For the Twins' Sake

by Melissa Senate

  I’d do anything for you, he wanted to say, and it felt true, but when he’d needed to step up, he’d failed her. Gunk he didn’t want to think about anymore but often kept him awake at night. For two years.

  So he just nodded and squeezed her hand, then picked up his phone and called his sister.

  A half hour later, Daisy was up in the nursery with the twins, happy to watch Annabel and Chance for however long they needed, and he and Sara were in his truck alone, heading down the drive until he realized they forgot about the Range Rover.

  New plan. He’d follow her in the truck so she could return the fancy SUV to the house where it belonged, since the car, like everything else, was apparently in Perry’s name.

  Now he was behind her on the freeway, so aware of her in the silver SUV, never wanting to let her out of his sight again.

  Chapter Four

  Thanks to Noah’s help, Sara got Chance’s stuff and her clothing and toiletries and some personal items out of the Wellington house and into the pickup in under an hour—including the double infant stroller that Willem must have moved to a closet in the garage and then forgotten about. He’d gotten rid of the extras of everything they’d bought two of—a baby swing, a crib. The stroller was the only sign in the house that she’d been expecting twins.

  Part of her wanted to leave it, but she’d picked out the stroller herself, knowing she’d be the one using it 99 percent of the time, drawn to the soft blue and white color. It doesn’t offend, Willem had said when she’d shown him the online photo, so she’d ordered it. Ugh, that had been Willem’s favorite description. It offends, he’d say about the most innocuous things.

  She shivered as memory after memory hit her. Just finish up and get out of here, she told herself.

  The shortest time possible spent in this house, the better. The three-story white Colonial with the black shutters and red door was classic and beautiful on the outside, and as cold and austere as a walk-in freezer on the inside. The walls were all the same cool gray, the furnishings white, black or cream. Willem had found color—and a whole host of other things—tacky. Since he’d passed away, out of Willem-ingrained habit she’d straightened the throw pillows if she’d sat on the sofa and shifted all the hand towels in the bathroom so they were perfectly aligned. More than once, Willem had called her upstairs as though something awful had happened and he’d point out that the shampoo and conditioner containers needed to face front, not one of them sideways or show evidence that they’d been squeezed with depressions in the center.

  She’d lived like that for two years. And had lost her father anyway.

  She’d tried, given it her all, done whatever it had taken to try to save her dad. Preston Mayhew had loved life and had been raring to go, to fight the traitorous cells with everything he had. She’d been given an extra year and a half with him. When he was first diagnosed, he’d told her he’d be fine with sticking around long enough to walk her down the aisle even with a cane, and the pure joy on his face when he’d done just that had let her know he’d go at peace, assured his only child would be okay without him in the world.

  She had to get out of this house. “I think that’s it,” she said to Noah.

  She’d sped through her bedroom, the room she’d shared with Willem, where she’d given birth, where her husband had tried very hard to take something precious from her. She’d been unable to look at the bed or the pretty chair where the midwife had sat beside her for hours during labor, so encouraging, so kind. Granted, Sara hadn’t gotten to know the midwife, Katherine, all that well, but she could only assume the woman was racked with guilt and unable to live with herself, no matter how much Willem had paid her off, no matter how desperate she’d been. What she’d done was reprehensible. Sara couldn’t imagine any amount of money making what she’d done even a serious consideration. She’d have to deal with the midwife soon. Very soon. What if she was planning to assist with another birth? Sara would call the lawyer tomorrow and discuss it all.

  Her stomach turning over, Sara pushed all that away, focusing on the man watching her right now. She let herself drink in the sight of him, so different from Willem. Noah was over six feet by a couple inches at least, lanky and muscular with warm, deep blue eyes and a mop of shaggy dark hair that curled by his nape. Movie-star hair straight from the shower or bed. He was incredibly sexy—objectively speaking. Women had always buzzed around Noah. Willem had been attractive but not sexy, tall and stocky with pin-straight light blond hair and ice-blue eyes that neither twin had inherited. They both had her coloring. Was it awful that she was grateful she didn’t see him in them? Grateful as she was to have them.

  She stopped in front of the fireplace mantel, chills running up her spine, and then walked past, leaving the framed photographs there.

  Noah nodded at the mantel. “Not taking any?”

  There weren’t many, since Willem had also thought it was tacky to have personal photographs all over the place. She’d always loved the idea of stairway walls lined with family pictures, but the stairway wall was blank, a cold gray like the rest of the house.

  “I really don’t want them,” she said.

  He plucked their wedding photo off the mantel. “The twins might one day,” he said gently. He looked at the framed photograph and shook his head. “Perry’s expression says you’re his trophy. Is that what it was like? He finally got the girl?”

  “Yup. It was more about the conquest than anything. Then he resented me for it.”

  “I’m sorry you went through all that, Sara. All of it. I wish I could have helped with your dad.”

  “Well, you tried,” she said.

  When she’d told him how bleak the situation was, that the hospital couldn’t continue with treatment because of the lack of insurance and lack of payment on the last bill, Noah had handed her a check that she knew was the contents of his bank accounts—business and personal. It meant he’d lose his small ranch that he’d wanted so badly, and the gesture touched and unsettled her. He’d give up his dream to help her, but the amount, generous as it was, would pay only the last bill and barely begin to cover the month ahead. He’d lose his ranch and she wouldn’t be able to keep up with the payments anyway. It was lose-lose, and so she’d turned it down. That was the first night they’d made love, when they’d tried to be a couple, but it was all too much for him. The intimacy, she thought. Just too much. Within a few months he clearly couldn’t handle it and so he began acting out in ways it took her a while to catch onto. By then it was too late for them. She’d ended their relationship after only six months together and started dating Willem, who’d actually seemed like a breath of fresh air.

  Ha. Not that it was funny in the slightest.

  Her phone pinged with a text. It was from Holton, Willem’s attorney.

  Hope I’m not overstepping but please advise re: the female twin.

  She texted back, Alive and well. We’ll all be okay.

  Wonderful news, Sara. Also, I checked into the midwife’s license. According to the Wyoming Board of Nursing, she allowed her license of thirty-seven years to expire just this month without renewing, and local hospitals and OBs that I checked with let me know she called them to say she had officially retired. At least she’s out of business.

  Sara shivered.

  It was something, but not enough. She’d have to deal with the midwife at some point soon. But for right now, when she walked out the door of this house, she’d close this chapter of her life. She’d never want to hear the lawyer’s name or her late husband’s again. There was too much to process right now, too much to adjust to or she’d storm the midwife’s home with the sheriff in tow. Or maybe just knock on the woman’s door and find out what the hell Willem had threatened her with or what dire straits she’d been in to agree to such a heinous act. When the time felt right, she would do just that.

  Forcing those thoughts away right now, Sara took t
he photo out of Noah’s hand and put it back on the mantel. “I plan to legally change Chance’s name from Bancroft Perry to Chance Mayhew since I’ll be taking back my maiden name.”

  “What do you think you’ll rename Annabel?”

  Sara held his gaze. “I can’t tell you how touched I was when I found out you named her Annabel. My middle name. Unless that was a coincidence? You just happened to like the name?”

  “Well, I do happen to, but it was no coincidence. You were always my best friend, Sara, no matter what. And I guess I wanted her to have a piece of the best woman I know. Who knew she had all of you?”

  She smiled, the urge to hug him so strong. She forced herself to stay put. “I think Annabel is perfect for her. Annabel Mayhew, it is.”

  “I got a lot right with her. Don’t know how, but I did. Gives me hope for the ranch.”

  “I believe in you, Noah. Always have.”

  “I know,” he said, looking down, and she could tell a little of that old Noah was still there, the guy who couldn’t handle too much emotional honesty without getting itchy or wanting to run.

  She’d do him a solid and change the subject. “For the twins, for someday,” she said, “I’ll take one photo album that has an array of photos from when Willem and I first started dating to when we brought Chance home.” She shivered. “But how will I explain why there are no photos of Annabel the day they were born?”

  She burst into tears and covered her face with her hands, and Noah wrapped his arms around her. She’d been holding on, but it was the thing that whacked her legs out from under her. The idea of her children having questions she’d hate to answer.

  “You have lots of time to figure out those details,” he said, his arms tightening around her. “Right now, let’s focus on what’s necessary. Like getting the hell out of here.”

  He tightened his hold for just a second, and oh God, did that feel good. She let herself sag against him, needing this, his comfort, his strength, all their beautiful history like air right now.

  But she couldn’t need him this way. It was too, too much. She wiped at her eyes and pulled away, slightly embarrassed at falling apart, but then again, this was Noah Dawson, who’d seen her through just about all the rough times of her life.

  And she couldn’t lie to herself. Being in his arms again felt even better than she’d expected. Maybe because he had changed. Or maybe because she’d missed him so damned much. Either way, she had to be careful with how she responded to him. She had leaned on someone for the last time. Now, she’d only lean on herself.

  * * *

  “I almost forgot,” Noah said as he drove down the freeway in his pickup, Sara’s Range Rover left behind with her old life. “My dad left you something in his will.”

  Sara had had enough of wills and surprises. She couldn’t even summon the polite words to feign interest so she just turned toward him.

  “A garden plot behind the foreman’s cabin,” he said. “Apparently it was your mother’s once?”

  A spark of joy lit inside Sara, a warmth as memories rushed over her. Sara as a little girl kneeling in the grass in front of the wood-framed raised garden bed, her mother letting her drop in the seeds as she explained about vegetables you planted in the warmer weather, like tomatoes and green peppers.

  “It was added to the letter he left me,” Noah said. “‘Tell Sara I bequeath her the garden plot behind the foreman’s cabin. Her mother built it and grew all kinds of vegetables. Sara was a nice gal, so I wanted to leave her something.’”

  “I can’t tell you how moved I am,” she said. “That is really kind, Noah.”

  He nodded. “My dad had his moments, didn’t he? You should have seen the letter he wrote me. I cried for a minute straight. I seriously couldn’t stop.”

  She looked at him. “Really? What did the letter say?”

  “That he was sorry for ruining our family legacy and everything his parents had built and dreamed of. That he was sorry for letting us down. He said he owned the ranch outright, and the land, never sold any part of it, and he’d always paid his property taxes, even if he let the place fall apart.”

  Sara had been leveled by what his father had done to the place, how he’d slowly destroyed it. The final straw for her dad as foreman had been the afternoon that Noah’s dad had drunkenly smashed his truck into the barn next to their cabin—though luckily her and her dad’s horses were in the pasture and not injured. Bo Dawson had refused to pay for the repairs to the barn and left it as it was. Between not paying his bills, storm damage he wouldn’t take care of, and time, the old word of mouth had spread, and guests stopped coming completely. Out of respect for Noah’s late grandparents, her dad had stayed on for a few weeks more, trying to do what he could and reason with Noah’s father, but the man was beyond hope, and they’d left. That was twelve years ago.

  “He still cared about Dawson Family Guest Ranch,” Sara said. “Even if he didn’t show it or have the wherewithal to do anything about it. The place itself meant something to him.”

  Noah nodded. “I used to think actions spoke louder than anything, and I’ve come to realize what people do masks all kinds of things they can’t say or articulate.”

  She supposed that was true. Nothing was ever really black-and-white. She’d known that Noah had cared about her even when he was letting her down. People were complicated. Life was complicated. If anyone had told her five years ago that one day she’d be trapped in an emotionally abusive marriage, unsure how to get herself and Chance safely away, she never would have believed it. She would have smugly said she’d never be in such a marriage to begin with, let alone not be able to get out.

  “My dad went on to say in the letter that he hoped I’d take charge of the place,” Noah said, thankfully shaking her out of her thoughts. “That I’d reopen the Dawson Family Guest Ranch even on a small scale, that he felt awful he couldn’t leave any money to make that happen. But that he knew I was the Dawson to do it. He said I had a streak of him running in my veins but more of my grandparents in me, and he was sure I’d reopen the place and have my grandparents smiling down at me and the ranch.”

  “Wow,” she said, marveling at how people could surprise you. “To all of it.”

  He nodded. “He left us all letters. At the will reading after the funeral, I was the only one who shared my letter. My siblings wouldn’t. Even Daisy, and she was never all that private, especially with me.”

  “What do you think he wrote in your siblings’ letters?” she asked. “I mean, if he envisioned you reopening the ranch, what else was there?”

  “Nothing as far as I know. He got so broke at the end that he even sold the chipped dishes and cheap silverware. I can’t even imagine what he wrote in their letters. But whatever he did write had an impact, since they’re all so tight-lipped about it.”

  “They invested in reopening the ranch,” she added. “And they invested in you too. So he must have made some kind of amends.”

  He nodded. “They refuse to step foot on the property, though. Except Daisy. And only because she’s pregnant and seems to be completely on her own.”

  “She’s got you,” Sara said. “And me.”

  He glanced at her. “I’m glad for that.”

  They were quiet for a few moments, the only sound the rush of the tires as they drove down the freeway.

  “You know what’s interesting?” she said. “That the last person you expected to change your life ended up doing just that. Your father.”

  He nodded. “I spent a lot of time thinking about exactly that as I was working on the ranch. My siblings and I had given up on him completely the last few years.” He sucked in a breath. “I hate wishing I could go back. At the time, I felt justified in leaving him to his own destruction. We all did. He constantly told us to get lost and mind our own business, that it was his property and we were trespassing. So we stopped bad
gering him after a while. Once the drinking got really bad and he almost ran over Ford one morning, dead drunk at 10:00 a.m., we left him alone.”

  “I know all about wishing you could go back, Noah. I guess we just do the best we can at the time with what we know, what we believe is true and right.”

  He glanced at her and nodded. “I would have let you know about the garden plot, but I wasn’t sure about getting in touch. I couldn’t imagine you driving an hour a few times a week to tend to a twelve-foot-by-six-foot garden bed.”

  “To get away from Willem for a few hours?” she said. “I would have.”

  He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Well, it’s yours now. And time to plant.”

  “Being back at the ranch when it looks the way it does now, being with you, my old friend, it almost feels like the world’s been righted for me.”

  He turned to look at her, and his expression was full of so many different emotions. He squeezed her hand and then returned his attention to the road, and she wondered if she’d said too much again, made too much of their reunion. To change the subject, she remarked on how beautiful the Wyoming wilderness was in late May when the leaves bloomed and wildflowers spread their gorgeous color across the brown and green landscape, the still-snowcapped mountain range in the far distance. He agreed, and then they were silent the rest of the way home.

  * * *

  As Noah drove through the gates of the Dawson Family Guest Ranch and up the dirt road past the foreman’s cabin, Sara took in the manicured but rustic grounds, pastures and fields and wilderness in every direction. There were cute wooden signs posted with arrows, miles and timing to get to the main house, the foreman’s cabin, the cafeteria, the lodge, Bear Ridge Creek, riding trails and the trail system in the woods that were part of the ranch. Wildflowers were everywhere, and there were hunter green wooden benches, picnic tables and wooden swings hanging from tree branches. The ranch looked so welcoming and inviting.