Page 1 of Fated Secret Baby

Chapter 1

Calista

“Mom. What’s the white stuff over there?”

I chuckle. It might be summer, but in Colorado, the snow-capped mountains are year-round. “That’s snow, baby.”

My daughter, who at the ripe age of four years old has never once seen snow, looks up at me with wide blue eyes. “Like in the movies?”

“Yes. Just like in the movies,” I respond while I peer around, looking for our ride.

“Wow. That’s so special,” she breathes.

At four, everything seems special. I love this age for a lot of reasons, but one of them is that Juniper’s vocabulary is expanding so much. She’s also taken to repeating things, such as my mom’s expression, when Juniper shows her one of her many treasures. My mom says it to make my child feel special while also trying to get her to move on, a tried-and-true parenting trick that I use myself sometimes. But, luckily, Juniper thinks it actually is special.

“I know, Junebug.”

Juniper looks up at me, eyes widening more. “Is this where Auntie Amara lives?”

“It’s where she’s going to pick us up to take us to her house, yes.”

We’re at the bus station in Steamboat Springs. There’s probably another hour or so to Oakwood, but after the plane from Fort Myers and the bus from the Denver airport, we’re both exhausted. Juniper did great, all things considered, but taking so many different forms of transportation alone with a four-year-old can really grate on the nerves.

I’m a fairly patient person. But if I watch one more episode of the stupid talking dogs on her tablet with her, I think I might scream.

“Is she here yet?”

I grit my teeth. Juniper’s voice is bordering on a whine, and I’m not sure that I’m going to be able to handle it if she goes into a full-on meltdown.

Luckily, however, I hear a horn honk. My eyes snap to the road, and I sigh with relief when I see Amara waving at us from behind the wheel of a battered-looking green F-150.

“She’s here,” I inform my child.

The cheer she gives is exactly how I feel.

The truck stops, and Amara comes out, shutting the door behind her with a rusty scream. “Hi, stranger!” she says as she leans in to give me a hug.

“Mommy, you said you were friends,” Juniper says accusingly as I wrap my friend up in a hug.

I laugh as I pull back. “We are friends. Amara was just teasing me because I haven’t seen her in so long.”

“Not since you were a teeny, tiny baby.” Amara smiles, crouching down to address Juniper. “Look at how big you are! How old are you, Junebug?”

Juniper tucks herself into the back of my legs, peering out at Amara. “Four,” she says quietly, like she’s divulging some kind of state secret.

“Wow!” Amara gives her a big smile. “Four whole years old? Are you sure you’re not fourteen?”

“No,” Juniper pokes her head out indignantly. “I’m four!”

“Well. I happen to know that four-year-olds really don’t like ice cream. Which is a bummer,” Amara says with a mock sigh as she stands up and gets Juniper’s suitcase. I give her a look, and she winks at me. “I bought all this ice cream, and there’s no one who wants it…”

“I want it!” Juniper practically shrieks.

I shake my head. “I think you broke the sound barrier on that one, kiddo.”

“What’s a sound barrier? Is there ice cream in the car? I like it; I’ll eat it!”

The torrent of words flowing from my kid is at a pace and volume that could truly shatter eardrums. After we get her in, I buckle and look at Amara. “You had to?”

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