Page 57 of Secret Baby for the Triplets

“I’m not wrong about what I saw and how she reacted,” Brock snaps. “If she had nothing to hide, why did she run off?”

The lights of the ranch appear on the horizon, and my heart quickens in anticipation. “Leave me at her place. I’m going to talk to her.”

“We’re all going to talk to her,” Brock says.

I shake my head. “No. You’ve done enough damage. I’ll see what’s going on without you making it worse.”

He scoffs. “I’m telling you, she’s up to no good.”

“I agree with Brock, Toby. We need to all speak with her. You’re too easy to?—”

He stops himself, and my eyes narrow.

“What?” I challenge. “Manipulate?”

Owen sighs. “It’s just better if we all go.”

All the lights are off in the coach house as we approach.

I knock on the door. “Emmy, can we talk to you?”

She doesn’t answer, nor do any lights flicker on inside.

“Maybe we should do this in the morning.” I step back to look toward the loft’s skylight for illumination.

A faint light glows through the skylight, suggesting she’s still awake, but I don’t mention it to my brothers.

If Emerson needs time to collect herself, so be it. I’m sure that Brock misconstrued this entire situation.

“We’re resolving this tonight,” Brock insists.

Owen nods. “I don’t think we should let this go overnight.”

I grit my teeth. “How shocking. You’re siding with him.”

“I’m siding with us,” Owen tells me curtly. “And you should be, too.”

He steps forward and bangs harder on the door. “Emerson, open up. We’re not leaving here until you do. We’ll stay all night if we have to.”

His determination impresses me, and I lean back against the low railing in front of the coach house, looking toward the ranch. It’s super quiet now, not even the coyotes or crickets calling out. The stillness unnerves me a bit, like it’s warning me.

“Is she really not going to?—”

The door swings inward before Brock can finish, and I turn around to find Emerson eying us nervously.

“Can’t we do this in the morning?” she asks, keeping her tone neutral, but her emerald irises are flooded with near panic as she looks us over.

“No,” Brock answers flatly. “We can’t.”

He pushes past her to let himself into the coach house, and Owen follows. I offer her an apologetic grin, but she averts her eyes.

My smile fades.

These assholes are really scaring her. That can’t be good for the baby.

Owen sits on the futon, and Brock leans against the supporting beam. I take a chair at the small table between the kitchen and living room, reaching for the notepad and pen in the center of the table. A half-written shopping list peers back at me as I doodle around it.

“Well?” Brock drawls. “Anything you want to say?”

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