The Rags-To-Riches Wife. Metsy Hingle

one of those men who has visitation every other weekend and alternates holidays. I want to be a part of it all—the late-night feedings, the first steps. Everything.”

      Lily pushed to her feet. “I won’t let you take my baby from me,” she told him, her voice firm, defiance in her eyes. “I don’t care who your family is or how much money you have, I’ll fight you. I’ll fight you with every breath in me before I let you take my baby.”

      “It’s our baby, Lily. Our baby.”

      She folded her arms protectively over her abdomen. But her eyes never wavered as she spat out, “I mean it, Jack. I’ll fight you every step of the way. I won’t let you take the baby from me.”

      Standing, he walked over to her. He had a good six inches on her and knew he could be intimidating. Hadn’t he been told time and again that his strong physical presence was as big an asset in the courtroom as was his skill as a lawyer? But if she was intimidated, Lily didn’t show it. She held her ground, stood with him toe-to-toe. With her claws drawn and her eyes sparking fire, she reminded him of a cornered mama cat, fighting to protect her kitten. And he couldn’t help but admire her for it. “Do you really think I’m such a heartless monster? That I would take our baby from its mother?” he asked.

      She eyed him warily. “But you said you wanted to be there for everything.”

      “And I do,” he said and touched her cheek. “A baby needs a mother and a father.”

      “I don’t understand. The baby can’t be with both of us all the time.”

      “Sure it can. All we have to do is get married.”