Checking the rearview mirror to see that Leah was still sleeping in the back seat, Adler gripped the steering wheel a little harder. “This was probably a bad idea…bringing her. A lot of the folks at the exhibition know what happened and at least half of them know what Leah looks like. She’s going to get reminders all day long.”

He talked just loudly enough to be heard over the truck’s engine.

Sage looked over her shoulder, her gaze soaking in the little face that looked absolutely angelic in slumber. They had already made a few changes to the itinerary to avoid upsetting Leah. Previously going solo, Adler had planned on leaving around four a.m. Remembering what Betty Rae had suggested about Leah getting sick because she’d been hauled out in the dark, Sage convinced him to reschedule some of his meetings on Saturday so they could leave after the sun was up.

Sensing that the truck was slowing, she checked the road ahead of them and then the speedometer. Adler hadn’t been speeding to start with, but he had dropped to five below the posted limit. The gap between his truck and the semi ahead of them grew longer.

“Is this…” She didn’t have the words to ask if they were passing the spot where his sister and father had died.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Haven’t had cause to travel it since then.”

Reaching over, she gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, the act reflexive to seeing the pain that flashed across his face.

Her touch didn’t relax him. The muscles on his arm bunched tighter and she withdrew, leaving him to focus on driving. Pulling out her phone, she looked for any diversions surrounding the arena where the exhibition was being held. There was only one—if she counted a McDonald’s Playland as a diversion.

Looking at the website for the show, she made a mental list of the various stands, keeping an eye out on the ones where the vendors weren’t likely to recognize Leah, especially while she was attended only by Sage.

“There’s a goat world section and horses. Will she blend in there?”

“Goats, definitely. We don’t keep any on the ranch. Dawn did some barrel racing when she was younger and the ranch buys a lot of horse supplies, but those people mostly deal with Royce and not at shows like this.”

Sage had to piece together that barrel racing was something one did with horses and not goats.

“Thank you,” Adler said. “It’s a great idea finding some areas within the arena that will be safe zones for her.”

Sage nodded. “I also brought enough books and movies for the two of us to hole up at the hotel if she gets overwhelmed.”

He nodded, his throat bobbing once with a thick swallow.

For the hundredth time since arriving at Willow Gap and meeting the Turks, Sage mulled over how different her world was from theirs. It was far more than swapping concrete for cow pastures. The real differences, the ones that hurt to think about, centered around the way they were as a family.

Sage’s mother might be dead and her father a sociopath holding a seat in Congress, but both of her maternal grandparents were alive. Strict, profoundly religious, they had shunned Sage’s mother when she became pregnant out of wedlock and refused to name the father. Not once had Sage or Jake been held by their grandparents. There was no exchange of cards or photos.

The most stunning blow to Sage had been when she contacted the elderly Ballards to tell them she would be burying their daughter.

She died the day she got pregnant with you.

The line went dead—so did a little part of Sage.

The Turks were another world. She couldn’t imagine them ever turning away one of their own. Their generosity extended far beyond family. There was a week blocked off on Adler’s calendar during which he was paying half the ranch hands out of pocket to frame a house for a family of five that lost theirs to a fire. For now, the family was living rent free in a hunting lodge owned by Lindy’s nephew.

When an otherwise healthy cow had to be culled from the herd, the meat was butchered and delivered to a local family in need. And every student participating in the local chapter of the Future Farmers of America was guaranteed a Turk calf and enough feed to raise it.

Then there was everything they had done for Sage even though they had more than enough cause to doubt her.

“Hey,” Adler said, his hand drifting away from the steering wheel to scratch lightly at the center console between them. “You okay?”

Looking at him, she offered a shaky smile.

“I will be.”

*

“Goat spit,” Leah squealed, her hand raised above her head for her aunt’s examination.

Sage reached into her bag and plucked one of the extra napkins she had grabbed over lunch. She wiped the thick glob of spit away, her stomach slightly churning, then chucked the napkin at the garbage can standing a few feet away.

Leah brought the hand close to her nose and sniffed. Nose curling, she shook her head back and forth.

“Okay,” Sage laughed. “Let’s find the bathroom.”

Scanning the area, she saw a sign a few booths down with an arrow pointing.

“Stinky,” Leah said, continuing to sniff at her hand.

“Maybe the goat ate something that smelled bad before he got his spit on you.”

The little brows locked together as she looked up. “Why?”

Sage shrugged. No way was she starting another “why” chain with the toddler in which every explanation led to another question. Why do baby goats wear pajamas? Why is the pig’s tail curly?

Reaching the restroom, Sage turned on the water in the middle sink, tested its temperature then lifted Leah. The little girl pumped soap into her hands, rubbed them together, rinsed them, pumped more soap, rubbed some more and rinsed. With a devilish glint in her green eyes, she reached toward the pump.

“Oh no, Honey Bee, let’s dry them off and see how they smell now.”

There were no hand towels, just the air dryers. Leah danced in Sage’s arms in a silent demand to be put down. She smacked the silver button, squealing when warm air gushed from the spout. She dried her hands, smacked the button again and put her face under the flow.

Laughing, Sage hauled her back to the line of sinks.

“Let me smell.”

Leah lifted the hand, Sage sniffed.

“Smells like soap and hot air. You are officially good to go.”

Leah shook her head and pointed at a small brown spot.

“Dirt.”

“Freckle,” Sage corrected.

“Dirt,” the two year old insisted.

“This is why Gam-Gam hides the soap in the kitchen, isn’t it?”

Leah grinned then tried to look innocent. Sage reached into her bag and pulled out some moisturizer that smelled of coconut and cocoa butter.

“Let’s put some of this on.”

Leah extended her cupped hands. Sage deposited a pea size dot in one palm. Leah cocked a brow. Fighting an indulgent smile, Sage deposited another dot on the opposite palm then capped the bottle and returned it to her bag as Leah rubbed her hands together. Finished, Leah brought her hands to her nose and sniffed.

“Mmm…” The small, pink tongue darted out.

“And that,” Sage laughed, stopping the little girl from licking herself. “Is why Gam-Gam hides the lotion, too.”

Phone chirping with a new text, Sage pulled out the device.

“Addy’s all done with business. Now we can get dinner and watch a video back at the hotel.”

Leah got excited all over again. “Croods!”

“Yep, I made sure I brought it.”

“No mousephants here,” Leah pouted. “Just stinky goats.”

Sage picked Leah up and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Honey Bee, I’m pretty sure you’re a city girl.”

*

“I think she’s asleep,” Adler whispered across his niece.

The three of them were in the king-sized hotel bed, Leah between her aunt and uncle, her arm wrapped around a stuffed horse Adler had purchased at the arena. Footie pajamas covered the toddler from head to toe, the movie started after Sage had given her a bath.

“Leah wake,” she mumbled, eyelids fluttering in an effort to open before she gave up and let them remain shut.

Adler froze in place, a stupid grin plastered on his face, until the child began to softly snore. He looked at Sage, silently questioning whether it was safe for him to leave the bed without waking the little girl. She lifted her hand an inch above the coverlet and made a seesaw motion.

Maybe yes, maybe no.

Forcing himself to relax, he stayed put and stared at his niece. Not reaching out and stroking her chubby little cheek was nearly impossible. It seemed weird to him that, out of all six of his parents’ children, there was only one grandchild. Part of it was that Dawn had just been luckier than them in that one respect. She had fallen in love with a man who deserved to have her. None of his brothers had met “the one.”

His gaze drifted from Leah to Sage. She was snuggled up against the toddler, watching Leah sleep. A content smile curled her mouth.

“Want one?” he whispered.

She looked up, the smile broadening, then splayed her fingers.

“Five?” His whisper bordered on a croak. Adler shot a glance at his niece, but his surprise hadn’t roused her from slumber.

On the opposite side of the bed, Sage shrugged, her green gaze full of mystery. And maybe, just maybe, a hint of invitation.

Settle down, boy, he chided. He had already made too many mistakes where this woman was concerned. He needed to proceed slowly enough to not make things worse and scare her away. But he couldn’t go so slow that someone else swooped in and romanced Sage out of his life.

“You?” she softly asked.

Lifting his hand, he splayed his fingers just as she had.

Five, he thought, or any other number Sage wanted to gift him with.