by Liz Isaacson
“Perfect,” he said. “Maybe I’ll join you.” But first, he had to make the long drive back to Church Ranches for Mal’s car. They didn’t speak, because they’d both been up since dawn. Skyler thought about how much his life had changed since finding Mal in her apartment that day, almost eight months ago.
He wouldn’t be in Three Rivers. He wouldn’t be married. He wouldn’t be thinking about the future or a family. This house at Seven Sons wouldn’t exist. Not only that, but he now owned thirty-five percent of Seven Sons Ranch, which was crazy every time he thought about it.
None of the things that had happened since last November had been on his agenda.
But he was eternally grateful for them, and he thanked the Lord that Mal had filed the wrong paperwork to extend her green card.
He mused on these things while they walked through Wyatt’s house one last time. While he drove behind Mal to the grocery store. While they shopped.
Back at the ranch, they got all the food put away and put new sheets on the bed. Mal collapsed onto the bed with a huge grin on her face, a big sigh coming from her mouth.
Skyler jumped onto the bed with her, causing her to laugh. He laughed with her, relief flowing through him now that all the work was done for the day.
“Watch, Jeremiah will call in a minute, saying there’s a cow I need to go round up somewhere.” Skyler grinned at her, drowning in Mal’s beauty.
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted the ranch,” she teased.
Skyler chuckled just before he leaned down and kissed her. She kissed him back with a passion that spoke of married things, and Skyler’s heart raced.
The doorbell rang, and Skyler groaned as he pulled away from Mal.
“Your turn to get it,” she said, smiling at him.
“My turn?” He shook his head, but he got up, his feet protesting slightly for making them work again. He went down the hall and to the front door, wondering why one of his brothers didn’t just walk in.
Then he was grateful they didn’t just walk in. He wouldn’t want to be kissing Mal—or more—with an audience. But he and Micah had discussed easy access to the ranch for Skyler, and for others to get into his ranch house, and there was a back door that faced the ranch and would be easier for someone to come in from the homestead too, as it sat back further on the road than Skyler’s new house.
He opened the door, but it wasn’t a family member who stood there. A woman wearing a sharp skirt suit waited on the front porch, and she did not look happy.
“Mister Walker?” She glanced down at a notebook in her hand. “Skyler Walker?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, wishing he wasn’t sweaty and dusty from the day’s move. This woman looked like someone he should be wearing a white shirt and tie to converse with.
“I finally found you,” she said. “You know you’re supposed to keep your address updated with the immigration office, don’t you?”
“We just moved today,” Skyler said, though that wasn’t entirely true. He thought about his sessions with Dr. Haskell, and he didn’t want to be caught even one step on the wrong side of the truth. “I mean, we’ve been living here in Three Rivers to help my brother with his back surgery. But we just moved into this house today.”
The woman’s expression softened, and she said, “Yes, I’ve been out to Church Ranches already.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Why don’t you come in? You’re from immigration?”
“Yes,” she said, stepping up and into the house. “I’m Madison Wilkerson, and I’m the case agent assigned to your case.”
Skyler closed the door behind her and slicked his palms down the front of his shorts. Immigration had come to Three Rivers. “I’m Skyler Walker. My wife, Mal, is down the hall. Let me grab her.”
He’d just rounded the corner when Mal came out of the bedroom. He tried to communicate telepathically with her, and he was sure she could feel his nerves. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, feeling stupid for laying on the endearment so thick. But he’d called her sweetheart before, and it hadn’t sounded as fake as it did right now.
He reminded himself that if the doorbell hadn’t rung, he and Mal would still be in bed, and he reached for her hand. “There’s an immigration agent here. Madison Wilkerson. She’s the agent assigned to our case.”
“Our case?” Mal wore the anxiety plainly on her face, and she peered over Skyler’s shoulder.
They faced the living room together, where Madison had sat on their new couch and put her notebook on the coffee table Skyler had brought from Amarillo. She stood and smiled at Mal. “You must be Mal Walker.”
“Yes,” Mal said. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you.” She nodded at Mal and then Skyler. “I just have a few questions for you, and I need to get some names for family interviews.”
Skyler focused all his attention on not swallowing. “Sure,” he said, moving over to the love seat, practically pushing Mal in front of him. “Anything you need.”
“Who would be the best to interview about your marriage?” Madison asked, looking between the two of them.
“Well, we were living with my brother,” Skyler said. “The one who had the back surgery. They probably know us and our relationship best.”
“Yeah,” Mal said. “And your mom and dad.”
“Oh, sure, they’d be great.” Skyler had slid right into one of his fake persona skins. He hadn’t been wearing it as much as he did in Amarillo, and it was tight against his smile. “So Wyatt and Marcy Walker, though they’re about to have a baby.”
“I met Wyatt today,” Madison said. “He’s the one out in Church Ranches?”
“Yep.”
“The rodeo champion.” Madison smiled and made a note in her book.”
“Yes.” Skyler kept his smile on his face.
“And your parents?”
He looked at Mal. “I mean, sure. I have seven brothers. Jeremiah would be a good choice. Or Micah. He built this house.”
“I can talk to your parents,” Madison said. “Name and address?”
Skyler gave her the information she wanted, and then Madison sat back and crossed her legs. He felt like he’d just shown up for his therapy appointments, and Madison was going to fire uncomfortable questions at him that he hoped he answered correctly.
“You two have been married for how long?”
“Eight months?” Skyler guessed. “We got married in November, so just over eight months.”
“And you left school?”
“Yeah, I’d been studying to be an accountant, but I don’t actually need the degree to do the ranch finances, which has always been my goal. And Wyatt needed help after his surgery, and we came here.”
“You’re not going back to school, Mal?” Madison asked.
Mal swallowed, and Skyler could see her nerves. “I couldn’t go for the winter semester,” she said. “And now I have an amazing job at the bakery here, so…no. I haven’t thought about going back this fall.”
Madison nodded, asked a few more questions about their jobs, their new house, and their plans for the next year, five years, and ten years.
She didn’t make any notes, and Skyler had no idea what she was looking for. She finally collected her notebook and stood. “Thank you for your time. Be sure to call the immigration office or go online and update your address.”
“We won’t be moving again,” Skyler said.
Madison nodded and started for the front door. “This is a lovely home,” she said.
“Thanks.” Skyler and Mal both followed her to the door and saw her out. Skyler kept his fake skin and smile on his face as he closed the door. Then he sagged against it with a huge sigh.
Mal stumbled over to the bench. “I sort of thought they’d forgotten about us.”
“Apparently not.” Skyler stood up and went into the kitchen, his throat parched. “Is it hot in here?”
“A little,” Mal said.
Skyler looked out the kitchen window, and he could see the oak tree s
everal yards away. In mid-summer, all the foliage prevented him from seeing the homestead. But the leaves were blowing hard in the wind, and he reached for the window and lifted it to let in the breeze. It hit him in the face, and he closed his eyes and breathed in.
Mal joined him at the sink. “Do you think she believed us?”
“There’s nothing to not believe,” he said. “We’re married. It’s not wanna-be anymore.” He searched her face. “Right?”
“Right.” Mal reached for a glass and filled it with water too. “But it was, Sky, and what if she finds out?”
“How could she find out?” Skyler leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. “I’m so glad I didn’t tell Micah and Wyatt when I went to breakfast with them.” And to think, he’d felt bad after his sessions with Dr. Haskell where he’d withheld the information from them.
Mal hung her head and hissed her breath out in a slow leak.
“What?” he asked.
“I told my sister.”
“You told your sister what?” he asked, his stomach dropping to the soles of his feet.
Mal lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes glassy. “I told Julia that we’d gotten married so I could stay in the country.”
“Are you kidding me right now? When?” Skyler couldn’t believe this. A hole in the ground opened up, threatening to swallow him whole. If he was found aiding an illegal alien…he couldn’t be arrested again. Flashes of his life in Dallas, the police questioning, the documents showing all the customers whose accounts had been overpaid, the fact that his girlfriend, his truck, and the money was all gone, assaulted him.
“Way back in January,” she said, swiping at her eyes. “I’ll call her right now. She won’t have told anyone, I swear.”
“Mal.” Skyler huffed out in irritation and paced away from her.
“They’re not going to interview her.”
“You don’t know that.”
“She asked for people in your family.”
“That doesn’t mean the list is comprehensive.” Skyler felt caged, and he needed to get out. Get out now. “Mal, I could get arrested over this. Go to jail. We weren’t telling anyone that this was fake.”
Air felt like the wrong thing to breathe. “Because it’s not fake anymore. What are we going to do?”
“I said I’d call her.”
“Great, go call her.”
Mal looked like she was going to throw up, and Skyler knew exactly what that felt like. He stormed out the back door as she went down the hall to get her phone.
Micah, Jeremiah, and Wyatt stood there, all of them with a strange look on their faces. Skyler wanted to yell into the sky. “What did you hear?” he asked, remembering the open window above the kitchen sink.
“You could get arrested,” Micah said, almost in a deadpan.
“You married Mal so she could stay in the country?” Jeremiah at least had the decency to phrase his statement as a question.
“It’s not fake anymore,” Wyatt said, grinning.
“There is nothing funny about this,” Skyler said, his desperation threatening to explode from him. “An immigration agent just stopped by. She’s going to be interviewing you and Marcy.” He looked at Wyatt. “She can not think our marriage isn’t real.”
“Brother, I’ve seen you with Mal,” Wyatt said. “Never once did I think it wasn’t real.”
“I don’t need you to lie for me,” Skyler said. “It’s not worth that.”
“I won’t have to lie,” Wyatt said.
“What are you going to do now?” Jeremiah asked.
“Yeah,” Micah said. “Where were you going?”
“Just…away,” Skyler said. “I needed some space.”
“We were coming to see if you wanted to go horseback riding,” Jeremiah said. “Well, Wyatt still can’t get on a horse. But he’s going to watch JJ while I go.” Jeremiah bounced his baby in his arms. “Whitney doesn’t feel well today.”
“Horseback riding sounds great,” Skyler said. What really sounded good was an afternoon with his brothers. Maybe they could reassure him. Maybe he didn’t have to jump off the ledge.
“Let’s go,” Micah said, turning toward the ranch. Skyler fell into step with his brothers, a prayer already filling his mind.
Please, Dear Lord, he prayed. I don’t want Mal to have to leave the country, and I really, really don’t want to get arrested. If possible, help this work out for us.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Wyatt glanced at Marcy when she froze, and he knew instantly that something was wrong. “Marce?” He reached across the space between them and took her hand.
She raised her gaze to his, panic in those blue, blue eyes he loved so much. “I think….” She relaxed in the next moment, her grip on his hand loosening. “It was probably just the baby kicking.”
“You sure?” Their baby was due tomorrow, and Wyatt hadn’t been able to sleep very deeply for the past few nights. He didn’t want to miss a single moment of the delivery, and he didn’t want Marcy to have to wake him up to take her to the hospital.
She nodded, leaning back in the camp chair Wyatt had carried and set up for her so they could watch the concert in the park. Wyatt loved summertime, and Three Rivers did a summer concert series, with local bands—and some big names too—every Monday night. He loved the downtown park, and that families brought blankets and chairs, coolers with drinks, bags of licorice and chips, pizzas and burgers and anything else they wanted to eat.
Food trucks filled the west parking lot, and Wyatt and Marcy had bought fried chicken cones and eaten them half an hour ago. Jeremiah and Whitney had just arrived, and Rhett had called to say Evelyn was too tired to make it that night.
Wyatt continued to watch Marcy, but she didn’t tense again.
He looked at Jeremiah, but he didn’t even know what to ask. According to the stories he’ heard, Jeremiah had been out on the ranch when Whitney had gone into labor, and he’d arrived in their bedroom just before Whitney had delivered their baby at home.
That baby now babbled on Jeremiah’s lap as Whitney dug through a diaper bag for something. She handed a wipe to Jeremiah, who used it on his son’s face. The baby didn’t like that, and jerked away, but Jeremiah got the job done and handed the wipe back to Whitney. “You’ve got applesauce all over your face, Jay,” Jeremiah said. “You’re fine.” He put the boy over his shoulder and bounced him as he fussed.
“He’s just tired,” Whitney said. “Let’s feed him and see if he’ll go to sleep.” She dove into the bag again and came up with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She’d cut it in half, and she took out one piece and handed it to Jeremiah.
He settled the boy back on his lap and ripped off a small chunk to offer to JJ. He took it happily, stuffing the sandwich in his mouth. “There you go,” Jeremiah said. He looked at Whitney. “Did you bring the chips?”
“Yep.” She produced those, opening the bag and holding it on her lap. Jeremiah reached across and took several, crunching through them as his son continued to eat his sandwich.
Wyatt marveled at the normalcy of it all. Jeremiah and Whitney were good parents, and Whitney seemed to always have exactly what she needed to satisfy JJ. Wyatt could only hope and pray that he’d know how to be a father, and a familiar vein of worry threaded through him.
Marcy groaned, and Wyatt’s attention flew back to her. She had both hands on her very pregnant belly, and her eyes were closed. Not squeezed tight, but definitely not closed in bliss.
“Marcy,” he said, stronger now. “You’re not okay.”
“I think I’m having contractions,” she said.
“Really?” Whitney got up, abandoning the chips and the diaper bag. “Let’s go.” She wore a look of panic on her face.
“Wait a second,” Wyatt said. “Don’t we have to time them or something?” He himself hadn’t read any books about delivering a baby, but Marcy had listened to at least five over the past few months as she flew over the fields of Th
ree Rivers.
“Yeah,” Marcy said.
“How close together are they?” Whitney asked.
“I don’t know.” Marcy looked up at the other woman. “I feel like I can’t think.”
Whitney crouched down in front of her and put both hands on her knees. “Marcy, look at me.”
Marcy did, and Wyatt could see the wide-eyed panic on his wife’s face. He stood up too, not a single twinge of pain in his back. Thankfully. “Maybe we should go,” he said.
Marcy looked at him next, and he watched the pain slide right off her face. “I’m okay.”
“I’m timing,” Whitney said. “Because that was just a contraction. How she’s in pain and unsure of what to do, and then she’s fine? I know what that feels like.”
Wyatt looked at Jeremiah, who was watching them with intensity on his face. “Whit,” he said.
“What?” she asked. “Do you think she wants to have this baby in the park?”
“I don’t want to have the baby in the park,” Marcy said.
“Let’s just go,” Wyatt said. “What’s the worst that can happen? They tell us to go home?” He started folding up his camp chair, suddenly glad he and Marcy preferred to buy their food instead of bringing it with them. All he had to carry was the two camp chairs—and possibly his pregnant wife as she went into labor.
“Oh, boy,” Marcy said. She sucked in a breath and held it.
“What?” Wyatt asked, ready to go. “What’s wrong?”
“I think my water just broke.”
“Time to go,” Wyatt said, his heartbeat accelerating. He reached for Marcy’s arm and helped her to her feet. He didn’t care who saw what; he needed to get them to the hospital right now. “Can you walk, sugar?”
“Yes,” she said, panting just once. “I can.”
“Jeremiah?”
“Leave everything,” his brother said. “We’ll get it.”
Wyatt nodded, patted his back pocket for his wallet and his phone, and started across the grass toward his truck. The very first time Marcy made a noise like she couldn’t take another step, he swept her into his arms.
“Wyatt,” she said, her voice tight. “You’re going to hurt your back.”
