Melissa Senate - For The Twins' Sake

“Whoa—Sara?” Daisy asked with a shocked grin, pulling open the screen door and coming inside. She glanced at Annabel in Sara’s arms. “This is a huge surprise. Did you come for Dawson’s grand reopening?” Before Sara could even respond, Daisy added, “That rascal Noah—he didn’t even tell me you two had gotten back in touch. God, Sara, it’s so good to see you. You look amazing. So healthy and glowy. Is Noah here or did he have to step out to deal with something?” Daisy touched a finger to Annabel’s cheek. “I’m so glad you got to meet my beautiful niece. Isn’t she precious?”

My beautiful niece. Sara’s knees buckled.

Sara tightened her arms around Annabel, more out of instinct than because she was worried she’d really drop to her knees.

Her every emotion must have been showing on her face, because Daisy tilted her head and looked at her. “Sara? You okay?”

“Not really,” Sara said. “Not by a long shot. I’ll be okay, though.”

Daisy put a hand on Sara’s arm, her warm blue eyes filled with concern. “How about we go talk in the kitchen? I know I could use a cup of decaf. I actually could use a big mug of real coffee. But I’m limiting myself to one cup a day, and I had that.” She patted her belly.

Sara glanced at Daisy’s left hand. No ring. She wondered what the story was there as she followed Daisy into the kitchen. Daisy always used to talk about wanting to be a mom one day, but she was insistent on picking the right guy so she’d never get divorced like her parents had, let alone thrice divorced like her dad. Sara had once pointed out that you could pick the right guy, as her own mother had, and leave him a brokenhearted widow at age thirty-six. You just never knew what life was going to throw at you.

As Daisy headed for the coffee maker, reaching for two mugs in the cabinet, Sara found her attention taken by the refrigerator door, all the things hung up with magnets. There was a checklist of baby-proofing essentials. A cutout newspaper ad for a local grandmother of five who did hand embroidery personalization on baby clothing and blankets and towels. The American Academy of Pediatrics’ recommendations for feeding and napping schedules.

“Noah loves Annabel, doesn’t he,” Sara said, more a statement than a question, her voice sounding far away to her own ears as she stood in front of the fridge. “I can tell. I knew it as soon I saw him with her in the Snugli.”

Daisy tilted her head. “Of course. He loves that baby girl to pieces. Did you hear the crazy story? How someone left her on his porch right before that terrible rainstorm just about two months ago? There was a note that said the baby was his. He had no reason to doubt it. He even insists Annabel looks like him, but I don’t see it. Don’t tell him I said that!” She laughed and pressed a button on the coffee maker.

Sara almost smiled at the thought of Noah thinking Annabel looked like him. Once upon a time, when she’d still held out hope for marrying Noah Dawson and having a family with him, she’d always pictured little Noahs, two or three, with intense blue eyes and wavy dark hair, mischievous grins and big hearts.

“Daisy, I have a crazier story,” Sara said. And told her everything. Not leaving a detail out.

Daisy was an expressive woman to start with, but the range of emotions that crossed her face was something. “Oh my God, Sara.”

Sara nodded.

“Can I be really happy for you and really sad for my brother at the same time?” Daisy asked. “He must be out of his mind right now knowing you’re going to take Annabel away.”

Take Annabel away. Sara’s stomach flipped over. She’d never really thought of coming to get her daughter as taking the baby away from someone. But now she kept seeing the look on Noah’s face as he’d taken Annabel out of the carrier and handed her over.

It was anguish.

Oh, Noah , she thought. This part of the story never would have occurred to me.

This whole time, from the moment the lawyer had read Willem’s awful letter, Sara had only focused on the fact that her daughter was alive, that Willem had taken her to Noah’s cabin. She’d never stopped to think about what had happened between then and now. Sara had just wanted to find her child and reunite.

But Noah had taken her in, had been raising her as his own, as he believed she was.

And that anguish on his face? Yes, he loved the baby.

Daisy poured two mugs of coffee and then opened Noah’s fridge. “Ooh, half a pecan pie. I think we’re gonna need a little of that too. Maybe a lot. Am I right?”

“Probably,” Sara said. “I’m not sure if I can eat a bite of anything, but since when don’t I stress eat?”

Daisy nodded sagely and grabbed the pie and the container of half-and-half, and Sara brought over the mugs to the table. By the time Sara sat down and took her third sip of the coffee and her second bite of pie, an idea had started forming in her mind.

An either really good idea or a really bad one. She truly wasn’t sure.

Noah barely heard what his ranch hand was saying about the hay bales, but the guy was smiling, so Noah smiled back and nodded. Two days before the grand opening was no time to have his mind elsewhere, but every cell in Noah’s body was focused on his cabin. And what was going on in there.

He knew, actually. Sara was reuniting with the daughter she’d never gotten to hold. Never gotten to meet, let alone know.

And soon she’d text him that she was ready for him to come back so they could talk, so he could fill her in on the last seven weeks.

So he could say goodbye to the baby girl he’d taken care of. His daughter who wasn’t.

The pain gripped his chest again, and he sucked in a breath.

“You okay, boss?” Dylan asked, adjusting his cowboy hat as he peered at Noah. “You don’t look so good.”

“A-okay,” Noah assured him. “So everything’s in order in the main barn. What about the petting zoo?”

Dylan nodded, his mop of blond bangs shifting. “We’re all set. I did inventory this morning. We won’t need to place orders till Tuesday. Layla’s feeding the farm animals now.”

Noah nodded. “Thanks,” he said. He’d hired several experienced hands for the land and animals and knew he could let go for a little while to deal with what was going on with Annabel.

He walked the quarter mile to his cabin and saddled up Bolt, riding her out to the gate a half mile down the gravel drive. He stopped and patted Bolt’s flanks, staring at the hunter green metal that stretched across the road, Dawson Family Guest Ranch in gold letters, the silhouettes of a cowboy and a cowgirl on horses on either side. His grandparents had made belt buckles with the logo to sell in the gift shop, and one Christmas, he’d had six personalized with the grandkids’ names. Noah still had his. In fact, he kept it on his desk, always had, and the past five months the buckle had served as a talisman, a lucky charm.

And for the past seven weeks, Annabel’s presence had spurred him on to go even farther with making sure every detail of the ranch’s reopening was perfect. This was going to be her future.

Now she wouldn’t be part of it. She wouldn’t be around at all.

His phone pinged with a text, and he reluctantly took it from his pocket. The sooner Sara was ready for him to return, the sooner she’d leave. With his baby.

But it was Daisy texting him.

U ok? Where R U? Heard whole story from S in the cabin.

At the gate, he texted back. No, not OK.

She texted back, Be right there.

A few minutes later, Daisy rode up on her bike. She jumped off, one hand on her belly, and threw her arms around him.