Her Secret Twins

by Janette Foreman

As the sole owner of the farm, you have your hands full. And the twins are growing bigger and more active every day. I don’t want you running it alone. But even more than the farm, I don’t want you to be alone. Grant is the kids’ father, and I’ve respected your wishes to keep silent on letting him know about the kids. However, I’ve come to realize it’s too important of an issue not to be resolved.

  So if you won’t do it, I’ll help the matters along myself. I hope you’ll forgive me for that.

  But when I ended my marriage to your mother, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I should have fought for us, not turned into a coward and let her slip away. I loved your mother, but I was hurt. That was no excuse. You suffered the most from my mistake, and for that, I’m truly sorry...

  The phone rang, interrupting her reading. She glanced at the doorway leading into the kitchen, then back at Peter, who was beginning to fall asleep. She really should get some cordless phones for the house.

  Maybe she’d let it go to voicemail.

  After a few rings, the voicemail switched on. Kallie rubbed her hand on Peter’s back, thankful Ainsley was sleeping soundly upstairs.

  “Hello,” the voice said into the room. “This is Officer Craig Dunn of the Broken Bow Police Department, and I’m trying to reach Kallie Shore.”

  Kallie’s heart dropped. She popped from her chair and sped to the phone.

  “Yes, I’m here.” Her voice was breathless in the receiver. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ma’am, there has been an accident involving your mother, Edith Shore—”

  Kallie nearly dropped the phone. The rest of the conversation, the instructions, the details, were a blur as Kallie grappled with the news. Her mother had been in a car accident and was now in Broken Bow, the closest town with a decent hospital.

  Kallie shook her head. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you.” She hung up the phone, then immediately picked it up again and punched in the cottage’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Grant, can you come over here?” The breath squeezed from Kallie’s lungs.

  “What happened?”

  He could always tell. She closed her eyes. “It’s my mom.” She relayed the information the officer had told her. Or at least what she could remember of it. “Could you please—”

  “I’m on my way,” he said, then hung up the phone.

  Kallie whispered a prayer of thanks, then hung up the phone, too. Peter started to cry, so she took off the cloth and wet it again. She was tempted to check his temperature, but it hadn’t been very long since last time she’d checked. Instead, she made a new bottle with trembling hands, a prayer for her mom never far from her lips.

  She tried to comfort Peter by tucking a bottle into his mouth. As she did, she heard the door open. Before she could even fully turn around, Grant was in the room and had slid her and Peter into his arms.

  It was just what she needed to lose what little wall of fortitude she’d managed to cobble together in the past few minutes.

  “Dear God,” Grant whispered, Kallie tucked against his chest, “please protect Edith. Thank You for preserving her life, and please help Kallie know Your bravery and comfort. We know You are a God who loves His children. We are amazed at Your faithfulness even when times don’t make sense. Give us that peace and understanding. In Jesus’s name, I pray. Amen.”

  Kallie pressed her forehead to Grant’s shoulder before drawing back. “Thank you.”

  “Here, give me Peter.” As he took his son in his arms, Grant bore his green-brown stare into Kallie, filling her with strength. “Are you okay driving?”

  She nodded. “Yes, I can do it.”

  “Do you need me to do anything for you?”

  “No, thanks. Except Peter has a fever. The thermometer is on the table there. You just put it to his temple and press a button...it’s kind of weird...”

  “It’s all right, Kallie. I can look it up online if need be. Go. I’ve got it covered.”

  Kallie backed to the door, grabbing her keys off the nail. “You might need to give him a bath, and Ainsley is asleep upstairs.”

  “I’ve got this, Kallie. Go.”

  His words were firm, but they filtered through her like soft, warm oil over aching muscles and joints. She nodded. Grant really did have everything under control, and she really could let him help.

  She raced out to the pickup and started it up. “Thank You, God, for Grant,” she whispered, then drove out of the turnaround and down the gravel road toward Broken Bow Memorial Hospital.

  * * *

  Grant sat at his kitchen table, empty coffee mug in hand, staring at the little window above his sink at the moonlight splashing across the counter and kitchen floor.

  He didn’t feel right sitting here. He should be with Kallie and his kids.

  While at her house, he’d fed both kids their bottles on his lap while searching the internet on Kallie’s computer for what to do with a nearly fourteen-month-old with a fever. Then Grant had bathed Peter and put him to bed in the lightest pajamas he could find, as his temperature was at one hundred. Everything had gone pretty well, all things considered.

  Kallie had been gone for the entire evening, finally returning around nine. She’d seemed weary, ready to sleep. Because of the position in which the paramedics had found Edith’s car, and the fact that she couldn’t seem to keep anything down, they’d been concerned that she had carbon monoxide poisoning and possibly a concussion. They’d kept her overnight for observation.

  Kallie wanted to be there at eight the next morning to be available when the doctors made their rounds, so Grant was to come back no later than seven.

  Well, here it was 1:00 a.m., and he’d still yet to leave the table. Why, he hadn’t even removed his boots yet. Chief, Bella and Dakota had ignored their beds, too, going to sleep at his feet.

  God, I should be with my family, not sitting here in this cottage.

  He gritted his teeth, then stood. Plunked his coffee mug on the tabletop, and the dogs lifted their heads.

  “I’m heading over there,” he muttered. “At least to see if there are lights on, if they’re doing okay.” Peter had been a mite restless when he’d gone to bed, and Kallie had been so tired.

  In the darkness, he walked over. As he approached the house, he didn’t see any lights on. Best to circle the house, though, and make sure. Especially since the living room was in the back.

  Halfway around, he spotted a lamp’s soft glow and movement through one of the living room windows. The rocking recliner.

  Kallie was awake.

  He started for the door, then remembered Ruby. She wouldn’t be quiet about someone coming through the door. So, he went back to the window nearest Kallie and rapped on it lightly with his knuckle. The recliner stopped. He waved and pointed to the door. Thankfully, there was a lot of moonlight, because Kallie seemed to recognize him. She rose from the recliner as if heading to the door to let him in.

  She met him there, Ruby beside her. Grant gave Ruby’s ears a quick scratch as he entered the kitchen.

  “What are you doing here?” Kallie whispered. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no. I just came to check on you guys.” A quick glance around told him things were a little hectic after he left. A container of formula sat open on the counter, dishes in the sink instead of in the dishwasher—Kallie’s pet peeve, if he’d learned anything about her in the past few weeks—and the diaper bag’s contents spilled across the table.

  Peter fussed, and Grant swiveled his gaze back to Kallie. “Here, let me take him.”

  “Grant—”

  “You need to sleep.” He closed the space between them and gently slid his hands under Peter’s head and body. Grant raised his brows at the heat coming off his son’s skin.

  Peter wriggled and fussed louder. “He won’t sleep lying down,” Kal
lie said, taking the opportunity to run a rag under the water. “That’s why we’re rocking.”

  “I can do that, Kallie. You need to sleep.”

  “No more than you do.”

  “You’ve been running hard, and you have to be up early tomorrow.”

  “I’m just wetting this rag.”

  And then what? No doubt finding another thing to do to take care of Peter, rather than relinquishing control.

  Grant tucked his son into his shoulder, and though the boy moaned in discomfort from his fever, he seemed to quiet some at the change in position and seemed to realize who held him.

  Stopping her from wringing out the rag, Grant gently stepped between her and the sink, placing his free hand on her arm. He dipped his head, seeking her face. “Hey,” he said, his voice low.

  Slowly, her eyes flitted up to meet his. Actually vulnerable this time. And transparent. And so very tired. Kallie was a survivor, plain as day. She constantly fought for her kids, but even more so, she fought to maintain mental equilibrium.

  “I’ve got this,” he murmured. His hand moved up her arm and cupped her cheek. She stiffened at his touch, but he held his ground until he felt her begin to relax into his touch. “You kill it every day for these kiddos. It’s time you allowed someone to take care of you, too.”

  He ran his thumb on her cheek, and she closed her eyes, her brows knit as her beautiful mouth pressed together. Her chin trembled—for just an instant.

  But it was enough.

  He gently tugged her closer and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. The scent of her hair and the feel of her soft skin nearly undid him, more than he ever could have realized was possible. “Go get some rest,” he whispered against her skin. “I’ll take the next shift.”

  He stepped back and her shoulders sank. All she did was nod before dropping the wet cloth on the counter and turning away.

  She made it to the doorway between the kitchen and living room before pausing. “You’ll check with me if you need anything, right?”

  “Yes. If common sense and Google can’t figure it out, then I’ll wake you. Promise.”

  Nodding, she seemed to accept that before heading to bed upstairs.

  “Okay, bud,” Grant whispered, turning his attention to the little boy, who seemed to be getting a fitful snooze on his shoulder. “Let’s get you back in the recliner.”

  He was certainly an oven, that little guy. Grant settled into the recliner, noticing all kinds of supplies surrounding it—thermometer, diapers and wipes, burp cloths, medicine bulb syringe—even food bars. Basically anything he could need for the entire night, within arm’s reach.

  Peter fussed and writhed. “Shh, shh... It’s all right, bud.” He located a bottle of water on the end table, ready to be filled with the portioned-out vial of formula sitting beside it. Snuggling Peter in one arm, he mixed up the bottle and then put it to Peter’s lips.

  The boy drank eagerly, as if begging for any measure of comfort. Poor guy. He checked the medication schedule Kallie had penciled out, which was also on the end table. Looked as if nothing more could be administered for another three hours. Gently, he rocked Peter forward and back, the slight creak of the recliner soothing them both.

  God, please help Peter heal quickly.

  Grant closed his eyes and rocked for a while, listening to the near silence and hoping Kallie was getting some sleep upstairs. It would probably be a long night as Peter might not sleep well. Grant may need to be creative in how to fill the time, if he himself couldn’t find sleep.

  His mind wandered to the training camp starting Monday. He’d been thinking through some ideas of how to make it work, and now was probably as good a time as any to browse the internet on his phone for answers to his questions.

  He glanced at Peter. The boy’s eyes were closed, and he sucked away on his bottle with decreasing fervor, as if he were falling asleep. Grant picked up the phone he’d deposited on the end table and opened the internet app.

  As he researched, he was drawn further in by more questions and sought out more answers. Certain options seemed more feasible than others in fixing the problems he faced, but nothing seemed like a clear-cut winner. Everything would cost more money, more resources and more time. No matter how he looked at it, there was going to be struggle. Was setting up his own business the best way to go?

  Peter shifted in his arms and started to fuss, pulling Grant’s attention back to the moment. Peter dropped the bottle and it ran down Grant’s leg and out into the middle of the living room, stopping just short of Ruby, who slept nearby.

  Grant put his phone back on the end table, mid-search. “Shh, shh, it’s okay.” He whispered the words and helped Peter reposition onto his shoulder so he could burp. Guilt poked at him. How long had Peter laid there asleep, needing to burp, sucking in air from an empty bottle? Grant had been so focused on the research that he wasn’t sure.

  After seeing that Peter was good and satisfied, Grant tried to rock him some more. It took lots of fidgeting and fussing before Peter finally found a spot that seemed to work.

  As Grant repositioned the damp cloth on Peter’s head, the phone vibrated.

  An email.

  Strange, getting one so late at night. He figured it must have been junk but when he opened his inbox, he realized it was from a guy named Todd Dunmore, owner of Midwestern Game Outfitters. It was a huge operation in North Dakota that offered all levels of training for dogs and their handlers.

  It was the most esteemed training facility in the Midwest, and Grant had dreamed of working there for years. He’d finally secured a couple of weekend clinics last winter in partnership with their full-time trainer, but then he hadn’t heard from them since.

  Grant opened the email.

  Mr. Young,

  Due to unforeseen circumstances, Midwestern Game Outfitters is now in need of an on-site trainer to work with our clients and hold regularly scheduled classes. This is a full-time position. You did excellent work while you were here, and we were highly impressed. We would like to consider you for this job. If interested, please reply with your resume to this email as soon as possible, along with a list of your ideas for where you envision taking our program.

  Thank you,

  Todd Dunmore

  Midwestern Game Outfitters, founder

  “Whoa,” Grant whispered. He set his phone on the end table and rocked, allowing his gaze to meander around the room. Though it continually returned to his phone.

  Was this new job opportunity the answer he’d been looking for? Kallie had said so herself that they were going to lose the land if they didn’t sell. Maybe they were supposed to start a new life together in North Dakota.

  Sure, he’d been concerned about how Kallie felt about him, but maybe he’d overreacted. Perhaps he’d moved too fast last night, because today, things seemed a little better. If they did have to go through the painful process of selling off Frank’s land—something neither of them wanted—would she be willing to look to Grant as a member of their family and come with him to this new job?

  The dream would look different than either of them had imagined—but what would it matter if they could be financially sound while starting over as a family?

  He reached for his phone to reply to the message. As he typed, his mind whirled with ideas. And the more ideas he had, the more excited he grew at the possibility of going to North Dakota. But not alone—never alone. The kids and Kallie would need to be with him, and that would make his situation perfect. Maybe they could even purchase a spread of land somewhere outside town, so the kids could still enjoy growing up experiencing country life. They could start a new legacy to pass on from generation to generation.

  After adding a few more ideas, he sent his email, making sure to say he’d send the resume tomorrow, as it was on his laptop at the cottage.

  Peter had fallen asl
eep, mouth agape on Grant’s arm. Hopefully they could both catch some shut-eye now. Though Grant wasn’t sure his anticipation would let go of him anytime soon. Hope and purpose bloomed in his chest. This plan might actually work.

  * * *

  With the house still asleep and early-morning light sifting through the main level curtains, Kallie crept down the stairs. She’d slept much longer than she’d meant to—had only planned to get in an hour or two but had instead slept until six. How had Grant fared through the night?

  Reaching the last step, she silently poked her head around the corner.

  Grant and Peter were on the recliner. Steady breathing told her they were sleeping, Peter on Grant’s chest with his pudgy arm tucked under his chin. Her heart swelled with pride as she slipped across the carpet toward the kitchen.

  The buzzing of Grant’s phone alerted her. She turned. It continually buzzed as if someone was calling, but Grant didn’t move. However, Peter did begin to squirm.

  Kallie padded to the phone and picked it up, intending to silence it so it wouldn’t wake Peter. When she looked at the screen, she paused. The number was from North Dakota. Who did Grant know there?

  She shook her head. It was probably a training client. He had those all over the country—or at least used to, before he canceled all of those appointments to stay here with the kids. The call quit, and she turned the volume down to silent. But as she was about to set down the phone, an email popped up on the screen.

  Honestly, Kallie hadn’t planned to look at it. But when words like “Follow-Up Request for Interview” popped up, she had to stare.

  A job interview? He was going to leave?

  Kallie stared at him, sleeping on the recliner with his son, who was so small and vulnerable and relied entirely on his parents. How could Grant think of leaving when he’d been so adamant about staying before? She couldn’t believe he’d actually grown tired of being a dad, letting his old restlessness for the farm influence his decisions again. And right after the hailstorm’s devastation, too.

  He might as well have kicked her in the stomach. She placed his phone down and hurried into the kitchen. She needed to leave if she wanted to speak with the doctor before picking up her mom.