could never see in Hawksley.
I do believe you were conceived that evening, Callan. I pray this doesn’t hurt you too much. If I had been a stronger person, I would have left Hawksley. But I didn’t, and my relationship with Bill helped me get through some of the tougher times.
It also gave me you. Please know that you are loved, Callan. Certainly by me, and even by Hawksley, though he isn’t one to show such things. You are the only one of my children he ever carried on his shoulders or invited to sit on his lap when he was watching television. Believe in that bond. And forgive me if you can.
All my love, your mother.
When she reached the end, Callan turned the page over, hoping for more. But that was all her mother had written, a handful of paragraphs that changed who Callan thought she was, and how she fit into this world.
“So I am a bastard after all.”
Sage wrapped her in a hug. “Don’t. That’s such an ugly, old-fashioned word.”
“I think Mom was right,” Mattie added. “You were Hawksley’s favorite. Always.”
“Really?” Callan said sarcastically. Then she blinked, as the significance of her father’s will clicked into place for her. “This is why he left the ranch to Court. Because we aren’t really his children. Court is related to him by blood. Not us.”
Her words stunned them.
Dani was the first to recover. “But Sage and me. We must be Hawksley’s children...?”
They all stared at the two remaining letters. Then at each other.
Sage shrank back. “You first, Dani.”
Solemnly Dani took the penultimate envelope and slid out the letter. She took a big breath, then began:
Dear Dani,
I hope that I am able to deliver this news to you in person one day, after Hawksley has had a long, long life. But in the event that doesn’t happen, it’s only fair that you know you are not Hawksley’s biological daughter.
For years after Mattie was born, I prayed for a second child. Being a rancher’s wife—especially a rancher as taciturn and somewhat cold as Hawksley—was hard on me. I coped by pouring love into my garden in the summer, quilting in the winter, and always and most importantly, my baby.
But I wanted more than one child, and so did Hawksley. Finally he agreed to come with me for medical testing. That was when we discovered that for unknown reasons—perhaps a childhood illness, or one of his many tumbles on the ranch—Hawksley’s sperm count was too low for us to have another child.
He was devastated by this news—and so was I. It took me another year to convince him to let me try artificial insemination. I went all the way to Seattle, since Hawksley didn’t want the biological father to be from Montana.
The profile we chose was from a man who worked as a professor. He had great health, a high IQ, was tall and handsome. As you grew older and it became clear just how intelligent youwere, yourself, I was often tempted to tell you the truth.
But I had a pact with Hawksley. I wouldn’t tell our children that he wasn’t their biological father as long as he lived. And, in turn, if something happened to me, he would raise you as if you were his own flesh and blood.
All my love, your Mother.
As with the other letters, none of them could speak until they’d taken some time to digest their mother’s words. Callan was the first to recover.
“This is weird. The way you ended up a professor, living in Seattle.”
“Yeah,” Sage agreed. “It’s like your genes predisposed you to that career and that location.”
“That I’d be drawn to a similar profession as my biological father isn’t a surprise,” Dani said. “But the location. That is a little...amazing.”
“Read that part about the pact again, would you?” Callan asked. After Dani complied, she nodded her head. “Think about what our father promised Mom. That he would raise us as if we were his own flesh and blood. He made no promise about what would happen later—after we were
I do believe you were conceived that evening, Callan. I pray this doesn’t hurt you too much. If I had been a stronger person, I would have left Hawksley. But I didn’t, and my relationship with Bill helped me get through some of the tougher times.
It also gave me you. Please know that you are loved, Callan. Certainly by me, and even by Hawksley, though he isn’t one to show such things. You are the only one of my children he ever carried on his shoulders or invited to sit on his lap when he was watching television. Believe in that bond. And forgive me if you can.
All my love, your mother.
When she reached the end, Callan turned the page over, hoping for more. But that was all her mother had written, a handful of paragraphs that changed who Callan thought she was, and how she fit into this world.
“So I am a bastard after all.”
Sage wrapped her in a hug. “Don’t. That’s such an ugly, old-fashioned word.”
“I think Mom was right,” Mattie added. “You were Hawksley’s favorite. Always.”
“Really?” Callan said sarcastically. Then she blinked, as the significance of her father’s will clicked into place for her. “This is why he left the ranch to Court. Because we aren’t really his children. Court is related to him by blood. Not us.”
Her words stunned them.
Dani was the first to recover. “But Sage and me. We must be Hawksley’s children...?”
They all stared at the two remaining letters. Then at each other.
Sage shrank back. “You first, Dani.”
Solemnly Dani took the penultimate envelope and slid out the letter. She took a big breath, then began:
Dear Dani,
I hope that I am able to deliver this news to you in person one day, after Hawksley has had a long, long life. But in the event that doesn’t happen, it’s only fair that you know you are not Hawksley’s biological daughter.
For years after Mattie was born, I prayed for a second child. Being a rancher’s wife—especially a rancher as taciturn and somewhat cold as Hawksley—was hard on me. I coped by pouring love into my garden in the summer, quilting in the winter, and always and most importantly, my baby.
But I wanted more than one child, and so did Hawksley. Finally he agreed to come with me for medical testing. That was when we discovered that for unknown reasons—perhaps a childhood illness, or one of his many tumbles on the ranch—Hawksley’s sperm count was too low for us to have another child.
He was devastated by this news—and so was I. It took me another year to convince him to let me try artificial insemination. I went all the way to Seattle, since Hawksley didn’t want the biological father to be from Montana.
The profile we chose was from a man who worked as a professor. He had great health, a high IQ, was tall and handsome. As you grew older and it became clear just how intelligent youwere, yourself, I was often tempted to tell you the truth.
But I had a pact with Hawksley. I wouldn’t tell our children that he wasn’t their biological father as long as he lived. And, in turn, if something happened to me, he would raise you as if you were his own flesh and blood.
All my love, your Mother.
As with the other letters, none of them could speak until they’d taken some time to digest their mother’s words. Callan was the first to recover.
“This is weird. The way you ended up a professor, living in Seattle.”
“Yeah,” Sage agreed. “It’s like your genes predisposed you to that career and that location.”
“That I’d be drawn to a similar profession as my biological father isn’t a surprise,” Dani said. “But the location. That is a little...amazing.”
“Read that part about the pact again, would you?” Callan asked. After Dani complied, she nodded her head. “Think about what our father promised Mom. That he would raise us as if we were his own flesh and blood. He made no promise about what would happen later—after we were
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