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He pulled into the driveway and parked the car. Corrie bustled out of the house. Relief brightened her dark features and a wide smile echoed his relief that Zeke was going to be all right. “There’s our boy! And doesn’t Cookie have all of your favorite foods waiting inside because we’re that excited to have you back! How are you doing?” She bent low to ask the question as Jace and Ben hurried their way.
But no Lizzie.
“My arm hurts.” Zeke climbed out of the car and leaned against Heath’s leg. He sounded tired. He looked tired, too. “And my head hurts. But not as much as yesterday,” he added. Then his profile brightened as he pointed inside. “Did Betsy have her puppies?” he asked. “That’s all I kept dreaming about in the hospital, a chance to see little puppies. Are they so very tiny?”
“Come see.”
Zeke swung about when he heard Lizzie’s voice and his face lit up when he saw her holding the back door open. “My Lizzie!”
Zeke raced her way, even though he’d been told no running for at least a few days. Obviously that didn’t count where Lizzie was concerned.
He threw his good arm around her. She cuddled him as if he was her own, and Heath’s heart thudded all over again. She’d never had the chance to hold their baby. Nurse him. Sing to him. Rock him. She’d never had a moment of that sweet time while he’d had the pleasure of Zeke by his side for years.
How bitter that must have seemed when she first arrived. And yet she’d shown nothing but kindness and caring to his son.
“You have to be quiet.” She put a finger to her lips as Heath moved their way. “Betsy is tired, but she’s being a very good mom and good moms like their babies looked after. So no loud noises, okay?”
“Okay.” He whispered the word, but then pumped Lizzie’s hand with his good one, clearly excited. “I can’t wait to see them!”
They crossed into the laundry room. Betsy was stretched out on a thick, old blanket with a row of puppies nuzzling along her side.
“They are so very itsy-bitsy!” Zeke’s voice started loud, then he reduced it, remembering. “I mean like the tiniest ever,” he whispered, as if shocked. “Lambs aren’t tiny like this.”
“Much bigger,” Heath agreed. He palmed his son’s head. “All animals are different.”
“They’re so cute, but how come none of them have curly hair like Betsy?” Zeke asked as he squatted low. He began to look up and couldn’t hide a slight wince.
Lizzie had squatted down alongside him. She saw the wince and smoothed a soft hand across his brow. “The curls will come,” Lizzie assured him. “As they get bigger. You can have more puppy time later,” she went on gently. “Go rest, and make Cookie feel good by sampling all the stuff he made just for you.”
The big cook came up behind them just then. “Hey, little man. Welcome home.” And when he gathered Zeke into his big, beefy arms, Heath realized something anew. Sean had built a community here on the ranch. People who cared and looked out for one another.
Now they needed to do the same for the town. But he didn’t want to face that task alone. He wanted—
Lizzie smiled as Cookie carried Zeke into the kitchen to tempt the boy with culinary delights. Then she turned, realized Heath was looking at her, and the smile faded.
What could he say to bring the smile back? To bridge a gap that stretched so wide?
Wishing he’d practiced the words on the long drive home, he stayed in the doorway. “The puppies are doing okay? They look really good, Liz.”
Chin down, she stroked Betsy with one hand. “These four seem fine. There was one that didn’t make it. So sweet. So perfect. But she never took a breath.”
He’d lost pups from the farm dogs before. Lambs, too. And each time he felt like he’d failed them somehow. “Liz—”
Regret drew her mouth down. She released a softly drawn breath as she continued to comfort the dog. “I buried her beneath the roses. I thought it would be a good spot.”
“A real good spot.” He ventured forward, unsure what to say, but knowing he had to say something, to open the conversation about their tiny son somehow. He drew closer, close enough to see the light shimmering along strands of her pretty hair. Close enough that a hint of vanilla and spice came his way. And then he restarted the conversation the only way he knew how, with an apology that came way too late, but was necessary, nonetheless. “I’m sorry, Liz.” He paused and took a breath around the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry we lost him. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. So sorry.”
