mountains displayed like a fine-art painting through the wall of windows; a glowing Cat Davenport holding her sleeping four-month-old son, Johnny, in her arms; and Sarah Murphy, sprawled in an overstuffed easy chair, her feet propped up on an ottoman, a grumpy scowl on her face, and a baby belly so big that Hope wondered if she might be having a litter rather than a single baby boy.
“Sarah, you look beautiful,” Hope told her.
“You are a liar, Hope Montgomery, but I appreciate the effort.”
“How do you feel, darling?” Celeste asked.
“Fat. Grouchy. Ugly. Fat. My back hurts. I haven’t seen my feet in weeks. My so-called friend and neonatologist tells me I could go another week, curse her black heart.”
The physician in question, Sage Rafferty, rolled her eyes. “I’m not your doctor, Sarah. I gave you my personal opinion, not my professional one.”
Sarah pouted, then turned to Nic. “Sage is right. I should have asked you instead of her. You’re a vet. I’m a cow. When should I head for the barn and lie down on the straw? Or would I stand up? Do cows have their babies lying down or standing up?”
“Mother,” Lori Murphy chastised, her expression long-suffering. “Just stop it. The baby is healthy and you are healthy and you look lovely.”
“Your father called me a whale!”
As one, the women in the room gasped.
“No, he didn’t.” Lori explained to the others, “He called her a great white because she’d just bitten his head off for accidentally sloshing coffee onto the kitchen floor.”
“It was clean. I want a clean house when I go into labor. But I shouldn’t have snapped at him, and he spoke the truth. Big fish, big bovine … what’s the difference? I’m fat! I wanted this baby very much, but why couldn’t I have a little bump like Cat had? I’m bigger than Nic was and she had twins! I’m a blimp and I’m ugly and I’m too old to be doing this. What woman has her first and second children more than twenty years apart? I can’t do this!”
Hope blinked. Was the normally confident, composed Sarah Murphy sliding toward the edge?
“Sure, you can.” Nic Callahan crossed the room to sit on the arm of Sarah’s chair. “And I thought this was supposed to be a baby shower, not a pity party.”
Sarah’s lips quirked. “Can’t it be both? I’m a hundred and twelve months pregnant.”
“I’ll bet you didn’t sleep last night, did you?”
“Not much. Between the heartburn and his constant kicking and the fact he has his butt right on top of my bladder … and his father snores!”
“You’ve never done well when you’re short on sleep.”
“Newborns don’t sleep. I’m going to be a terrible mother.”
“You’re a wonderful mother,” Lori protested. “The best. And this time, Cam will be around to help.”
Sarah sniffed. “I love you, Lori. And I love your father and my friends. I love our baby. I have a wonderful life. I don’t know why I’m being such a witch.”
“It’s the late-pregnancy hormones,” Sage said.
“I hope it is hormones and not the new me. But my emotions are a mess. I’m happy and excited, but I’m also anxious and nervous and worried. At sixteen I was too young and stupid to know what the deal was. Now, I know what it means to parent and I’m scared to death.”
“Of course you are,” Nic said. “That’s normal.”
“She’s right,” Ali Timberlake chimed in. “Every mother-to-be is a little bit afraid.”
You should be afraid, Hope thought, though she wouldn’t dream of speaking the warning aloud.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Sarah.” Cat took a seat in a wooden rocking chair, then shifted her infant son to lie against her shoulder. “What you have to remember is that the risk and worry are worth it because the reward is so great.”
“Excellent advice,” Sage Rafferty said. “On that note, I say we get down to business.” She made a flourishing gesture toward a table piled high with gifts. “Presents!”
Sarah’s eyes went misty. “There’s a mountain of them. You guys went crazy.”
“A little,” Celeste admitted. “But it’s so much fun to buy for babies.”
“At the rate we’re reproducing, someone should open a children’s store in town,” Nic observed.
“Is that an announcement?” Gabi asked.
“Bite your tongue,” Nic responded as Ali handed Sarah the first gift to open.
Hope enjoyed the afternoon. She liked these women and she appreciated the way they welcomed newcomers into their circle of friendship with such genuine pleasure. She didn’t know if it was a small-town thing or particular to Eternity Springs, but either way, she felt as if she had found the people who were meant to be in her life and the home she was meant to have.
She’d found a new life, a good life, to replace the one that had been stolen away from her.
And when she watched Sarah Murphy ooh and ahh over three-month-sized overalls and took her turn cuddling little Johnny Davenport, she reminded herself to be thankful for what she had. Positive thinking took work, but Hope knew that it was work worth doing. Negative thoughts could be dangerous and destructive and lead a person to consider dangerous, destructive acts. She knew that firsthand.
The memory of one particular bleak afternoon floated through her mind, and as always, she gave thanks for the ember of hope within her that continued to burn even today.
Because sometimes, dreams come true. Sometimes an infertile couple had their little Johnny, she thought as she gazed down into the precious face of the cooing baby in her arms. When Sarah opened a hand-knitted baby blanket and burst into tears, it proved that sometimes long-lost lovers returned to create the family that had been meant to be.
So, why couldn’t it happen to her, too? She couldn’t live her life in a constant state of waiting amid misery and depression, floating in the numbness of prescription pain killers. But if she kept her thoughts positive, continued to put one foot in front of the other, and move forward on this road of life, well, then, who was to say she couldn’t have her own miracle some day?
Jack and Cat Davenport had their new son. Cam and Sarah Murphy were married and awaiting their second child. Maybe someday she would get her miracle, too. Maybe someday, Holly would come home to her.
Sometimes, kidnapped children were found. Sometimes, miracles did happen.
THREE
“If he was like this in Mexico, it’s a miracle he’s still alive,” Zach Turner said.
At the sound of the sheriff’s familiar voice, Lucca scowled and pulled the pillow over his head. Apparently his bedroom door wasn’t shut, because the pillow didn’t muffle nearly enough.
“I wonder if that’s the problem, Zach,” his sister stated, a grim note to her voice.
She continued, “Right now, however, his problems have become our problem. We can get by without arresting him once, but if he does this again, we won’t be able to avoid it.”
Lucca tugged the pillow away from his face and pried open his eyes. Whoa, the room was bright. He snapped his eyelids shut, and it took a few seconds for the image of what he’d seen to sink into his brain. Bars. And not the wooden kind with beer taps and cardboard coasters, either. Cell bars. Jail bars. He wasn’t in his bedroom. He’d woken up in jail. Again.
He heard keys jangle, a lock release, and hinges creak. A familiar female voice said, “Lucca Ryan Romano, you smell like a goat. Wake up.”
“Son, do you hear me?”
