Page 45 of The Cowboy and the Baby

“Easy on the eyes, too.”

I laughed. “Also true.”

Yes, Cade was quite motivated to bring the house up to speed. He’d left an hour ago to help the boys in the barn, and we expected his gigantic order to arrive via a delivery truck any minute. Each day that passed settled my frightened nerves a little more. No word from Lily’s paternal grandparents about Lily’s guardianship.

No text from Lily’s father.

The closer this house moved into something functional, the more stable my chances at a solid future with Lily became.

To my greater shock, Cade still hadn’t asked for Lily’s story yet. Hadn’t probed into why we showed up and stayed, nor asked what happened to Naomi. For the most part, he took our situation in his careful, easygoing cowboy stride. His calm exterior only occasionally reflected whatever thoughts lay within.

Every now and then, I thought I saw a flicker of panic.

“Well, I’m happy to hear it’s functional and livable and moving forward,” Marsha said in a reasoning tone punctuated with tiny hiccups. “I always liked Cade. A voice of reason amongst the dramatic men in this family, particularly when your grandpa slid farther into dementia, or whatever.”

Grandpa didn’t have dementia, just normal old age, but I didn’t make the correction. Dad may have outlawed me from visiting him and threatened to end my career if I involved myself in his family, but that didn’t mean I’d given up on Grandpa entirely. He sent me text messages all the time before his steady physical decline. Half of them didn’t make sense because he didn’t use voice-to-text well, but I appreciated the thought.

“And how’s Lily?”

“Good.”

“Does she like the place?”

Marsha laughed at her own joke, and I managed a pathetic chuckle in response.

“I’m glad you’re somewhere safe,” Marsha continued, and she sounded out of breath. “Goodness knows when we’ll be back. Your uncle is thinking of buying a yacht . . . with weather like this . . .”

“Marsha, a quick question?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Do you remember where Grandma stored any photo albums at the ranch?” I slipped into the kitchen and peeked under the slow cooker lid. Pot roast, plump potatoes, and gleaming carrots simmered, filling the house with a delicious tang.

“Photo albums . . . why yes. Downstairs, under the staircase. She used to keep them there, I believe.”

I hadn’t thought of that.

“Thanks.”

“You searching for something specific?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Like the old recipes and cookbooks, I had a feeling that I could find a deeper connection to Grandma, but I didn’t know what. There was an intangible presence in the house, and I sought anything that might strengthen it. Somehow, if I could just find Grandma, she might tell me how to let go of my old life. How to be a parent.

Did mothering instincts come with pregnancy? Or childbirth? I hadn’t carried Noelle in my body for nine months. Had I missed some mystical bestowal of knowing that came with that bodily sacrifice?

I doubted it.

But I also never thought I’d be here, either, so life constantly took me by surprise.

“Well, you’ll find a lot in that basement.” Marsha chortled again, stopping only to take another slurp. “By the way, have you heard from . . . those . . . people?”

Marsha’s tone alone constricted my chest. Although Marsha hadn’t said their names—probably didn’t remember them—their mention invoked the same amount of fear all the same. I cleared my throat.

“Ah, no. No word from Lily’s other grandparents yet. I don’t think they know that I left Chicago. Maybe they do . . .”

“No news is good news!” Marsha called a bright hello to someone and then hastily said, “By the way, honey, I sent you a few things. They should be coming soon. Love you both, ta!”