For the Twins' Sake

by Melissa Senate

  She stepped forward, her gaze on the baby’s head before looking up at him. “He left a letter for me via his lawyer detailing how he drove her here right before the rain started to come down in the middle of the night. I had no idea. I thought she didn’t survive the birth.” A sob escaped her, and she put her hand over her mouth.

  Oh God. Unthinkable.

  So unthinkable that it wasn’t quite sinking in. All he could do in the moment was look at Annabel, whom he’d taken care of for the past almost two months, whom he loved. She was his daughter. The note had said so. She was his child.

  “That’s my baby girl, Noah,” she said, taking another step, then stopping. Maybe because of the expression on his face, which had to be something like horror.

  For a second he could only stare at Sara, trying to process the craziness that had just come out of her mouth.

  He thought about the first moments after bringing Annabel inside the night he’d found her. There had been something familiar about the little face, something in the expression, the eyes, that he couldn’t pin down. He’d figured the baby’s mother was a woman he’d been with for one night...

  He and Sara had made love hundreds of times during their brief time as a couple, but the last time was right before she’d dumped him two years ago. He certainly wasn’t the father of her daughter.

  He glanced down at what he could see of Annabel’s little profile, and yup, there it was, that slight something in the turndown of the eyes, the way the mouth curved upward. It was Sara’s face. No wonder he’d felt so strangely connected to Annabel from the moment he’d brought her inside the cabin—before he’d even read the note falsely declaring the baby was his.

  “I want to hold her so badly,” Sara said. She reached out, and Noah felt the surrender everywhere in his body—the region of his heart most pointedly. This was Sara’s baby. Not his.

  Hell, he might break down crying. But he lifted Annabel out of the carrier. He handed her over with a stabbing awareness that this was it—it was over. His stint at fatherhood. He was proud of what he’d accomplished with the ranch, but he was proudest of what he’d accomplished with his daughter.

  Not his daughter. He’d have to take that phrasing out of his vocabulary, out of his head. She wasn’t his.

  As Sara clutched the baby to her chest, tears streaming down her face, he closed his eyes, not surprised by the weight of sadness crushing his chest.

  He loved Annabel. That was a surprise. But it was true.

  “Is there somewhere I can go to spend time with her?” Sara asked, her gaze moving from the baby to Noah as she gently touched her wispy light brown curls, her cheek, her arm, her little fingers. “I just can’t believe this is real.”

  Me either. He stared at his daughter—her daughter—and the jab in his chest intensified.

  “You can take her into the cabin,” he said. “She’s eaten recently and been changed, so she’s all set.”

  Now she stared at him, as if shocked he knew anything about Annabel’s feeding and diaper-changing schedule.

  “My son, her twin brother, is in the SUV,” Sara said. “Could you take him out for me? I can’t bear to let go of my daughter.”

  My daughter. My daughter. My daughter.

  Noah’s head was swimming, and his knees were wobbly. He nodded and lurched toward the Range Rover, mostly to have something to brace his fall if his legs did give out.

  He pulled open the door, and there was Annabel’s honest-to-goodness twin in green-and-white-striped pajamas. They looked so much alike—the wispy light brown curls. The slate-blue eyes. The nose. The expression. It was all Sara.

  He took out the car seat and brought it around to where Sara stood. He lifted up the seat to Annabel’s level. The baby that had been in his arms until five minutes ago. “Annabel, you’re about to meet your twin brother.”

  Sara’s mouth dropped open. “Annabel? That’s what you named her?”

  He nodded. It was Sara’s middle name.

  Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked hard.

  “This is Chance,” she said. “Chance, meet Noah Dawson. I’ve known him a long time.”

  A very long time. “Very nice to meet you, Chance.” He gently touched a hand to the downy little head with its soft brown wisps.

  “And Chance, this is Annabel, your twin sister,” Sara added. “You’re back together where you belong.”

  Oh hell. He was about to break down himself.

  “I want to hear everything,” she said, her pale brown eyes imploring. “From the moment you realized she was outside on your porch to the moment I drove up. I need to know about her life these past seven weeks. But first I just need some time alone with her. To let this sink in.” She cuddled Annabel against her, her gaze going from her daughter to Noah and back again.

  All these weeks that Annabel had been right here, with him, her mother had believed that her baby girl was dead. He had to stop thinking about himself and focus on that—what Sara had been through.

  And how twin babies had almost been separated forever.

  “I understand,” he said, the sturdy weight of the car seat in his right hand making him both happy and miserable. “I’ll help you inside with the twins, and you can have the place to yourself for however long you need. Text me when you’re ready and I’ll come fill you in.”

  She let out a breath. “Thank you, Noah. You can’t imagine.” She shook her head, her tear-streaked face his undoing as much as the situation.

  He couldn’t imagine.

  They started walking to the cabin, which had once been her home when her father had been foreman. She stopped for a moment, staring up at the newly renovated two-story log house with the hunter green covered porch and flower boxes his sister had insisted on putting everywhere. Sara didn’t say anything about the place, how it had changed, but she had much bigger things on her mind than the ranch.

  He opened the door, then stepped aside so she could enter with Annabel. He followed her in, wanting to rip his daughter from her arms. He had to stop walking for a second; the pain in his chest was that severe, and dammit, he was worried he’d start bawling like a little kid any second.

  He led her into the living room and set Chance’s carrier on the floor beside the sofa. Sara dropped down on the sofa, crying, laughing, staring at the baby girl in her arms.

  “Her baby bag is on the stroller by the door if you need anything,” he managed to say. “Plus, there’s a big basket of baby stuff on the side of the coffee table.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off Annabel. She nodded as if barely able to hear him.

  “Take as long as you want,” he said. “Text me when you’re ready for me to come back and we’ll talk.” He jotted his cell number down and left it on the coffee table.

  She nodded, not taking her eyes off her daughter.

  He wanted to grab Annabel away from her and run. Or just stay here, not letting the baby girl out of his sight.

  Because no matter how many times he told himself she wasn’t his daughter, he couldn’t make himself believe it.

  He forced himself out the door, his heart staying behind.

  Chapter Two

  Sara couldn’t stop staring at the tiny baby nestled against her chest. Couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t stop telling her she loved her, that she was so sorry she hadn’t been there the past seven weeks, that nothing would ever come between them again.

  On the drive over to the ranch from the lawyer’s office, she’d kept thinking, Please let my daughter be alive. Please let her be there. Please, please, please. Her prayers answered, Sara’s relief, her pure joy at being reunited with her baby girl, trounced her anger—murderous rage, really, at what had been done to the infant, done to Sara. That monster took so much from us. He’s not getting a second more of any piece of me. Not my thoughts or my emotions. Nothing. He’s gon
e.

  “We have so much to catch up on,” Sara whispered, in awe of everything about Annabel. Her ten fingers and toes. Her little nose and chin. The way her chest rose and fell in her sea-foam-green-and-white pajamas with little ducklings across the front. That she was really, truly here.

  The baby’s eyes were drooping, and Sara would be happy to sit here forever with Annabel napping in her arms. She glanced down at Chance, who was already asleep in his carrier. The siblings, twins, back together. She took in a deep, satisfying breath. Seven weeks felt like so much to miss out on, but she knew as time went on, she’d be grateful it had barely been two months.

  She stood up, gently rocking Annabel, and walked over to the stone fireplace that dominated one wall of the living room, photos on the mantel. She’d lived in this house from the time she was born until she was sixteen, had sat on the sofa facing that fireplace night after night with her father after her mother passed away when she was nine. Talks, homework, reading, her dad’s delicious sub sandwiches as they watched a series they could enjoy together. Her entire life was up in the air right now, but being here in this cabin made her feel safe.

  “I grew up here,” she whispered to Annabel. “Your grandma lived here. And your grandfather loved this cabin. He was the foreman here.” Now Noah was.

  She froze, biting her lip as Noah’s words came back to her. There was a note with her. It said she was mine.

  All this time, Noah had thought the baby was his. She glanced around the room, taking in the pale yellow playpen with its pastel mobile atop it by the bay window. The baby swing. The big basket of baby paraphernalia by the coffee table—she could see neatly folded burp cloths, a pack of diapers, a pink pacifier on a silver tray on the coffee table. An infant stroller was by the front door with a tote bag hanging from its handles. Lots of photos on the mantel were of Annabel, a few of Noah holding her.

  She gasped as it really sank in that Annabel had lived here these past seven weeks, that Noah had taken her in—as his daughter.

  Was he relieved that the mother had come back to take her? Upset? Noah Dawson was the bachelor of bachelors. Clearly he’d gotten his act together to reopen the guest ranch, but perhaps his siblings were all involved in that. The Noah she’d known near the end of their relationship two years ago didn’t wake until noon, despite having a ranch to run. Didn’t take care of business. Didn’t take care of their fledgling romance, the one she’d fought and kicked so hard for. Turned out Noah Dawson had been right about himself—that he’d only break her heart in more ways than one.

  She always thought she knew better, didn’t she.

  Her future was in her arms. In the carrier beside the sofa. Her children. Hours ago she’d had only a son. Now she had twins.

  Take the blessing and let that fill you, she ordered herself. Because letting herself get caught up in anger over the past—recent and not so recent—would only hold her back. She had a family to raise, money to earn, a life to start.

  She took a deep breath and glanced at the other photos on the mantel, surprised to see one of her and Noah in their caps and gowns, their high school graduation. They’d both worked at the Circle D then, a prosperous ranch a half hour away. Sara had lived there as the foreman’s daughter, and Noah was a hand. But a month later, when he turned eighteen, Noah had moved there too, so upset by the conversation he’d had with his dad a half hour earlier that he’d gone off alone. Sara still didn’t know what had gone on during that discussion.

  The other photos were of his siblings, the six of them together when Noah was sixteen. They’d still come home to celebrate his birthday, though they’d refused to have Christmas at the ranch with their dad and had flown Noah to one of their homes instead.

  There was a photo of his mom, a pretty brunette with blue eyes who’d died when he was ten, something that had brought Sara and Noah even closer. They never had to talk about how awful it felt to miss your mother, to wish she were there. They just knew and could be together, quiet, skipping stones in the river, throwing bread to the ducks, climbing trees and sitting up there for hours.

  She missed the Noah he’d been three-quarters of the time—even to the very end of their relationship two years ago. She missed that guy so, so much.

  And she’d missed this cabin. She turned to look around. She had so many memories here, so much history. She knew every nook and cranny, which floorboards creaked on the stairs, how many steps it was down to the creek (182), how she’d sat on her bed in her room upstairs, writing Sara Dawson in hearts in her journal like the lovesick teenager she’d been.

  “Where’s my sweet baby girl?” a woman’s voice called cheerily through the front screen door, followed by a set of knocks. “I need my Annabelly time.”

  Sara froze. Oh God. Who was this?

  Noah’s wife? Girlfriend?

  “Noah? You here?” the feminine voice called.

  Sara bit her lip. Should she go to the door? Pretend she wasn’t here?

  Curiosity got the better of her, since this woman might have helped Noah take care of Annabel the past seven weeks. Maybe, in fact, she’d done all the work. That was more likely.

  She went to the door, and her heart soared. It was Daisy Dawson, Noah’s only sister.

  “Daisy!” Sara said, hearing her voice break and not caring. Her long honey-brown hair in a braid practically to her waist, a straw cowboy hat on her head, pretty, sweet Daisy had been a good friend from childhood until Willem had isolated Sara from everyone she used to care about. Daisy was also at least six months pregnant.

  “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?”