Page 57 of Cruelest Contract (Storm’s Eye Ranch)

CECILIA

E ver since she arrived at the ranch yesterday, there’s no stopping Alice from petting my belly like it’s the head of a golden retriever.

“I felt another kick,” she insists with a squeal.

“That was my digestive tract,” I inform her. “Lunch is going down a little rough.”

She throws me a pouty look and then speaks directly to my stomach. “Auntie Alice hears you. And I love you so much already.”

After giving my swollen middle another gentle pat, she rolls away and sits up in the grass with thoughtful eyes pointed at the distant mountains. “Why didn’t I bring my sketchbook? These October colors are unreal. I’m going to cry when it’s time to return to the desert.”

I rub a hand over my belly, which now stretches the fabric of my dress. My fault. I’ve put off buying maternity clothes and now it’s practically a crisis. “Then the only solution is for you to stay forever.”

She tosses her light curls and leans back on her palms. “Unfortunately, I promised my students I wouldn’t do anything outrageous over fall break, like run off and join the circus. Getting seduced by Wyoming probably falls under the outrageous category.”

“How about getting seduced by a pro hockey player?” Tye appears out of nowhere and flops down in the grass next to her. “It would give you bragging rights in the teacher’s lounge for a decade.”

Alice looks him over. “You retired from hockey, didn’t you?”

He rolls his head to the side and gives her an adorable grin. “My career was cut short. I’m still sad. If only some pretty girl would sit on my face and console me.”

“Don’t give up,” Alice says. “Eventually you’ll find one who is bored and desperate enough to oblige.”

“Alice.” He drapes a muscled arm over his face with a husky laugh. His cowboy hat has already fallen off. “Why don’t you love me, Alice?”

She ignores him and nudges my shoulder. “Let’s talk about names. You haven’t even dropped a hint and now you need to pick two of them. I’m sure you have a list.”

For once, I really don’t have a list. Every time I start one it feels wrong because I shouldn’t be making the list alone. “Not yet. I’m struggling with creative block.”

“Doesn’t Julian have any suggestions?” Alice asks the question carefully and examines my face.

Nearby, Tye lifts his arm and peers at me.

“A few,” I reply airily, which isn’t true. Julian hasn’t offered a single baby name idea. I smooth the fabric of my dress over my bad knee.

My best friend’s smile contains some pity. “He’s probably still in shock that there are two baking in that oven instead of one.”

“There’s plenty of shock to go around,” I say with forced cheer.

Not a lie. I was completely stunned when last week’s ultrasound showed that Twin B had been hiding behind Twin A.

Julian wasn’t even there to hear this news.

Instead, I was chauffeured to my appointment in Laramie by Tye and Getty with an entourage of Sonny’s men following in a separate vehicle.

At my request, Mel came along too. She stayed in the room with me and held my hand while the doctor explained the increased risks of a twin pregnancy.

The doctor assured me that I’m in good health but I will need to be monitored more closely.

The babies, both boys, will almost certainly arrive before my due date in March.

I wonder if Julian will be here for the birth. Maybe. Maybe not.

But I force down the tide of apprehension in case it shows up on my face. Breathe in. Breathe out. I can do this.

Of course Julian was happy about the twins when I told him over the phone.

He wanted to know every detail and doubled down on his efforts to ensure that I’d want for nothing.

The following day, a gigantic bouquet of pink roses was delivered to me.

There were so many that I divided them into three vases.

The card was a small white square and the message was curt.

For my beautiful wife. Regards, Julian.

He didn’t sign ‘With Love’. He never does. He never uses the word ‘Love’ at all. This bothers me too much.

With no warning, a bubbly sensation rolls through my abdomen. The feeling is not unpleasant. Quite the opposite. It won’t be long before I feel the thumps of little limbs on the outside. An abrupt surge of protectiveness is both aggressive and bittersweet.

The desperate yearning for my mother never disappears.

At times over the years it recedes to the background but these days I feel the loss more acutely than ever.

She had a difficult pregnancy with me and Gabe.

I’d love to know more but there’s no one to ask.

Matthias would be the only one old enough to remember.

I have his number now and a few times I’ve been tempted to call him.

Then I flash back to the cold glare of the man who stormed into my wedding.

I’m not sure how to have a conversation with that man.

I haven’t called Matthias. I doubt that I will.

Among the framed photos that used to hang on the wall in my parents’ old bedroom was one taken only a few weeks before Gabe and I were born.

My mother’s bright pink maternity top was hardly able to contain her belly but the smile on her face was radiant.

Eight-year-old Matthias stood at her side with a schoolboy grin that showed off his missing front teeth.

Angelo, just a toddler, was grumpily nestled in the crook of my father’s arm and my father’s other arm was curled around his wife.

I’ve searched for that photo among the stored stacks of my parents’ possessions. I’ve never found it.

Another fizzy sensation jerks me back to the present. My twins are restless. Each sign from their tiny bodies only increases my longing for their father.

I miss you, Julian.

An uneasy recollection flits through my mind.

Three months ago I watched from a window as Julian and his father fought on a summer morning.

Though I couldn’t hear their words, I got the impression the subject of their spat had something to do with me.

When Cass pulled back a fist and punched his son in the jaw, I gasped in shock.

Julian stood and faced his father with blood trickling out of his mouth, his muscles coiled.

In the end, Cass walked away. Julian watched his father go with wrath written into every tense line of his posture.

Then he glanced up at the window and saw I was watching.

His expression shuttered, turning inscrutable.

Later, he shrugged off the incident when I asked about it, as if getting punched in the middle of the yard by his father is nothing unusual.

But I know otherwise. Just like I know the shift between us began on that day.

Sometimes I try to convince myself that my imagination is working overtime.

On the surface, Julian is no different. He’s endlessly concerned with my well-being.

I can’t think of a single serious argument between us.

Sex is more gentle ever since the pregnancy but he always makes me feel desirable.

All of his promises to me have been kept.

Still, more than one reality can be true.

Julian and I don’t fight. Yet the void of unspoken words can be louder than the echoes of angry ones.

We were on the cusp of… something . A soulful, intimate connection that inspires poetry, composes music and writes the stories of history. I didn’t imagine that. Nor did I imagine how Julian is the one who subtly pulled back.

He just waited too long. I was already in love with him. Some switches can’t be turned off.

Now I’m stuck with this desperate, intense love for my husband. I’m pregnant with our twins. And he signs his letters to me as Regards, Julian.

Stifling a sigh that will surely draw attention, the nearby sound of Alice and Tye bantering back and forth vaguely penetrates my thoughts.

Alice is still raving about the scenery and planning how she’ll capture it on canvas while Tye generously offers his services as a model.

He says clothing can be optional. He insists his nudity renders any autumn scene more cozy and charming.

Their flirtation is cute and meaningless. Tye is incorrigible and Alice doesn’t take him seriously.

The sky is clear today and I’m told this temperature is warm for October.

When I arrived at Storm’s Eye Ranch, the trees were garnished with only the color green.

Now they are splashed with hues of red and orange as the end of their life cycle draws near.

Autumn is so pretty here and I know it won’t last. Seasons never do.

Soon enough the leaves will fall and the trees will be bare. Somehow I dread this.

Getty skulks on the perimeter of our informal gathering, silent and possibly eavesdropping as he casually flips his knife between his fingers.

I assumed he was still out riding with Fort.

From what I gathered by listening to earlier snatches of conversation, the two of them planned to check out some of the surveillance cameras around the ranch. I never even heard him return.

By now I’ve learned how to handle Getty and he doesn’t bother me anymore. It is unfortunate that he’s found a new temporary target in Alice. I do hope he doesn’t provoke her into inflicting The Treatment during her visit this week. I get the feeling Alice might be unprepared for his retaliation.

When he catches my eye, Getty smirks and sheaths the knife on his hip. In the background, Fort appears on horseback, crosses the meadow, and trots over to where Sonny waits with a couple of his men.

After a few words, Fort turns his horse toward the nearest stable. Sonny disappears around the back of the house and his men fan out to their regular posts. Julian has grown more strict about security, especially when he’s away. With Cass also gone this week, the men are more watchful than ever.

I’m accustomed to this feeling of being monitored but Alice isn’t. She sits up straight and eyes the menacing figures with suspicion.