Page 14 of Conail
Would she agree? He had seen the guilt on her face. She had left while he stayed and for that she blamed herself, felt some kind of responsibility. He did not blame her for leaving, maybe a little. She had experienced heartache -- they both had. Now it was time for them to try and make something of this place.
He wished he could do more. Wanted to do more. The land was in his blood, and he would never dream of being anywhere else. If they lost it-- Shaking his head at that bleak possibility, he tamped down on fear, as sharp as needle points. They were just going to have to do whatever they could to see that did not happen.
And right now, the ball was in Yasmine's court. She expressed the desire to help, so she had better damn well be genuine about it. He had made sacrifices, turned away from the love of his life -- it was up to her to play her part.
Chapter 5
"What?" Yasmine stared at her mother as if she had lost all of her faculties. She should have known something was up when she hustled her dad out of the kitchen along with a packed breakfast for him and Colin. But nothing had prepared her for this.
Oh, they had been dragging her along the guilt trip ever since she got here, setting her up for this all along.
"Eat your oatmeal." Maeve clicked her tongue as she poured them both cups of coffee.
"Mama, please don't talk to me as if I am a five-year-old. You just dropped a bomb in my lap by saying that you want me to consider being a surrogate. Me! No wonder I was asked to come home—so that what? I could save the damn farm by selling myself?"
She did not back away from her mother's cool stare that could bore a hole into her confidence. Not this time.
"I don't appreciate the swearing."
"Oh?" She almost laughed at the prim tone. "Is that what you're focusing on? You told me that it is my duty to save the farm by carrying another person's baby and you're offended by my swearing? Well!" She threw up her arms in absolute amazement.
"Honey—" Pulling out a stool, her mother took a seat and handed her the cup of coffee. "Do you think I wanted to ask you to make a sacrifice that big? If there was any other way, we would have taken it. Your dad is messed up about all of it and he feels so guilty, when it's not his fault. None of it is. He did not call the sickness on himself or send the drought. Life happens and we got the brunt of it."
The money they would receive from the surrogacy would go a long way toward pulling them out of the hole they found themselves in." She circled the rim of her cup with a fingertip and avoided her daughter's gaze. "If I could do it, I would."
Ignoring the prick of guilt and compassion, Yasmine shoved away from the counter and started pacing. "Why me? A man like Conail McLaughlin could basically have any woman he wants popping out a baby for him. Why me?"
"You know of the trouble he had with that woman who wanted to pass off another man's child as his."
Yasmine nodded.
"Well, he wanted to avoid getting involved with anyone. She broke him in two with the betrayal and it was worse that it was with his best friend."
"And I feel horrible for him. But why me?"
"His mother and I are best friends as you know, and she finally persuaded him that he needed an heir."
"Heir as in a son. There's no guarantee that will happen."
"We know." Maeve sent her daughter a pleading look. "We're desperate, honey. The bank note is being called in andwe've gotten extensions twice because of our longstanding relationship. That is coming to an end."
"Why don't you ask for a loan from Eleanor?"
Her mother's expression turned frosty. "You know us better than that. Friendship and money don't mix and even if I was to consider it, your father would rather lose this place, his home that has been in his family for several generations, than take a loan from a friend."
"Stubborn fool." She muttered as she came back to take her seat. "I wanted to help, but my idea was emptying my bank account—" She waved a hand. "Not getting pregnant." Closing her eyes briefly, she huffed out a breath. "How much are we talking?"
When her mother named the figure, her eyes popped wide open. "That's far too generous."
"Money is not an object."
"It's certainly not. And that would solve the problem?"
"Yes. I have an idea of making a greenhouse, one where we control the temperature. Fruits and vegetables. Your father likes to plant and he's good at it. We need to hire more people to make the farm lucrative. As much as your father wants to deny it—he cannot do much of anything anymore. The doctor advised him to slow down." She took a quick sip of her coffee. "And I don't want to lose him. Not yet."
Yasmine felt her heart breaking at the desolate tone in her mother's voice. "Neither do I. God!" She rubbed a hand over her face. "A baby."
"Honey, you have time to think about it and if it's something that's not sitting well with you—" She spread her hands wide. "I don't know. But I am not going to ask you to do anything you're not comfortable with."
