Double Duty For The Cowboy

Her sister smiled through watery eyes. “Surprise!”

Before Regan could say anything else, Brielle’s arms were around her, hugging her tight. She held on, overwhelmed by so many emotions she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; she only knew that she was so glad and grateful her sister was home.

“Nobody told me you were coming,” she said, when she’d managed to clear her throat enough to speak. She looked at Connor then. “Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?” And back at Brielle again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“When I spoke to you on the phone, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get any time off. But I needed to see you and your babies, so I decided that if I had to quit my job, I would.”

Regan gasped, horrified, because she knew how much her sister loved working as a kindergarten teacher at a prestigious private school in Brooklyn. “Tell me you didn’t quit your job.”

Brie laughed. “No need to worry. I’m due back in the classroom Monday morning.”

Which meant that they had less than four days together before her sister had to return to New York City. Four days was a short time, but it was more time than they’d had together in the seven years that had passed since Brielle moved away, and Regan would treasure every minute of it.

“Well, you’re here now,” she said.

“I’m here now,” her sister agreed. “And I asked the rest of the family, who have already seen the babies, to give us some one-on-one time—with your husband and Piper and Poppy, of course.” She moved closer to peek at the sleeping babies. “If they ever wake up.”

“They’ll be awake soon enough,” Connor said. “And you’ll have lots of time with them.”

“Promise?” Brie asked.

He chuckled. “Considering that neither of them has slept for more than three consecutive hours since they were born, I feel confident making that promise. But for now, I’m going to take them upstairs so that you and your sister can relax and catch up.”

Regan smiled her thanks as he exited the room with the babies, Baxter following closely on his heels, then she turned back to her sister. “When did you get in? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“I got in a few hours ago, I had a sandwich on the plane and, since you asked, I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea to go with the cookies I picked up at The Daily Grind on the way from the airport, but I can make it.”

“You stopped for cookies?”

“I made Spencer stop for cookies,” Brie explained. “Because he picked me up from the airport. And because oatmeal chocolate chip are my favorite, too.”

“Now I really want a cookie,” Regan admitted. “But I no longer have the excuse of pregnancy cravings to indulge.”

“Nursing moms need extra calories, too,” her sister pointed out.

“In that case, what kind of tea do you want with your cookies?” she asked, already heading toward the kitchen.

Brie nudged her toward a chair at the table. “Your husband told you to relax.”

“Making tea is hardly a strenuous task,” Regan noted.

“Then it’s one I should be able to handle.” Her sister filled the electric kettle with water and plugged it in. “Where do you keep your mugs?”

“The cupboard beside the sink. Tea’s on the shelf above the mugs.”

Brie opened the cupboard and read the labels. “Spicy chai, pure peppermint, decaffeinated Earl Grey, honey lemon, country peach, blueberry burst, cranberry and orange, vanilla almond, apple and pear, and soothing chamomile.” She glanced at her sister. “That’s a lot of tea.”

“I was a coffee addict,” Regan confided. “The contents of that cupboard reflect my desperate effort to find something to take its place.”

“Anything come close?” her sister wondered.

She shook her head. “But I’m thinking the vanilla almond would probably go well with the cookies.”

“That works for me,” Brie said, setting the box and two mugs on the counter.

Connor walked into the kitchen then, a baby monitor in hand. “Baxter missed his morning w-a-l-k so I’m going to take him out now, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Regan assured him. “But why are you spelling?”

“Because you know how crazy he gets when I say the word.”

Regan did know. In fact, Connor didn’t even have to say the word; he only had to reach for the leash that hung on a hook by the door and Baxter went nuts—spinning in circles and yipping his excitement. But today the dog was nowhere to be found.

Brielle took a couple of steps back and peered up the staircase her brother-in-law had descended. “Is that first door the babies’ room?”

“It’s the master bedroom,” Connor said, following her gaze. “But we’ve got the babies’ bassinets set up in there for now.”

“He’s stretched out on the floor in front of the door,” Brie said to Regan, so that her sister didn’t have to get up to see what everyone else was seeing.

“And you were worried that he might be jealous of the babies,” Regan remarked to her husband.

“He was abandoned when I found him,” Connor explained. “So I had no idea if he’d ever been around kids or how he’d behaved with them if he had.”

“What kind of dog is he?” Brie asked.

“A mutt,” Connor said.

“A puggle,” Regan clarified. “Though Connor refuses to acknowledge he has a designer dog.”

“He has no papers, which makes him a mutt,” her husband insisted.

“A puggle is part pug, part...beagle?” Brie guessed.

Her sister nodded.

“That might explain why he’s already so protective of the babies,” Brie said. “Beagles are pack animals, and Piper and Poppy are now part of his pack.”

“Say that five times fast,” Regan teased. “And since when do you know so much about dogs?”

“I don’t,” her sister said. “But for a few months last year, I dated a vet who had a beagle. And a dachshund and a Great Dane.”

“That’s an eclectic assortment,” Connor noted.

“He had three cats, too.”

“Wait a minute,” Regan said. “I’m still stuck on the fact that you dated this guy for a few months and I never heard anything about him until right now.”

“Because there was nothing to tell,” her sister said.

“Baxter,” Connor called, obviously preferring to walk rather than hear about his sister-in-law’s dating exploits.

The dog obediently trotted down the stairs, though he hesitated at the bottom. His tail wagged when Connor held up the leash, but he turned his head to glance back at where the babies were sleeping.

“Piper and Poppy will be fine,” Connor promised. “Their mommy and Auntie Brie will be here if they need anything while we’re out.”

Of course, the dog probably didn’t understand what his master was saying, but he seemed reassured enough to let Connor hook the leash onto his collar.

“I won’t be too long,” Connor said, then reached across the counter to flip the switch on the kettle.

Brie looked at her sister. “How long were you going to let me wait for the water to boil before telling me that there was a switch?”

“Only a little while longer.”

Connor chuckled as he led Baxter to the door.

“So tell me when and how you met the hunky deputy,” Brie said, as she poured the finally boiling water into the mugs.

“I’ve known Connor since high school. He was a year ahead of me, but we were in the same math class because I accelerated through some of my courses.”

“I remember now,” Brie said. “He was a scrawny guy with a surly attitude who you tutored in calculus.”

She was grateful her sister didn’t refer to him as the bastard kid of “Faithless Faith”—a cruel nickname that had followed Connor’s mother to her grave. Regan had never met Faith Neal—later Faith Parrish—but she knew of her reputation.

In her later years, Faith had been a hardworking single mom devoted to her two sons, but people still remembered her as a wild teenager who’d snuck out after curfew, hung with a bad crowd and smoked cigarettes and more.

Some people believed she was desperately looking for the love she’d never known at home. Others were less charitable in their assessment and made her the punchline to a joke. If a man suffered any kind of setback, such as the loss of a job or the breakup of a relationship, others would encourage him to “Have Faith.” That advice was usually followed by raucous laughter and the rejoinder: “Everyone else in town has had her.”

“He sure did fill out nicely,” Brie remarked now. “Was it those broad shoulders that caught your eye? Or the sexy dent in his square chin? Because I’m guessing it wasn’t his kitchen decor.”

Regan reached into the bakery box for a cookie. “This room is an eyesore, isn’t it?”

“Or are white melamine cupboards with red plastic handles retro-chic?”

“Connor’s saving up to renovate.”

“Saving up?” Brie echoed, sounding amused. “I guess that means he didn’t marry you for your money.”

“He married me because I was pregnant,” Regan told her. Because when a bride gave birth six months after the ring was put on her finger, what was the point in pretending otherwise?

“Well, if you had to get knocked up, at least it was by a guy who was willing to do the right thing.”

“Hmm,” Regan murmured in apparent agreement.

Brie broke off a piece of cookie. “I would have come home for your wedding, if you’d asked.”

“We eloped in Reno,” Regan told her.

“Doesn’t that count as a wedding?”

She shook her head. “Weddings take time to plan, and I didn’t want to be waddling down the aisle.”

“I’m sure you didn’t waddle,” her sister said loyally.

“I showed you my belly when we Facetimed, so you know I was huge. I was waddling before the end of my fifth month.”

“Well, you were carrying two babies,” Brie acknowledged. She chewed on another bite of cookie before she asked, “What did the folks think about your elopement?”

“They were surprisingly supportive. Or maybe just grateful that their second and third grandchildren wouldn’t be born out of wedlock.”

Their first was Spencer’s daughter, but he hadn’t even known about Dani’s existence until her mother was killed in an accident. He’d given up his career on the rodeo circuit to assume custody, then moved back to Haven with his little girl and fallen in love with Kenzie Atkins, who had been Brielle’s BFF in high school.

“They were a lot less happy to learn that I was pregnant,” Regan confided to her sister now. “Dad’s exact words were, ‘And you were supposed to be the smart one.’”

Brie winced. “That’s harsh. Although it’s true that you’re the smart one.”

“They don’t let dummies into Columbia,” Regan pointed out.

“True,” her sister said again. “But no one I met at Columbia is as smart as you.” She selected another cookie from the box. “What did Mom say?”

“You know Mom,” Regan said. “Always practical and looking for the solution to a problem.”

Brie’s expression darkened. “Because a baby is a problem to be solved and not a miracle to be celebrated.”

“I like to think they were happy about the babies but concerned about my status in town as an unwed mother,” Regan said, though even she wasn’t convinced it was true. “You know how people here like to gossip.”

“And then Connor stepped up to ensure the legitimacy of his babies and all was right in the world?” Brie asked, her tone dubious.

“Well, Dad was happy that Connor had done the right thing—at least, from his perspective. Mom made no secret of the fact that she thinks Connor and I aren’t well-suited.”

“How about you?” Brie asked. “Are you happy with the way everything turned out?”

“I never thought I could be this happy,” Regan responded sincerely. Not that her marriage was perfect, but she was confident that she’d made the right choice for her babies—and hopeful that it would prove to be the right choice for her and her husband, too.

“I’m glad.”

It was the tone rather than the words that tripped Regan’s radar. “So why don’t you sound glad?” she asked her sister.

Brie shrugged. “I guess I’m just thinking about the fact that everyone around me seems to be having babies,” she explained. “Two of my colleagues are off on mat leave right now, a third is due at the end of the summer and another just announced that she’s expecting.”

“That’s a lot of babies. But still, you’re a little young for your biological clock to be ticking already,” Regan noted.

“I’m not in any rush,” Brie said. “But I do hope that someday I’ll have everything you’ve got—a husband who loves me and the babies we’ve made together. Although I’d be happier if they came one at a time.”

Regan managed a smile, despite the tug of longing in her own heart—and the twinge of guilt that she wasn’t being completely honest with her sister. “I have no doubt that your time will come.”

“Maybe. But until then, I’ll be happy to dote on your beautiful babies.”

“You’d be able to dote a lot more if you didn’t live twenty-five hundred miles away,” she felt compelled to point out.

“I know,” her sister acknowledged. “I love New York, my job, my coworkers and all the kids. And I have a great apartment that I share with wonderful friends. But there are times when I miss being here. When I miss you and Kenzie and—well, I miss you and Kenzie.”

Regan’s smile came more easily this time. “So come home,” she urged.

Brie shook her head. “There’s one elementary school in Haven and it already has a kindergarten teacher.”

“That’s what’s holding you back?” Regan asked skeptically. “A lack of job opportunities?”

“It’s a valid consideration,” her sister said. Then, when she heard a sound emanate from the monitor, “Is that one of my nieces that I hear now?”

Regan chuckled, even as her breasts instinctively responded to the sound of the infant stirring. “You know, most people don’t celebrate the sound of a baby crying,” she remarked.

“But doting aunts are always happy to help with snuggles and cuddles.”

“And diaper changes?”

“Whatever you need,” Brie promised.

Chapter Three

As soon as Connor and Baxter stepped outside, the dog put his nose to the ground and set off, eager to explore all the sights and smells. They had a specific route that they walked in the mornings and a different, longer route they usually followed later in the day. At the end of the street, Baxter instinctively turned east, to follow the longer route.

“We’re doing the short route this afternoon,” he said. Although he enjoyed their twice-daily walks almost as much as the dog, he didn’t want to leave Regan for too long on her first day back from the hospital.

He knew it was silly, especially considering that her sister was there to help with anything she might need help with. But Connor was the one who’d been with her through every minute of twenty-two hours of labor and for most of the eight days since, and he was feeling protective of the new mom and babies—and maybe a little proprietary.

Baxter gave him a look that, on a human, might have been disapproving, but the dog obediently turned in the opposite direction.

Connor started to jog, hoping to compensate for the abbreviated course with more intense exercise. Baxter trotted beside him, tongue hanging out of his mouth, tail wagging.

He lifted a hand in response to Cal Thompson’s wave and nodded to Sherry Witmer, who was carrying an armload of groceries into her house. It had taken some time, but he was finally beginning to feel as if he was part of the community he’d moved into three years earlier.

There were still some residents who pretended they didn’t see him when he walked by. People like Joyce Cline, the retired music teacher whose disapproval of “that no-good Neal boy” went back to his days in high school. And Rick Beamer, whose daughter Connor had gone out with exactly twice, more than a dozen years earlier.

But he was pleased to note that the Joyce Clines and Rick Beamers were outnumbered in the neighborhood. The day that Connor moved in, he’d barely started to unpack when Darlene and Ron Grassley were at his door to introduce themselves—and to give him a tray of stuffed peppers. An hour later, Lois Barkowsky had stopped by with a plate of homemade brownies—assuring him that they weren’t the “funny kind,” even though recreational marijuana use was now legal in Nevada. He told her that he was aware of the law and thanked her for the goodies.

Over the next few weeks, he’d gotten to know most of the residents of Larrea Street. When he’d taken in Baxter and started walking on a regular basis, he’d met several more who lived in the surrounding area.

Estela Lopez was one of those people, and as he and Baxter turned onto Chaparral Street, they saw the older woman coming toward them. At seventy-nine years of age, she kept herself active, walking every morning before breakfast and every evening after supper—and apparently also at other times in between.

“Oh, this is a treat,” she said, clearly delighted to see them.

In response to the word treat, Baxter immediately assumed the “sit” position and waited expectantly. She chuckled and reached into the pocket of her coat for one of the many biscuits she always had on hand. Baxter gobbled up the offering.

An avid dog lover who’d had to say goodbye to her seventeen-year-old Jack Russell the previous winter, Estela worried that she wasn’t able-bodied enough to take on the responsibility of another animal. Instead, she gave her love and doggy biscuits to the neighborhood canines who wandered by.

“How are you doing, Mrs. Lopez?” Connor asked her.

“I’m eager to see pictures of your girls,” the old woman told him.

Connor dutifully pulled out his phone. “They came home today.”

“Eight days later.” She shook her head. “I remember when they kicked you out of the hospital after only a day or two. Of course, most people couldn’t afford to stay any longer than that.”

Which they both knew wasn’t a concern for his wife, whose family had not only paid the hospital bill but made a significant donation to the maternity ward as a thank you to the staff for their care of Regan and the twins.

He opened the screen and scrolled through numerous images of Piper and Poppy—a few individual snaps of each girl, others of them together and a couple with their mom.

“Oh, my, they are so precious,” Estela proclaimed. “And Regan doesn’t look like she labored for twenty-something hours.”

“Twenty-two,” Connor said. “And she did. And she was a trouper.”

“You’re a lucky man, Deputy Neal.”

“I know it,” he assured her.

Baxter nudged her leg with his nose, as if to remind her of his presence. She obligingly reached down and scratched behind his ears.

“I heard your sister-in-law made a surprise visit from New York City.”

“Well, there’s obviously nothing wrong with your hearing,” Connor teased.

“I was at The Daily Grind, having coffee with Dolores Lorenzo, when she stopped in to pick up a dozen oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,” Estela confided.

“Regan’s favorite.”

“I almost didn’t recognize her—Brielle, I mean,” Estela clarified. “Of course, she’s only been back a few times since she moved out East—it’s gotta be about seven years ago, I’d guess. And even when she came back for Spencer and Kenzie’s wedding, she only stayed a couple of days.”

“She’s only here for a few days now, too,” Connor noted.

“Is she staying with you or at that fancy house up on the hill?”

That fancy house up on the hill was the description frequently ascribed to the three-story stone-and-brick mansion owned by his in-laws. The street was called Miners’ Pass, and it was the most exclusive—and priciest—address in town.

“With us,” he said. “She wants to spend as much time as possible with Regan and the twins.”

“Of course she does,” Estela agreed. “I can’t wait to take a peek at the little darlings myself, but I’ll give your wife some time to settle in first. Although my kids are all grown-up now—and most of my grandkids, too—I remember how stressful it was in those early days, trying to respond to all the new demands of motherhood—and I only had to deal with one baby at a time.”

“Regan would love to see you,” Connor said. “Especially after she’s had a chance to catch up on her rest.”

“Well, I’m not waiting until the twins’ second birthday,” she told him, sneaking another biscuit out of her pocket for Baxter.

“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be that long before Piper and Poppy sleep through the night.”

“Probably not,” she acknowledged. “But dealing with the needs of infants requires a special kind of endurance—which I don’t have anymore, so I’m going to get these weary bones of mine inside where it’s warm.”

“You do that,” he said.

She started up the drive toward her house, then paused to turn back. “But don’t let those babies exhaust all your energy—” she cautioned, with a playful wink “—because new moms have needs that require attention, too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Connor promised, then he waited to ensure his old neighbor was safely inside before heading on his way again.

But the truth was, if his wife had any such needs, Connor would likely be the last to know. Although he and Regan presented themselves as happy newlyweds whenever they were in public together, they mostly lived separate lives behind closed doors. Sure, it was an unorthodox arrangement for expectant parents, but it had worked for them.

Until his brother came home for the Christmas holidays.

Because, of course, Deacon expected to sleep in his own room. He had no reason to suspect that his brother’s marriage wasn’t a love match—although he was undoubtedly smart enough to realize that his sister-in-law’s rapidly expanding belly was the reason they’d married in such a hurry—and Connor didn’t ever want him to know the truth.

So for the sixteen days—and fifteen nights—that his brother was home, Connor moved his belongings back into the master bedroom to maintain the charade that his and Regan’s marriage was a normal one.

The days hadn’t really been a problem—especially as Regan continued to work her usual long hours in the finance department at Blake Mining. But the nights, when Connor was forced to share a bed with his wife, were torture.

He made a valiant effort to stay on his side of the mattress, to ignore the fragrant scent of her hair spread out over the pillow next to his own, and the soft, even sound of breath moving in and out of her lungs, causing her breasts to rise and fall in a steady rhythm. But it was impossible to pretend she wasn’t there, especially when she tossed and turned so frequently.

She apologized to him for her restlessness, acknowledging that it was becoming more and more difficult to find a comfortable position as her belly grew rounder. Connor knew she was self-conscious about her “babies bump,” but he honestly thought she looked amazing. He knew it was a common belief that all pregnant women were beautiful, though he’d never paid much attention to expectant mothers before he married Regan. But he couldn’t deny that his pregnant wife was stunning.

Of course, he’d always believed she was beautiful—and maybe a little intimidating in her perfection. In addition to the inches on her waistline, pregnancy had added a natural glow to her cheeks and warmth to her smile, making her look softer and more approachable. And as the weeks turned into months, Connor realized that he was in danger of falling for the woman he’d married.

During one of those endlessly long nights that his brother was home, Connor pretended to be asleep so that Regan would relax and sleep, too. But he froze when he heard her breath catch, then slowly release.

“Are you okay?” he asked, breaking the silence as he rolled over to face her.

“I’m fine,” she said. Then she took his hand and pressed it against the curve of her belly.

He was so startled by the impulsive gesture, he nearly pulled his hand away. But then he felt it—a subtle nudge against his palm. Then another nudge.