Her Cowboy's Twin Blessings (Montana Twins Book 1)

she’d had to tear into a perfectly happy family. Birdie hated Ember because she’d only found out about her husband’s affair when Ember showed up after her mother’s death. Then Alistair had been forced to confess it all to his wife and kids. So in order for Ember to have a relationship with her dad, her half siblings had to learn the ugly truth that their father had cheated on their mother. In order for anyone to take a step forward, it felt like there was a cost to be paid by someone else. Hardly fair, but the way the world worked—only one person could “win” at a time.

Back then, when her mother died, Ember hadn’t been thinking clearly enough to consider consequences—the consequences of meeting her father...and of other things. She’d hated facing life on her own, and she’d had one surefire way to numb everything—parties.

So that fateful night during her second year of college, Ember sneaked out to a party, as she’d done so many times in the past. The next morning, she’d woken up in a confused fog on a strange couch, and missing some rather important articles of clothing. Had she done what she feared she’d done?

And she’d felt a flood of shame. Was this what she wanted for the rest of her life? A blur of alcohol and parties...flunking out of college, because she was too hungover to pay attention in class? Was this all she had to look forward to?

Ember had pulled together what she could find of her belongings and headed back to her dorm room. Sitting on the edge of her bed, her head spinning and her stomach churning from the drinking she’d done the night before, she realized that she wanted more...she wanted to be better. Not to impress her father, or punish him—but for herself! She wanted to turn her life around and belong to the one Father she could count on to never stop loving her. And she longed for forgiveness for whatever it was she’d done the night before that left her feeling so soiled and empty. Sitting on the edge of that dorm bed, she’d bowed her head and given her life—as muddled as it was—over to Jesus.

“...if You still want it,” she’d whispered.

Unknown to her in that moment, she was already pregnant. Her change of heart—her desire to be something better—had all come one night too late.

Behind her, one of the babies woke from his sleep, a hiccuping wail piercing the quiet. Ember pulled herself out of her memories and looked over her shoulder. Casey stood by the couch, a laundry basket filled with onesies, sleepers and tiny socks, and he dropped a onesie on top of a pile of folded laundry then headed for the cradle. Just then, the other baby let out a whimper.

“You want to give me a hand?” Casey asked, and Ember dried off.

“Sure.” She went to the other cradle and looked down into the scrunched little face. Will waved one tiny fist in the air, his lips quivering and tears welling in his eyes. She bent down and scooped him up, propping him up onto her shoulder. At a few weeks old, he was already bigger than her son had been the last time she’d seen him.

But Will didn’t settle. He sucked in great, heaving breaths and wailed with all his might. She tried changing his position, patting his back, rocking...and nothing seemed to work. Both babies cried their hearts out and Ember met Casey’s gaze with a panicked look of her own.

“What’s the matter with them?” she asked helplessly.

“This happens sometimes,” Casey said, raising his voice above the babies’ cries.

“What do you do?” she asked, looking down into that red, tear-streaked face of the tiny boy in her arms. She rocked back and forth, swinging her weight from one foot to the other in an instinctive sway. The cries paused for a moment, then started up again, as if the rocking had only been a mild surprise.

“Maybe they miss their mother,” Casey said, and Ember froze.

She swallowed, then adjusted Will up onto her shoulder once more so she had an excuse to turn away. Tears pricked her eyes, and she tried to swallow the lump that rose in her throat when she remembered that heart-wrenching cry that had erupted from her own son as his adoptive mother walked away with him.

It’s for the best, everyone said. She’d bestowed the gift of life by giving birth to him, and by placing him for adoption she was giving him a family that could provide him more than she could. But what if her baby boy had sobbed his little heart out while strangers tried to comfort him? What if that guttural, heartbroken wail had been her son’s only way to call for his mother?

And she’d never come.

This was why she shouldn’t be caring for infants—these memories that kept sweeping up and threatening to knock her down. She sucked in a wavering breath as she realized that Will was starting to settle. The baby’s cries were softer now, and as she swayed back and forth, his eyes were drifting shut. But Wyatt still wailed from Casey’s arms.

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” Casey said with a grin. Then he hesitated. “You okay?”

“Yep.” She nodded quickly, keeping up that swaying as her throat thickened with repressed emotion.

“I have a theory,” Casey said. Then he nodded to a La-Z-Boy chair in the corner. “Go sit down there—it rocks.”

Ember sank into the chair. Will’s howls had fully subsided now, and he buried his wet little face into her neck. He sucked in deep, trembling sighs. If this child was crying in hopes of calling his mama, how long would it be before he forgot her? How long before his tiny heart stopped yearning for the mother who would never come?

Casey eased the wailing Wyatt into her arms on the other side of her chest, and Wyatt sobbed out his grief. Will started to whimper again, and then