the island and settled himself on it without jarring Greg or taking the bottle out of his mouth.
Lana rested her elbows on the countertop and propped her chin on her hands. “My birth mother sent a package to Aunt Megan with a note that what was inside was for us. She obviously found out who had adopted us and that Aunt Megan was still in contact with us.”
“Or at least she hoped so.”
“No. She thanked Aunt Megan for finding us a good home.” Lana recited the little note, picturing the block lettering in her mind’s eye. “It was printed, as though she wanted to disguise her handwriting. As if she didn’t want us to have that small a hint of who she was.”
“Where was it mailed from?”
“Here in the city. I don’t know which post office. Garrett’s going to try to find out.”
“Garrett?”
“My older brother. There are four of us, you know?”
“No, I didn’t know.” He took the bottle out of Greg’s mouth and put him over his shoulder. He patted him on the back, gently, the way she had taught him. The baby burped and immediately began demanding the rest of his bottle.
“Abandoned on the doorstep of Maitland Maternity twenty-five years ago. We’re triplets, Shelby, Michael and I. Garrett’s the oldest. Shelby owns a diner on Mayfair, near the clinic. Austin Eats. Have you heard of it?”
“No, ’fraid not.”
“We’ll go there for lunch someday.”
“Sounds good.”
“Michael’s head of security at Maitland. Garrett owns a ranch outside the city. I have the store. We’ve got cousins scattered around the country here and there, but since Mom and Dad died there are really just the four of us. What about you?” She didn’t want to think of the way her family had changed in the past few hours. She had felt the earth move under her feet when Garrett and Michael squared off about searching for their mother. She didn’t want to think how deep a rift it might eventually cause in their relationships.
“One brother, one sister. Both married with kids. Both living out of state. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. We didn’t have much but family growing up. It was a bust time then.” Lana nodded. Texas’s economy had had a lot of booms and busts during the years it had been so dependent on the oil industry. “My dad nearly lost the business more than once. I joined the Marines when I got out of high school because he wouldn’t let me work for him, and I didn’t have the money to go to college. I ended up in Saudi.”
“You were in Desert Storm?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about it.”
For a moment she thought he would refuse, but then he began to talk. He told her of the weather and the vast expanses of sand. Of nights in the desert beneath a sky filled with stars, days spent readying themselves for combat. He talked of his friend Greg, his son’s namesake. Dead of cancer at twenty-seven. He didn’t mention his wife or how they had met, but surely it must have been through his late friend.
Dylan’s voice was low and rough, but soothing, too, like whiskey and honey mixed. She wanted him to go on talking, and she was afraid he would stop if she broke the spell with a question about Greg’s mother. The baby watched him and listened, too, his big blue eyes focused on Dylan’s face. It must have filled his world.
Greg finished the bottle, and Dylan burped him again. The little boy snuggled his face into Dylan’s neck and fell asleep. Lana wished she could do the same. “You’re getting very good at that,” she said. “He’s much more comfortable with you already.”
His mouth tightened. “I’m trying.”
“You’re a natural. Greg’s lucky to have you. Even if he has lost his mother he still has family. It will mean a lot to him in the future. I know. I don’t have any real roots of my own, only grafted ones. I loved my parents dearly, but sometimes it’s a little lonely inside.” She didn’t know why she was telling him this. It was late. She was tired. She didn’t like the sudden darkness that drained the softness from his eyes and hardened his face.
“I’ll do my best to give him that, if I can.”
“If you can? I just told you you’re doing great at this daddy business. He’s lost his mother. It’s tragic, but he still has you. You’re his father—”
Dylan cut her off. “That’s where you’ve got it wrong. I have every reason to believe Greg is another man’s son.”
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