Montana Twins. Charlotte Maclay

It wasn’t that she was prying, exactly. Knowing something of Eric’s past, including his recent history, would help her decide if he was suitable to be the twins’ father.

      “I’ve never met a woman I wanted to ask.” He held her gaze, the microwave humming its monotonous note behind him. “How about you? Have you ever been married?”

      She swallowed hard and turned back to the twins. Mandy had spit out her pacifier; Laura plugged it back in. “I came close once. It didn’t work out.”

      “What went wrong?” His voice was a little softer than it had been. Intimate.

      Her past was none of his business, except maybe he’d understand better why she was so reluctant to turn over the twins to a stranger. Why she wanted to be their mother.

      “He wanted to have a son to carry on the family name.” Lifting her head, she looked at him levelly despite the painful knot in her stomach. “I can’t have children. I was in an accident and they had to remove my uterus.”

      His mouth went a little slack. “I’m sorry.”

      “No more than I am.” She forced a shrug she hoped looked casual. “The worst is, they left the rest of my female parts, so I get the joy of PMS without any of the benefits.”

      The buzzer on the microwave saved him from responding to her revelation. Just as well. Laura didn’t want his sympathy.

      She wanted a reason, even a small one, to salve her conscience so she could reject him as a suitable father for the twins and raise them herself. After meeting Eric, that had to be the most selfish thing she’d ever wanted in her life.

      DINNER didn’t go well.

      Laura explained to Eric the uncanny knack the twins had for turning fussy the moment anyone sat down to eat a quiet meal. Eric found himself cradling Becky in the crook of his left arm while trying to fork a bite or two of pot pie into his mouth without dribbling the hot gravy on the baby. Not an easy task.

      She couldn’t have babies of her own. No wonder she was so damn anxious to keep the twins for herself. As much as he might sympathize, that didn’t mean he had to hand them over to her. His sister had wanted him to raise her babies. It made sense that they’d live with a blood relative.

      As a kid in foster care, Eric had spent hours fantasizing about an uncle or aunt or grandparent who’d show up and give him the home he’d dreamed of having. His own family. But nobody came.

      He wasn’t going to let that happen to Mandy and Becky. It didn’t matter how much Laura loved or wanted to raise them. Or that she’d been Amy’s foster sister.

      She wasn’t real family.

      By the time they’d finished eating, the babies were ready for another bottle. That was followed by a change of diapers and clean sleepers. Tomorrow, Laura warned, she’d give him a lesson in bathing the babies. It was too late now.

      “Do you want to do the next feeding on your own?” she asked as she placed Mandy in the crib next to Rebecca. Magically, the pair gravitated toward each other.

      “What time does that happen?”

      “Usually between one and two. Then they wake again around five.”

      “How are we supposed to get any sleep?”

      She gave him a wry smile that said sleep wasn’t a part of the deal.

      “I’ll handle both feedings,” he said generously. “You’ve been up since early morning.” Of course, he hadn’t been out to feed his horses yet this evening, and there were still dinner dishes to do. But there weren’t many and they could wait until morning. He’d put them in the sink to soak. No big deal.

      She arched her brows. “If you’re sure.”

      “I’ll have to manage sooner or later. I might as well start now. I’ll call you if I run into trouble.”

      With a shake of her head, Laura told him good-night and headed toward the guest room. He was the most determined man she’d ever met. She suspected, however, it was a case of a fool rushing in when an experienced person would be more wary. Granted, he’d pretty well gotten the hang of changing diapers and could fix a bottle, but in the middle of the night his new skills might not come all that automatically.

      The spare bedroom looked as though it had once belonged to a teenage girl, the white antique furniture and twin bed with a pink flounce likely left behind by the prior owners. It smelled musty, and she opened the window to let in some fresh air. The scent of sage and lush summer grass wafted in the window.

      The faint glow of starlight shadowed the rolling landscape and outlined the nearby barn and corral. Unlike her home in Helena, where there was always the sound of neighbors coming or going and the hum of traffic on the boulevard, here silence enveloped the night. It pressed in on her ear drums, sending a message of loneliness that was more easily ignored when drowned out by the presence of others.

      The sound of the back door opening broke the quiet, and she caught sight of Eric striding toward the barn. The horses in the corral whickered a soft greeting, moving in the same direction. No matter how tired he might be, caring for his animals came before his own comfort.

      She pressed her lips together. Given a chance, he’d do the same for the twins.

      Turning away from the window, she opened her suitcase and pulled out her cotton nightgown. She’d been busy all day and was too weary to unpack now. When she’d left home, she had hoped she wouldn’t be staying long in Grass Valley, wouldn’t need to settle in.

      In the face of Eric’s determination to be a father, that goal seemed less attainable now.

      The next day or two—or maybe one sleepless night up with crying infants—would tell the tale of his resolve.

      She’d hope for the best—or perhaps it was the worst she was looking for in the twins’ sleeping habits.

      ERIC WENT TO SLEEP making plans to hang an old tire as a swing from the cottonwood tree out front when the twins were old enough.

      He woke to the wailing sound of the smoke alarm.

      He was on his feet, pulling on his pants, before he realized it was the twins crying. How could two tiny sets of lungs make that much noise?

      Shaking the fuzziness from his head, he stumbled out of the bedroom into the hallway. He met Laura at the door to the nursery.

      “I’ve got ’em,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

      “Becky’s been crying for five minutes. She woke up Mandy.”

      “Sorry. I didn’t hear ’em.” How could Laura tell which one was crying, for Pete’s sake? It just sounded like a racket to him.

      They both bent over the crib, each one picking up a baby, which quieted the infants only briefly. Eric followed Laura downstairs, where she retrieved two bottles from the refrigerator, where she’d had him place them earlier, and popped them into the microwave. Jiggling the baby in his arms, he stared stupidly at the glow of the oven until it buzzed.

      They each took a bottle and sat down next to each other on the bench at the kitchen table. A moment later the screams were replaced by the sound of eager little sucking noises, not unlike a newborn calf discovering his source of sustenance for the first time.

      Eric sighed in relief.

      “After a while you get tuned in to their cries and wake up at the first peep. It’s better not to let them get too upset.”

      He grunted noncommittally. That kind of adjustment might take more than a day or two.

      Gazing at nothing in particular, his eyes finally focused on Laura’s feet. Her bare feet. Long, slender toes tipped by polish in a rainbow of bright colors, each toenail a different hue.

      He grinned, awake now. “Nice toenail polish.”

      “Huh?