Page 58 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

I wonder what the guys will think. Especially if they’re all potential fathers—well two of them anyway. They’re going to flip, but I’m not as worried about that as I should be.

The kittens nurse, and Gremlin relaxes, and she looks like a totally different cat to me now. She’s not scary anymore. She’s actually beautiful in her own way.

I sit with her, feeling more accomplished and more like I belong here. I can be a mountain woman. I will be. Here or at a place of my own. Yeah, I’d like that.

I stroke her fur, thinking about the new lives around me. The new life maybe inside me. It’s a lot to take in, but I’m ready. I think I’m ready. I’m not even a little bit ready.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

What if I stay here? What if I’m stuck and I have to give birth alone in this cabin just like Gremlin?

The thought grips me so hard it feels like I’m suffocating for a moment. My stomach clenches as I stare at Gremlin, now curled around her tiny brood, content in a way I can’t even fathom. She didn’t panic. She didn’t question herself. She just did what she had to do.

But I’m not a cat. I don’t have instincts honed by nature and necessity. I have anxiety and way too much baggage.

What if I really am pregnant? The idea keeps rattling in my brain, refusing to settle. I press a hand against my stomach, but of course, there’s nothing to feel. No undeniable proof. Just an ache in my chest that won’t go away.

The cabin suddenly feels smaller, like the walls are inching closer. I need fresh air. I push myself up, moving quietly so I don’t disturb the cats, and step out onto the porch.

The cold air hits me like a slap, shocking me back into the moment. I breathe in deep, my breath coming out in visiblepuffs, and stare out at the mountains. The sky has shifted, the soft pastels of twilight giving way to the darker stretch of sky as night begins to fall. It’s beautiful. It should be calming.

But my mind is racing too fast to appreciate it.

The guys will be back soon. I’ll have to face them, pretend nothing is wrong while my world tilts on its axis. And at some point, I’ll have to find out for sure.

But not yet.

For now, I wrap my arms around myself and watch the sun sink lower, letting the shadows chase away the light. I’ll figure this out. One way or another.

Chapter 27

Hank

It’s been a long damn day. My back aches, my hands are raw from fixing fence posts, and my stomach’s been grumbling since noon. But none of that bothers me as much as the nagging thought in the back of my mind—Ivy’s been at the house all day. Alone.

Not that she can’t handle herself. She’s got more grit than she lets on. But she’s not used to this kind of quiet, this kind of isolation. City girl like her, stuck in a cabin with no cell service? No Wi-Fi? I bet she’s climbing the damn walls by now.

The porch is empty when we get back. No sign of her. My chest tightens, though I tell myself I’m being ridiculous. She’s fine. She’s probably curled up by the fire, nose in a book, or messing around in the kitchen, hopefully not borderline burning the place down.

I just need to see her. Make sure. Without making it obvious that’s what I’m doing.

The smell of fresh popcorn greets us, but it’s not the only surprise waiting. Ivy kneels on the floor, surrounded by a tangle of tiny bodies.

Kittens. There are kittens. Gremlin is nursing a litter of newborns, their soft mews barely audible, Wyatt and Holt come to a standstill beside me, eyes wide with shock.

“Hey, you’re back,” Ivy says, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with her wrist. “Look what we’ve got here.”

Wyatt crouches next to her, poking at one of the kittens with a gentle finger. “A regular cat factory,” he says. “Think we should start naming them?”

“Don’t get attached,” Holt warns, plopping down on the couch with a thud. “Although, maybe you should. Hank does have a track record with strays.”

“Very funny,” I say, though my voice sounds distant, even to me. I’m caught by the way Ivy looks, exhaustion and calm wrapped in one stunning package. There’s a softness to her that I haven’t let myself see until now.

Ivy shifts, making sure every kitten is settled. Her fingers brush over Gremlin’s fur, and I see the dimples in her cheeks as she smiles. It hits me like a punch to the gut. I’ve been telling myself to keep my distance, that getting close would only lead to trouble. She’s hiding something and she’s surely going back to her real life once the winter is over. But seeing her like this, I feel something shift inside me.

She’s beautiful in a way that’s raw and real, and I can’t deny the pull I feel toward her.

I should step back before I let myself get any more tangled up in this. But damn if it isn’t getting harder to ignore. She is getting harder to ignore.

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