Ruth was Joan’s aunt on her mother’s side, and she’d been present for the births of the two babies they’d lost, so she was sympathetic to his and Joan’s worry that night. Afterward, it seemed that all their concern had been for naught. Garth would never forget how this time, instead of telling him that it was another stillbirth, Ruth had emerged triumphantly from the delivery room to announce that he was now the father of a fine, healthy girl. It was as if the heavens had opened up and given him a gift; he and Joan had been so afraid that this baby would die too.
Lacey twisted her hands in her lap and went on talking. “Ruth was busy that night, I can tell you. She kept running back and forth between me and that other woman, and there was one nurse’s aide, but her shift ended before I woke up completely, and even though she was real nice to me, I never saw her again. Ruth’s the one who told me my baby had died.”
Garth had heard that the only other woman in labor in the hospital that night had lost a baby, a twin. He’d encountered her husband in the waiting room and had mumbled his condolences. He knew how the guy felt about losing a child, and his heart had gone out to him, but Ruth had said that the surviving twin was in good health. And his own joy had been so complete that he’d barely given the couple a passing thought.
Lacey felt tears welling up behind her eyes. She willed herself not to give way to emotion, but she couldn’t help it. One rolled down her cheek and splashed onto her bare leg below the hem of her shorts. She swiped at it, and her hand inadvertently hit the side of Garth’s leg. “Sorry,” she mumbled. He didn’t speak but went on staring resolutely at the outline of the barn in the moonlight.
“Garth,” she said when she thought she might be able to get the words out. “It wasn’t my baby that died. You know that, right?”
He was silent for a long time. “What do you want me to say? That Ashley is yours?”
“Yes,” she whispered, turning to look straight into his eyes. In that moment, she didn’t think she could bear the suffering reflected there.
He stood up abruptly. “Ashley is mine! I held her in my arms only minutes after she was born. I brought her home to this house, I’ve taken care of her, I’ve hoped and dreamed and planned for her! She is my daughter, you understand? Mine!” His face contorted with emotion.
An ache seized Lacey’s throat. “Garth, we need to talk this over calmly.”
“Why? So you can take my daughter from me?”
Her stomach clenched, and she lurched to her feet. “Isn’t that what you did to me?” she shot back.
They stood staring daggers at each other, neither blinking.
“I didn’t take her,” said Garth. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“Oh? Then who did?”
He moved right up close, his face right above hers. “How should I know?” he retorted.
“It…it couldn’t have been a mistake,” Lacey said into the ensuing silence.
“If you would stop to think,” Garth said in a tightly controlled voice, “you’d see that there’s more to this situation for me than knowing that Ashley isn’t my child. I’ve got to mourn the baby that died, Lacey.”
“I…I know,” she said. She didn’t take her eyes off his face.
“But the fact that I had a baby that died doesn’t mean that I consider Ashley any less mine.” His expression was grim.
And then from the baby monitor on Lacey’s belt came the sound of a whimper, which immediately became a feverish whine. It was joined by the immediate wail of a second baby, and moving as one, Garth and Lacey rushed into the house and up the stairs to the nursery. Lacey had left Ashley in the portable crib and Michele in the full-size one, and when Garth reached them, he immediately picked up Michele. Lacey picked up Ashley, shushing her and worrying that she felt even hotter.
“It’s the rash,” Garth said, setting Michele on the changing table. “It must be getting real uncomfortable.”
“Here,” she said, handing over the tube of ointment that he’d gone to the drugstore to buy, “put some of this on her. Donna seemed to have faith that it would help.”
They worked to soothe the babies, and Garth was puzzled that his usual pacing did not calm Ashley as it should have. It was only after several minutes of walking the floor with her that he realized what he should have known all along—he was holding Michele, not Ashley.
He glanced over at Lacey, who was sitting in the nursery rocker with Ashley in her lap. Her hair curved gently around her face, and dark circles rimmed her eyes. She was patting Ashley’s face with a damp cloth and murmuring to her in a low tone. Ashley was fussing slightly, but nothing like Michele, who was crying her head off.
He marched up to Lacey. She blinked up at him, and in that moment his heart softened toward her. She was exhausted, pale, worried—but as she looked after the baby in her arms, her touch was tender, caring and concerned. He had no doubt that she was a good mother. But then, he’d already known that.
“You’ve got mine,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You’ve got Ashley.”
She lifted Ashley protectively in her arms and held her close against her shoulder. “She’s mine, too,” she said, daring him to contradict her.
“Give her to me.”
He somehow didn’t expect that Lacey’s face would crumple into an image of pain and sorrow, but it did. Suddenly tears were coursing down her cheeks, they were falling on Ashley, and Ashley started sobbing, too. Michele picked up the refrain and soon he was standing in the midst of three weeping women and not knowing how in hell it got to be that way.
When he didn’t think he could stand it anymore, he said over the din, “All right! All right, you take care of Ashley and I’ll look after Michele and with any luck at all we’ll get them back to sleep!”
He saw Lacey struggling to control her tears. “O-okay,” she said, swallowing hard.
He couldn’t stand to look at her for one minute longer, so he went to the changing table and changed Michele’s diaper. When he saw the birthmark on her abdomen, he could hardly believe his eyes. He stood staring at it for a long moment. From across the room Lacey said in a tear-choked voice, “It’s like Ashley’s. They’re mirror twins. Michele is right-handed, I think, and Ashley seems to have a preference for her left.”
He kept his back to Lacey, digesting this information as he tore the protective paper off the diaper tabs and snugged the diaper around the baby’s bottom. He tried to feel dispassionate about what he was doing, but the fact was that Michele was so like Ashley and was in exactly as much discomfort from the chicken pox. He couldn’t not feel concern for her. He didn’t feel love. That was impossible, considering that Michele hadn’t been part of his life like his own Ashley Anne had been for the past ten months. But what he felt was—odd. Strange. It was like he was caring for Ashley but not caring for her, and the idea messed up his mind.
Behind him, Lacey stood up and settled Ashley in the big crib. “She’s asleep,” she announced, sounding as weary as he felt himself.
He finished the diapering and laid Michele down in the portable. She snuffled a bit, looked up at him with an expression of interest and groped around her head.
“She wants her pacifier,” Lacey said. She produced it, and once it was in her mouth, Michele closed her eyes and started to drift off. It was the funny pacifier, the one that looked like an adult’s mouth with lipstick.
“No wonder I didn’t catch on right away,” he said. “With that thing in her mouth, she looks different from Ashley.”
“I know,” Lacey said.
They continued to watch the babies. “They’re both asleep,” Garth said finally.
She turned slightly toward him. “I’ll sleep upstairs tonight,” she said. She looked as if her feet might slip out from under her.
“Lacey? Are you all right?”
She looked at him. “How can I be all right? How?”
“How can I?” he returned, careful this time not to show his anger. He didn’t want to upset her to the point
where she did something crazy. Not that she was the type. Not that he thought for even a moment that she would do anything to harm either of these babies. But still.
She buried her face in her hands for a few seconds. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were steely. “The important thing is that these babies be all right.” Then she brushed past him and walked out of the nursery. He heard the steps creak as she began the climb to the attic room.
She had handled herself with class. That surprised him somehow. Her attitude under pressure made him feel a lot better about the situation.
Because even though they might disagree about some things, he and Lacey felt the same way about the babies. The important thing was that they be all right.
Despite that, he was seized with the thought that she might leave. They had grown to depend on her—he didn’t want her to go.
“Lacey,” he called after her with some desperation. “I didn’t mean that about firing you.”
Her footsteps on the stairs stopped. “I didn’t think you did,” she said. Then he heard the door to the attic room open and softly close.
Chapter Five
“Garth, I think I’d better move into the house for the duration.” A bleary-eyed Lacey regarded him over the top of her coffee mug the next morning as he sauntered over to the coffeemaker and poured himself a cupful of strong brew.
Garth, who felt as if the insides of his eyelids had been buffed raw with sandpaper, said, “Fine with me.”
“I’ll bring my things over from the Winnebago, keep them in the attic room.”
“Whatever you want to do, it’s okay.” He’d been up twice last night with the twins, and so had Lacey. She’d appeared when either of them so much as whimpered, her clothes rumpled from sleeping in them. It had been hard to maintain the chill between them when they’d had to cooperate to take care of two sick children, but Lacey was still wary and untrusting. He could see it in her stance, in her refusal to look him straight in the eye. He supposed he couldn’t entirely blame her, considering.
“If you want to take a shower, go ahead,” he told her gruffly. “You can go get your things from the Winnebago now while the girls are still sleeping, and I’ll take care of them if they need attention.”
“Thanks. A shower would be great.” She set her mug down on the counter. Coffee sloshed over the rim, and she stared at it for a moment before absently wiping it up with a sponge.
“Garth—”
“What?”
“You don’t have to stick around today. I can handle the babies.”
He was supposed to ride out to the high pasture and check on a steer that was having problems. It was the kind of thing Cody usually did, but in Cody’s absence, such tasks fell to him. A ranch didn’t run according to plan all the time. He was near frantic about matters that needed attention. He knew he couldn’t run a ranch and take care of a sick baby. No, better make that two sick babies.
“Look, Lacey,” he began, but she interrupted.
“I know you worry about Ashley. Well, so do I. Lots of mothers get used to taking care of sick twins. I can do it. No problem. I know you’re busy with Cody gone and all.”
Again she used a fountain of words when actually only a small dribble would do. It distracted Garth from his main focus, which was something different from hers. He was not only worried about Ashley’s being sick, he was distinctly unhinged by the notion that he didn’t know what Lacey might do to get her baby back. Her baby—would he have to start thinking of Ashley that way? Suddenly the coffee and eggs and sausage in his stomach began to roil, which, on top of his fatigue didn’t help matters much.
“Is something wrong?”
He nailed her with a hard stare. “How in the hell can you ask me that?” he demanded, which seemed to set her back a bit. “Less than twenty-four hours ago, I figured out that Joan and I had another baby that died and that the baby I thought was mine isn’t. It doesn’t get much worse than this.”
She colored and gave a little shrug. “Sorry,” she said as she turned away.
He was overcome with remorse, though he didn’t know why. He didn’t want to feel sorry for anything he said or did. He wanted his needs to be met, his problem to be solved. He wanted this to be about him and his, not her and hers.
He sighed deeply. “Lacey, listen to me for a minute.”
She turned around slowly, her expression bleak.
“Look, the babies are sick. I want them to get well. I know you do, too. I feel real uncomfortable about this situation, though.”
“You’re not the only one,” she said.
“I propose a truce until they’re over the chicken pox.”
“A truce?”
“Neither of us will do anything to disturb the status quo. We’ll postpone talking about the problem, the situation. And when they’re well again, we’ll work together to find out what happened and decide what to do about it.”
“You mean I can’t tell my mom? We’ve always been really close, and she was so upset when—when—”
“Where does she live?”
“In Florida with her husband.”
“I don’t see why you couldn’t tell her.”
Lacey looked slightly more at ease. “Why are you suggesting this…this whole postponement thing?” she asked.
He figured he might as well be straight with her. “I’m afraid you’ll do something foolish. Like running off with Ashley.”
“You don’t think I would do that,” Lacey said flatly.
“As it happens, I don’t. It wouldn’t be in Ashley’s best interest for you to take off with her when she’s sick with chicken pox. And I think you’ve got her best interest at heart.”
“I do, Garth.” She hesitated. “And thanks for the vote of confidence,” she added grudgingly.
“Now, don’t get me wrong. We’re going to have to deal with this eventually. I’m merely saying that we ought to put it on the back burner until the kids are well again.”
Her eyes held his. “I agree.”
“If you were a man, I’d ask you to shake on it. I put a whole lot of stock in a man’s word and handshake.”
Her chin tilted upward. “You can put stock in mine, too. I keep my word.”
He studied her for a long moment. “I believe you do, Lacey,” he said solemnly and held out his hand. After a moment’s pause she held hers out too. It felt small and soft and smooth in his grip, but her clasp was firm.
It was in that moment that he knew he didn’t have to doubt Lacey Shaw’s integrity. But, from the strength of her handshake and the set of her jaw, he also knew that it wouldn’t be wise to doubt her determination.
STARTING FROM THE MOMENT that she shook Garth’s hand, Lacey’s focus became getting the babies well. She gave baking-soda baths, she rubbed ointment on tender itchy skin, she soothed two cranky girls until she was limp from exhaustion.
When Garth came in at noon, she fed him a hot meal. When he returned to the house at night, supper was on the table. She napped seldom, she was on her feet most of the day, and she slept only in brief snatches through the night.
But it didn’t matter. She was overjoyed to have both her girls back. Well, not back, exactly, but with her. All Ashley had to do was hold her arms out toward her, and Lacey would melt. Looking into those eyes so like hers and Michele’s, Lacey thought she would die of love. There wasn’t any love to compare with that of a mother toward her child, that was for sure. Well, she had loved Bunny. But that was different. That was a love constructed of one part nurturing and two parts lust. Those were the only parts to it. The relationship hadn’t ever produced any more emotions than those two, and in the end, the marriage had fallen apart. So had Lacey, for a while. The experience of being married to Bunny had made her doubt that she wanted to be married again, ever.
The source of Lacey’s strength in the days after Bunny left had been her mother, Sheila Sue. Even though her mom lived far away, she had been supportive and helpful. Lacey missed her mo
ther, and one morning while the girls were napping, Lacey called her. It was time she told Sheila Sue what had been going on in her life, and she knew that her mother would be overjoyed that she’d found her first-born child. Not that her mom was all that good at giving useful advice, but Lacey could do with a proverb, and she knew Sheila Sue would dispense an appropriate one. It might not be true wisdom, but a proverb could be a comfort at times.
“Mom?” She’d called her mother’s new cell phone instead of the number for the condo that Sheila Sue shared with Fletcher, and there was static on the line.
“Is that you, Lacey? Lordy, I haven’t heard from you in a month of Sundays.”
“I know, Mom. We’ve been on the road.”
“Well, how is our dear little Michele? And how are you, Lacey?” More static, and if she weren’t mistaken, Sheila Sue gave a muffled squeal.
“We’re both fine, Mom, but I have something—”
A wild burst of giggling, and it sounded as if Sheila Sue had covered the phone with her hand.
“Mom?”
“Darlin’, can you call me back in a bit? We’re in our cabana down by the pool, and Fletcher has become—um—amorous, I’d say.”
A low male voice spoke in the background, and Sheila Sue said, “No, my love, Lacey can call me back. Can’t you, Lacey?”
Lacey was willing to accept that she had phoned at an inconvenient time, and she was truly happy that her mother had found married bliss after the hell that her father had put them both through with his drinking and smoking and womanizing and such. “Sure, Mom, I’ll call back,” she said, trying not to feel rebuffed.
“Good, Lacey. And give Michele a big hug from her nana.”
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