown up.

She nodded to her father and said, “Let's go home.”

“
W
E'RE MOVING TO
America.”

Pippa stared at her father with wide, horrified eyes. “Why? What's happened?”
You vowed you would never, ever go back.

Her father's face looked grim. “I've come to an understanding with my father. He's offered to give me the ranch in Wyoming where I grew up.”

Pippa knew there was no way her father would be doing this if it weren't for her. Tim must have told some of his mates that she was pregnant, because, even though her pregnancy didn't show, she'd been treated like a pariah by everyone in Underhill since her return. Her father had ended up thrashing someone who'd made a remark about her, which had caused him to spend a night in jail. He'd said it didn't matter, that the lout had deserved what he'd gotten.

A few days later, she'd been bombarded with rotten fruit by a couple of teenage boys when she'd come out of the grocer's shop. Her defiance had wilted as she swiped at the gooey stuff on her plaid shirt and brushed foul-smelling muck off her jeans. She was sure if her father could find the culprits, he'd wreak havoc again. And end up in jail again.

There was no help for it. She was going to have to leave Underhill. She'd just been waiting for the morning sickness to pass so she could find a job somewhere in Darwin—and for the right moment to tell her father that she was going.

And then he'd made his grand announcement.

It was impossible to admit that she knew her father didn't want to return to Wyoming, because then she would have to explain how she could possibly know such a thing. She could never tell him that she'd seen him cry. Never tell him that she knew he hated his father and had sworn to stay as far away from King Grayhawk—and King's ranch in Wyoming—as possible.

“You don't have to uproot your life and Nathan's because of me,” she said. “I can leave Underhill on my own.”

“I have my own reasons for returning home,” he replied.

“Such as?”

He cocked a brow. “My reasons are my business.”

Pippa was pretty sure his only reason for returning to a place he'd hoped never to see again was to spare her any more pain. “Daddy, please. You don't have to do this.”

“It's done. Start packing.”

That conversation had taken place a mere three weeks ago. She and Nathan and their father were now settled in a suite of rooms at her grandfather's ranch in Jackson Hole, where Pippa found herself in a situation that was fraught with every bit as much tension as she'd faced back home in Underhill.

Her father had neglected to mention that the ranch house at Kingdom Come was already occupied by her grandfather and his four youngest daughters. Or that King Grayhawk was the richest man in Wyoming. Or that the ranch house, built more than a hundred and fifty years ago, had been expanded and modernized into a home so fantastic it had been featured in several magazines.

More to the point, there had been no joyous homecoming, no delighted welcome for the prodigal son. King Grayhawk's four grown daughters had greeted the invaders with silence and glares.

Her father's half sisters, Taylor, Victoria, and Eve, and their half sister, Leah, bitterly resented her father for laying claim to a ranch that was still their home. Pippa had been appalled when she learned the terms of the “deal” her father had made with King. All he had to do was live for one year—three hundred and sixty-five days—at Kingdom Come, and the ranch was his. Her father hadn't helped matters when he'd ordered the four girls to find another place to live before the year was out, telling them bluntly, “Once the ranch is mine, you're no longer welcome.”

No wonder King's daughters hated them!

To say that Pippa felt like an interloper was the understatement of the century. Entering the kitchen for breakfast was like walking into a war zone. The early-morning nausea—from a pregnancy she was determined to keep a secret for as long as she could—didn't help matters. Pippa had decided that eating late at night, when she was less likely to run into one of them, or be sickened by the sight of food, made a lot more sense.

Pippa was peering into the open refrigerator, trying to find something on the shelves that looked appetizing, when she heard a chair scrape behind her. She lifted her head over the edge of the door and discovered the twins, Taylor and Victoria, both wearing pajamas and robes, perched on stools at the breakfast bar.

Her aunts weren't identical twins. Taylor, tall and full-figured, was take-your-breath-away beautiful. Victoria had the same blond hair and blue eyes, but she was more lithe and merely pretty in comparison with her sister. Right now, both girls had a glint in their sapphire eyes that boded no good for her.

“I guess she thinks she's too good to eat with the rest of us,” Victoria said to her sister.

Pippa ignored her, turning back to look at the leftovers in the refrigerator. But her appetite was gone, and her stomach was churning.

I will not be sick. I will not give them the satisfaction. And I will not run away. This is my home now, too.

But Pippa could understand their antagonism. She wouldn't have wanted a bunch of strangers making themselves at home at her family's cattle station in Underhill, either. That is, if she still had a home there. The station had been sold. There was no going back.

She chose a plastic bowl containing leftover fried chicken, closed the refrigerator door, and turned to confront the two young women, swallowing down the bile spilling into the back of her throat. “I wasn't hungry earlier. I am now.”

She set the container on the counter and opened the cupboard, looking for the saltine crackers that usually settled her stomach. They weren't there.

“If you're looking for those Australian crackers you brought with you, they're gone,” Taylor said. “We had tomato soup for lunch today—which you also missed—and ate the last of them.”

Pippa didn't so much mind sharing the last of her Arnott's Salada biscuits—an Australian version of American saltine crackers—but the smug look on Taylor's face, and her vindictive tone of voice, rubbed her the wrong way. She felt her stomach heave and realized she was in no condition to start a fight. She needed a cracker now, or she was going to embarrass herself by throwing up. But the kitchen was huge, and she had no idea where everything was kept.

“Since you've eaten the last of my crackers,” she said, swallowing hard to keep her stomach from losing its contents, “perhaps you can tell me where you keep yours.”

Victoria threw out an arm and said, “In the cupboard, of course.”

Through gritted teeth, Pippa asked, “Which one?”

“What's going on here?”

Pippa whirled and teetered dizzily, grabbing the counter to steady herself.

Her father took one look at her, scowled at the two women seated at the bar, and said, “I asked a question.”

Pippa didn't want to be the cause of any more dissension between her father and his sisters than already existed. “I'm looking for some saltines,” she said. “Victoria was going to point me in the right direction.” She met Victoria's gaze with a lifted brow that suggested discretion in this situation was the better part of valor.

Victoria ignored the suggestion, rising to confront Pippa's father. “Well, Matt, it's like this. Taylor and I were wondering why your precious daughter can't be bothered to eat with the rest of us.”

It felt odd to hear her father called by his first name. Unfortunately, the attempt at familiarity did nothing to soften her father's response.

“When or where or how or what my daughter chooses to eat is none of your damned business,” he retorted.

Pippa had one hand over her mouth and the other hand over her unsettled stomach. She wanted to run from the room, but it felt too much like giving up and giving in. She'd promised herself she would never let anyone ride roughshod over her again. She had to stand her ground.

Her father must have divined her problem, because he started opening cupboards and slamming them closed until he found a box of saltines. He yanked it out and pulled it open, tearing into a sleeve of crackers so it spilled across the counter.

Pippa grabbed for a saltine and began chewing, her back to the two young women, letting the salt and soda crackers do their work. She was focused on keeping her stomach from erupting, but she could hear her father arguing with his sisters.

“As far as I can see, you two have been living high on the hog here with no responsibility for anyone or anything. You're twenty-eight. You should be out doing something with your lives. On March 31st of next year, Kingdom Come will be mine. Find yourselves another place to live, because I have other plans for this ranch.”

“Like what?” Victoria asked.

Her father ignored the question. “And if I see you bothering Pippa again, you'll find yourselves out in the cold a lot sooner than that.”

“You can't kick us out!” Taylor shot back.

“Watch me.”

“Daddy will never let you do it,” Victoria said.

“I wouldn't count on that,” her father threatened.

Pippa heard scraping chairs and then an ominous silence. She concentrated on what turned out to be a futile attempt to swallow the dry saltines. She gave up and dropped a half-eaten saltine on the counter, searched for and found a glass, and filled it with water. She took careful sips, worried that her stomach wouldn't tolerate the liquid. She closed her eyes and leaned over the sink until she was sure it would stay down, then took another sip.

She'd been so focused on not vomiting that she didn't realize she and her father were alone until she heard him say in a surprisingly gentle voice, “Are you all right, Pippa?”

She opened her eyes and found him standing beside her. She leaned her head against his chest and let his arms close around her. “That was awful,” she said against his shirt.

“They're just spoiled rotten. I think the sooner they're out of this house and on their own, the sooner they'll grow up. I know how it is, because I've lived here with King for a father. He's worked his way through four wives, who've given him eight children, including your aunts' half sister, Leah. None of those wives were around long enough to become much of a mother to any of us.”

This was all new information to Pippa, who was astonished at what she was hearing. Her father had never been forthcoming about his family, and none of her aunts had been friendly enough toward her during the three weeks she'd been at Kingdom Come to encourage questions.

“King was far too busy to spend any time with me, either, when I was growing up,” her father continued. “It doesn't look like things have changed much in the twenty years since I've been gone.”

Pippa leaned back and looked at her father with wide, assessing eyes. She quickly did the math and said, “You left home at seventeen?”

He nodded.

Pippa blurted the next thought that came into her head. “So my mother was an American?”

She felt her father's body stiffen. He was silent so long she thought he wasn't going to answer. At last he said, “Yes. She was.”

“Did she live here in Jackson Hole?”

He nodded.

Then it dawned on her that he'd used the past tense. “What happened to her? Did she die?”

“She moved away.”

Pippa was trying to work out what might have happened to her mother, but she didn't have enough facts to make sense of the situation. “It's been twenty years since you left home. I'm nineteen. Does that mean I was born here in the States before you left home?”

He nodded.

“Why didn't my mother come with you to Australia?”

Pippa didn't think she'd ever seen her father's blue eyes look so bleak.

“It's a long story, Pippa.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Your mother and I were never married.”

“Oh.” Pippa's active imagination went to work making up a story from the information her father had revealed. Obviously, her mother hadn't wanted to keep her. That thought caused a sharp ache in her chest. It was one more reason to keep her child—so it would know it was cherished.

Had her father had his heart broken when her mother rejected him—and his daughter? Was that why his first marriage hadn't worked out, and why he'd waited so many years to marry Nathan's mother? Or had Pippa's birth been an “accident,” the result of sex with some stranger? Maybe the reason her father had never spoken of her mother was that he hadn't known her well.

Pippa had questioned her father about her mother many times as a child. His reaction had always been so agitated, and his answer so brusque, that she'd stopped asking. Since her mother hadn't lived nearby, there was no chance she was ever going to run into her, so she'd let it drop.

But here she was in Wyoming, where her mother had come from. Should she try to find her? Or just leave well enough alone?

“Is your stomach feeling better?” her father asked.

Pippa managed a weak smile as she stepped back from his embrace. “Yes.”

“I presume that's why you haven't been joining us for meals.”

She nodded. “I've felt nauseated. Or I haven't been hungry.”

“If you want to keep this pregnancy a secret, I suggest you do a better job of showing up at the table. I still think you should—”

“Don't say it, Daddy. Please.”

He shook his head in what she presumed was disappointment, which she didn't think was fair, considering the startling new information that she was a child born out of wedlock. But maybe he didn't want her to have to go through what he'd been through, trying to raise a child on his own. She could still remember a time when they'd moved around a lot, a time when she'd been both cold and hungry. But that was all so far in the past she'd almost forgotten about it.