Page 17 of Secret Baby for the Triplets

For over fifty years, Pine Sky Ranch has bred, boarded, and trained horses for the good folks of Pine Sky, Texas, and beyond. Renowned for its state-of-the-art facilities and world-certified instructors, the Collins Brothers take great pride in maintaining their family’s beloved legacy.

So shoot us an email today! One of our cowboys can take you on a tour and answer all your questions.

There’s an addendum that I half noticed before, but now read with slightly more interest as the fog of my initial shock wears off.

Pine Sky is currently hiring driven individuals to fill two positions: Ranch Hand and Ranch Administrator

Please note that both positions are full-time and live-in. Do not apply if you don’t fit the criteria. There are no exceptions to these criteria due to the inflexibility of work hours.

I look at the job posting in disbelief.

Not that I know anything about working on a ranch. I wouldn’t have considered it under normal circumstances.

But after a month of fruitless job searching following the layoff at Techicom, seeing this opportunity materialize right in front of me feels almost like the universe mocking me.

God. How did I end up here? What the hell had I been thinking—or rather, not thinking—that night in Vegas with the triplets?

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. Just for that night. I never intended to think about them again.

Okay, maybe that’s a lie. I might have thought about them, alone in my bedroom at night with my vibrator sliding between my thighs.

But that’s fair game. How could I not replay that over and over in my head?

Any woman with a pulse would, and it’s not like I can share the story with Mae, who would march me to the nearest church and have me repent.

Of course, she would demand to know all the details, too, and I’m not sure I want to share them with anyone. The experience is exclusively mine.

So much so that I can’t escape it, two months later. And I never will again.

I slump back against the computer chair. Reaching for my cell phone, I flip through the photo album, adjusting my glasses as I do. Lately, my contact lenses irritate my eyes, but I assume my life is going to be filled with a bunch of new annoying grievances I hadn’t contended with before.

My heart catches when my own face peers back at me, beaming and bright.

I’m in the middle of a gorgeous triplet sandwich selfie. I almost don’t recognize the woman grinning back at me, and I feel a pang of loss for her.

She’s me, though, isn’t she? Why don’t I recognize her? Have I really changed that much in such a short amount of time?

I snapped the photo at the bar, when we were all dancing.

My gaze shifts over the photo, and I zoom in to look closer at each of the men. A burst of heat unexpectedly rushes through me, half a dozen explicit memories firing through my brain like pistons.

As if the phone is fire, I toss it back down on the computer desk and reach up to tuck my hair behind my ears.

It’s longer now, past my shoulders and back to my natural red color.

Again, I feel a sense of yearning for the girl in the picture. How was that such a short time ago?

I inhale and close my eyes, knowing that I’ve put it off long enough. I have to make the call before I lose my nerve.

Reaching for the phone, I stare at the screen to look for the number.

But instead of dialing out, my phone rings in my hand.

Startled, I stare at my mom’s exhausted face smiling back at me on the contact photo. It’s such an old pic—one from when she had taken me to Disney when I was sixteen—twelve years ago. She had saved for years to take me on that trip. It’s my favorite picture of the two of us, but it makes me so sad every time I see it because it reminds me of the last time it was only the two of us.

Before Greg came along.

“Hey, Mom,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.

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