Page 19 of Wylder Ranch
I nod. I can’t quite bring myself to say her name yet. Next to me, my mother sits up a little straighter, also waiting for the answer.
A broad smile stretches on Miles’s face, and his eyes, which are usually full of mischief, soften. “Sweet. Very sweet, thick dark hair, Dad’s eyes. Looks a lot like you . . .”
A lump forms in my throat so quickly I struggle to take a breath. My eyes sting and my nose tickles. I’m not normally a crier, but it’s possible I’ve used up my whole year’s allocations of tears in the past twenty-four hours.
Then Miles, being Miles, dries them all up.
“. . .totally obsessed with her uncle Miles,obviously.”
My lips quiver with amusement. “Obviously.”
“Have you told Lando?”
I shake my head. “No, I wanted to tell him in person. He’s flying back with Holiday, arriving in time for the fireworks.”
A loud screech of “Fireworks!” echoes from the hallway, announcing the arrival of my five-year-old nephew, Max. “I love fireworks.”
He charges in and launches himself into Miles’s arms. Peals of laughter ring out as Miles tips him upside down, tickling him until he’s begging for mercy.
He’s followed by Hendricks, Max’s father and Miles’s identical twin. Hendricks is the calm to Miles’s storm. He’s also raising Max by himself, having been awarded sole custody after Max’s mother decided she’d rather party in Ibiza instead of care for her son.
In a reversal of six years ago when I found Hendricks in shock outside my cottage after he’d just discovered the news of Max, he’s the one I turned to yesterday after I left Haven.
He drops a supportive squeeze onto my shoulder before he sits down. “How’re you doing today?”
I shrug. “Not sure, to be honest.”
He gives an understanding nod. Out of all my siblings, only Hendricks has a shred of an idea as to how I’m feeling.
Max settles into Miles’s lap as William returns with another tray of tea and cups, plus a fresh coffee for me, along with a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies and an apple for Max.
Miles reaches for a cookie before the plate touches the table. “Oh, excellent work, Will. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
He passes one to Max, who shoves the entire thing in his mouth while my mother stares in horror.
“Maxwell Burlington!”
“Sowwy, Gwanny,” Max splutters, doing his best to chew with his mouth closed to demonstrate he has some semblance of manners.
We all watch as he slowly works his way through the cookie, then picks up his juice and rinses it all down before smacking his lips together.
“De-lish-shus.”
Not one of us betrays how amusing we find it, but even my mother hides a quivering lip behind her teacup.
“Hey Maxy, how d’you feel about having a brand-new cousin?”
Max turns in Miles’s lap and peers up at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion at his question. “What’s a cousin?”
“A cousin is a baby of your aunt or uncle. Uncle Alex has a new baby, so that’s your cousin.”
“I thought only girls had babies. That’s why Elsa and Minnie had the babies, and not the bulls,” he replies, his frown deepening.
Elsa and Minnie are Max’s favorite cows from the past birthing season.
As Hendricks is the Burlington vet, Max regularly accompanies him when he tends to the animals, and last year, he took it upon himself to name all the cows. Most of the names were forgotten, but Elsa and Minnie stuck, and when they had calves this year, Max took a particular interest.
