Page 59 of The Cowboy's Second Chance Bride

Sabrina adjusted on the couch so she was on her knees, looking over the back, the bowl in her hands. “I see it. I see the happy and the sad. And the titleThe Disturbed Childhoodto me means everything. Could be anything. A pet dying. Moving. Or like for me, losing my mother. Something that breaks from the norm. A disruption.”

Brynna held up her arms in victory. “Yes, that’s exactly the message I wanted to convey. It’s the mix of those colors and dark lines that make us this smooth and round bowl open to taking in more. Filling us. We should put memories in this bowl.”

My kid sister was impressive. We’d grown up in the same unhappy house, yet she had found a way to channel it into something beautiful. I was the first person she’d made something for. I dug into my pocket and pulled out my keys. From my keyring, I took off a square piece of metal with a multicolored glass circle in the middle and placed it in the bowl.

“That was one of the first pieces you made, Bryn. I carry it everywhere to remind me to look for the beauty in life like you do.” I gave my sister a side-arm squeeze.

Mom walked up and put a small rose-gold band in the bowl. “We got that on our trip to Europe after you graduated, remember? It was the first piece of jewelry I bought myself after moving out of the house. It was empowering.” She kissed her daughter on the cheek.

“I remember that because I met you both in Switzerland,” I said. That trip had been enjoyable, something that was not the norm in our family.

The three of us shared the memory briefly before Brynna looked at Sabrina.

Sabrina shrugged. “Sorry, I don’t have anything from my past here except your brother, and he’s not a memory I would l put in the bowl anyway.”

She said it teasingly, but there was an edge in her voice. She looked between the three of us, and I knew she wasn’t speaking about our past but about her present. Once I saw it, I couldn’t not see it. I’d lived with it for years. It was loneliness. Here I was, standing in a room with my family, sharing a memory, and she no longer had that. For the first time, it dawned on me how alone she must feel at times like this.

Mom rested a hand on Sabrina’s shoulder. “I think I can help with that.”

Then she went to the giant bookcase near the fireplace and pulled out a large leather-bound photo album. She handed the book to Sabrina.

ChapterTwenty-Three

SABRINA

Morgan sat sideways on the couch, one knee pulled up so she could face me. “This ranch has been in my family for decades. It belonged to my mother’s parents and her mother’s parents before her, though it was little more than a cabin and some fences at that time. Every generation has lived and raised their family here except my mother. Well, I guess me as well, but we’re here now.” She looked at her kids and smiled. “Sit. You both will want to hear this.”

I waited patiently for the story to continue. Cal took a seat next to me and Brynna in the oversized chair next to us. I handed her the glass bowl.

“My mother went away to college on the East Coast, and there she met and married my father. He became a professor at a university in Williamsburg, Virginia.”

I straightened, surprised. “That’s where my mom was from.”

Morgan nodded and smiled. “Yes, I know. I grew up with your mother. That’s why the first time I saw you, I said you remind me of someone I used to know. It’s incredible how much you look like Rachael.”

I sank into the couch, stunned. “You knew my mom?” Other than my dad and grandparents, I’d never met anyone who knew my mom.

Cal came in closer and rested an arm along the back of the couch and me. “Seriously, Mom? How come I’ve never seen this album before?”

Morgan held up a hand. “I’m going to tell you why. It’s not the best story.” She cupped her hands to her face “But I am so ashamed, so please forgive me in advance.”

I looked to Cal, confused. He arched a brow. Clearly, he felt the same.

Morgan opened the album. Instantly, my eyes were draw to various pictures of two little girls.

“Your grandfather was a professor who worked with my dad. And we lived on the same block. A coincidence. My mother and your grandmother became good friends, and since Rachael and I were close in age—she was a year ahead of me—of course, we became good friends too. The best.” Her voice dropped, thick with emotion.

She pointed to a picture of two little girls with Popsicles and tutus, their hair in pigtails, each with an arm thrown across the other’s shoulders. “Rachael and I did dance classes together. We learned to ride horses together. We were cheerleaders at our high school. Not only was she my best friend, but I admired her too. She was kind and funny and pretty and so confident, and I had gone through this ugly duckling stage”—she flipped the pages and pointed to a picture—“and felt so self-conscious around her and, well, anyone I thought was pretty and had it together. Rachael never made me feel bad or anything. She wasn’t like that. She was a good friend until the end. I, however, was not.”

My mother’s image was on these pages. I ran my hand down the page, touching each picture with Mom in it, tracing the lines, feeling her memory. “I’ve never seen some of these,” I whispered.

Morgan let me turn the pages, explaining certain pictures as we went. She picked up her story when I came to pictures of them in college.

“Because our parents taught at William & Mary, we certainly didn’t want to go there. How can you have the college experience with your father right around the corner? Rachael left for college the year before me. She went to?—”

“Brown.”

“Yes, Brown. Rhode Island was just far enough to be away from home but just close enough to drive home if we had to. Rachael had a good first year, and that gave my parents reassurance to let me go.” Morgan chuckled. “Of the two of us, I was the one who was more impulsive, and I guess they thought Rachael was a good influence over me, and with her nearby, I would be fine. And I was. We were.”

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