16. Toby
CHAPTER 16
Toby
I shrug Owen’s hand off my shoulder irritably.
“What?” I snap, the effects of the champagne taking hold as I make my rounds through the party.
I’m in my element here, chatting with fundraiser guests. But Owen’s incessant interruptions are getting in the way of my discussions about the wild horse rehabilitation program I’m trying to sell.
Although I do wish Emerson were here to help me with the pitch. I have more confidence with her at my side.
“We have to go,” Owen tells me.
The urgency in his tone turns me around, and I stare at him, reading the drawn expression on his face. My eyes dart toward the entrance where our oldest brother stands, his stormy eyes brewing with a tornado.
“What the hell is going on?” I demand, setting my glass down. “Something going on at the ranch? Is it Emmy?”
Panic seizes me, but he doesn’t answer as he stalks toward Brock. I excuse myself from the group to follow.
I glance at my phone, but there are no missed calls or texts from Emerson or anyone else at the ranch. Still, I don’t need to be a triplet to understand the underlying tension among them. Something bad is happening.
I have to run to catch up with my brothers at the truck. Brock barely waits for me to close the door before he pulls away.
“What happened?” I ask again, sitting forward. “Is it the baby?”
Brock’s jaw twitches, and the car lurches forward as he lays heavier on the gas, sending me forward slightly.
“I don’t know what’s going on exactly,” Brock finally admits as we wind away from the mayor’s house toward the ranch. “But I caught Emerson snooping through my room when I got back.”
I sit back, folding my arms over my chest. “Snooping?” I echo skeptically. “We told her she could stay at the house.”
Owen glances at me from the driver’s seat, and I read the familiar reprimand in his eyes.
My scowl deepens.
“Did you tell her she could take your toothbrush too?” Brock retorts, steering the car along the road.
“What?” I laugh. “Okay, so that’s a little strange, but I’ve had women do weirder things.”
“She took all three of our toothbrushes, Toby,” Owen cuts me off quietly. “She was collecting our DNA.”
My mouth parts, but no sound emits. “What?” I finally managed to say. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” Brock growls. “She took off before she would give me any answers.”
“Took off?” I demand. “Took off where?”
“She was at the coach house last I saw. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s gone.”
I frown, trying to make sense of her actions. “That doesn’t make any sense. She doesn’t even know us very well.”
“Could she be working for someone?” Brock suggests.
“Like the CIA?” I mock him.
Through the rearview mirror, he glowers at me. “No, you idiot,” he fires back. “Like maybe she’s working for a distant relative trying to stake a claim on the ranch. Grandpa used to worry about this shit, you know.”
I grunt and sit forward. “How the fuck would you remember that? We were kids when he died.”
“I remember! He always warned us about outsiders. To always consider that not everybody has good intentions.”
I can’t believe that about Emerson. No, Brock’s out of his mind. Whatever he thought he saw has to have a reasonable explanation.
I’m getting angry now that he’s upset Emerson.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Owen says sensibly. “She would have had a better backstory to apply for the job. She came to us without any ranching experience.”
“Yeah!” I agree, nodding vehemently. “You’re wrong.”
“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?”
My stare fixes on the words in front of me.
Cheese
Eggs
Milk
Bread
The even, feminine scrawl triggers something in the back of my mind, and a cold sweat prickles at the base of my neck. At first, I shrug it off, but the longer I stare at the handwriting, the harder it is to ignore.
“I don’t know what to say,” Emerson mumbles as I look up.
She locks eyes with mine, and I choke, her emerald stare suddenly striking me physically as I look back down at the shopping list.
“Why don’t you start by telling us what you’re planning on doing with our toothbrushes?” Owen offers, his tone stoic, and non-judgmental, but I’m having a really hard time keeping up with the conversation now.
The memory floods me as Emerson talks. “I was trying to find a way to tell you, but the longer I was here, the harder it became…”
In my mind’s eye, I see the note on my bedside in Vegas, the very same handwriting, the distinctive, loopy vowels. The water and bottle of aspirin sit there through my hangover haze…
Hope you’re feeling better. Thanks for a fun night.
D.
“Diana!” I gasp, jumping to my feet and pointing accusingly at the redhead. But she wasn’t a redhead then, nor did she have those glasses. “You’re Diana!”
My brothers gawk at me as Emerson’s complexion drains of all color.
Brock was right; she had come to deceive us, dressing differently and dying her hair, disguising herself to hide her real identity.
“E-Emerson,” she sputters. “I’m Emerson.”
“Diana?” Brock mutters, his eyes widening as he and Owen clue in. “Oh shit.”
“You’ve been lying to us!” I hiss, advancing on her.
Owen jumps up from the futon to put himself between us.
Emerson hangs her head. “I wanted to tell you.”
Bullshit!” I roar. “If you wanted to tell us, you would have told us, not come here in disguise!”
She shakes her head quickly. “This isn’t a disguise! Vegas was a disguise! This is who I am.”
“Oh stop!” I scoff, spinning away. I can’t even look at her. “So what? You came here when you found out we had money? You’re looking for someone to take care of your baby now?”
Shock and shame overtake Emerson’s face, followed by anger. “One of you is the father,” she spits. “That’s why I was collecting the DNA.”
“And we’re supposed to take your word on that?” I snort, folding my arms over my chest. “Why would we when you’ve lied about everything since the day we met you?”
“Toby…” Brock growls.
Owen holds up a hand. “Okay, let’s all take a breath here.”
I laugh mirthlessly, falling back onto the chair to glower at her. Emerson avoids my eyes, but I read the sadness radiating from her face as she looks helplessly at my brothers.
“This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out,” she tells us.
“Oh no?” I ask sarcastically. “You were just going to deceive us again and hope for the best?”
“Toby, why don’t you give us some time with Emerson alone?” Owen suggests.
“Fuck no!” I snarl. “I’m just as much invested in this shitshow as the rest of you. Whatever you decide to do with her, I get a say in it, too!”
Emerson recoils as if I’ve struck her. A smidgen of guilt spikes through me, but she deserves it.
There were so many lies, from Vegas to the baby, and now this DNA bullshit. I will never trust her again, as long as I live.
Besides, a DNA test won’t determine anything. We’re fucking identical triplets, but I am too mad to say anything.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, dropping her head. “I didn’t come here intending to cause trouble.
“Well, you failed at that,” I inform her. “You caused a shit ton of trouble.”
“You know what?” Brock interrupts. “Let’s not talk about this tonight. Emotions are running a little high. Let’s meet for breakfast tomorrow and decide how to handle this.”
“No! I don’t want her in the house again. She’ll probably rob us blind.” I stand again to stalk toward the door. “We’ll meet at the office.”
I see Owen’s reproving look, but I don’t care. Emerson earned every ounce of my bitterness.
“Will you meet us in the office in the morning?” Brock relents.
“Okay,” Emerson answers weakly.
I storm out of the coach house, not waiting for my brothers to follow, but Owen catches up to me.
“You have to control your temper,” he warns. “The baby she’s carrying could be yours. And if it’s not, it’s your niece or nephew.”
His words only incense me. My head whips toward him. “Why didn’t she tell us? She never cared about us at all, did she?”
Owen’s mouth twitches regretfully, but he doesn’t answer as I stomp toward the house.
Even if she is the mother of our child, I’ll never forgive her. That much, I’m sure of.
* * *
It’s not an easy night for any of us. I don’t sleep, and neither do my brothers, as we each try to avoid the inevitable truth. We were all taken full advantage of by a cunning, calculating woman.
“How did we not see it?” Owen questions over coffee at the kitchen island. “I mean, I knew there was something about her, but I couldn’t place it.”
Brock swallows a sip of coffee. “Me too. Maybe if I’d just said something sooner…”
I’m equally furious, but only with Emerson. She had known all along and fully played us for fools.
“This isn’t on us. She probably hunted us down,” I growl, concocting a whole story in my head. “Sought us out—where did we even find her?”
Owen and Brock look at one another and then name the casino in unison.
I flush, embarrassed that they remember more than me. Somehow, it makes me madder.
“Why didn’t you recognize her?” I accuse them. “Just because she changed her hair color?”
Brock rolls his eyes and stands, ambling out of the kitchen. “Stop throwing guilt around. This is just as much on you as it is on us.”
I clamp my lips together, hating to admit that he’s right. I’m not even mad at them, but I am mad.
“Look,” Owen sighs, dropping a hand on my shoulder comfortingly. “Go get some rest, and we’ll talk about this rationally in the morning. Let’s try to look at this from Emerson’s perspective. She probably didn’t know what to do?—”
“She could have talked to us! We always told her that she could!”
Owen stifles a groan. “See you in the morning. Don’t sleep in, Toby. You need to be there for this.”
Then, he follows Brock out of the kitchen.
Oh, they don’t need to worry about that because I won’t sleep a wink tonight.
* * *
But despite my best efforts and anger, I do fall asleep just before dawn, and my brothers are both gone when I finally crawl out of bed in the morning. I stumble out of the ranch house as sunshine cracks over the horizon and the staff swarms through the corrals and along the buildings to start their day. I’m late, zipping up my pants as I run toward the office—shirtless and bleary-eyed—to join my siblings.
“Good morning, Toby!” some of the ranch hands whistle, but for the first time in my life, I ignore them entirely.
Without a smile or greeting, I focus singularly on the meeting with Emerson.
I crash through the outer office in a huff of breath. Owen appears in the doorway of the inner office, hope igniting on his face and dying when he sees me.
“Oh, it’s you,” he mutters.
“Is it Toby?” I hear Brock ask.
“Yeah,” Owen sighs, retreating inside.
I follow him, and our oldest brother glowers at my shirtless form. “You’re an hour late.”
I look at the empty chair in front of him, my heart sinking. “Where is she?”
Owen reclaims his seat and bows his head. “Gone, I think. Her car isn’t here, and she’s not answering her phone.”
“Gone where?”
“We don’t know, Toby!” Brock barks. “We’ve been here waiting for her.”
I glare back at him. “I’m just asking.”
“You and your temper last night probably scared her off,” Brock accuses me.
My jaw slacks. “What? Are you blaming me now? And so what if I did scare her off? She deserved it!”
“Stop,” Owen interjects, standing. “We don’t even know if she’s gone. Let’s go check the coach house and call her again.”
Begrudgingly, we stand to do that, but as we retreat outside, I have a feeling that Brock has a point. I hadn’t been very kind to Emerson last night.
But do I really regret it after what she’d done?
Silently, we make our way across the ranch toward the little house, and my chest tightens as we step onto the porch. I should have stopped by on the way out of the house, and I would have seen the open door.
All of the things that made the place personal are gone, her shoes and jackets in the front closet. Even that notepad with her handwriting, which had tipped me off, no longer sits in the middle of the table.
“Shit,” Brock curses.
“It’s good,” I huff.
“Don’t be stupid. She’s still carrying our kid,” he whiplashes. “We’re not going to let her raise that baby without help.”
I tense at the reminder. Padding up the steps to the loft, I check the closet to be sure, and my pulse speeds up more to find the empty dresser and closet. She’s undeniably gone without so much as a goodbye.
I peer over the half-wall and nod curtly. “She’s gone.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something on top of the dresser and frown. Turning to the surface, I reach for the plastic sandwich bags and exhale. “And she left the toothbrushes behind,” I call out to my brothers. “I guess she doesn’t want the DNA after all.”
Brock and Owen rush upstairs to look, their identical expressions of shock mimicking what I’m feeling inside.
“What the fuck does this mean now?” Brock mumbles. “That she wants to do it alone?”
I have no answer for him, but it sure looks that way. All I know for sure is that Emerson Ward is the most infuriating woman I’ve ever met in my entire life.