LITMIR.BIZ

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she’d barely learned how to take care of herself. There was so much to think about. Breast-feeding, she’d discovered, wasn’t nearly as natural as the books had implied. She’d assumed that babies instinctively understood what to do. Well, they didn’t, and this morning’s feeding had been a frustrating ordeal for all of them.

      The instructional nurse had soothed, encouraged and reassured her that a learning process was perfectly natural, and the babies would soon become quite proficient at filling their own little tummies. But what if they never learned how to suckle? And even if they did, Peggy was such a novice at motherhood, she feared doing something horribly wrong. What if she got confused as to which baby had been fed and which hadn’t? Worse, what if her body couldn’t produce enough breast milk to satisfy both infants?

      And God forbid, what if they became ill? Would she know what to do? She’d read a million books on infant care over the past few months, but had little hands-on experience caring for babies. None with babies as tiny as her own. She shifted the tiny bundles in her arms, fighting a surge of panic.

      “Mrs. Saxon?”

      “Hmm? Oh, no questions, thank you.”

      “Well, then.” The nurse glanced around, frowning. “Have you chosen to take advantage of our Mommy’s Helper program?”

      The program in question cost more than a month’s rent and wasn’t covered by insurance. Peggy refused to look up. “It, ah, won’t be necessary.”

      “So you’ve made other arrangements for in-home assistance?”

      “Yes.”

      From the corner of her eye, she saw Travis’s eyebrow hike up and sent him a pleading glance. He frowned, but thankfully said nothing. The last thing Peggy’s pocketbook needed was enforcement of the hospital’s policy for postpartum patients without in-home assistance. She barely had enough to meet the insurance co-payment for two nights, let alone four.

      So Peggy had lied. Again.

      In the space of five short minutes, she’d lied about having questions, she’d lied about having help. Guilt pricked her, but only a little. There’d been a time in her life when she’d been naively truthful, gullibly sincere. Lies had wedged like chicken bones in her throat, choking her into silence. But that had been years ago. A lifetime ago. Before her illusions had been shattered.

      Virtue, she’d discovered, was not a universal concept. Guile was the key to survival. And Peggy Saxon was a survivor. She had to be. Her babies were counting on her.

      * * *

      The drive home from the hospital was quiet, thoughtful. In the back seat, the twins were fastened in matching car seats that doubled as baby carriers, gifts from her coworkers. Peggy sat between them, a hand resting on each flannel-wrapped little tummy while she gazed out the window, lost in thought.

      Power had been restored about six on Sunday morning. Traffic lights were on line and functioning. Gridlock had eased as mud-clogged roads were cleared and abandoned vehicles reclaimed. Grand Springs residents emerged to dig out and tally their losses. The blackout was over, but the effects lingered. The town itself would never be quite the same.

      Peggy certainly wouldn’t. Her entire world had been transformed since Saturday. She was a mother now. A mother. The sacred word frightened her, but she cherished it all the same and prayed she’d be worthy. Her babies were so precious. They deserved every wonderful thing life had to offer, health and happiness and the joy of knowing they were loved.

      And they were loved. Deeply. Desperately.

      The cab slowed, swerved to the right. Peggy idly glanced out the window at a bustling group of chain-saw-wielding workers clearing storm debris. She paid them little mind. Every block swarmed with weary residents repairing shattered shingles, hauling broken tree limbs and dragging ruined carpeting to cluttered curbs. Neighbor worked with neighbor, a familial shouldering of shared crisis. Peggy admired that, envied it.

      But she wasn’t really a part of it. Never had been. A community’s social fabric was knit too tightly to assimilate a person so flawed that she’d been abandoned by her own father. Or her own husband.

      Or both.

      “Ma’am?”

      Peggy blinked up and saw Travis pivot away from the steering wheel to stare into the back seat.

      “You feeling all right?”

      A bit dazed, she realized that the cab was no longer vibrating, because the engine had been turned off. “Yes, I’m fine. Why have we stopped?”

      “You’re home, ma’am.”

      Frowning, she focused out the side window and saw several beefy workers marching toward the cab. “Home?” she murmured, eyeing the duplex, which was in the process of having its porch reframed by a construction crew. “Who are these people?”

      “Just a few friends of mine.” Travis pushed open the driver’s door, flashing a grin over his shoulder. “Thought you might need a bit of help hoisting that big old tree off your porch.”

      Tree. Of course, that’s what was different. Peggy scooted forward on the seat, peering over the headrest to stare out the front windshield. “Ohmigosh. It’s gone.”

      Well, the fallen pine wasn’t exactly gone, but it had been sliced into manageable hunks and hauled into the yard, where it was apparently in the process of being chopped into firewood.

      She gasped as the back door flew open, and cringed as a meaty, grinning face poked inside. “Whoo-ee! Look at those purty little babes. Ain’t they sweet.” A pair of china blue eyes crinkled at the corners, focusing on Peggy from beneath a hairy buzz of sandy-colored brows that matched the man’s military-style crew cut. “You must be the proud mama. Pleased to make your acquaintance, ma’am. I’m James T. Conway. My friends call me Jimmy.”

      Before she could withdraw, the ruddy-faced fellow had clamped one of her limp hands between two of the biggest, beefiest palms she’d ever seen in her life. “I, ah—” Her gaze darted toward the front seat. It was empty. She was trapped. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Conway.”

      “Jimmy,” he replied cheerfully. Releasing her, the brawny guy reached beneath Virginia’s carrier and unsnapped the seat belt. Before Peggy could protest, he’d expertly unlatched and raised the padded plastic carrier handle and hoisted the carrier, baby and all, out of the cab. “You’d be little Ginny,” he said, holding the carrier up so his huge red face was inches from her daughter’s tiny button nose. “Just look at them big ol’ eyes. You’re a beauty, you are. Your poor mama’s gonna have to whack them boys off with a shovel.”

      Horrified to see her precious daughter in the oversize clutches of a complete stranger, Peggy struggled out of the cab. “Mr. Conway, please—” Someone took hold of her elbow.

      It was Travis. “Watch your step, ma’am. Wouldn’t want you to slip and, ah, skin nothing.”

      “Thank you,” she murmured, glancing up at him. When she looked back toward Jimmy Conway, he’d been joined by a younger version of himself who was toting T.J.’s carrier. A stunned glance behind her confirmed that the back seat of the cab was now empty.

      “That’s my nephew Ted,” Travis said genially. “You’ve already met his daddy.”

      “They have my babies,” Peggy said foolishly.

      Ted looked up, grinning just like his father. “They’re real pretty, ma’am. Real pretty.”

      “Uh, thank—”

      “That little Travis? Lemme see that boy.” Jimmy snagged T.J.’s carrier, which Ted relinquished without protest. “Well, danged if he don’t look like you, Travis.” Travis narrowed his eyes but said nothing.

      Peggy hurried forward, hands extended. “Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Conway. I’ll take them. Mr. Conway…?”

      James T. Conway—Jimmy

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