Her Secret Twins

by Janette Foreman

  No matter how he looked at it, his only contribution here was providing for the future—nothing for here and now.

  And Jill was right—Kallie was a tough and independent woman. It had him nervous. What if he was wasting his time trying to break his way into the kids’—and Kallie’s—lives? Sure, she’d let him make supper tonight. Barely. But what about other responsibilities? Tomorrow, next week, next month, in a year? Would she eventually edge him out of the picture?

  Chapter Five

  Things were looking up. Through the paternity test results, Grant had received confirmation that he was indeed Peter and Ainsley’s biological dad. And now, he was about to get his life insurance sorted out.

  “All right, we should be good to go.” The chipper middle-aged nurse named Liza packed up the paperwork and other materials into her travel bag. She offered Grant a smile as she stood up from Kallie’s kitchen table. “We’ll send this blood work and everything in, and the life insurance company will be in contact with you soon, okay?”

  “Sounds great,” Grant replied, standing, too. “Thanks for coming.”

  Kallie was out getting farm chores done for most of the day, so he’d spent it with the kids. The kids had fallen asleep at the normal time for their nap, just after the nurse showed up to give him his medical screening, which he discovered was a requirement to be approved for life insurance. He’d had to excuse himself to take the kids upstairs, but not before Peter and Ainsley, tired yet charming, had made friends with Liza.

  Now, the nurse headed for the door. “Thanks for letting me interrupt your busy day. Looks like you have your hands full.”

  Grant glanced at the dirty dishes in the sink, and the colorful kid plates still sitting on the kids’ high chair trays. And the laundry basket overflowing in the living room and the smattering of toys across the kitchen, where the kids had been playing while Grant tried to get work done on his laptop.

  “You’ve only seen half of it,” he mumbled.

  He held the door open for her as she chortled. “My niece has twins. They’re three, and are they ever busy.” She pointed to the ceiling with her pen, likely indicating the kids upstairs. “But these ones are cuties. Better watch your girl in high school. Just joking—but it’ll be here before you know it. You’re doing a great job, seem like a great dad. I can tell how much they love you.” Winking, Liza headed out onto the porch and then down the steps. “Have a great day.”

  “Thanks,” he called back, his heartbeat banging around in his chest.

  Sure would be nice if he was actually the dad she claimed he was. But he recognized empty flattery disguised as small talk when he saw it. It might be a while before Ainsley or Peter really bonded with him, but hopefully it would be before high school.

  High school. That seemed like a world away, considering they were only thirteen months old. Then again, the past two years had flown by, so Liza was probably right. Was he prepared to raise these kiddos for the next seventeen years or more? Could he learn to be okay with living on the farm that long and coparenting with Kallie all that time without knowing if he was truly contributing anything?

  Suddenly, he heard one of the kids crying in their room. Grant cut his gaze to the sound and frowned. Then he checked the clock. Just as he thought. It’d only been half an hour. Weren’t they supposed to sleep longer than that?

  He stood and crossed the linoleum. It wasn’t long before the second baby joined in.

  But as his feet clomped up the stairs, the crying died away and fits of laughter filtered down from the nursery instead. He paused outside the nursery door, listening to the innocent, from-the-belly laughter while his chest expanded with pride.

  Didn’t matter how many baskets of laundry there were. Or meals to make or toys to clean up. If this was going to be the rest of his life, he’d take it in a heartbeat.

  If only he knew what his purpose here was—how he could contribute and make a difference.

  Which was what made the separation from his job at Helping Hands so difficult right now. He really enjoyed his position there as executive director. It was deeply fulfilling work where he was making a noticeable impact in the lives of dogs and their new owners. The success was measurable. Easy to calculate as solid proof whenever he faced a challenging week. But parenting? Apparently there weren’t very many hard and fast indicators of success. He pretty much felt like he was throwing spaghetti at the wall each day. Not a position he found very comfortable.

  He opened the nursery door, revealing the twins standing face-to-face where their cribs butted together, no doubt thoroughly enjoying each other’s company. Their laughter stopped at the sound of the door opening, but their faces brightened again at the sight of Grant.

  Ainsley squealed. “Ma-ma-ma!” She bounced, chubby hands banging against the crib railing.

  “No, little miss. Daddy. I’m Daddy.” He approached their cribs, and they beamed up at him. “Daddy!”

  Peter began to laugh.

  “You can say it. Dad-dy. Daddy. Dad-dy.” He sounded it out carefully for them.

  Now they both stared at him like he’d lost his mind. Awesome.

  Grant sighed and scooped the kids up, one in each arm. “Never mind. We’ll work on it again another time.”

  As they headed down the stairs to the living room, another email chimed on his phone. It’d been going off nearly constantly today, between work commitments and the movers he’d hired to bring all of his stuff here from Iowa—everything except his 1952 Mercedes-Benz 220 Cabriolet, which he’d restored and now kept in storage until he could figure out the best way to get it out here.

  Ah, that Mercedes. He still couldn’t believe the unbelievable deal he’d got on it from his buddy. He’d actually tried convincing his friend to sell it for more, but bottom line, his friend just wanted it out of his garage. He’d inherited it years ago from an elderly uncle he hadn’t known well, and he himself wasn’t into restoring cars. Not that Grant had been much, either—but he knew a looker when he saw it.

  In Cedar Falls, Iowa, he’d lived inside the city in a cramped apartment with only one parking spot, where he’d kept his beat-up truck, which he also loved, like a worn-in shoe. Now though, living out here on the South Dakota prairie, he could imagine driving that Mercedes down the highway, with the warm breeze rushing over him with the top down and the cherry-red exterior gleaming in the sunlight.

  He got Peter and Ainsley interested in some toys before sliding the phone from his pocket.

  Will Parker, wanting him to call ASAP.

  Grant glanced in the kitchen at the phone hanging on the wall a foot from him. He hated using her landline all the time, but it was pretty much the only option. He’d offer to pay her bill this month. Focusing on what Will might be calling about, he picked up the receiver, punched in the number and wedged it between his ear and shoulder.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Will, it’s Grant. Using a landline. What’s up?”

  “We had our meeting last night.”

  Grant’s ears perked up. Well, that was certainly a step forward. “Great. How’d it go?”

  “Well, we brought on some new sponsors. One of them—the one donating the most, actually—has more specifications he’d like hammered out before he’ll supply any money for the rebuild.”

  “What kind of specifications?” Will and everyone else on the board had been pretty secretive about the previous specifications, information which he still hadn’t really been given access to.

  Craig Preston, the board president, met with sponsors on a regular basis, but generally they weren’t major, and generally, they didn’t want to dip their fingers into the inner workings of Helping Hands.

  Hopefully Will would help Grant out here with some information. “Come on. What does he want to do?”

  “Well...” The board contact exhaled. “The biggest thing is widening the
parameters of who can adopt a dog.”

  Grant frowned, glancing quickly at Peter and Ainsley, who were each captivated with whatever various toys they’d discovered. “I don’t know if I like that, Will. The qualifications are narrow for a reason. It’s our responsibility to put setters into homes that are well-suited to them.”

  “I know. We’ll be putting it to a vote at our next meeting.”

  Next meeting? “When’s that?”

  “We’re holding a special one in two weeks.”

  At least that was good news—they generally only scheduled one every few months. “What else does the guy want?”

  Will seemed to hesitate. “He wants to limit foster care homes and rebuild the facility with kennels.”

  Grant straightened. “Like a traditional animal shelter?”

  “Yeah. He figures it’ll cut down on transportation costs and keep all dogs readily available for screening and adoptions. Probably less paperwork. And less confusion on where every dog is—all that kind of stuff.”

  He wanted to scoff. “Yeah, but putting setters in a home situation helps them adapt quicker to their new way of life. It gives us an opportunity to truly evaluate their temperaments and needs, and match them with the right home. You know all that.”

  Will sighed. “Yeah, I know. But you know the hassle of trying to maintain a foster home list, too.”

  Yeah, that was definitely true. It wasn’t easy keeping foster families. They’d made it a policy to generally only place one dog per household, at least at first. And very rarely with a family that already had a dog living there—which meant that any foster family who adopted the dog they housed might not be able to foster again. All of that significantly reduced their options. Grant spent countless hours each month calling and searching for more families to fill in the gaps. It was a stressful, long and tedious process.

  But was Will actually advocating for this sponsor’s specifications?

  “Parker, I’m not a fan,” Grant said. “I’ve got some big problems with these ideas.”

  “I figured you would,” Will replied. “That’s why I think you should come back so we all can discuss it in person—before the meeting solidifies things.”

  Grant glanced at the kids, reminded of his promise to Kallie. “I don’t think I can make it in the next two weeks. Can I teleconference?”

  He was trying his best—he’d been working from his laptop in the late evenings and during the kids’ naps on the days he watched them. It was important not to disappoint Kallie. She needed to trust him before he left the state, and he highly suspected it would take him longer than a couple weeks to earn it.

  “We need you to be here,” Will said. “We’ve been understanding that you needed the week to get your affairs in order, but any longer than that is pushing it.”

  “Will, I told Craig about my situation out here, how it’s changed. I need some time to figure things out.”

  “Man, honestly, I’m being more up front with you than Craig will be, but we’re all feeling the strain here at Helping Hands. You need to come back so we can discuss this.”

  Grant swallowed. Leaving the farm for a visit to Iowa wouldn’t bode well for his relationship with Kallie and the kids. It killed him to fail or let anyone down, whether it be Kallie and the kids or the Helping Hands board.

  But judging by the silence on the other end of the line, Will Parker wasn’t backing down. And he suspected if he wanted to keep his job, he’d better make the trip.

  “I understand.” But after he hung up the phone, the conversation continued to plague him. Something was fishy, and this information from Will was the most he’d been able to get out of the board all week.

  He returned to the living room and began playing blocks with Peter and Ainsley. Stacking them high and watching them tumble, drinking in the laughing sound of the kids’ delight. Trying to decide how to make all the pieces of his life fit together.

  So far, an answer eluded him.

  He glanced heavenward before building another tower of blocks. What’s up Your sleeve, God?

  * * *

  On her knees in the flower bed along the front of the house, Kallie yanked at weeds and made room for the annuals she’d purchased in town at Bitter Creek Nursery.

  She kept mulling over Grant’s compliments toward her last night—and how little he actually knew about her. Apparently he thought she had things all together. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  She released a sigh. Taking care of the kids didn’t come easily for her. He had no idea how many nights she’d fallen into bed and cried from exhaustion and loneliness at parenting twin infants alone. Partly hoping no one would ever discover how she’d crumbled, yet also praying for someone to pick up the broken pieces and offer compassion.

  Pulling her baseball cap deeper onto her head, adjusting her ponytail through the snapback opening, she reassessed the layout she’d planned for the flowers—then couldn’t help but send a cursory glance to the vegetable garden nearby. She was in the most excruciating stages of gardening, or any farming really. Watering and weeding, day after day, trusting in the process with little to show in the way of success.

  Sounded a lot like her life right now. Question was, could she continue what she did day after day and believe things would work out? Or was it time to switch up a few things?

  Which things she’d switch up, she didn’t really want to analyze too closely—because they probably included Grant and letting him have a little bit more control. In fact, right now, it was everything she could do to just work on her flower beds and give Grant time to be with the kids alone.

  Why was letting go and trusting so hard for her? She pushed the dirt around as she thought about it. She trusted Grant to take care of the kids, to be kind and gentle with them, so why did she worry when she left the house? Maybe it had to do with old habits dying hard. Or the fact that she hadn’t had anyone to rely on in so long.

  But why rely on others when sooner or later they let you down?

  Sunday night with Grant had been so much fun—like their early days of dating. And last night’s simplicity with pizza and the kids was even better. There was something deeper about it. She almost dared to think that it could be that way all the time—with Grant as a part of their family.

  No doubt about it, he sure acted like he’d changed, appeared to welcome fatherhood, its responsibilities and commitment. He nearly had her convinced. But what if his intentions didn’t last? No matter how good of a guy he was, he still had other commitments—his job in Iowa and his training clinics around the country, if he ever went back to them. Which she assumed he would.

  It felt like he still had one foot out the door. One day, he’d have to return to Iowa, right? Then what would happen? Life would get hectic with clinics and the rescue facility. And then the farm would shift from being a stopping point on his trips to a place he was just too busy to visit.

  Eventually, like Mom, he would stop coming by altogether.

  She couldn’t endure any more heartache like that right now, so she couldn’t let him into her heart. She couldn’t get her hopes up that he would stick around this time.

  When she’d finished with the flower beds, she checked her watch. Time to make supper. Peeling off her gloves, she ascended the porch steps and into the house.

  Grant and the kids were in the living room. Ruby met her at the door, so Kallie gave her a bit of attention. Water was boiling on the stove, and a package of spaghetti lay beside it on the counter.

  Kallie smiled. Spaghetti. A simple yet satisfying comfort food. She couldn’t have asked for anything better tonight. And the fact that he’d once again started supper didn’t hurt. He’d been doing that every so often, and it was always a relief to walk in from a busy day to find one more task already checked off the list.

  Fits of giggles and the occasional belly laugh trickled
in.

  “Where is Peter? I can’t find him,” Grant said, which was followed by more giggles. “Peekaboo!”

  More laughter. Kallie turned down the gas stove’s fire so the water wouldn’t boil away. Then, leaning a shoulder on the doorframe separating the two rooms, she watched Grant drape a large serving blanket over Ainsley’s head. They were such nice quality squares of fabric, and big, that Kallie had used them far beyond swaddling. They were good for many functions—burp cloths, cuddle blankies, for wiping up the occasional bottle spill. And apparently, also good for hide-and-seek.

  “Where is Ainsley?” Grant continued, holding his palms up as he asked the question. “I can’t find her.”

  Peter couldn’t contain his laughing as he crawled quickly to Ainsley’s side. Reaching up, he grabbed hold of the blanket with both chubby hands and yanked. The cloth slid off Ainsley’s head, and she squealed, her smile at least one hundred watts.

  “There she is! Peekaboo!” Grant clapped, then met Kallie’s gaze before dropping the cloth over Peter’s head and repeating the game.

  Kallie fought a giggle in an attempt to blend into the background. But it didn’t last long. Soon the kids realized she was there, and any games were forgotten.

  She knelt to gather them in her arms as they toddled in her direction. “Hi, my darlings!” She showered each with kisses. “I’ve missed you all day.”

  Grant inched around her and into the kitchen. “I’m going to finish supper.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Watching his shadow pass over her, she waited for him to actually acknowledge her, but beyond his meal plans, he didn’t. He isn’t here for you, Kallie. Don’t forget it. “Hey,” she called out to him.

  “Hey,” he replied from the kitchen. “How’s the farm looking?”

  “Pretty good.” She stood and followed the kids back into the living room. Grant’s laptop was open on the sofa, facing out into the room as if he’d set it down without much thought. Probably to play with the kids.