Moonlight Road. Робин Карр

Art were working together on the yard.

      “Did you call her yet, Luke?”

      “Have you seen me near a phone, Art?”

      “Did you?”

      “I’m cutting the damn grass, Art!”

      “Then will you?”

      Aiden didn’t mean to laugh at the two of them but he did anyway. He had his own shadow.

      “After this job can I brush it? Your beard?”

      “Yes, Rose. After this job.”

      “And put a bwaid in it?”

      “Yes, Rose. When I’m done here.”

      When Aiden was finally finished he settled down in a lawn chair on the back patio with Rosie and her dog, Harry, and while Art and Luke were edging, trimming and raking up clippings, Rosie combed his beard and filled it full of ribbons and barrettes. He closed his eyes lazily, enjoying the fiddling and remembering to stay conscious. Sean had once fallen asleep in Rosie’s care and she had put makeup on him with Magic Markers.

      “I know what to get you for Christmas,” Aiden said. “A doll with hair you can fix. Are you going to be a beautician when you grow up?”

      “What’s a boo-tician?”

      “Someone who fixes hair.”

      “No, I’m gonna be a jet pilot. It’s bery important. What are you gonna be?” she asked him.

      Aiden opened one eye and peered at her. “A farmer,” he said. “It’s bery important, too.”

      “That’s bery good,” she said.

      Mel Sheridan walked up the porch steps to lack’s bar at two in the afternoon on a weekday. It instantly brought to mind the vast number of times she’d done exactly this in the past. The bar was typically very quiet, often deserted, between lunch and dinner and if her husband wasn’t running errands or busy elsewhere, he’d be there. He was usually behind the bar, taking inventory, organizing, setting up for the dinner crowd. Preacher would be in the kitchen cooking, his wife, Paige, and their kids would be in their attached home, and while the kids napped, Paige would often be running receipts on the computer, paying the bills, keeping the books, assisting in the management of the bar.

      When Mel came to town four years ago, the bar was where she first got to know her husband. At the time, it was a far-fetched notion that they would even be friends, but it hadn’t taken her long to fall in love with him. This was the place they’d had their most private conversations over the years, and when there was something she wanted to discuss with him, this time of day was usually the perfect opportunity.

      She walked in and a single glance told her they were alone—Jack behind the bar, no customers. “Hey, baby,” he said, smiling.

      Ah, four years and so many times she’d walked into his bar and still, every time, he acted as if he hadn’t seen her for days. His smile was warm and sexy, his brown eyes sparkling. Maybe four years wasn’t such a long time, she thought. Still, she felt completely confident that he would look at her that way in forty more. There was this thing about Jack—he didn’t take commitment lightly. He said to her once, “I’m all in.” Three little words that expressed a lifetime commitment. Jack didn’t say something like that unless he meant it, and he was a man with the strength to uphold that oath.

      She jumped up on a stool and leaned over to kiss him. “Hi, sweetheart. Red-letter day today. Emma is doing it in the potty, full-time.”

      He grinned. “But is David doing it full-time?” he asked.

      “The biggest problem we have with number-one son is peeing in the yard, taught to him by number-one dad.”

      Jack grabbed both her hands across the bar. “I don’t expect you to understand this, being a girl, but it’s a very important rite of passage, learning that the world is your urinal.” He shrugged. “My son took to the news.”

      “I know that. He’d rather pee on a bush than in the toilet. There should be a balance—the bush when there is no toilet, and so on.”

      “He’ll come around…”

      “There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. I wanted to make sure both kids were potty trained before bringing it up—but one and three-quarters is good enough, I think.”

      “What’s on your mind?”

      “I think I’d like to have one more baby. Before I get much older.”

      The stunned look that came over his face was priceless and made her smile. She gave him a couple of seconds, and noted that he was struggling with the possibility that she’d completely lost her mind. Finally, slowly, he said, “You feel like trying to adopt?”

      “Actually, no. I thought we’d have one of our own.”

      “Mel,” he said gently, giving her hands a comforting squeeze. “Mel, between us we might be missing some parts for having our own…”

      She laughed a little bit. “I know my uterus is gone, Jack. But I still have ovaries and you still have sperm. We could get a surrogate.”

      “Huh?” he said, frowning.

      “You know what that is, I know you do.”

      “I do,” he said. “But…”

      “In vitro—our baby in a surrogate.” Then she smiled brightly. “You do make such wonderful babies. And I think we can squeak in one more before we really run out of time. We were sort of thinking about that right before Emma was born anyway. And she’s two.”

      “No, we weren’t. I’m forty-four. And you’re thirty-six.”

      “Hardly Grandma Moses and the old man of the sea, Jack,” she said.

      “Is this something you just started kicking around? This surrogate idea?” he wanted to know.

      “I’ve been giving it some pretty serious thought for a while now. We’re not the youngest parents, but lots of couples nowadays start their families in their thirties and forties. We’re healthy and strong…There’s no reason to think we won’t be around to see them well into adulthood. Of course, one or both of us could fall off a mountain, but that’s not an age-sensitive calamity. When you think about it, with my history of infertility, had we decided to have a family it might well have taken us this long to get started anyway.”

      He was quiet again. Then he said, “Mel, your history of infertility did not follow you to Virgin River. And we have two kids. Two smart, healthy, beautiful kids.”

      “Will you at least think about it? Because it’s really a logical solution for us. We have everything but a uterus…”

      He was shaking his head. “Baby, we don’t need a solution! We don’t have a problem!”

      “Well, if we want one more child, we have a little problem. Jack, it’s just surrogacy—it’s not brain surgery. There are a number of women who, for whatever reason, are willing to carry a baby for a couple who can’t carry their own. They’re most often married women who already have children, don’t really need or want more, but deal with pregnancy and childbirth very well. Of course, they’re paid and their medical expenses covered, but it’s rarely a moneymaking proposition for them. It’s usually a service they’re willing to provide for couples who can’t carry and deliver their own baby.”

      “You really believe that?” he asked. “That it’s not about the money?”

      She shrugged. “I suppose sometimes money is a major factor, but there are always many screened surrogates to choose from and I wouldn’t be interested in one who desperately needs money. Her motivation might not be what we’re looking for.”

      “Listen, I’ve seen news stories where the woman doesn’t want to