For the Twins' Sake Read online

  “I’ll help,” Noah said.

  For a minute there, Noah thought lone-ranger Ford was going to say, nah, you’ve got a big day tomorrow, I’ve got this, but Ford replied, “I’d appreciate that.”

  Noah jogged over to the stables and got a sharp-ended tool, then jogged back over to where Ford was poking the ground in circles. “Let me see the map.”

  Ford handed it to him. “This seems to be the area,” Noah said, taking in where his dad had drawn the stables with a few horse heads poking out, the tree line, the five-hundred-plus-acre pasture. There was an X on a tree trunk—a tree that seemed to stand alone. And the only tree that stood alone was close to where Ford was poking with the pitchfork.

  They poked and poked and poked, walking in circles and squares, but both came up empty.

  “I had a feeling I wouldn’t find it,” Ford said. He shrugged. “Just thought I’d give it a try.”

  Noah glanced around at the grass. There was just too much land to cover. “I can keep looking when I get the chance. And you can always come back.”

  Ford ran a hand through his hair. “I might. We’ll see. Sometimes it’s better not to know.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure I mean that. I don’t know.”

  Noah got the sense his life wasn’t the only complicated one.

  “I’ll be heading out first thing,” Ford said. “Good luck tomorrow. I know this place will be a big success.”

  Noah extended his hand, and Ford glanced at it, then pulled his youngest sibling into an embrace.

  “You did good, Noah,” Ford said. “With the ranch, with Annabel. With whatever’s going on with Sara and both twins, considering that they’re all here.”

  Noah nodded, Ford’s words of praise a boosting balm as he embraced his oldest brother. “I’m trying. Hard.” To the point that I proposed.

  Let her say yes when I get back to the cabin, he thought.

  * * *

  Sara sat in the kitchen, on her third cup of decaf, picking at the leftover peach pie that Daisy had packed up after dinner for Noah to take to the cabin. She heard the key in the lock, and her pulse leaped.

  Yes, no, maybe so. She had no answer yet. Her answer was all of the above.

  Noah came into the kitchen and gave her such a forced casual smile that she laughed. Sara could plainly see how tightly wound he was right now and how he was trying to fight it.

  Because he’d proposed and wished he hadn’t? Because he worried she’d say no?

  She took a sip of her coffee. “I’ll get right to the point. If we’re going to put a marriage on the table, we’d better square away some important details.”

  She could see the relief in his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed some.

  He got himself a bottle of water, then sat down. “At least it’s up for discussion.”

  She was about to blurt out, Well, I did it once before with a monster, so why not with my one true love?

  Which just made her feel worse, more tied up in knots over the whole damned thing.

  “Noah, marriage is supposed to be sacred. It’s supposed to mean something more than a mutually beneficial partnership.”

  “That’s what it is for everyone who gets married,” he said. “A couple is madly in love. That’s mutually beneficial, so they marry.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do. And my point still stands. We’ve got a lot of water under the bridge, Sara. And we have some very good reasons to band together and do this. Unless you think your soul mate is out there, waiting for you to be ready. Do you?”

  She stared into her coffee for a moment, his words jabbing her in her chest. “You obviously don’t think either of ours is. Or you wouldn’t be proposing what’s basically an arranged marriage.”

  He took a swig of his water. “I guess different things are more important to me now. I figure to you too.”

  She stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the night, at the pasture, at the Wyoming wilderness beyond. “What the hell happened?” she asked.

  She could see in the reflection from the window that he stood up.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, concern deepening his voice.

  She turned around. “This entire conversation. A marriage of convenience. How the hell did my life come to this?” She stalked over to the chair and sat down. “I’m just whining and feeling sorry for myself. I’m pissed, Noah.”

  He sat back down too. “You have every right to be angry. But that isn’t my aim—to dredge up bad feelings. If that’s what the proposal is doing to you, let’s forget it. You stay here as long as you want. I just want you to be happy and feel safe.”

  She glanced at him, her eyes welling. I just want you to be happy and feel safe. A person who said that was a person who cared about her. And he was the only person saying anything like that. Her family was gone. Her friends scattered. She had no one left.

  “I used to believe in soul mates,” she said. You, you big dope. You were my soul mate. “I don’t believe in that stuff anymore, Noah.”

  He leaned forward. “Let’s be each other’s family, Sara. You, me and the twins. A family, right here where it all began for both of us in so many ways. And you’ll have half my ownership of the ranch.”

  Could this work? If she didn’t believe in love and romance anymore, if her first marriage had blown everything she’d once cared about to bits, then why not accept a partnership with Noah Dawson? They’d set terms. They’d treat each other respectfully. They’d get what they needed.

  “I’d never take any part of your share of the ranch, Noah. But yes,” she added, standing up again. “I will marry you.”

  * * *

  Before Noah could stop himself, he got up and held out his arms, and Sara rushed into them. He could feel her holding herself a bit stiffly, which he completely understood. This hug was about gratitude on both sides, about the friendship that would never fade, no matter what. It was their handshake on an agreement.

  “I was so afraid you’d say no, Sara.” He found himself holding her an extra beat too long, inhaling the balsamy scent of her hair, remembering how good having her so close against him used to feel.

  She stepped back and leaned against the counter. “We should discuss logistics, of course.”

  He nodded and sat back down.

  She did too. “Let’s just go to the town hall. There’s no waiting period in Wyoming. We could be married in the morning.”

  “My head might explode,” he said. “Getting married right before the ranch reopens. How about we wait till the first group leaves? That’ll give us time to decide if we’re telling people about this or keeping it our secret. If we’re wearing rings.” He took a drink of his water.

  “But there are some issues we can settle right now,” she said, looking everywhere but at him.

  “Like?” he asked.

  “Separate bedrooms. No sex. No kissing, no touching, no hanky-panky of any kind, Noah Dawson. We’re making a deal for those mutually beneficial reasons you listed. I don’t want any confusion about what the marriage is.”

  He wasn’t so sure they had to make any proclamations. Who knew how things would evolve?

  Then again, sex had destroyed their relationship once and sent her away.

  On one hand, he could see them returning from a long day, a problem with a guest, a sick calf, and having the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her, hold her, this beautiful woman he’d loved for so long and who’d share so much of his life going forward. He’d always been so physically drawn to Sara, including right now. How would he tamp down these feelings?

  He’d just have to. Because on that other hand, the confusion she’d mentioned had the potential power to ruin their arrangement entirely and send her away again. He couldn’t risk that.

  He took in one last long drin
k of her luscious body, her pink lips, her brown eyes and long silky brown hair. He closed his eyes for a half second, vowing that when he opened them, he’d see her as discussed: off-limits.

  “Agreed,” he said. “We’re friends. We won’t let anything get in the way of that and what we’re doing.”

  She gave him something of a smile that didn’t last very long. “Good. Then we have a deal.”

  The problem was that the vow he’d just made to see her as off-limits wasn’t working. She was still sexy as hell. But if there was one thing Noah Dawson had developed the past few months, it was self-control.

  He’d do this because he had to.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, at just after 11:00 a.m., Sara stood beside Noah and Daisy outside the Dawson Family Guest Ranch lodge as a silver van pulled up in the parking area. The first guests had arrived, and she could feel the Dawsons practically vibrating with excitement and nerves.

  The weather couldn’t have been better—blue skies, brilliant sunshine, low humidity and sweet breezes in midseventies temperatures. Sara smoothed her hunter green polo shirt with the ranch’s logo on the pocket, Staff spelled out in caps on the back. Last night, Noah had knocked on her door and said he’d forgotten to give her an employee shirt; all staff would wear the green shirts and jeans during working hours.

  When he’d held up the shirt in her doorway, she’d been so moved by it, by her memories, that she’d wanted to pull him into her bedroom and never let him go. She’d had a Dawson’s staff T-shirt when she was a teenager. She still had it, though she was a size small back then and seven weeks after giving birth, Sara was a definite L for large. The old one was a burnt tan color, and she liked the forest green even better. The new shirt reminded her of all good things, of new beginnings. Before Noah had knocked on her door, she’d wondered how she’d sleep with questions of their pending marriage looming in her thoughts. But somehow the green shirt representing her employment, money coming in, security, had her falling asleep within a half hour.

  The twins had woken her up twice, and a third time, very early this morning, she’d gone into the nursery to find Noah already taking care of business. He’d looked wide-awake and alert, excited about his first guests. Mrs. Pickles was with the twins now in the cabin, and Sara liked that she just might see the sitter wheeling them around the grounds in the stroller during the day.

  A thirtysomething redhead stepped off the van, shook hands with Noah and Daisy, and then Noah introduced her to Sara as Connie Freedman, the life coach running the retreat.

  As the retreat participants came off the van—eleven aside from the coach—Connie introduced everyone. But Sara was surprised—and thrilled—to already know one of the women, an old friend from high school named Tabitha Corey. Since the retreat was getting underway immediately, Sara would have to wait to catch up with Tabitha until this evening.

  As guest relations manager, Daisy led the group to their cabins to settle in before the tour, opening session and meet and greet of the horses Noah had chosen for each participant. But Sara couldn’t help but notice most of the guests looked kind of...glum.

  “Is it my imagination, or do the guests not look very excited to be here?” Noah whispered.

  “Oh wait,” Sara said. “The retreat is called Get Your Groove Back.”

  “What does that mean—exactly?” he asked, tilting his head. “I thought it was about getting some R and R.”

  “Well, that too, but getting your groove back generally means you’ve lost that spark and you want to find it. A recharge kind of thing for the heart, mind and soul.”

  Noah raised an eyebrow. “I just ride Bolt when I need that.”

  She smiled. “That’s why they’re here. Nature helps. Horses help. Inspiring talks help. Like-minded people who won’t make you feel like you’re whining or just need to man up or chin up. Hopefully they’ll look very different in a week.”

  He nodded. “I’m pretty sure I recognized one of the guests—and her name too. Tabitha Corey. We went to high school together, right?”

  Sara nodded. Tabitha looked very in need of a recharge, even if she was in full Western regalia, the kind of outfit that said she’d gone all out on new riding gear and Stetsons and Western-style shirts when plain old jeans and T-shirts would do. Sara couldn’t help but be curious about why Tabitha had signed on for the retreat. She had been a golden girl, the kind you couldn’t hate because she was kind and friendly to everyone, even if she was a queen bee. She’d recently gotten engaged to a tall, good-looking endodontist Willem had played squash with, but they hadn’t socialized as couples. Willem would insist on showing up for fund-raisers and important events, but then he’d want to leave after fifteen minutes, which had always been fine with Sara. She’d noticed the diamond ring on Tabitha’s finger. Huge. And she looked like a million bucks, despite the lack of light in her eyes. Sara couldn’t help but wonder why Tabitha was here.

  As the afternoon went on, Sara helped both Daisy and Noah in various capacities, and she found herself loving the fast pace and constantly changing duties. This morning, before the guests had arrived, she’d double-checked the cabins with Daisy to make sure they were all ready with welcome baskets and fresh wildflowers and had all the necessary supplies. She’d helped Noah and Dylan in the main barn with lining up the saddles the guests would likely be using. Since the group would hit the cafeteria for lunch at twelve thirty, she’d stopped in a bit before to see if Cowboy Joe needed any help. He had everything under control with his small staff. Lunch was his specialty, chili and corn bread, and the entire caf smelled amazing.

  At two, the life coach and retreat director, Connie, was giving a talk called “What Happened to My Groove, Anyway?” in the lodge. Sara had been assigned to work the concessions counter, offering coffee and tea and lemon-infused water and snacks, and she’d been riveted by Connie within a minute. The life coach was in her late thirties with pretty shoulder-length red hair and dark brown eyes, in a forest green pantsuit that managed to look woodsy and professional at the same time. Connie stood at a podium in front of the eleven seated participants, who all held little silver notebooks. Sara had never met a life coach before, but Connie’s talent at public speaking and conveying her message was an immediate given.

  “Feeling stuck,” Connie was saying. “Knowing you’re stuck and knowing there are probably steps you could take to get yourself unstuck but being too down in the dumps to do anything but mope on your sofa with a stack of tabloid magazines and the remote control and a family-size bag of sour cream and onion potato chips. And a two-liter bottle of soda. And a big bag of fun-size chocolates.” She gazed at the group. “How many of you can relate?”

  Sara’s hand shot up in the air before she could stop herself. She pulled her hand down, but not before Connie sent her an encouraging smile. Twelve hands, including Connie’s, were up. Sara wanted to stick hers back up too. Hell yeah, she could relate.

  “But guess what?” Connie said. “All of you, every single one of you, has already started the process of getting yourselves unstuck, getting your groove back. Because you’re here. You did something proactive. You got off the sofa, figuratively and literally.” She smiled. “Round of applause, ladies.” Connie clapped, and so did everyone else, including Sara, down low under the table.

  Maybe she shouldn’t be cheering herself on, though. She hadn’t gotten herself off the sofa—figuratively speaking. She’d been propelled off it by Willem’s death. She’d learned the truth about her daughter, sped over to the ranch and here she was. In a new life entirely.

  But she had to wonder just how long she would have lived under Willem Perry’s thumb. Being chastised for installing the toilet paper roll the “wrong” way. Night after night, unable to dislodge the lump in her chest, in her throat.

  “We all have our breaking points,” Connie continued. “You’re all here because you’re either close o
r you’ve reached it and you’re ready to break out, break free, be who you actually are.”

  The part about the breaking point made Sara feel better; she’d reached it—she’d briefly left during her pregnancy and had been pulled back out of fear, but she would have figured out a way to leave again. She was sure of that. And anyway, going over this was pointless. She was in a new life—with her son and daughter. What mattered was what she did with her present and how she planned for her future—their future.

  She frowned as she recalled how sure she’d felt earlier about accepting Noah’s proposal. But had she been operating out of fear, out of feeling like she was stuck? She had a job, a place to live, a good roof over her babies’ heads. She was earning her way here. Noah had offered her half his share of the ranch to sweeten the security deal, but she didn’t want that from him. She’d never take that from him.

  Suddenly she was only 50 percent on the idea of marrying.

  There was a solid week between now and when they’d go to the town hall to legally become husband and wife. She’d see how things felt.

  “Sometimes, the hardest part can be doing just that—getting up, asking for help, making a commitment to yourself,” Connie went on. “And sometimes the hardest part might be yet to come—really examining what you want and how to achieve that. Sometimes we don’t feel like we deserve what we want, let alone to actually get it. I’m here to tell you, we all do deserve it. So at this retreat, let’s commit to giving ourselves a chance. Baby steps, big steps, whatever you’re ready for. We’re all on our way!”

  Yeah! Sara almost cheered as she straightened the bananas in the pretty blue bowl on the table.

  Connie handed out schedules and outlined the rest of the day—next up was being matched with horses, so the group got up, a few stopping at the concession table for the lemon-infused water or a coffee or a piece of fruit. As the participants left the lodge, former golden girl Tabitha hung back, then came over to the table and made herself a cup of coffee. She looked amazing—gorgeous long blond hair, light makeup that looked completely natural, the fancy Western outfit and dark pink cowboy boots. But she sure didn’t look happy. Newly engaged to a young Brad Pitt endodontist or not. And, of course, she was here at a retreat for getting her groove back. Sara would have never in a million years thought Tabitha Corey had ever or would ever lose her groove.