feeding him with a bottle of formula lest she grow too attached, she’d passed him over to his new mom and her heart had broken. The sound of his cry as they took him away had slid so deep into her soul that she dreamed of it at night even now, and woke up with achingly empty arms.
It had been for the best—that was what she told herself. But she wasn’t so sure anymore. Ember sucked in a stabilizing breath.
“How did you end up with these babies?” she asked.
“My cousin and his wife had asked me to be their guardian should anything happen,” Casey said. “I thought it was nothing more than a gesture, because I’m single. I’m a ranch manager. I don’t have time for kids, right? But then there was this horrible fire, and they managed to get the boys out, but Neil and Sandra didn’t make it. That left the kids with me.” He cleared his throat, blinked a couple of times.
“Will you keep them?” Ember asked hesitantly.
“Keep them?” Casey repeated, casting her a questioning look. “Yeah, of course. I’m the closest family they’ve got. What else would I do?”
“Some might let them be adopted by another family,” she said.
“Yeah, some might.” Casey finished with the sleeper’s snaps, noticed he’d done them up wrong and whipped them all open again to start fresh. “And honestly, it did occur to me. But—I don’t know. I can’t bring myself to do it.”
Ember nodded. She’d felt nearly the same way...but she hadn’t seen any other choice. She remembered how helpless she’d felt at the prospect of single motherhood and losing the support her father offered if she didn’t cooperate and give the baby up...
“How will you do this?” Ember asked. “Raise them on your own, I mean.”
“How does any parent raise their kids?” Casey picked up the baby and put him onto his shoulder, then headed through to the kitchen. The water turned on, and he raised his voice to be heard. “I figure I’ll just wing it. Isn’t that what the rest do?”
Ember chuckled at that. “I’m more of a planner, myself.”
“Well, I’ve got a few plans,” Casey said, coming back into the room as he awkwardly dried his hands on a paper towel while balancing the baby on his shoulder. “My aunt has agreed to watch the kids for me during the days. I’ll pay her, of course. And I’ve been advised by a nice lady in social services that I should have them sleep on their backs without blankets, and that I should be feeding them once every three hours.” He lifted his watch on his wrist. “And counting, right?”
He was strangely optimistic, this cowboy, and she regarded him in silence for a moment.
“Now, I’ve got some maps of this land,” Casey said. “I don’t know if it’s anything you haven’t seen yet—”
“That would be great,” Ember said. “You never know.”
Casey turned away from her and headed for a cupboard in the corner. He opened the door with a squeak, and a roll of paper fell out. He used the toe of his boot to lift it, and grabbed it with his free hand. He passed it back toward her. “That might be one. Hold on...”
He rummaged a bit, handed back three more rolls of paper, then closed the cupboard and readjusted the baby on his shoulder again.
“Will, you’re going to have to sit in that little chair of yours.”
Ember watched as Casey pulled out a wire-framed bouncy chair from beside the couch, then arranged the baby in it. Little Will turned his head to the side and stared at a patch of sunlight on the wall. Then Casey pulled out a second bouncy chair, and relief welled up inside her at the thought of putting Wyatt down.
She was already dreading this—the baby minding. These tiny boys brought up feelings she wasn’t ready to deal with. Or rather, feelings she’d been trying to deal with rather unsuccessfully. It was supposed to get easier over time—that was what they said—but it hadn’t.
“Here we go, Wyatt,” she murmured, bending to put the baby into the chair next to his brother, but as she tried to put him down, Wyatt’s little face screwed up into a look of displeasure and he opened his mouth in a plaintive wail.
“Or not.” She stood back up and the crying stopped. She looked into Wyatt’s little face, and he peered back at her. “You sure?”
“Guess he likes you, too,” Casey said. “Never mind. I’ll open these up.”
Ember’s heart sped up as she looked from the baby to his guardian, and then back again. This was not a good plan, but what was she going to do? She’d already agreed to this, and if she backed out, she’d only cement her reputation as the heartless city girl who’d come to ruin everyone’s lives.
Casey opened one of the rolls and revealed a map. “So what are you looking for, exactly?”
“The journal mentions Milk River and some creeks that ran off it.”
“Milk River runs for over seven hundred miles,” he said, glancing back at her. “We only have about fifty miles of Milk River on this ranch.”
She nodded. “I think it might be the right fifty, though. The creeks were named after local wildlife—Beaver Creek, Muskrat Creek and Goose Creek.”
Casey looked closer, chewing on the side of his cheek. “This here is Milk River.” He pointed with one calloused finger, following a line along the map. “There are a couple of creeks, but they’re not named. Not officially.” He rerolled the map, then picked up another one. He scanned it, rolled it up again and picked up the third. “Here we go. That’s Milk River again—”
Ember leaned closer to look. The line of the river meandered down the map, and there were about fifteen little lines snaking off. The darker of the lines had names, and cocking her head to one side, she could read them.
“Allan Creek. Wallace Creek. Burns Creek. Trot’s Creek...” She sighed. Then there were the lighter lines that had no names. She’d seen this map already online. Back in the city, she’d been looking for mention of the Beaver, Muskrat and Goose creeks, but no one seemed to have record of them. Maybe those names hadn’t stuck.
“Milk River goes up into Canada, you know,” he said. “I don’t have the maps for that.”
Then her eye landed on one creek name she hadn’t seen before that brought a hopeful smile to her lips. “Look at that one!” She pointed. “Harper Creek!”
“That’s familiar?” Casey asked with a frown.
“My mother’s last name was Harper. That’s the family name.”
“Hmm.” He nodded. “Okay.”
“What’s the matter?” Wyatt was getting heavy in her arm, and she shifted him to a new position.
“There are a lot of Harpers around here,” he said. “They might be relatives of yours, though.”
She’d never heard of them, if they were. It might be nothing more than a coincidence. Or a creek named much more recently—a random moniker slapped onto a tiny creek in honor of some locals.
“We aren’t Canadian. My mother always said that the family had settled exactly fifty miles from the mountains, and they’d been another forty miles from Victory. That’s right here. This land. Give or take.”
Casey nodded slowly. “Approximately, yes.”
“I know it’s a very rough estimate, but since this land came up for sale, I wanted to check it out,” she said.
“Well, we’ll have a look,” Casey said, but his expression was grim.
“You don’t want me to buy this land, I know,” she said.
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I don’t. This is prime ranching land, and cattle fuel this community.