Page 34 of Secret Baby for the Triplets

“Will you go with him, please?” I hear Brock tell Owen.

I could seriously punch them both sometimes.

A coyote yips in the darkness as I descend the low hill through the ravine and along the pathway toward the coach house. In the distance, bass pumps rhythmically from the bunkhouse as ranch hands unwind for the night.

One of the workers, who is also a barrel racer in his free time, rides out in the corral, the floodlights in the eastern setup glaring to illuminate the entrance.

But as I near the coach house where Emerson is living, little noise or action is happening. No lights are on, and I wonder if she is already asleep.

But that can’t be right. It’s barely nine.

Although she has been working a lot.

Damn. I feel like an asshole now. We really have been giving her too much.

I knock gently on the front door, not wanting to disturb her as Owen’s footsteps crack over the gravel behind me.

“Don’t wake her up,” he orders me. “None of the lights are on.”

“You think I can’t fucking see that?” I snap. “Go home.”

“You go home!”

Ignoring him, I knock again, and this time, the door swings open, the latch not properly secured. “Emerson?” I call out quietly. “You awake, darlin’?”

Silence greets my call, and an uneasy feeling floods my soul as I step over the threshold.

Abruptly, I turn back to my brother, and our eyes lock worriedly. “Do you have your phone on you?”

He nods and hands it to me, enabling his flashlight.

“Emerson? Are you here?”

“Something’s wrong,” Owen says, sensing it too, and he falls into step behind me.

I scan the main floor for signs of anything out of place, and my chest tightens when I see her.

“Go get the truck!” I yell, rushing toward Emerson’s unconscious body on the floor by the stairs. “And call Brock!”

CHAPTER9

Owen

Brock scrolls through his phone, the corners of his lips twitching as Toby paces the small hospital waiting area. We’ve been waiting for two hours, but there’s been no update about Emerson’s condition since we brought her in.

“One of us should go back to the ranch,” Brock says, glancing up from the screen. “I’m not sure I trust Andy to watch over things if we’re here all night.”

Toby stops moving long enough to blink at him, and I stare at him in confusion. “Why not?” I ask, dumbfounded by the statement. “He did it when we were in Vegas.”

Brock returns my look evenly. “Are you kidding?” He glances angrily at Toby. “I told you to talk to him after what happened with Lana. Did you?”

Twice as bewildered now, I look in Toby’s direction. “I don’t understand,” I say slowly. “Talk to him about what?”

Toby’s eyes flash as he advances on Brock. “You think Andy did this to her? Are you fucking crazy?”

Brock stands and meets Toby’s eyes evenly. “Do you have another explanation?”

“Woah, hold on a second,” I interject, stepping between them. “You don’t even know if she was attacked!”

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