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Bryn and Jesse sat side by side with the bigger kids, their arms around each other’s shoulders. Bryn’s hair was in pigtails…Jesse’s blond head gleamed in the morning sun. All five children looked healthy, happy and carefree.
When Allen wasn’t looking, Bryn took the photo and slipped it in her pocket. Soon, very soon, she’d tell him about his father. And she wouldn’t lie, if possible. There were plenty of good memories to share.
She flipped the pages…showing Allen a montage of county rodeos, family Christmases, impromptu picnics on the ranch…all chaperoned by a much younger Mac. Allen drank it all in with avid interest.
The final album was smaller than the rest. Inside the front cover was a faded Post-it note in Mac’s handwriting that read For Bryn. Every photo inside was of her parents, sometimes together, sometimes smiling alone for the camera, many times holding their little girl.
She touched one picture she barely remembered. “That’s my mom and dad,” she said softly. “I wish you could have known them. But they died a long time before you were born.”
A frown creased Allen’s small forehead. “Did my daddy die, too? Is that why he doesn’t live with us?”
The question came out of the blue and took her breath away. Allen had never once asked about his father. Bryn had been prepared for some time now to launch into an explanation when Allen seemed old enough to understand, but until today, he’d never questioned their nontraditional family.
She had lain many nights, sleepless, wondering how to explain to a small child that his father didn’t want him. Now she didn’t have to.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, desperately wanting to point to a photo of Jesse and say, “That was your dad.” But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until things were settled.
“Yes,” she said simply. “Your father died. But he loved you very much.” Perhaps God would forgive her for the lie. A son needed to know that his father thought the world of him. Even if it wasn’t true.
In the way of five-year-olds, Allen suddenly lost interest in the past. “Can we go see the puppies now?” he asked, wheedling in every syllable of his childish plea.
“You bet.” She laughed. “I’ll get Julio to bring them up from the barn.”
Lunch was a scattered affair. Bryn and Allen took sandwiches out into the sunshine to eat, spreading a quilt on the ground and enjoying their alfresco meal. It had been a long, hard winter in Minnesota, and the spring warmth was too appealing to resist. But by one o’clock, Allen was flagging. Bryn turned him over to Beverly and the nurse.
When she left her son’s bedroom, Trent appeared suddenly in the hallway, his expression somber. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, her stomach flip-flopping with nerves. “Yes.”
One of the ranch hands insisted on helping Bryn saddle her horse, though she could have done it on her own. Trent mounted a beautiful stallion and waited for her to put a foot in the stirrup and leap astride the gentle mare assigned to her. She was self-conscious about Trent watching her, but she managed not to embarrass herself.
They rode side by side in silence, crossing a meadow bursting with flowers and sporting new green in every shade. Trent had rolled up Bryn and Allen’s luncheon quilt and tied it to the back of his saddle. He’d also brought along a couple of canteens of fresh water.
When they reached the creek, Trent helped her dismount and tied both animals to trees so the horses could eat and drink as needed. He spread the faded blanket and dropped the canteens to anchor the fabric against the capricious breeze.
Nearby, the crystal-clear, frigid water burbled gently over smooth stones that were as old as the mountains themselves. Trent faced her, his expression unreadable.
The breeze tossed her hair in her face. She took a rubber band from her pocket and bound the flyaway mess at the base of her neck. “Where do we start?” she asked. The calm in her voice was a complete fabrication. Her knees were the consistency of jelly, and her heart fluttered in her chest.
Trent took one step in her direction. “With this,” he said gruffly. He took her in his arms, and instantly her fear and anxiety melted away to be replaced by heat and certainty. It was a homecoming, a benediction, a warm, wicked claiming.
