Page 60 of Secret Baby for the Triplets

“She could have talked to us! We always told her that she could!”

Owen stifles a groan. “See you in the morning. Don’t sleep in, Toby. You need to be there for this.”

Then, he follows Brock out of the kitchen.

Oh, they don’t need to worry about that because I won’t sleep a wink tonight.

* * *

But despite my best efforts and anger, I do fall asleep just before dawn, and my brothers are both gone when I finally crawl out of bed in the morning. I stumble out of the ranch house as sunshine cracks over the horizon and the staff swarms through the corrals and along the buildings to start their day. I’m late, zipping up my pants as I run toward the office—shirtless and bleary-eyed—to join my siblings.

“Good morning, Toby!” some of the ranch hands whistle, but for the first time in my life, I ignore them entirely.

Without a smile or greeting, I focus singularly on the meeting with Emerson.

I crash through the outer office in a huff of breath. Owen appears in the doorway of the inner office, hope igniting on his face and dying when he sees me.

“Oh, it’s you,” he mutters.

“Is it Toby?” I hear Brock ask.

“Yeah,” Owen sighs, retreating inside.

I follow him, and our oldest brother glowers at my shirtless form. “You’re an hour late.”

I look at the empty chair in front of him, my heart sinking. “Where is she?”

Owen reclaims his seat and bows his head. “Gone, I think. Her car isn’t here, and she’s not answering her phone.”

“Gone where?”

“We don’t know, Toby!” Brock barks. “We’ve been here waiting for her.”

I glare back at him. “I’m just asking.”

“You and your temper last night probably scared her off,” Brock accuses me.

My jaw slacks. “What? Are you blaming me now? And so what if I did scare her off? She deserved it!”

“Stop,” Owen interjects, standing. “We don’t even know if she’s gone. Let’s go check the coach house and call her again.”

Begrudgingly, we stand to do that, but as we retreat outside, I have a feeling that Brock has a point. I hadn’t been very kind to Emerson last night.

But do I really regret it after what she’d done?

Silently, we make our way across the ranch toward the little house, and my chest tightens as we step onto the porch. I should have stopped by on the way out of the house, and I would have seen the open door.

All of the things that made the place personal are gone, her shoes and jackets in the front closet. Even that notepad with her handwriting, which had tipped me off, no longer sits in the middle of the table.

“Shit,” Brock curses.

“It’s good,” I huff.

“Don’t be stupid. She’s still carrying our kid,” he whiplashes. “We’re not going to let her raise that baby without help.”

I tense at the reminder. Padding up the steps to the loft, I check the closet to be sure, and my pulse speeds up more to find the empty dresser and closet. She’s undeniably gone without so much as a goodbye.

I peer over the half-wall and nod curtly. “She’s gone.”

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