by Tina Leonard
He decided he’d do that tomorrow, before he went back to the hospital. Right now it was time for forty winks—or that was the plan until he heard a slight noise in one of the back bedrooms. Very slight, only a rustle, but something.
It could have been Rafe moving around outside with his stupid flashlight. The bunkhouse was always left unlocked, even more so once Seton had taken up residence on the sofa. Because she couldn’t get up and down to answer the door, he’d left a sign on it that read “Babies on Board. Please Be Quiet in Case of Sleeping Mother.”
Sam crept to the back, toward where he thought he’d heard the sound.
Something landed hard against his back, and Sam turned, grabbing the intruder and smashing him against the wall. He socked a nose and kneed a gut, all the while trying to stay out of the way of flying fists. Sam aimed for the groin and, hearing a satisfying curse word, dragged his visitor out of the bunkhouse into the dusty driveway. His assailant landed another punch, splitting skin near his eye, and with a roar, Sam leaped on top of the man, pushing him to the ground. They rolled over and over in the driveway, each trying to gain the upper hand, until Sam finally grabbed a handful of hair and bashed his opponent’s head as hard as he could against the ground.
His nocturnal visitor finally lay still beneath him, and Sam tried to catch his breath.
“Hey, Sam, what the hell,” Rafe said, walking by again with his flashlight. “I’d think a new father wouldn’t have the energy to play in the dirt at this hour.”
“Ass,” Sam growled, “bring that light and your feeble intelligence over this way so I can see what I’m sitting on.”
“Holy crap,” Rafe said, directing the beam over the man Sam was perched on. “Friend of yours?”
“Never seen him before.” Sam glared at the prone stranger. “Get a rope, would you? He’s going to be out for only a minute or two, and I don’t have the strength to coldcock him again.” Nor the knuckles, Sam thought, flexing his hands.
His brothers ran up in a thunder of boots.
“Is it Bode?” Pete demanded.
“No, which is good, because Julie sure would be mad at her husband if it was.” Sam got up and let the others do the trussing. “We’d tell her Rafe beat on her pop, to keep me off Julie’s bad list.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” Rafe said, dialing a number on his cell phone, which Sam suspected was Sheriff Cartwright’s. “A happy man is one who keeps his wife happy. And I do that by playing dice and dominoes with Julie’s pop, not beating the tar out of him.”
“Say, stranger,” Creed said, kicking the man in the ribs lightly enough to get his attention, “wake up and tell us what’s on your mind.”
“He’s not going to talk,” Judah said. “He doesn’t look much like a easy squealer. Though we could help him loosen up his inhibitions.”
Creed gave the man another nudge. “What’s on your mind, stranger? Did Bode hire you?”
“Here’s the deal, buddy,” Sam said, squatting down next to their visitor. “I haven’t had much sleep lately, so I’m a little cranky. The sheriff’ll be here in five minutes, so if you want us to go easy on you and tell the officer it was probably just a case of mistaken identity, you need to talk fast.”
“Interesting,” Judah said, “he’s wearing combat boots and has army regulation equipment on him.”
“So you’re a hire,” Sam said thoughtfully, “and that means you’re not one of Bode’s. It also means you’re probably looking for something. What are you looking for, friend?”
“Nothing I’m going to tell you about,” their visitor said in a growl. “Get off me.”
“Nah,” Sam said, with a not-too-gentle bounce. “You know what I think? I think you’ve been hanging around here for a while. Now that I recall all the strange things that have happened that we had no explanation for, I’m wondering about you, friend.”
“What are you talking about?” Judah demanded.
“Just to name a few things, which we always blamed on Bode,” Sam said, “remember the time Pete got beaned with a two-by-four at the barn during the storm? We wrote that off to wind.”
“And when I got locked in the basement,” Pete reminded them. “Someone destroyed all of Fiona’s canned goods looking for something.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, “and we never did figure out who shot our brother at Rafe’s wedding. But now I think it could have been you, trying to scare us off. Maybe send us a message. Was it you, friend?” he asked, peering down into the stranger’s face. “I think after all these years, we finally found the ghost of Rancho Diablo.”
“Get off,” the visitor snarled, and Sam bounced again, a little harder, drawing a poisonous curse.
“What are you looking for?” Judah demanded. “We don’t have anything anyone wants, not that it would take you nearly three years to hang around for. That’s a long time to wait for something. You smell a little, like you’ve been living in the canyons.”
“Or the cave,” Creed said.
They all stared at the intruder.
“It wasn’t the cave,” Sam mused. “The chief would have known.”
“True,” Pete said. “That means the canyons. Damned lonely out there.” He shook his head and placed a boot on some unluckily splayed fingers, grinding just a bit. “No girlfriend out there, and minimal food to be found. That makes you a survivor, a hard-ass. Military-trained in survival. What’re you after, friend?”
Their nocturnal companion spit, and Sam shook his head. “No one would know if we did him in and buried him in the canyons.”
“Nope,” Judah said. “Not a soul would know. Obviously, no one would miss him.”
“Buzzard bait,” Pete stated. “Those little winged devils get hungry, too.”
“Count me in,” Creed said. “I know the perfect spot for him.”
“I’m looking for the Callahans, you sick sons of—”
“Uh-uh,” Sam interrupted. “There are ladies on this property, and they always have soap nearby. So keep your mouth sweet and clean.”
“Do you mean our parents?” Judah asked. “We don’t know anything about them.”
“They’ll come back sooner or later. Sooner, I’d guess,” the stranger said, “since someone in that bunkhouse has been trying to find them. Even trying to communicate with them.”
“Come back?” Pete said. “Not from the dead, friend, in case you haven’t heard.”
“They’re not dead.” The stranger spit again into the dirt. “You jerk, I think you knocked one of my teeth out.”
“Sorry,” Sam said. “No one in that bunkhouse has been trying to communicate with our parents....”
His words trailed off. A sick feeling crept into Sam’s gut. Seton could have. He’d put her on the case in the beginning, to find out who he really was. To alleviate the boredom of her pregnancy, he’d bought her the latest devices, so she could download books, music, puzzles, games, whatever. She had everything she needed to keep searching—including her own laptop.
She could have done a lot of researching in the many days she’d been on the sofa. Her curious mind probably gnawed at her to find out what he and his brothers had never wanted to question.
“Hey,” he said to the man he kept pinned to the ground, “if they’re alive, why wouldn’t they be here? With their family? And home? And grandchildren? Why would you be looking for them? They’ve been gone for years now.”
“They’re in witness protection,” the stranger said, then cursed.
Sam’s insides went totally cold. He glanced around at his brothers. In the light from Rafe’s single flashlight, they all wore shocked, haunted, disbelieving frowns.
“That’s quite the tale,” Sam said, returning his attention to the visitor. “Why would they be in witness protection?”
“Because they were spies. Molly met Jeremiah when she came over from Ireland. They both had similar interests. Molly became a citizen, and as her family had been fighters for the cause in Ireland, she thought nothing of gett
ing involved with Jeremiah Callahan’s interest, which was code breaking. They were involved in a situation that went badly wrong, and their identities were leaked. They had no choice but to accept witness protection. But they’ll be back,” the intruder said. “It’s been a lot of years. They’ll figure the trail will be cold. They have family to lure them back. And I’ll be waiting.”
“No, you won’t,” Sam said. “I’ll probably bury you in a cave somewhere, with your boots pointing to hell.”
“They’ll send someone else.”
Sam grunted. “Whoever hired you is wasting their time and money. There’s nothing here except our families. We’re not even sure we believe you about our parents being alive.”
“I don’t care. Now get off!”
Sheriff Cartwright pulled up and got out of his truck just then, coming over to check out the prisoner. “I haven’t seen him before. Who did the work on him?”
“He came like that,” Sam said, and walked away.
“Hey! You said you’d set me free if I talked!” the hire yelled after him.
“Tough luck, that,” Sam called back, without turning around.
His wife kept a lot of secrets. He’d always suspected that. But now she’d been in danger, and she hadn’t even known it.
There was nothing in this bunkhouse the man could have found. Nothing of interest that proved his story. Everyone knew that the Callahan brothers’ parents had been gone for years; the man could have heard that anywhere. There was no reason at all to believe he was telling the truth.
Sam’s gaze traveled over the sofa where Seton had been, and her laptop and other devices. Blankets, knitted booties, other projects to keep her busy. And then he saw something poking out from the sofa.
Slowly, Sam pulled out a small journal, written in Seton’s clear hand. And after a long moment of wrestling with his conscience, he took a fast peek at the first notation.
Callahan family, early 1940s: Molly Cavanaugh trip from Ireland, settled in Diablo after meeting and marrying Jeremiah Running Bear. Molly and Jeremiah immediately took the name Callahan to separate from and protect the tribe and Cavanaugh family in Ireland. Cavanaugh family unhappy Molly married Native American spy in America; disowned; Callahan name history unknown, presumably maternal relation. Fiona assumed Callahan name so nephews wouldn’t trace Cavanaugh family tree and learn she was mother’s sister—not father’s sister—to protect their relationship to tribe. Boys never knew father’s surname was Running Bear. Verbal confirmation from Aunt Corinne; courthouse records unclear.
Sam read on, more curious about his family history than anything.
Twenty minutes later, he knew everything about his wife he hadn’t known for the past five and a half months—including that she did, in fact, believe Molly and Jeremiah were still alive.
And she had been trying to find them.
But she’d never said a word.
Chapter Sixteen
Sam was quiet, so quiet that it worried her. Seton couldn’t escape the nagging feeling something wasn’t quite right with her husband, that something was off between them. He still seemed delighted with the babies, but he was very, very careful around her. As if he were walking on china.
There was no more kissing of her fingertips, or teasing about her body. When they chose names for the children, Sam basically let her have all the say, barely offering any suggestions.
“Samuel Jeremiah Bear Callahan,” he said for their son.
Seton hesitated, surprised. “And the girls?”
“I’m not so good with girl names.” Sam looked perplexed. “Beyond the basic Amy and Susan, I don’t know much about girls.”
Seton didn’t think that was absolutely the truth, but she let it slide. “How about Jennifer Michelle, Julie Marie and—”
“Too many matching monograms. When the girls take off traveling on volleyball or cheerleading trips, or even rodeo, they’ll grab each other’s bag by accident, and then tears will break out.” Sam shook his head. “I say we go for nontraditional and varied monograms.”
“You never had any sisters. What do you know about squabbling girls?”
Sam shrugged. “It’s just a sixth sense I have. I like to keep confusion to a minimum. It’s the organizer in me.”
“I’ll say.” Seton chewed on a pen and considered her husband. “Give me some ideas.”
He blew out a breath. “I’m really no good with this. But I like the names Sherry, Blair, Mary and Devon. I don’t know why, so don’t ask.”
She smiled. “Did you ever date any Sherry-Blair-Mary-Devons?”
He shook his head. “I also, strangely, like Bridget.”
“All right.” Seton looked at her paper, then back at Sam. “How about Mary Sharon and Bridget Devon?”
“She’ll hate being called by her middle name,” Sam said, clearly worried about his daughters being annoyed with him.
“So maybe Sharon Marie and Devon Bridget?”
Sam nodded. “Maybe.”
“And then the littlest one will be—”
“Sarah Colleen,” Sam said.
“Perfect,” Seton said. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?”
“I don’t know.”
Sam looked out the window, his attention far removed once again, as if he’d completely disconnected from her. Seton shivered, put her pen and pad down and closed her eyes.
“You like to keep notes, don’t you?” he asked suddenly.
Seton’s eyes snapped open. “I guess so. I’ve never really thought about it before. But I am a list girl. I got in the habit of writing things down a long time ago, and it’s stayed with me.”
“Probably helpful in your line of work.”
Seton looked at him. “I suppose so.” She thought about his strange mood and his comments for a moment, then said, “Sam, is something wrong?”
He glanced at her, then back out the window. “Everything is fine.”
Everything was not fine. She knew it. Something had gone horribly wrong. He’d been so romantic, so perfect, so happy before the babies’ birth.
But now he was a different man, one she didn’t know.
Seton shivered again.
LITTLE BY LITTLE, the babies gained weight and strength. Seton, too, got stronger. Sam rented a hotel suite in Santa Fe, not too far from the hospital, and when the doctors were ready to release Seton, he moved her there.
“This is wonderful, Sam. Thank you.”
Seton turned to him with a smile on her face. Sam had known she wouldn’t be able to bear being in Diablo while her babies were here. He wouldn’t have, either. So this was the next-best option. He got two beds, one for himself, one for her, telling himself she needed a bed to herself. With all those stitches in her, he didn’t want to accidentally bump her in the night.
He’d be too terrified of hurting her.
Seton looked at the two queen-size beds in the room, hesitated for just a moment as if she might say something, then quietly put her overnight bag on the suitcase holder at the end of the bed nearest the bathroom. Sam went and sat on the other bed, pulling off his boots. He flung himself across the duvet and closed his eyes.
“Sam?”
“Yeah?” He didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he pulled the pillow under his head, thinking he was pretty smart to get a big enough room for Seton to be able to relax in. It wasn’t quite the honeymoon he’d had in mind for when she recovered from her pregnancy and birth and new motherhood, but for now, he hoped it cheered her up.
“Nothing,” she said after a moment.
Sam’s eyelids seemed as if someone was sitting on them. He felt the warm air kick on in the room, and wondered if they’d be able to bring all four babies home by Christmas.
He hoped so. Christmas was a time for family, and he wanted his family at Rancho Diablo, where they belonged.
“SETON?”
She opened her eyes and looked across at the other bed and Sam. She was more hurt than she would have admitted that he’d cho
sen to have two beds in their hotel room. On the other hand, she realized he was trying to be considerate.
She missed sleeping with her husband, though. It had been months. “Yes, Sam?”
“I’ve been thinking about your line of work. You’re probably going to want to keep working, aren’t you? Not now, obviously, but maybe in a year or so?”
“I might. First I’ll see how it goes with the babies. They come first.”