Page 32 of Secret Baby for the Triplets

“Morning,” he greets us.

“Good morning,” Emerson says, but her attention is on me, and I appreciate her for that. “So? What is today about?”

“I’m trying to get a rehabilitation program for wild horses going,” I say. “A lot of them are still running rampant in these parts, and with the unpredictable weather patterns, a lot of them are at risk. I’m looking to rehome them in the local ranches.”

Her expression softens. “That’s… wonderful, Toby. What will today accomplish?”

“Likely nothing,” Owen interjects, eying me meaningfully. “And it’s good to remember that. Bureaucratic red tape is a real thing, but you have to go through the process to get anything accomplished.”

I roll my eyes skyward. “Stop acting like I’m an explosive four-year-old. I got us this far, didn’t I? I’ll get us the funding we need.”

Owen looks at Emerson. “He will,” he agrees slowly. “But maybe not today.”

Grunting, I stand and search around the kitchen for my keys. “Come on.” I look at Emerson. “Are we going or what?”

Begrudgingly, Emerson rises to follow me, but I see the look she gives Owen on the way out, and I’m pissed.

Operation Babysit Toby is underway. Let the games begin.

* * *

True to her word, Emerson sits quietly in a chair near the front of the stage and watches the proceedings without interruptions, her tablet in hand.

But I’m disappointed with the turnout for my cause. If I’m being honest, I hadn’t dedicated as much effort as I should have toward rallying the neighbors on this. I’d mentioned the idea in passing to some of the clients and friends and told my brothers to do the same, but there hadn’t been much in the way of advertising the date and time for the council event.

And it shows today, especially with the mayor’s reschedule.

I wiggle my leg anxiously as I wait for my name to be called, the mayor taking her sweet time at the podium as she discusses other unimportant business, or at least the other business seems that way to me.

“Are you nervous?” Emerson whispers to me, noting my twitching leg.

My head whips toward her. “What?”

She smiles reassuringly. “I hate public speaking. I was just wondering if you were nervous.”

I grin and wink as the mayor calls out my name. “No, darlin’. I thrive at it.”

Hopping up, I leap onto the stage and shake the mayor’s hand vigorously, nodding at the sparse crowd. Swallowing my disappointment, I begin my rehearsed speech and statistics about the endangered wild horses in central Texas and how they need our help.

Impassioned, my voice swells, carrying through the small hall, and I see my neighbors nodding in agreement, several calling out until the mayor has to cut me off.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Collins, but we’re out of time,” she tells me.

My mouth falls open. “But I’m not finished!”

“You have to be,” she apologizes. “We have other matters?—”

“There are no other matters,” I cut her off. “The horses need our help.”

“Yeah!” someone calls out. “Have a heart, mayor!”

Sheepishly, the mayor smiles. “I understand your passion for this subject, but?—”

“But nothing,” I insist. “Are you going to find a way to secure funding or not?”

Patiently, the mayor tries to brush me off, but I’m adamant.

“Just give me an answer!” I urge.

---