Reviews

"With My Husband, My Babies, Ms. Salonen shows readers everywhere that she might just be one of the most emotionally charged authors out there. After reading this book, Debra Salonen will surely make it on everyone's "Authors to Watch" list. This book is another keeper."

—Diana Tidlund, Writers Unlimited

"MY HUSBAND, MY BABIES was a unique story filled with many emotional struggles. Watching the characters evolve after such a tragedy is bound to tug at you heart. Debra Salonen pens a bittersweet love story with a fresh storyline and a love that stays with you long after the book is over. I am looking forward to reading Andrea's story next, book two in The Sullivan Sisters Trilogy."

—Tami Sutton, The Best Reviews

"While MY HUSBAND, MY BABIES could be regarded simply as a deeply moving love story, the complex relationships between husband, wife, sister, brother, mother and son create a truly unique tale. ...The first in a trilogy about the Sullivan sisters, MY HUSBAND, MY BABIES certainly made this reader eager for the release of the next installment. Highly recommended!"

—Anne Hayes Cleary, ReaderToReader.com

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Sam O’Neal grabbed his brother by the collar of his sage green brushed cotton shirt and pressed him up against the weathered siding of the Old Bordello Antique Shop. "She won’t look me in the eye," he growled, after making sure no one was near. "Why does your wife run out of the room every time I walk in?"

Josh tried to shrug but was handicapped by the two foil-covered plates of turkey and trimmings that he carried like a circus juggler. Sam had one, too, in his left hand. In his right—the one at his brother’s throat—was a grapefruit-sized pink ball of fabric labeled: Rosemarie. Ida Jane Montgomery—Josh’s wife’s eighty-something great-aunt who had raised Jenny and her two sisters—had insisted he and Josh use her so-named, 1972 pink Cadillac to make their deliveries and pick up the other guests who would be joining the family for Thanksgiving dinner.

"Old coots deserve some dignity," she’d told Sam as she pressed the hideous key bob in his hand. "Can you see those ladies trying to climb into your big, fancy pick-up?"

Josh rolled his chin away from Sam’s fingers. "Jen’s just getting used to the idea of being pregnant. It wasn’t easy talking her into this, you know," Josh answered, his voice slightly strangled.

Sam released his grip but didn’t move away. He kept his voice low. "What do you mean talk her into it? I thought this was her idea."

Josh’s color rose to clash with the key bob. "The in-vitro was her idea. I’m the one who pushed to use your sperm." He winked in a manner so Josh-like Sam had to back off. His brother knew all too well how to get around Sam’s common sense.

When Josh had first broached the idea of donating sperm so Josh and Jenny could conceive, Sam had flat-out refused, but Josh was ... well, Josh. And when the three of them met in the office of the fertility counselor three weeks earlier, Jenny, Josh’s wife of ten years, had seemed guardedly enthusiastic. "If Sam’s okay with this, then I am, too," she’d said.

Sam had returned home to think about it and the recurrent phrase in his mind was "Why not?" The chance of him getting married and having kids of his own seemed remote. He’d already made provisions to leave the ranch to his brother and his wife, so their child would get what was rightfully his. Or hers.

"Then why is she avoiding me?" Sam asked again.

Josh eased sideways to put some distance between them. "You’re imagining things. She’s just busy with all these preparations. You know how organized she is.

"And if you and I don’t get these plates delivered and pick up the old ladies—excuse me, the town matrons, we’ll be dining on hot tongue and cold shoulder instead of turkey." He shuffled toward the wide steps that led to the parking lot.

Sam followed, mindlessly squeezing the pink ball to ease his trepidation. Something was wrong. He felt it. But Josh was right. This was Jenny’s big day. The first Thanksgiving in six years that the Sullivan sisters were celebrating together. And at some point in the festivities, Josh would make the big announcement: Jenny was pregnant.

However, they’d unanimously decided that the part about Sam’s sperm in the Petri dish was going to remain a secret. He’d made the commitment and signed the necessary papers. He was going to be an uncle, not a father. And if that felt a little weird, he’d learn to live with it because—bottom line—he’d do anything for Josh. Always had. Always would.

* * *

The artist in her made Jenny Sullivan O’Neal yearn to capture every single nuance of the moment. The Sullivan Sisters’ Thanksgiving, she named the imaginary piece.

She took a second to memorize the way Kristin’s strawberry blond hair glistened in the steam from the gravy, and the odd combination of Andi’s camouflage pants and pumpkin orange sweater that somehow worked.

Their first reunion in six years.

Kristin—the youngest of the Sullivan triplets—stirred the gravy with one hand then dashed to the corner of the oak buffet where she was assembling a salad. A "will o’ the wisp" who couldn’t be tied down by responsibility Ida Jane used to call her. Kristin had left home right after high school graduation to stay with family in Ireland where she worked as a companion to their uncle’s aged mother. Later, Kris and two of their Irish cousins moved to Wisconsin where she became certified in massage therapy. Although she’d slowly migrated back to the West coast, she seldom made the five-hour drive from southern Oregon to Gold Creek, their home town situated in the historic Gold Rush corridor of the Central Sierras in California. "Ida Jane is getting older," Kris said, shaking her head of downy curls. "So she’s a little forgetful and makes a few mistakes. Are you saying it’s something more serious? Like Alzheimer’s?" she added, lowering her voice.

"No. Not exactly. I don’t know. But I do think her business is in trouble," Jenny said, moving with care around the clutter of her great-aunt’s kitchen. Ida Jane’s idea of decorating was to fill every available nook and cranny with hodgepodge—from cobweb-laced pine cones in a battered copper urn to chipped vases stuffed with dusty peacock feathers and dried weeds. Jenny worried that the jumble might trip the eighty-two year old woman who had raised them, but Ida loved her "junque," as she called it. Thankfully, so did the collectors who visited her antique store, The Old Bordello.

The name of the shop reflected the original use of the turn-of-the-century Victorian. The front half of the building housed Ida’s retail space; the second floor and rear section provided the home where Jenny and her sisters grew up. Until recently, the store seemed to have no trouble turning a profit. But something had changed. That was one reason Jenny had pushed for this reunion. There was a second reason, too.

Andrea, who’d shortened her name to "Andi" when she was seven, furiously plunged a potato masher up and down in the crockery bowl resting in her lap. "Ida Jane Montgomery is the most astute business woman I’ve ever known. If her profits are down, then it has to be due to something else. Maybe she needs a new marketing angle."

On leave from the Marines, Andi was seated Indian-style on the butcher-block countertop between the old-fashioned stove and the even-more old-fashioned refrigerator.

"I was thinking about it on the plane. You said foot traffic is sluggish and Ida refuses have anything to do with the Internet." She took a breath. "What if we went with some kind of advertising ploy—like a ghost?"

"What ghost?" Kristin asked. "This place isn’t haunted."

Andi shrugged. "Maybe not, but it’s got history. It was a bordello. And I swear I remember Ida telling us a story about a young prostitute who was murdered in one of the upstairs bedrooms. That sounds spooky enough."

Jenny shook her head. "She just said that to keep us out of Grandma Suzy’s stuff." The triplets’ grandmother, Suzanne Montgomery Scott—a tragic soul who’d been in and out of mental institutions—had passed away decades earlier, leaving behind a daughter, Lorena. Lori and her Irish-born husband had returned to Gold Creek to give birth when tragedy struck. A car accident claimed, first, Mick Sullivan’s life, then after an emergency Cesarean section saved the triplets, took his wife, as well. Suzy’s eclectic belongings—gathered from around the world during her manic periods—had fascinated the girls.

Andi pulled out a finger full and popped it in her mouth. Chewing, she said, "Regardless, it has just the right combination of tragedy and mystery to bring antique hunters—and curious skeptics—to investigate."

Jen could see the potential—as well as the work involved in getting such a scheme off the ground. "I like it, Andi. When can you get back to implement it?"

Her sister stiffened. "Move back here?"

The inflection she gave the last word left no doubt in Jenny’s mind that Andi wanted nothing to do with Gold Creek. She thought she understood Kristin’s antipathy toward the town—people had unfairly labeled her a screw-up, but Andi had always kept her reasons for leaving home to herself.

"Yes," Jenny said bluntly, giving both her sisters a look they’d understand. "Ida Jane isn’t getting any younger, and I need your help."

As she pried the cornmeal muffins from the speckled enamel tin, she told them, "Warren Jones stopped me on the street a couple of weeks ago and said, ‘Better do something before Your aunt loses the bordello.’ But when I asked to see the books, Ida told me to mind my own business." Andi made a grumbling sound. "Warren Jones is now and always has been a worry wart."

Jenny agreed, but if Warren—who’d filed Ida Jane’s income tax returns ever since his father, Walter, retired three years earlier—was worried, then they owed it to their aunt to find out what was wrong.

After she transferring the muffins to the warming basket, she swiped back a hunk of deep auburn hair that had escaped from the lapis clip at the nape of her neck. "All I’m saying is that we need to stay on top of this. Remember Sandy Grossman...Grimaldo?"

Jenny noticed the way Kristin threw herself into opening a can of ripe olives. Kris’ exaggerated disinterest made Jenny wonder if her sister might still harbor feelings for her old boyfriend, Donnie Grimaldo—the big loser in his and Kristin’s high school imbroglio. "She’s remarried to a guy who works on movies. Anyway, her mother got hooked on bingo and lost everything. Sandy didn’t discover how bad it was until Poopsie was facing eviction."

Andi pitched the potato masher into the sink then hopped down—landing as adroitly as a Ninja. She scraped the fluffy white potatoes into a serving bowl then added a dollop of butter and covered it with a plate. "Ida Jane’s no gambler. How many times has she repeated the cautionary tale of her father losing the Rocking M in a poker game?"

Kristin, who’d driven down from Ashland that morning, nodded. "For years I was afraid to buy a lottery scratcher for fear I might turn into a gambleholic."

Andi opened the oven door to a fragrant cloud then leaned down to pull the Martha Stewart-perfect turkey from the oven. "So we confab before Kris leaves. No problem. Is that the only reason you pushed for this reunion, Jen?" She heaved the bird to the counter then whipped about to face her sisters.

A tremor fluttered in Jenny’s belly. She knew it wasn’t the baby. They’d only had the procedure done last week and received confirmation of its success on Tuesday. "Well, there is one other thing, but I thought I’d wait to make the announcement at dinner."

Andi and Kristin exchanged a look. The two hadn’t been on good terms since their high school altercation, but they still seemed to be able to talk without words. "Tell us," Andi ordered.

"Josh and I are pregnant."

"Told you so," Kristin said smugly.

"You knew?" Jenny sputtered. "How?"

"Lucky guess," Andi said sourly. "It’s not like you haven’t wanted to be a mother forever. What I can’t figure out is why you’re not shouting from the upstairs porch."

Because we cheated.

"We’ve been seeing a fertility specialist. We used in-vitro. There was a chance it wouldn’t take," she admitted, her words tumbling over each other. But it did take. I’m going to be a mother. Of my brother-in-law’s child.

Andi left the turkey to "rest" and walked to Jenny’s side. She looped a slim, muscular arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "I understand. You’re Jenny Perfect. You don’t need technology and Petri dishes to make offspring. But, hey, sometimes even the best of us need help."

The teasing might have stung if Jenny hadn’t heard it a million times. Her sisters had dubbed her that in kindergarten when she’d brought home her first report card: all S’s and O’s—Satisfactory and Outstanding. No N’s—Needs Improvement. Unfortunately, the name had stuck.

Just last week, Gloria Harrison Hughes, author of Glory’s World – a "local news" column—in the weekly Gold Creek Ledger, had reported: Jenny O’Neal, the Sullivan Triplet better known as Jenny Perfect, will host her sisters and select friends at a Thanksgiving dinner at her great-aunt Ida Jane Montgomery’s home. This reporter can’t help but wonder how long it’s been since the Sullivan Triplets have been together. Isn’t it a shame when family is torn apart by poor judgment?

The dig had infuriated Jenny, but Josh had cajoled her into laughing at the rapacious woman who held Kristin responsible for driving away her troubled son. "Gloria Hughes is a small town, small-minded harpy," he’d stated. "Nobody pays any attention to her column."

Jenny knew that wasn’t true, but there wasn’t anything she could do to change Gloria’s mind. She’d tried.

She stuck out her tongue—knowing it was the expected response, then walked to the pantry to retrieve the folding stool. Kristin and Andi laughed, and peripherally Jenny saw them exchange a look that she remembered well from their teen years.

Triplets shared a dynamic wholly different from twins. Much of the time they were a threesome—"Our Sullivan Girls," the people of Gold Creek called them—partly since many of the townsfolk felt they’d lent a hand in raising the orphaned triplets. But factions happened, too. Sometimes one combination, sometimes another.

Kristin and Andi had drawn closer—at least temporarily—after Jenny fell in love with Josh O’Neal. Although Jenny knew her sisters adored Josh—everybody in Gold Creek adored Josh—there’d been a tiny bit of jealousy, too.

Kristin finished preparing the garnishes then slithered a second can of jellied cranberries onto a ruffled crystal dish that had belonged to their mother. Earlier they’d culled three plates of turkey and fixings for Ida’s homebound friends. Josh and Sam were due back any minute from their taxi duties.

Chewing on a stalk of celery, she tilted her head and asked, "Why in vitro? You’re young, healthy. Why didn’t you and Josh just try harder—isn’t that half the fun?"

"We’ve been trying to get pregnant ever since we got married, Kris. The fertility clinic finally determined that Josh has some problems left over from his bout of testicular cancer when he was twelve."

Kristin’s expressive face showed concern. "I’d forgotten about that. Is there a problem?"

Jenny shook her head. "No. He’s fine. He’s been cancer-free for nearly fifteen years; unfortunately, the treatment left a lasting impression on his ability to make viable sperm." Like he doesn’t. Period. "So, it came down to this or adoption."

Jenny plopped open the wobbly oak, A-frame stool beside the sink and gingerly climbed up to reach the overhead cupboard. "Frankly," she continued, poking through the clutter to hide her nervousness, "I favored adoption. There are a lot of kids out there who need a family, but Josh felt strongly about carrying on the O’Neal family genes."

The O’Neal family genes. Saying the words made her feel like a fraud. The genes in question were Sam’s, not Josh’s. But Jenny was determined to honor her husband’s wish that this be kept between the three of them. "If it ever becomes an issue—for health reasons or whatever, you can tell your sisters, but you know as well as I do that the only way to keep a secret in a small town is to keep your mouth closed," he’d argued.

"And I’d appreciate it if you keep this—the in vitro part—to yourself," Jenny added. "Josh says it doesn’t bother him, but you know how guys are."

Andi, who’d been in charge of carving the turkey since age eight—the year she took up fencing, sharpened the carving knife on a whetstone. "Having lived in testosterone-ville for the past four years I can attest to that. Men can be very strange when it comes to things having to do with the penis."

Jenny thought she detected a certain edge of bitterness in her sister’s tone, but she didn’t have a chance to question it because the dining room door suddenly opened and Sam O’Neal walked in.

"Deliveries made; dowager queens present and accounted for, sir," he said with a lazy, John Wayne-style salute.

Jenny quickly turned back to hunting down the gravy boat she knew was lurking somewhere in the cluttered cupboard. She tried to tell herself she wasn't doing her best to avoid looking her brother-in-law in the eye.

"We’re just about ready," Jenny mumbled, stretching to the far corner where she spotted the vessel. Unfortunately, the stool—an antique like everything else in her aunt’s home—chose that instant to wobble. Jenny reached for the cupboard door again, but it swung out of reach. She would have fallen if not for Sam’s quick action. He wrapped his arms around her thighs to steady her. His chin was level with her womb.

The intimacy—given their situation—made Jenny react poorly. She yelped and tried to squirm out of his hold, which made her lose her footing.

"Hold on sec’," Sam murmured, trying to keep her from toppling over backwards.

Before she could blink, Jenny was safely on the ground; gravy boat clasped to her breast. Sam gave her puzzled look. "Are you okay?"

Jenny felt her cheeks fill with color; she knew her sisters were watching. "Fine, thanks," she said, quickly turning toward the sink—ostensibly to wash the piece of dusty china.

Sam closed the overhead door then moved over a foot or so to rest his backside against the counter. Casually dressed in what looked like a new camel-colored shirt and black jeans and low-heeled boots, he seemed remarkably at ease. Jenny saw him so seldom she tended to think of him as a recluse. But as he rested one elbow on the counter and casually asked her sisters about what was new in their lives, it occurred to her that she really didn’t know Sam very well at all—even though he’d been a part of her life for ten years.

Jenny watched him surreptitiously. He was a big man—six inches taller and forty pounds heavier than his brother. In his youth, he’d been a movie stuntman and even put in a few years on the rodeo circuit. At thirty-nine, he still possessed a potent, untamed quality that made the town matchmakers eager to find him a wife. To Jenny, he’d gone from harmless, enigmatic brother-in-law to raw bone of contention in less than a month.

Although in all honesty, she couldn’t blame Sam. It wasn’t his fault his very virility seemed an affront to her, considering what her poor, beloved husband had been going through. It just wasn’t fair.

"I said, ‘How is the book coming?’" Sam repeated, turning slightly to face her.

Darned if his casual attitude didn’t irritate Jenny, too. It was as if he thought they could all go back to life as usual now that the deed was done. Jenny knew otherwise. She knew nothing would ever be the same again. Everything changed the moment the decision was made to use Sam’s donated sperm to impregnate her egg.

"It’s not," she muttered, attacking the fragile gravy boat with a woven plastic scrubber.

"What book?" Kristin asked.

"Last summer Jenny was out at my place doing some watercolors for a children’s book she’s writing," Sam said.

"Cool," Andi said. "Maybe you could do one on the ghost, too."

Jenny ignored their banter. Her writing was a dream, and Josh had promised her the summer off to work on it, but knowing Josh something would come up.

"I plan to work on the text this summer," Jenny said not liking the testy edge to her tone, "but we all know June through August is Ida Jane’s busiest season. But, if Andi moved back after her enlistment is up...hint, hint."

When Sam asked Andi about her plans, Jenny tuned out the conversation. Her sister would do what her sister would do—that was Andi. "Willful and stubborn as the day is long," Ida always said.

Instead, Jenny pictured how she’d begged Josh to consider choosing a donor from the impressive list their fertility counselor had provided. But Josh had pleaded, sweet-talked and pressured her into believing this arrangement would be better than using an anonymous donor.

"This is a win-win scenario, Jenny," he’d argued. "Even though we had different fathers, Sam is my closest blood relative. My only relative, besides Mom. This way we get a child that’s at least part me; and Sam can feel good knowing the O’Neal line isn’t going to die. That’s more important to him than you think," he’d quickly added, anticipating Jenny’s reply.

She and her sisters had long speculated about why such a virile, handsome man as Sam O’Neal didn’t have a wife and children. Josh attributed his brother’s decision to remain single to Sam’s teenage marriage and subsequent annulment. Although Jenny didn’t know the details, Josh maintained that Sam was "once burned, twice shy."

Jenny doubted that adage applied since Sam was known to date occasionally—he just never let any woman get too close for too long.

Sam’s love life is not my problem, she reminded herself. What I need to figure out is how to treat him in light of his magnanimous donation.

When she reached for the cotton towel her aunt kept hanging under the cupboard, Sam beat her to it. "Here," he said. His deep voice sounded strained.

Jenny accepted the cloth with a forced smile. "Thanks." Their fingers touched briefly—just enough to make her insides flutter in a way she didn’t recognize. She quickly stepped back and nearly tripped over the dilapidated stool.

Suddenly angry—and very close to tears—she kicked its slightly askew leg. "Would somebody please throw that damn thing away before we end up with a lawsuit on our hands?"

The kitchen door swung open and a blond head popped in—a video camera to one eye. "What’s that? Did I hear my wife use profanity? Lord have mercy. Jenny Perfect cussed."

Jenny saw Sam slip out of the range of fire—as if he could read her temper brewing. This irked her, too. As did her husband’s use of the ridiculous nickname she couldn’t shake. She grabbed a corn muffin out the basket and pitched it—hard—at the video cam. Josh ducked.

The soft biscuit bounced off the door and rolled to a crumbly stop a foot from Josh's loafers. He picked it up and took a bite. "Umm, good, but it’ll be better with honey. Won’t it, honey?"

Grinning, he sauntered across the room. He set the camera on the counter then pulled Jenny into an embrace. He nuzzled the sensitive spot on her neck until her knees grew weak and she had to laugh. "Stop it, you goofball. Everything’s ready."

"I’m ready," he said, making his fair eyebrows dance up and down. "Oh, yeah, baby. Any time. Any place."

Amid the laughter and kisses, it struck her. Finally, after all the tests, thermometers and frustration, they were going to have a baby. Did it matter in the long run where the sperm came from? Not if they loved their baby as much as they loved each other. The child now growing in her womb would be their child—hers and Josh’s.

"You are completely nuts," she said, cupping his cheek with her free hand. "But I love you."

Josh tossed his half-eaten muffin in the sink then pulled her tight against him. He lowered his head and kissed her. Jenny felt herself blush—even though her family had seen them kiss before—many times. But for some reason she felt weird about it this time. She tried to focus on the pleasure of Josh’s touch but couldn’t relax.

Apparently sensing something was wrong, Josh lifted his head and said, "Okay, everyone, dinner’s up to you. Me and my woman are heading upstairs for a little quality time in one of the bedrooms."

"Maybe Andi’s ghost will show up," Kristin joked.

"Ghost?" Josh righted them so quickly Jenny’s vision blurred. "What ghost?"

Andi repeated her suggestion with obvious reluctance—probably because she knew the only way the marketing scheme would come into fruition was if she returned to Gold Creek to implement it.

"Have you ever seen this ghost?" Josh asked seriously.

Jenny punched him. "No, but you’ve got to admit a haunted bordello carries a certain appeal. Remember that restaurant we ate at on Jackson Square in New Orleans? Muriel’s? It’s supposed to be haunted. Just because we didn’t see a ghost didn’t detract from its charm."

Andi walked to the cupboard for a serving platter. "We’d just be embroidering on a story Auntie used to tell us about a young prostitute who lived here. She died when two men fought over her and a gun went off. Right, Jen?"

Before Jenny had a chance to answer, a diminutive, gray-haired woman entered the room. "What’s the hold-up here?" she demanded to know. "My dinner guests are waiting. Joshua, are you making trouble, again?"

Ida Jane Montgomery—dressed in a purple and green silk jogging suit that would have put a peacock to shame—looked around, a mock frown on her deeply lined face.

"M...me?" Josh sputtered. "It’s the girls’ fault. They were holding a séance to get the Old Bordello’s ghost to join us for dinner."

"A ghost? What ghost?" Ida Jane exclaimed. "If I have a ghost, I want to know about it."

Sam approached Jenny’s great aunt and bowed with dignity. "Miss Ida, these wayward youngsters are holding up dinner with their tomfoolery, but I’d be delighted to escort you to the table. Maybe if we set a good example they’ll take the hint."

Ida Jane—her cap of tensile blue curls sticking out at odd angles—lifted her chin regally. "Lord knows I’ve tried to raise them right, but those girls were a handful from the day they came home from the hospital." Her much put upon sigh fooled no one. Everyone knew Ida Jane loved her grandnieces more than anything—even the dilapidated old bordello that served as both antique store and home.

"Did I tell you about the time one of ‘em filled the wringer washer with baby ducks?" she asked, taking Sam’s arm. "I believe it was Andrea."

Together they made such a charming picture Jenny’s heart constricted and her eyes filled with tears. Another memory to paint.

"Me?" Andi howled. "Why is it always me? I hated ducks. Still do. It was Kristin." She picked up the platter of turkey in one hand and the muffin basket in the other then followed after her aunt.

Kris gave Jenny a mischievous wink before wrapping an arm around the salad bowl. She also managed to carry the crock of mashed potatoes as she hurried after the others, loudly proclaiming her innocence. "It wasn’t me, Auntie. I don’t remember any ducks. Are you sure it wasn’t Jenny? Just because she never got in any trouble doesn’t mean…"

Before Jenny could follow, Josh pulled her into his arms. His Paul Newman blue eyes were unusually serious. "Have I told you today how wonderful you are?" He kissed her lightly. "I love you more than giblet gravy."

Jenny relaxed into his safe, loving embrace. She’d been far too uptight lately. She had to try to be more like her husband, who could dash away the slightest worry with a wave of his hand. Perhaps that devil-may-care attitude is what had attracted her to him when she was seventeen.

"I love you, too," she returned. She didn’t know what she’d do without his beaming smile, his spontaneous laugh. If even a fraction of his personality somehow found its way to their child, Jenny knew the agonizing choice had been worth it. Setting her worries aside, she kissed him back.

A muffled chant -- "Gra…vy. Gra…vy." – filtered through the wall.

Josh grinned. "Duty calls, my sweet, but we’re going to sneak away later. I promise. Is there really a ghost?"

Jenny shook her head. "Of course not. It’s a marketing gimmick that might help Ida Jane financially. She’s been very closed-mouth about it, I think her business is in trouble. I’m trying to talk Andi into moving home when her enlistment is up. She has a lot of good ideas and she knows computers. Maybe we can gently nudge Ida Jane into the twenty-first century."

Using two oven mitts, Josh pulled a bake dish of marshmallow yams and another of pecan stuffing out of the oven while Jenny filled the gravy boat with golden, aromatic gravy. She grabbed a serving dish of green beans on her way past, and together they joined the others in the dining room.

"Make room for the good stuff," Josh said leaning forward to deposit the dishes on waiting trivets.

The yellowish glow from the candles in the centerpiece Sam had had delivered by the florist cast an odd shadow across Josh’s face. A shiver raced up Jenny’s spine.

She hastily deposited her two bowls on the table and sat down. Get a grip, she silently chastised herself. Maybe it’s all those extra hormones I’ve been taking.

"This is wonderful," Ida Jane said, clapping her hands with glee. "For the first time in six years, the Sullivan girls are back together. Plus Sam and Josh and my dearest friends are here, too. What a joyous day!"

Four elderly women—as familiar to Jenny and her sisters as blood relatives—cheered with approval. The dignified Lillian Carswell, a retired librarian, sat beside Kristin. Directly across from her was Beulah Jensen who lived around the corner and had left three May baskets on the porch of the old bordello every May Day until the triplets moved away from home. To Ida Jane’s left was Mary Needham, whose poor hearing was probably a result of thirty years of driving a school bus. To Sam’s right sat recently widowed Linda McCloskey—one of the nurses who had been at the hospital the night the triplets were born.

Josh took his place at the head of the table opposite Ida Jane then reached out to take Jenny’s hand. With his left, he made a "gimme" motion until Andi complied. She in turn connected with Kristin, who linked with Grace and so on. Jenny and Sam completed the circle.

When everyone was holding hands, Josh spoke—his voice uncharacteristically serious. "Thank you, Father, for the gifts we are about to share. Thank you, too, for giving us each other, and never let us forget that we’re connected through time and space, spirit and heart. We are family." He squeezed Jenny’s hand; she did likewise to Sam, who held her hand in his big, rough paw. Glancing sideways, she saw his lips compress slightly. Instinctively, she knew what he was thinking. They were connected all right. In a way, hopefully, no one else would ever know.

Josh lifted his head and slowly looked around the table. "And speaking of family," he said, pausing dramatically, "Jenny’s pregnant."

After a round of cheer and congratulations, Andi said, "As long as you don’t have triplets, right, Auntie?"

Ida Jane’s gaze settled on Jenny. She lifted her wineglass in a toast. "To new life. The number’s not important—it’s the love that counts." Her gray eyes clouded a moment then she went on. "You girls never had a chance to know your parents, but I can tell you, they loved you from the instant you were conceived."

Jenny felt a flush creep up her neck. Her grip on her glass tightened.

"To families," Sam said quietly, his deep voice making a big impact. "Thank you, Miss Ida, for always making me feel a part of yours."

A chorus of "Here. Here." echoed around the table.

After each glass touched, the feast began—every bit as festive and noisy as any Jenny could remember. She went through all the motions. She smiled and chewed and answered questions when asked, but a part of her was out of sync.

"A little faith, please," Sam said softly, their shoulders almost touching.

Jenny startled. "I beg your pardon?"

"A little turkey," he repeated. One thin, sable brow quirked in question. "Are you feeling okay? You look pale."

Jenny swallowed the lump in her throat. She reached for the platter and in the process dragged the sleeve of her white blouse across the mound of untouched mashed potatoes on her plate.

Sam made a harsh sound between his teeth and rose. He pulled out her chair and said to the others, "Gravy stain. This calls for quick action."

Jenny rose without thinking and followed him into the kitchen. He led her to the sink and carefully rinsed the brown smear from the ivory material. "Jenny," he said softly, "what’s wrong?"

Distracted by his roughed fingers working the delicate material with exquisite care, Jenny didn’t answer. Her emotions were too jumbled, too close to the surface. "It’s just that... "She couldn’t put her anguish into words.

Wrapping a towel around her wrist, Sam squeezed firmly. "It’s what? Tell me."

"This is so not my style, Sam. You know me. I’m a born-again flower child. If Nature had intended for Josh and me to have a baby, it would have happened. I can’t help thinking something bad is going happen because we were greedy. We wanted more than we were supposed to have."

The last came out as a blubbering cry. Sam cursed softly then he reacted as any compassionate person would. He pulled her into his strong safe arms and soothed her with quiet, calming words of encouragement.

"Jenny, you took advantage of a medical miracle. What’s wrong with that? Nature’s changed the game, sweetheart."

The endearment wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard him say a hundred times, but it made her swallow stick in her throat. "You’ve seen my breeding operation at the ranch," he went on. "Not to be crude, but I’m Mother Nature in my part of the world, and nothing terrible has happened. The Rocking M has the healthiest, strongest stock around."

Jenny made herself take a deep breath. His scent was different from Josh’s but comforting, fortifying. She pulled back enough to look up at him.

"You haven’t done anything wrong, Jenny. If it weren’t for Josh’s cancer, he’d have enough sperm to get you both in a lot of trouble. It’s not his fault, and he shouldn’t have to pay—neither of you should."

"Your mother blames herself for Josh’s cancer," Jenny said. "She said she didn’t get his vaccinations on schedule and somehow that made him prone to testicular cancer."

Sam’s expression turned sour. His less-than-congenial feelings for his mother were well-known, but even after all these years she’d never discovered the reason behind them.

"That’s just Diane being Diane, but none of that matters. What’s important is that you and my brother have a chance to start a family. I’m just hoping this doesn’t wind up ruining our friendship."

Jenny knew she had to try to get past her qualms. Josh loved his brother almost as much as he loved Jenny. It would tear him apart if the two people he loved most couldn’t be comfortable around each other.

"You’re right, Sam. It’ll all work out."

He touched his knuckle to her chin—a gesture he’d employed since Josh introduced them when she was sixteen. "Can I finish my dinner now?"

Smiling, Jenny tossed the towel on the counter and looped her arm through his. "Just save room for pie. I bought them from the new bakery in town."

Sam’s low chuckle reassured her even more. "That is not going to be a problem—believe me."

* * *

Sam watched Josh walk the last of the dinner guests—Lillian Carswell—to the door of her neat-as-a-pin mobile home. The old gal was a veritable font of knowledge about Gold Creek’s history.

The subject on the drive to her mobile home in Restful Trails Senior Park had been the triplets. She had stories galore. "Ida Jane was forever trying to dress them alike," she’d said with a chortle. "I’ll never forget the Easter when the girls turned six. Marge Grover—she passed away a few years ago—sewed these darling little pinafore type dresses and Betsey Simms at McAffey’s department store donated white anklets trimmed with tiny daisies and the cutest little bonnets you’ve ever seen. But the triplets had other plans."

She’d leaned forward to pat Josh’s shoulder. "Not Jenny, of course. She was a perfect angel, like usual. But Andrea claimed the shoes hurt her feet; she wore sneakers—without socks. She wouldn’t even consider wearing the hat. Kristin wore the hat but insisted on sticking a bunch of flowers from Ida’s garden in it. By the time she got to church, the lilacs were drooping like clusters of grapes."

Sam found the tale reassuring. The triplets were unique individuals—even at age six. He didn’t suppose it was unusual for him to have babies on the brain since his brother had started pestering him months ago to become a sperm donor, but they needed to get a few things straight if this arrangement was going to work.

Once Josh was seated, Sam put the car in gear. He drove slowly to avoid the jarring impact of the park’s many speed bumps. "Your wife has some qualms about this arrangement, Josh," he said. "Don’t you think we should have waited—maybe talked it through a little more?"

"There wasn’t time, Sam," Josh said. "You had the China trip scheduled."

"So? We could have put it off a few months."

Josh—who’d been diagnosed as borderline hyperactive as a child—went atypically still. "We’ve waited long enough, Sam. It was now or never."

An icy chill down his spine made Sam lean forward to click up the heat.

Josh turned in the seat to face him. "Jenny’s happy about it. I know she is. She’s just had a lot on her mind."

Sam could believe that. Just getting her sisters to the same table after all these years was quite a fete. And talking Andi into returning to Gold Creek next spring after her enlistment was up seemed borderline miraculous. "Well, I hope you’re right. Jenny’s a good lady, and I don’t want this to come back to haunt us."

"Haunt," Josh repeated. "Ida Jane really liked Andi’s idea of a resident ghost, didn’t she?" Josh was a master at changing subjects, but his laugh—chipper, familiar and reassuring—eased Sam’s odd feeling of trepidation.

"Don’t worry, bro," he said, lightly punching Sam’s shoulder. "Everything is working out just the way it’s supposed to."

Sam hoped so. For all their sakes.

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