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  Nodding, I rub her shoulder and do what I’ve always done. “I’ll take care of everything in Texas. You just look after Dad. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  2

  Katherine

  I’m bolting out of bed when I hear Isabella’s whimpers on the monitor. She’s been doing this every morning, waking up in tears, crying for her parents. Pobrecita. I try to console her, but half the time I end up crying too.

  I nestle her in a fleece blanket before settling in the rocker by the window. Her little body trembles as she calls out for her momma, and my heart breaks for the millionth time this week. Tilting my head back, I blink quickly and try to hold back my own waterworks.

  Keep it together, Katherine. Just a little longer. He’ll be here soon.

  My eyes are still swollen and itchy from last night. Seriously, how can I cry any more?

  Easy. Lose two of your best friends in one night. That’s how.

  Just like that, my face is wet, and I give in, but this morning they’re silent tears as I rock the baby and watch the sunrise on the horizon. At least we celebrated her first birthday a few weeks ago. At least she had that with her parents.

  Eventually, the sound of Sampson banging on the barn tells me it’s time to get my rear in gear. Sleep or no sleep, I have to get the chores done.

  The banging gets louder.

  Stupid horse. I’m so freaking furious at him, I want to ship him off to a glue factory.

  Yes, the animal lover in me is horrified at the thought, but the rest of me, the part of me seething with rage at how everything happened, isn’t surprised such a morbid idea crosses my mind.

  I pause to take a few deep breaths, hoping all that yoga-will-center-you crap helps me feel a little less unhinged.

  After changing Isabella’s diaper and dressing her in a cozy bodysuit, I feed her and strap her to my chest. Together we make the rounds on the property. As I trudge along, I bury my nose in her soft hair, and she nuzzles back, her chest heaving a small sigh.

  But when we reach the chicken coop, she lifts her head, and her eyes brighten. She loves these little guys. A moment later, the girls come running, their clucks a musical chorus in an otherwise quiet morning. Isabella claps her pudgy hands, about as ecstatic to see our feathered friends as they are to see us.

  “There’s my girl,” I whisper, relieved to see her smile, however briefly.

  A few minutes later, I set her up in a makeshift playpen in the shade just outside the barn so she doesn’t breathe the dust when I clean the coop or Sampson’s stall.

  All day, I find myself looking for them, expecting to see Mel and Cal come around the corner laughing. Or catch them kissing when they think they’re alone.

  I smile. They were so good together!

  When Eric and I broke up, Mel insisted that I come for a visit. “Give yourself a break from the campaign trail. It’s simpler here. Uncomplicated,” she told me over the phone.

  The day I showed up at the farm, at loss for what to do, Mel opened the door, gave me a hug and told me I could crash here as long as I wanted. Mel was always like that, the big sister I never knew I needed.

  My chest tightens as the memories underscore the bleak reality that she’s gone.

  Shaking my head, I ignore the sting of tears as I brush out Sampson’s dark mane. I think back to my list and let the chores ground me. I have too much to do to lose it now. Way too much.

  By noon, I’m dripping with sweat. I’ve lost weight since I’ve been here, but nothing like the last few days. By evening, I’m usually so tired, I’m numb.

  But numb is better, because when I’m numb, this doesn’t hurt so much.

  When the animals are fed and watered and the stable and coop are clean, I lumber into the house and put the baby down for a nap, one I could use myself. But it’s no use because I can’t sleep.

  I’m cleaning the kitchen when my flip phone rings from the back pocket of my jeans. It’s Tori, my younger sister.

  But when I answer, my dad’s gruff voice booms in my ear. “Katherine.” Ugh. Not who I want to talk to right now. I love my dad, I really do, but he can be so overprotective. Like right now. “So you’re going to stay there with a strange man?”

  “Daddy, I can’t exactly pack up and leave.”

  “Look, I loved Melissa too. This accident was a terrible, terrible thing. But this—you living there with a stranger—this isn’t right. You don’t know him at all. What if he’s crazy or some kind of pervert?”

  I roll my eyes. “He’s Cal’s brother. I promise he sounds perfectly sane. Besides, that’s all the more reason to stay and watch Bella to be sure she’s okay. I owe it to Mel. I don’t know if he’ll want me around, but I’d like to help get the baby gets settled before I worry about myself. I promise I’ll text Tori every day so you can rest assured the guy didn’t go all Hannibal Lecter on me.”

  “Chingao. That’s not funny, mija.”

  He must be pissed if he’s cursing in Spanish. I want to laugh because he’s being absurd. Like hell I’m leaving Bella. That’s not happening until I’m confident she’ll be okay with her uncle. Besides, I heard enough about Brady from Cal to know he’s not a lunatic. A little overbearing, perhaps, but not a psycho. At least I’m used to dealing with overbearing.

  As I listen to my dad list the reasons why staying here is a bad idea, I fight the temptation to ask if he needs money. Usually my sister lets me know if things get bad at home so I can sneak her some funds, but I’m worried she hasn’t given me the heads up because I’ve been so upset about Mel and Cal. My parents work non-stop, but minimum wage jobs don’t get bills paid if you’re sick or your car breaks down or if there’s some other kind of emergency.

  But my father is a proud person, and a man deserves to have dignity, so I bite my tongue, which proves difficult when he asks about my ex.

  “Maybe you can still work things out,” he wonders aloud.

  “I know you mean well, but I can’t go there, okay?” I realize he sees Eric as a good provider, someone who would look after me. If only he knew.

  It pains me not to tell my parents why I gave up that prestigious job. As the first person in my family to attend college, I know they had so many hopes pinned on me, and I can’t help but feel I’ve let them down. I wish I could tell them the reason so they’d understand why I’ve been distant since I came to the farm, but it would crush them. Like it crushed me.

  I don’t know how long I stand there after the phone call. Finally, I grab a sponge to wipe the kitchen counters and force myself back into action.

  Mel’s words echo in my head. It’s uncomplicated here. Simpler.

  A hollow laugh escapes me. Uncomplicated? Nothing about this is uncomplicated. Cal and Melissa were the sweetest couple on the planet. They took me in when I had nowhere to go, gave me a home, and now they’re gone.

  And it’s all my fault.

  What if I hadn’t come? What if I had simply headed home to Corpus with my tail between my legs instead of coming here? They’d still be alive.

  Tears stream down my face, and I hold back the sob building in my chest. I scrub the counter harder because that’s what I do in a crisis. I clean. Organize. Eric would joke it’s the Mexican in me. Like that’s even funny.

  Worse, though? He said he loved that I didn’t look Hispanic. WTF, right? It took almost a year and a half of dating him to see his true character. What if I had married that man? I shudder. He might be a senator’s son, but I know migrant workers with more class.

  A little whimper from the baby monitor reminds me that there are worse things than marrying the wrong guy. How about marrying the right one and then losing everything?

  The sob I’ve been holding back breaks from my lips, and I quickly cover my mouth to mask the sounds.

  It doesn’t take a genius to see I’m in over my head. Way over my head. I keep saying everything will be okay when Brady gets here. I only hope that’s true.

  3

  Brady
r />   Logan Airport is blanketed in several feet of snow and soot after a storm blew in the other night. Boston in November. It’ll get worse before it gets better.

  All around me, the Thanksgiving decorations hanging in the terminal stand garish next to the rage and disbelief churning in my heart. I still can’t fully wrap my head around what happened that night.

  After playing phone tag with the police department, I finally spoke briefly with a deputy who explained that my brother’s truck got caught in a low water crossing during a torrential thunderstorm. His vehicle slid down an embankment and flipped over, trapping him and his family in a flooded creek bed.

  My vision blurs as I stare out the massive windows.

  “Do those directions make sense?” The Southern drawl in my ear snaps me out of my haze, and I readjust the phone against my shoulder. The woman repeats the words, but I can’t process what she’s saying. It’s like I woke up the other morning and nothing in my life makes sense any more.

  Taking a deep breath, I try to pay attention. This is the first phone call Katherine and I have had that hasn’t been completely garbled with static. I’m lucky to get one bar of signal on my phone here.

  I clear my throat. “Can you do me a favor? Can you text me directions to the farm?”

  She sighs. “Sure. No problem. See ya soon.”

  “Yup. Thanks.”

  I should be nicer to that woman. Katherine, Melissa’s friend, has been keeping an eye on the property since we got the news three days ago. I booked the first flight out, but weather delays have bumped my departure twice. Needless to say, sleeping upright on a hard chair for the last few nights at Logan has put me in a peachy mood.

  When I step off the plane in Austin five hours later, I take the used Harley FXR for sale across the street from Hertz as a sign. Granted, it needs a lot of work, but I know a good thing when I see it. And since I sold my bike six months ago for twice what I paid after making some repairs, I’m sure I’ll be able to get my money back if I need to sell this one. Besides, I’d rather ride this than rent a car for God knows how long.

  Forty-five minutes and two grand later, she’s mine.

  Dropping this kind of money on a bike is the most irresponsible thing I’ve done in ages. But sitting on the worn leather and gripping the handlebars is the only thing that’s made me feel I can keep my shit together. I’m hoping a few long rides will help me clear my head and figure out how the hell to handle everything that needs to be done down here. Fortunately, I packed light, and my belongings fit on the rusty luggage rack that’s mounted on the back.

  Riding with the sun setting along the horizon, with the smell of cedar thick in the air, helps me feel a little more grounded. That is, until I turn down a dirt road and find myself staring at the little farm house. A dirty sign stands off to the side. Lovelace Farm.

  The house is modest, a white one-story ranch with a wide front porch. In the dusk, it glows, with warm lights shimmering from one window. But the rest of the house is dark, and it’s that darkness that gives me chills.

  “I’m sorry, brother. You had a beautiful dream.” I idle in the driveway while heat burns my eyes. Rolling hills with row after row of small hedges surround the house. A broken swing sways beneath the branches of a giant oak off to the side.

  It’s so peaceful here. So different from the chaotic streets of Boston. At the same time, though, it’s eerie, almost like I can sense my brother. That’s my biggest regret. That I didn’t visit him. That I didn’t take the time to meet his wife and daughter and see their little farm.

  That I didn’t call him back that night.

  I just was so pissed at him for not returning to Boston and helping our parents. But now, it’s painfully obvious how wrong I’ve been. And somehow, I need to make it right.

  Pulling closer to the house, I turn off the engine. I’m taking off my crappy helmet when the front door flies open and a girl stalks out. Her long chestnut hair blows in the wind, barely masking the scowl on her pretty face.

  “If you’re looking for the Lone Star biker bar, it’s about a half mile back that way.” Her words are twangy, a little like Reese Witherspoon in Walk the Line.

  She points to the left before she pushes her black-rimmed glasses up her nose. God, she’s cute with these big eyes and quirky frown. What does her t-shirt say? I squint, trying to read the words. Frack Off is written in big black letters across her t-shirt that peeks out from her hoodie.

  When my eyes reach her face, she looks more pissed. “Do me a favor. When you leave, turn that way down the drive or you’ll wake the baby.” She nods toward the circular drive I just came down before she freezes and cocks her head. The sound of a baby crying breaks the silence.

  “Dang it!” She turns on her heel and is halfway through the door when I call out to her.

  “Sorry about waking the baby, but I’m looking for Katherine.” She stops mid-stride, and I motion toward the house. “Is she here?”

  She turns back to me, her eyes widening. “And you are?”

  “Brady.” I swing my leg over the bike and step closer. “Cal’s brother.”

  Her eyes widen. “I… You…” She shakes her head. “I’m so sorry! Yes, I’ve been expecting you.” Big hazel eyes stare back from behind her glasses, which she pushes up her pert little nose. Did I mention she’s cute? Mentally, I slap myself for ogling somebody’s babysitter. Clearly, she’s helping out Katherine.

  “Give me one sec.” She darts into the house but leaves the front door wide open. I stand on the porch and kick off the mud from my boots. When she returns, she’s holding a chunky little bundle who has one hell of a set of lungs on him. Or her. I can’t tell from this angle.

  The girl winces, now clearly going deaf from the little wailer howling in her ear, and holds out her hand. “I’m Katherine.”

  It’s my turn to be shocked. Who the hell put a teenager in charge of the farm? She can’t be older than eighteen. I look at her hand a second too long because she starts to frown again.

  “Sorry.” I reach out, surprised that her grasp is firm. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’m Brady Shepherd, Cal’s brother.”

  She nods, still frowning. “You don’t look anything like him. It caught me off guard. He was an accountant, and you…” Her eyes dart to the Harley behind me. “You’re obviously not.”

  I want to smile. Cal would be amused someone is finally taking him seriously as a number cruncher.

  “No, you’re right about that. I’m definitely not an accountant.”

  We stand, staring at each other. She bites her plump bottom lip, and my eyebrows lift. “Can I come in?”

  She blows her bangs out of her face. “Yes, of course. Please.” She waves me in behind her.

  The living room looks worn in but comfortable with a floral couch and an overstuffed recliner. Knick-knacks dot the bookshelf, and the hardwood floors look well traveled but clean. But what catches my attention is how good everything smells. Fresh, like clean laundry and fruit.

  She motions toward the couch. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, thanks.” I feel bad asking her for anything with that screaming baby in her arms.

  I sit on the edge of the couch, not wanting to get it dirty. I should’ve kicked my boots off, but it feels weird to do that in another person’s house.

  Katherine sits in the recliner near me and coos in her daughter’s ear. Finally the little hellraiser calms down.

  She glances up at me, looking relieved, and asks, “Do you want to hold her?”

  I stare at her.

  This is… weird. Why does this girl want me to hold her baby? Shit, she’s young to be a mother. “No, you probably don’t want me holding her. I have dirt from about two counties on me.” I start to shift uncomfortably when she stills.

  “You don’t want to hold her?” she asks, incredulous.

  That’s when she turns the baby toward me, and I get a good look at the child for the first time. Famil
iar blue eyes blink back… and in that instant, my whole world stops, tilts, and comes barreling off its axis.

  What the hell? My mouth goes dry.

  “Isabella,” she says loudly, like I’m hearing-impaired. “Do you want to hold her?”

  “Jesus.” I press my palms into my eyes. After a moment, I lower my hands and stare at my brother’s baby. I open my mouth, only nothing comes out. Finally, I clear my throat. “That’s Isabella?”

  She looks at me like I’m an idiot and nods.

  “Holy shit.” I stare at the child in her arms. At her clear-blue eyes. At those wild tufts of sandy-blond hair. At her rosebud lips. “I thought… I thought she had been with her… with her parents in the accident.”

  Katherine gasps. “No. God, no.” She clutches Isabella closer. “I was watching her that night. I told you I was taking care of her.” She shakes her head. “Why would you think that?”

  Frustration ripples through me. “I could barely hear you when I was at the airport.” Rubbing my forehead, I think back to what my mother had said… Fuck. What did she say? She was hysterical and crying that she hadn’t seen Cal in so long and now he was gone. Crying that she’d never really given Melissa a chance. And then she wailed, We lost the baby. Those were her exact words.

  I run my hand through my hair, choked up by the memory. “I guess… I guess my mom got confused.” And when you spoke to the police, you just asked for details about how the accident happened, not who was in the truck.

  We sit in silence, and after I’ve calmed down enough to be rational, one thought hurdles through my mind—it looks like my parents might be inheriting a baby.

  4

  Katherine

  Brady doesn’t say a word as he pours himself another shot of bourbon. I don’t blame him. Thinking Bella was with Cal and Mel that night would send me over the edge too.