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Now all those things faded to background worries as shock took precedence. He stared at his father, wondering if he’d heard him wrong. Maybe he’d fallen asleep and just dreamed it. “Did you just say you might have been wrong?”
His father glared at him. “Don’t expect to be hearing it again any time soon.”
He sipped the tea, his third cup, and for just a moment Caleb wondered what sorts of herbs Selene had put into it, and whether they were fully legal.
“That woman, the mother with the onion name…”
“Vidalia,” Caleb corrected.
“That’s right Vidalia. She’s tough. I gave her my worst and she didn’t even flinch. Most females would’ve been weeping.” He puckered his lips in thought, rubbed his chin. “I like that about her. If your Maya has any of her mother’s gumption, she might just make you a decent wife. She doesn’t know how to dress or act, and that hair will have to go, but all that can be corrected. She seems bright enough to learn as she goes. I suppose she has all the raw material to be molded and shaped into—”
“I don’t want her molded or shaped into anything, Father. I like the way she dresses, and I like the way she acts, and I’d fight any man who tried to get near her hair with a pair of scissors.”
His father’s brows went up, and he studied his son’s face. “She’ll never survive in our world as she is, son. She’ll have to change, adapt to it.”
Caleb looked away, because he didn’t want to argue with his father. Not tonight. Not when that statement made so much sense, even if nothing else his father said tonight had. His world would be difficult for Maya. Maybe impossible for her.
But he wasn’t even clear on things in his own mind just yet. No, there was no sense upsetting his father by arguing with him, especially when the old man wasn’t feeling up to par.
“How…er…are the babies?” his father asked, his tone gruff.
For the second time tonight the old man had surprised him. Caleb got to his feet and walked to the fireplace, bent to toss a log onto the flames and stayed there, hunkered down as it began to burn. “The doctor says they’re both fine and strong. No sign of any problems.”
“You’re worried, though.”
Turning, he looked at his father over his shoulder. “Hell, yes, I’m worried. They’re twins. Like I was…like you were.” He felt too much showing in his eyes, so he jerked his head around, focused on the flames again.
He heard his father get up, heard his steps but didn’t turn. A hot tear burned behind Caleb’s eye, but he blinked against it. Then a hand fell on his shoulder. “I’ve been there, you know.”
Caleb’s brows came together. Stunned, he turned to look at his father.
“It’s like a nightmare, where you can only watch what happens, but you can’t move to stop it, or do a damn thing to help. You feel the dread right down deep in your gut, but you’re paralyzed.”
Blinking, Caleb said, “That’s exactly what it feels like.”
“I know.” Lowering his head, shaking it, his father went on. “We knew there were problems with one of you long before the time for the birthing came, son. The doctors felt all along that one of the twins was not developing at a normal rate.” He lowered his head. “It felt like a personal insult to me. Hell, man, I never failed at anything before! And when your mother didn’t make it, either…Caleb, I was never the same. I felt responsible. If not me, then who? I was her husband. I was supposed to protect her, take care of her.”
Caleb rose slowly. “So you blamed me for it.”
Meeting his son’s eyes, Cain nodded. “Maybe…maybe a part of me did, son. That’s true. But that ended long, long ago. Since then it’s just been…a spin.”
“A spin?”
Cain nodded. “All my rubbish about the strong surviving, the weak falling by the wayside, sacrifice for the greater good. Hell it was how I dealt with the loss. By putting a spin on it. By pretending it was a sign of strength. Because if I could make myself believe that about you and the brother you never had, then maybe I could make it true about myself and my brother, as well.” He clasped Caleb’s shoulder hard. “But it’s not true and never was. Your twin didn’t survive because he didn’t develop normally. As for my own, I’ll probably never know. But that doesn’t mean these twins of Maya’s have to suffer the same fate, son. If they’re both strong and healthy this late in the game, then chances are—”
“They’re going to be fine. Both of them. They have to be.”
His father drew a breath, sighed. “My great-grandmother had twins, and both survived. Did you know that?”
“No.”
They stood side by side now, both staring at the fire. “Maya, she’s strong. Healthy. Comes from good stock, if that harridan mother of hers is any indication,” Cain told his son.
Caleb nodded. “The woman gave birth five times without problems,” he said.
“That’s good. That bodes well.” Cain didn’t turn. He said, “Your mother used to quilt. Did I ever tell you that?”
Caleb looked at him in surprise.
