Their Secret Baby Bond

“What? With no hands? Levi, you big boy! Aunt Wynn is so proud!”

Levi let go of the coffee table and clapped his hands, delight shining in his dark brown eyes. Out of the crew of foster kids at Red Hill Farm, he was the first she’d bonded with, maybe because she felt wounded, as well. Her wounds were just on the inside.

Her brother turned a speculative blue gaze on her. “I heard you were out at Latham’s today. You know, he had a crush on you in high school. He thought we didn’t know, but it was so obvious.”

Wynn opened her mouth and closed it again.

“Ash, don’t forget the bread!” Jordan winked at Wynn as she poured the noodles into a colander and served them into bowls.

Ash pulled out a pan of perfectly toasted garlic bread and grinned at his wife. “Last time we had spaghetti, someone-who-shall-remain-nameless-but-wasn’t-me forgot the bread was in the oven and the entire house filled with black smoke. So the fire alarm is going off, the baby’s crying, Jordan’s screaming that the new house is going to burn down. It was awesome.”

“Ashley Sheehan, you don’t have to tell all the family secrets.”

His grin turned wicked. “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell her about the time you—”

“Ash!” Jordan dove across the kitchen to smash her lips against his, presumably to keep him quiet.

He came up laughing. “Okay, okay, I give.”

“I thought so.” A satisfied look on her face, Jordan picked Levi up from the floor and tucked him into his high chair. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

“You guys are nuts.” Wynn stood, sliding her feet back into her short suede boots. “But the spaghetti smells delicious.”

They were nuts in the best possible way. The little glances, the subtle—or not-so-subtle—innuendos, all hinted at a content life, a happy marriage, something Wynn wasn’t sure she would ever have. Not now.

She’d let herself be blinded by her boss’s shine and bigger-than-life persona, somehow convincing herself that her place was behind the man, supporting him in his bid to change the world. He’d encouraged that, cultivated it, made her think she was indispensable to him as the love of his life.

She’d believed him.

She’d even believed him when he told her he wasn’t ready for marriage, that his work as a congressman had to come first. That is, until she’d seen the piece about his engagement in a political blog with impeccable sources.

Her world had fallen out from under her. Preston was getting married—just not to her. When she’d discovered her pregnancy a month later, he accused her of sleeping around and trying to trap him into marrying her.

She hadn’t spoken to him since.

When she looked up, her brother’s perceptive eyes were on her face. She forced a smile and took a huge bite of spaghetti that she wasn’t sure she could swallow.

Jordan laid her fork down. “So, Wynn. Everyone is wondering why you’re home and how long you’re planning to stay.”

The instant wave of nausea dispelled any appetite that Wynn may have started out with. Apparently, all of Red Hill Springs had decided that they’d given her enough space and it was time for answers.

Deliberately, she picked up her glass of ice water and took a drink. She cleared her throat. “To be honest, I’m not really sure. Indefinitely seems to be the most accurate answer.”

Ash’s handsome face softened. “Wynn, are you okay?”

She pressed her fingers into her temples, where a headache had begun to throb, and took a deep breath before looking her brother in the eyes. “I’m fine. But...I’m probably going to need the services of the family pediatrician in about six months.”

“You’re pregnant?” Her new sister-in-law squealed and jumped up from her spot at the table to give Wynn a hug. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Wynn held on to Jordan just a little too long. She hadn’t expected happiness. She’d expected pointed looks, maybe some outright condemnation, a judgmental whisper or two. “I messed up. And it’s a pretty obvious mistake, or, at least, it’s going to be.”

Jordan flopped back into the chair, her auburn braids bouncing on her shoulders. “You’ve put the mistake behind you. You’re here, aren’t you?”

Wynn searched out her brother’s gaze. He was quiet. Too quiet. He shook his head, and her stomach plummeted again.

But then he said, “Jordan’s right, Wynn. Maybe you made some bad choices, but no matter what happened to get you to this point, a baby is a blessing, not a mistake, and we’re going to love him.”

“Or her.” A tear dripped down her cheek, and she mopped it with her napkin. “I never used to cry.”

Jordan grinned. “Me either. I don’t even have pregnancy hormones to blame, but I cry all the time now.”

“Have you told Mom?”

“Not yet.” At her brother’s look, Wynn grimaced. “I know, I know. I will. It’s just—it’s Mom. I don’t know, Ash.”

“You have to tell her. It’ll only get worse if you don’t. Are you going to stay there?”

“For now, but if I stay in Red Hill Springs—”

“You should. You totally should.” Jordan interjected her opinion with a firm nod. “You need family around when you have a baby. Trust me on this one.”

“If I stay in Red Hill Springs,” Wynn continued, “I have to find a job and a place to live.”

Ash and Jordan exchanged a look.

“What?”

Jordan tore another piece of toast in half and slid it onto the tray of Levi’s high chair. “I don’t know about the job, but Claire and I were planning to offer you the cottage at Red Hill Farm, even before this. It really would be perfect for you. And Claire and Joe would be right there.”

Wynn’s other brother, Joe, was married to Jordan’s twin sister and, together, they had somewhere around ten kids. The number was always changing as foster kids came in and out of their home, but they’d made Red Hill Farm into a peaceful place to heal.

Wynn hadn’t even considered the cottage. “I thought I heard you and Claire were converting the cabin to office space.”

“We were.” Levi threw a handful of spaghetti across the table and Jordan whisked his plate away. “Okay, we’re done with spaghetti and Daddy needs a clean shirt.”

Jordan gently disentangled one of her braids from Levi’s sauce-covered fingers. “Gross, Levi. So yeah, we were planning to convert the cottage to office space, but honestly, I do most of the office work at home now because it’s more convenient and Claire doesn’t have time to make use of a separate office.”

Ash gave up wiping spaghetti sauce off his formerly pristine white shirt and leaned back in his chair. “You know, everyone who lives in that house falls in love.”

Wynn rolled her eyes. “Thanks for pointing that out to your pregnant sister, who has, in fact, sworn off men forever. I don’t think you have to worry about me falling in love with anyone.”

He took a sip of his iced tea and raised one eyebrow. “Whatever you say.”

“I say yes. To the cottage.” She raised her voice. “Thank you, Jordan. The cottage will be perfect.”

Jordan popped her head out from the bathroom down the hall, where water was running into the tub. “I have no idea what you just said, but I’m assuming from your smile that it was yes?”

Wynn nodded.

“Feel free to paint or whatever. It was a slap job when Joe renovated. I always meant to work on it and didn’t get to do very much.” Jordan disappeared into the bathroom again.

Wynn took the dishes to the sink. Her brother nudged her away. “I got this. Go home. You started work at four thirty this morning, and you have circles under your eyes.”

She hugged her brother. “Thank you for dinner. And for...everything.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Wynn. You’re the most courageous person I know.”

Eyes swimming with tears again, she gave him a shove. “You’re okay, yourself.”

“Tell Mom.”

“I will. Don’t push me.” She heard her brother’s laugh as she swung down the stairs and opened the door to her car. So it looked like her “indefinite” stay here was getting a little more defined. By making that choice, she was deciding to face the scrutiny and reaction of people who’d known her all her life...people she respected and cared about.

Tomorrow, she would tell her mom. It wouldn’t be easy. But already, she knew her brother had her back, and that was no small thing.

As she drove home, her brain was spinning with ideas for fixing up the cottage that she would soon be calling home, the realization that she was going to need help...and that Latham just happened to be a carpenter.

* * *

Latham pushed the door open to the bakery, stopping short when he saw Wynn sitting on a stool behind the counter, dressed in a long white T-shirt, black leggings and her sister Jules’s signature pink apron. “I didn’t know you were working here.”

She smiled, a little sheepishly. “Apparently everyone in the family has been waiting for me to settle in so they could take a day off. So, yesterday at the Hilltop, today at the bakery.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You bake?”

“Ha! No worries, Jules did all that before daylight. I’m strictly counter help. Where’s Pop today?”

“He likes to meet his friends for breakfast at the Hilltop on Saturday morning, so I usually drop him off and come next door for one or two of your sister’s cinnamon twist doughnuts. Which may or may not be why I have to play soccer with the guys on Saturday afternoons.”

She laughed as she placed two cinnamon twists on a paper plate. “Yes, well, food is my family’s love language, so I understand the need for exercise. Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Wynn poured his coffee into a mug with the Take the Cake logo and handed it over the counter, accepting the cash Latham handed back to her.

“Join me? Please?” Latham pulled the other chair out and laughed when Wynn looked behind her like he might be talking to someone else. Her cheeks were pink, her straight blond hair looped into a half ponytail, half-bun thing.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she considered, then grabbed the last of the cinnamon twist doughnuts and a napkin with a sigh. “I can’t believe that I’m about to eat this. I never ate like this in DC.”

“What did you eat?”

“Coffee, mostly. Takeout with the other staffers when we would work late, which was always.”

“Why did you leave?” When she glanced up with an almost panicked look in her eyes, he wished he could take back the question. “I guess, I mean, I thought it was a perfect job for you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay, Latham. It’s a perfectly normal question to ask. It’s just...complicated. The short answer is that I changed, and I didn’t like the changes.”

His fingers itched to reach for her hand, slide her fingers into his. He didn’t even know why—he certainly had no right to. He wrapped them around the warm coffee mug instead. “Sometimes coming home is the bravest thing you can do.”

Her blue eyes flicked to his and held, and for a moment he thought she was about to say something. But then, the door opened, bells jingling. Wynn jumped to her feet and rounded the corner to greet new customers behind the counter.

He heard the murmur of conversation, registered kids jumping up and down at the prospect of a doughnut, but his eyes were on only Wynn. Would it be so weird for them to resurrect their friendship after all these years?

The boisterous family blew out as quickly as they’d come in. Wynn took a second to wipe the fingerprints off the glass and sat down beside him again, the friendly but distant smile firmly back in place. The moment of sharing whatever it had been was over. Which suited him because, honestly, it was a little embarrassing that he hadn’t gotten over his adolescent crush sometime in the last ten years. No wonder the barn cats were his best companions.

He finished off the second doughnut, which he’d intended to save for this afternoon, and took a swig from his mug. “So are you going to be filling in for your family members often?”

Wynn laughed. “Mercy, I hope not. I don’t know what I’m going to do, though.”

Latham took a breath and then thought, what could it hurt, since he’d already taken the awkward quotient through the roof? “Would you be interested in staying with Pop in the afternoons for a couple of weeks? His current caregiver had a family emergency.”

She blinked, and heat rushed his face. “I know it’s way below your pay grade... I shouldn’t even ask.”

“I’d love to.”

He narrowed his eyes. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I really would, Latham. Your home is beautiful, and Pop is great. I think I’d like spending time with him.”

“Me, too, but...”

“Really, it’s my pleasure. I do have one request, though.” There was a suspicious gleam in her eye that made him laugh as she leaned in.

“Name it.”

“In lieu of payment, can we work out a trade?”

Latham relaxed back into his chair. “I’m a little scared of that look in your eye. What did you have in mind?”

She grinned. “I’m moving into the cottage at Red Hill Farm, which needs some work. I propose that I get to enjoy conversations with Pop in the afternoon and you help me with the cottage when you have time.”

“You’ve got a deal.” How much could she want to do at the cottage? It was only eight hundred square feet, tops. Either way, it worked out. He really needed someone at his place in the afternoons, and if he helped her with the cottage, he would get to spend time with her.

Win-win.

“You know, I totally got the better end of the deal here. I get to spend afternoons with Pop, which I will love, and I get free labor on the reno. Win-win for me.” She laughed, and her eyes, for the first time since he’d seen her, were shining.

And he knew in that second that he would’ve done anything she asked, just to make her smile. “If your family doesn’t have plans for you, I could meet you out there after church tomorrow and look it over.”

“Bring Pop to family lunch at the farm and we can check it out after we eat.”

“I’m gonna end up holding a couple of kids while they smear peanut butter on me, aren’t I?”

“I see you’ve been to family lunch before.” She grinned. “I feel like we should shake on it. I’m pretty sure you’re going to regret this deal.”

He laughed and took one last swig of his coffee as he stood. “Not a chance. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

But he took her outstretched hand, his eyes on hers. He swallowed hard when her eyes widened at the contact. She pulled away, busying herself clearing the table, and he sighed.

He may regret this deal, but not for the reasons she thought. He’d spent a long time getting over her when she left Red Hill Springs. He just hoped he could keep the past in the past where it belonged.

Chapter Three

Wynn stood outside the attic door in her mom’s house. She’d been walking past it for weeks now, staring at the doorknob, wanting to go in, but not wanting to, just as much.

She shook her head at herself as her hand lingered over the knob. Who was this woman who didn’t have the courage to walk through a door? What happened to the little girl who punched a kid at Vacation Bible School because he was being a bully? Where was the little girl who believed in justice, even if it meant she’d be in timeout for the rest of the afternoon?

That little girl would have the courage to open a door. It was just a door.

She turned the knob and shoved it open, blinking at the swirl of dust in the warm air. Her studio had been the place she’d gone to, as a teenager, when things got rough or rocky. Or sad or happy or confusing.

Her mom hadn’t changed much, if anything, in the tiny room tucked into the eaves of the old house. Wynn’s paints were still haphazardly strewn on the desk and her easel held a small unfinished watercolor. She picked up the sketchbook from the top of a teetering stack of identical books. When had she lost the wonder she’d always had at the world around her?

Probably around the same time she stopped looking at her job as an opportunity to make things better for someone else and started looking at it as a career. She’d lost her ability to dream, to think of others besides herself. Worse, she’d lost her confidence in herself and her faith that God had a plan and kept His promises.

Somewhere along the way, she’d imagined that her plan was better.

Well, she could see how that turned out.

She’d like to blame Preston. And while he definitely shared the blame, it wasn’t all his fault. She was the one who’d let go of her morals and her beliefs. She was the one who replaced her dreams with his—until he replaced her in his life with the newer, prettier, more idealistic model.

Wynn slid her hand down around the very small, almost imperceptible curve of her belly, and whispered, “I promise I’ll do better.”

She had to. She had barely six months to figure out how.

The room was dusty, the paper she had painted on dry and curling at the edges. The whole space looked used up and ready for the trash bin. Fitting. That’s exactly how she felt.

Sweeping the pile of dried-up paints into the trash can, she tried to imagine that she was sweeping out the parts of her that she didn’t want anymore, the parts that didn’t work for her and could never be salvaged. Maybe it all just needed to go.

She caught her breath on a sob.

The watercolor paints—those she could keep. They were dried up and cracking with disuse but...they could be revived with a little tending.

Maybe the vibrant parts of her, the passionate, giving part of her, could be revived with a little tending. She would start by carrying her sketchbook and pencil in her bag again. For a long time, that sketchbook had served as a place for her to record her impressions, ideas and dreams.

Yes, her soul needed tending. The favorite part of what made her who she was had been sadly neglected.

The worst part is that if anyone had asked her as a high school senior if she would ever let a man get in the way of her priorities, she would’ve been so offended.

A slight knock sounded at the doorway to the small studio. Wynn scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. When she turned, her mom was standing in the opening.

“Hey. I wondered when you would come in here.”

“It’s been too long. Mom, I don’t know why I didn’t come home more.”

“You were busy trying to find out who you were.”

Wynn laughed, but the sound wasn’t cheerful. “It’s funny, but I think I had to come home to find out who I really am. I keep saying I don’t know how I got to this point, but I do. I let a man come between me and what I knew was right. I let my desire to make a difference somehow become a desire to be wanted and needed. And he was only too willing to take advantage of it.”

Bertie walked closer and studied the painting on the easel. “He...the congressman?”

“Preston Schofield the fourth, career politician.” She pressed her lips together in a firm line.

“You seem a little bitter, Wynn. Congressman Schofield gave you a great opportunity.”

Once, Wynn had believed that to be true. Now she knew better. “Mom, I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, honey.” Bertie’s face softened in sympathy, but she didn’t look shocked.

Wynn sucked in a breath and, unable to meet her mother’s eyes, whirled around to look out the window. “You aren’t surprised. How long have you known?”

“I didn’t know who—but I’ve known you were pregnant since just after you got home. I’m your mom, Wynn. Did you think I wouldn’t guess?”

Wynn’s eyes filled with tears, the familiar walls of her studio blurring as words she’d been longing to say came pouring out. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. I just didn’t...want you to be disappointed in me.”

Her mom turned Wynn to face her, wrapping her arms around her as she did when Wynn was a child. “I’m not disappointed in you, Wynn. Everyone loses their way once in a while. I used to tell you when you were little that nothing you could do would ever make me stop loving you. It’s still true.”

Wynn took a deep breath and released it, along with some of the tension knotting the muscles in her back. “I don’t know what I’m going to do yet. Claire and Jordan offered me the cottage.”

“That’s a good thought.” Her mom picked up one of the small paintings and studied it. “I’ve been meaning to clean out in here for years. Why don’t you start by remembering who you were before all this happened?”

A phone rang from somewhere in the house. Bertie put the painting on top of another pile of things. “I’ve got to get that, and then I’m going to make a chocolate cake. Come down to the kitchen when you’re ready for a break.”

Wynn glanced at her watch. “I actually have to go. I promised Latham I’d stay with his pop this afternoon. I won’t be late, though.”

“No problem. Chocolate cake will keep.”

“I love you, Mom.”

Already halfway out the door, Bertie turned back. “I love you, too, baby girl. And I just can’t wait to see what God has in store for you next.”

As her mom disappeared down the hall, Wynn heard the muffled hello as Bertie answered the phone. She turned back to her studio, the room where she’d dreamed and planned and painted. Soon the smell of her favorite chocolate cake would be in every nook and cranny of the house. Each one of Bertie’s kids had their favorite comfort food. For Wynn, it was always chocolate cake. Jules loved bread; Ash, cinnamon rolls; and Joe, chocolate chip cookies. Bertie would bake, and then they would sit at the table with a glass of milk and talk it out.

She stood in the door to the studio, her hand on the knob. Deliberately, she walked away, leaving it open.

Downstairs, she picked up her keys from the counter in the kitchen. Bertie was unloading ingredients from the pantry to the counter. “Mom, Mr. Grant thought I was you when I was filling in at the Hilltop. Does he have some kind of dementia?”

“Something like that, from what I understand. I don’t know the details, but he’s really gone downhill since Mrs. Margenia died a couple of years ago. I’m driving car pool for Claire this afternoon, but I could come out after I get the kids to the farm.”

“No, thanks. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

In the car, on the way to Latham’s place, Wynn’s stomach tumbled with nerves, but she had no reason to be anxious. This wasn’t rocket science. This was being kind to someone who needed help.

She might’ve been in Washington, DC, a long time, but she still remembered how to be kind.

* * *

Latham pushed the back door open silently. He’d gotten called in to sub in one of the freshmen history classes and was an hour later getting home than he’d planned on being.

The house was quiet, the TV murmuring in the background. Wynn sat at the kitchen table, late-afternoon light creating a halo around her hair as she sketched on a pad. She was so pretty. Always had been, but in high school it hadn’t been her looks that drew him to her.

It had been her absolute fearlessness.

He’d known then she was different from other girls, but now that he spent his evenings teaching college students, he was even more aware how rare that kind of self-confidence was. He dropped his backpack and she looked up, a smile in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I was late and you spent your whole afternoon here.” Latham glanced over at Pop, napping in the recliner in the living room, a glass of iced tea at his fingertips on the side table. “He’s been okay?”

“Aside from being a little confused that Fran had to leave and I was here, he’s been totally fine. I hope it’s okay that I raided the garden to cook his supper.”

He shot her a grin and relaxed. “Feel free to raid my garden anytime, especially if you’re going to cook in my kitchen. Are those fried green tomatoes?”

“Yes. Your grandpa really liked them.”

“They’re his favorite and I always make them too soggy.” Latham popped one in his mouth. Even cold, it was delicious.

“The key is the ratio of cornmeal to flour. I’ll email you the recipe, if you promise not to tell Bertie. Trade secrets and all.” Wynn stood and grabbed her sketch pad. “I should probably be going.”