I’ve never seen Micah date a woman. He’s always been too interested in this farm, same as me and Ledger. But Micah is the one that travels. Dad sends him when we need a friendly face for our biggest clients. Guess he must have had some fun on one of those trips. “Is she yours?”
He murmurs almost to himself, “She is now.”
I scratch at my beard. “How old is she? Where’s her mama? What’s her name?”
He stares at her, a frown creasing his forehead. “I don’t know her age. Had to check the damn diaper to even figure out she’s my daughter. She doesn’t have a name. Least not that I’ve been able to find.” He gestures me deeper into his house.
I follow him into the warmth, noticing the way he cradles her so carefully. He’s holding her just like you’re supposed to hold a baby. I guess that’s an advantage of working around the Christmas tree farm. We’re constantly being handed kids to take pictures with.
He walks to the living room where there’s a car seat on the coffee table. A fire crackles as Sinatra croons out another love song. In the corner, his Christmas tree adds a soft glow to everything. It looks like a scene from a Christmas card, except for the baby whose name we don’t know.
“That’s all I have on her,” his voice carries a broken note.
My heart hurts for him. He got drunk one night a few years back and talked about how hard it is to be nine years old and handed a garbage bag to shove all your stuff into. That’s if the social worker is kind enough and patient enough to wait for you in the first place. Sometimes, you leave with only the clothes on your back and that happens to hundreds of kids across the country every single day. Uprooted from their latest placement with nothing to soothe or comfort them.
I examine the basket and little bag. It has two bottles with formula and a note. It’s short and sweet.She’s yours. Take good care of her, Micah.
“Fuck,” I breathe out.
He scowls at me and gestures toward the baby. “Don’t cuss in front of my daughter.”
Pretty sure his daughter is sleeping too deeply to hear, much less care about the language I’m using.
“Cash is on his way to check her out,” he says. Cash Taylor is the local doctor. He’s married with kids of his own and a ranch to run. Yet he never turns away a patient, no matter how rural their location or how poor their family. He lives and breathes for the people of this town and we’re lucky to have him.
“You should have taken him to her. It would have been faster,” I answer, peering at the bundle again. Her cheeks are a nice rosy pink, and her breaths are even.
“I don’t think she was out there for long,” he says. “I heard a racket on the porch and got out of bed to investigate.”
“She’s awfully tiny,” I say as I imagine Cassie holding one of ours. Looks like I won’t be telling Micah I’m dating his sister today. He’s got enough on his plate. But I’ll make sure to tell him soon. I don’t want him finding out any other way.
“She’s got a warrior’s spirit though,” he answers with a soft smile at her. He’s clearly already bonding with her.
Headlights sweep in through the front window, alerting us to the fact that Cash has arrived for the baby’s checkup. “Should I stay?”
He shakes his head. “I won’t be in today, so it’ll be all hands on deck.”
“Don’t you worry about that,” I reassure him. “You just look after the little one. Everything else will come together.”
I’m not entirely sure about that last part. Micah handles a lot of management tasks for Dad. He’s the smart one. Give him a dollar and next thing you know, he has a hundred. It’s the same concept with the farm. It was doing well for decades. But under Micah’s guidance, our profits consistently double.
I nod to the little one. “And congratulations.”
He manages a smile that might be more of a grimace. “Thanks.”
* * *
My day isa blur of chaos without Micah to smooth everything over. I didn’t tell Mom and Dad what was going on. I just told them Micah wasn’t feeling well and left it at that. They’ll figure out what’s happening pretty soon.
In the meantime, I’ve been working like hell to get my usual work done in addition to fielding a million questions from the employees. I’ve come to the conclusion that Micah does not get paid enough for the shit he deals with.
The only bright spot is the text messages that Cassie and I exchange. They have me smiling at my phone all day long.
“What’s your deal?” Ledger asks while he wolfs down a sandwich in the back office with me. “You been smiling like a fool all damn day.”
Like Micah and Cassie, Ledger was adopted by my folks when he was a teenager. He was a firecracker in high school, always doing something crazy and wild. My best memories from back then involve him pulling me and Micah into some outrageous stunt.
I open a bag of chips. Does everyone around here think I’m the big green guy? “What’s wrong with being happy?”