A Texas-Sized Fake-Out: Legacy Canyon Series Book 1

In a high-stakes game of fake it… 
Will they make it? 

Wyatt Larrabee thought adopting twin boys and moving back home to Legacy Canyon, Texas, would be tough. Turns out, fending off unwanted attention from women after a TV interview about his adorable new sons is even tougher. And now a random blind date? Between daddy duty, ranch chores and his job, love is not in the cards for Wyatt. 

Pediatrician Madi Brennan agrees to another date to appease her matchmaking grandmother before Madi must eventually return to Boston. But when she meets Wyatt, a plan forms: pretend to date to discourage nosy meddlers. Spending time together to keep up appearances, Wyatt and Madi realize their attraction is very real. With two hearts at stake, will love call their bluff with a full house? 

Coming January 27, 2026

A sneak peek:

Chapter One

One thing was certain, Wyatt Larrabee thought as he drove into town—Legacy Canyon never seemed to change. Even in the dead of winter, the stuck-in-time tourist trap where Wyatt had spent his impressionable formative years looked as frozen as the ground covered with a one-inch dusting of mid-January snow.

He loosened fingers stiff from driving as he passed Samson Hardware, Cooke Dry Goods, Molly’s Bakery and the headquarters of Lone Star Savings and Loan. The famed town square dating back to the 1890s showcased historic storefronts with timber frames, weathered wooden exteriors and broad front porches complete with railings covered in blue-and-white snowflake bunting. In February, the theme would swap out for Valentine’s Day, then the next would be St. Patrick’s Day followed by Easter, etc., etc. September was always the Lasso for Legacy rodeo, the amateur and professional charity event that had truly put the town on the map. Wyatt had participated once, much to his father’s eternal shame. Worse, he’d competed in barrel racing and been knocked out in the first round.

Just another failure in the long string of disappointments Wyatt’s father had had to endure from his firstborn. But Wyatt was a grown man, and a father now himself, with the proof being the eight-month-old twins riding along in the back seat of his SUV. Wyatt certainly hadn’t predicted this life-changing event six years ago when he’d moved from Legacy Canyon to Denver, but he didn’t regret his boys.

Had it really been that long since he and his father had exchanged harsh words that neither regretted? If Wyatt was truly honest, the verbal blows still felt a bit like yesterday, especially after his dad had called adopting the twins foolish, said that Wyatt was throwing his life away. Said Wyatt should find some nice woman, settle down and have his own flesh-and-blood kids. That latter part had stung and turned Wyatt into a defensive Papa Bear. His own father’s attitude had provided the strongest reason Wyatt had skipped visiting the Larrabee Ranch this past Christmas, much to his mother’s eternal disappointment. Just another sin added to a long list.

But he’d wanted to spend his first holiday alone with his twin sons as just the three of them. Even if the boys were too young to remember his first attempt at Christmas decorations and their presents, Wyatt would remember. When his memories faded as the boys grew, he’d be able to look back at the photos of them in their Santa suits, and smile.

Besides, the day after Christmas the stress had started. Not only had the decorations been tucked away into plastic tubs, but Wyatt had also begun the process of packing his life into cardboard boxes. Moving back to Legacy Canyon had been a hard decision, but he’d had to admit he needed help. He couldn’t do it alone, and he was man enough to make the hard decisions that were in the best interests of his family. So he’d finished out the work year before saying goodbye to his viewers, his coworkers and the meteorology job he’d truly enjoyed, and pointed his car toward Legacy Canyon. His mother was thrilled and ready to babysit. Wyatt’s dad hadn’t said a word, probably warned to stay silent by his wife.

As for his father’s idea of Wyatt dating? His work hours had made that near impossible. Worse, when he’d been approved to adopt the twins, the woman he’d been seeing had balked. Told him he was a fool and dumped him flat. Good riddance. Wyatt didn’t have time, anyway. Dating was a nice thought, but not a priority. His first priorities slept quietly, unaware of their new home, or that someone had once called the town’s architecture “saloon-style on steroids” and run the risk of being chased out of town. Wyatt snickered because the description fit.

Besides, when he did eventually find “the one,” she’d understand and accept that he and the twins were a package deal. She also wouldn’t want him for being a TV news personality. She’d be fun, yet serious when it mattered. She’d embrace his eccentricities and his passion for the weather. He wanted his marriage to be affectionate and caring. He wasn’t on board with all that soul-mate stuff, not with his parents as role models. But if he and his bride were both friends and physically compatible, and if they got along well, then he believed they could develop a deep bond, one rooted in trust and respect. While love wasn’t something he had truly understood until he’d met the boys, it mattered. He would not bring just anyone into their lives.

A ringing sound interrupted the music, and Wyatt answered the phone call. “Hi, Mom.”

“Wyatt. Just checking in on you.”

“Driving through town now.”

“Can you stop at Brayden’s? Your grandfather’s prescription’s ready. Says they’ll meet you at the door.”

His grandfather had cancer, but the treatments were working. His grandfather’s poor health had been another strong factor in Wyatt’s decision to move home. “I can pop by. It’s just ahead. Call them and tell them I’m here.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

Wyatt pulled the SUV to the curb. Today was Wednesday, which meant fewer tourists and therefore, more available parking. Brayden’s Drugs had been in the same location for generations with a loyal clientele that would go nowhere else. The car idling, Wyatt gazed out the passenger window. He couldn’t see anyone inside the glass door. He checked the dashboard clock. A few minutes later, he checked that the boys were still sleeping, turned off the car and climbed out. Probably faster to run in and out. Be two minutes tops. Key fob in his pocket, he locked the car and stepped onto the curb, and ran smack-dab into someone. He instinctively righted himself and reached to help her.

“Watch where you’re going!” She shrugged him off and secured the lid on her coffee.

Embarrassment mixed with annoyance at her sharp tone, but Wyatt prided himself on being a gentleman. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

As she lifted a head covered with caramel-colored hair, Wyatt found himself staring into the most captivating blue eyes he’d ever seen, despite the fact that they were glaring at him. They reminded him of the bluebonnets that bloomed every spring. Wyatt blinked in response as the full lower lip of a bow-shaped mouth dropped. “I’m fine.”

Then a pretty gaze a man could drown in narrowed. “You’re not going to leave your car there, are you?”

“What?” Wyatt had no idea what she meant.

Despite his having five inches on her, she held her own. She pulled her winter peacoat tight, then she pointed to the rear passenger window. “Your children are alone in the car.”

“It’s locked. They’re sleeping, and I’ll only be a—”

She cut him off. “It doesn’t matter. You never leave children unattended. What if it’s a hot car? Do you know how fast those heat up? How many kids or pets die each year?”

Her scathing words had him off-kilter, as if his mother had scolded him. And, yes, he knew the number. He often gave his viewers the same warnings and statistics when the temperatures climbed. “It’s winter,” he pointed out.

As if proving the point, a twenty-mile-per-hour wind buffeted them and his car. Since the winds covered the high plains year-round, the locals in this part of the Texas Panhandle called the nonstop gusts “God’s blow dryer.” If he’d been in front of the camera, he’d describe today’s weather as cloudy with a high of thirty-two with winds from the southwest. By tomorrow, the temperature would be in the upper forties and the snow would be gone.

“It’s still freezing. You don’t leave children. Ever.”

“Of course not!” Wyatt snapped. “I’m picking up medicine for my grandfather. In and out. What type of father do you think I am?”

Her arms folded and the peacoat bunched at her shoulders as she silently judged him.

“Wyatt?” Matt Brayden, who’d attended high school with him, stepped out holding a white paper bag. Wyatt exhaled his relief. “Here’s your grandfather’s medicine. Tell him I said hi, and I hope he’s doing better. Let’s catch up now that you’re back.” Matt shivered in his white pharmacy coat, then took note of the woman. “Ma’am.” He disappeared back inside

“Ma’am,” Wyatt echoed, holding the package like a shield. He left her on the curb, went to the driver’s side and climbed in. The electric engine made no noise as it started. He could still see her standing there, then she began to walk as he drove away.

Who did she think she was? He didn’t know her. This was Legacy Canyon. As for his being a father, he was already a better dad than his own standoffish father. Fuming at being found lacking, he ignored the rest of the town square, which was lined with art galleries, antique stores and other such tourist temptations. He planned to give his kids the best upbringing, and in order to be more present, he’d chosen to come home. It was a small sacrifice to make, leaving a large-market weather-forecasting job for one a short distance away in Amarillo, whose airport had a mere eight gates.

How dare she judge him! He always put his kids first. Instead of discussing mile-high conditions to his 5:00 and 6:00 a.m. early morning newscast viewers, soon he’d be telling the area locals about the weather affecting the region’s flat terrain and lack of natural windbreaks. In the TV industry, the backward move could be seen as a demotion.

But his sons—how strange yet powerfully fulfilling that word sounded—came first. And they were too young to notice or care that the strongest winds would peak by early spring. The twins would be a year in April, beginning to pull up and soon to be walking according to the parenting book he’d read. Already they were saying “da,” “ah” and “ooh,” although they were noises, not words. Their first smiles had been a like a punch to the gut, in a good way. The love he’d experienced at that moment? Words couldn’t come close to describing how enraptured he’d been, how determined he was to be there for his sons, to experience every milestone.

He glanced in the rearview, as he’d been doing the entire drive—the normal seven hours had taken nine with the stops he’d needed to make for diaper changes. The mirrors attached to the back headrests allowed him to see into the rear-facing car seats. Noah and Ethan slept with chins tilted onto their chests. Tiny fists that his could swallow had curled. Soon, their puffy baby cheeks would be covered in kisses by a grandmother and great grandmother eager to meet them. The jury remained out on Wyatt’s dad. Joe Larrabee marked the fourth generation of Larrabee cattle ranchers in the Texas Panhandle. Wyatt had been the first to break the streak, leaving for Denver to follow his dream.

But then, fate had sent him these angels, meaning he now had a new dream. The boys might be the children of a distant cousin who’d passed far too young, one Wyatt hadn’t even known that well, if at all, but the boys had Larrabee blood. And they’d been in foster care. And his cousin had named Wyatt their guardian in her will, for reasons he still fully didn’t understand minus the fact he’d always been the face of the Denver TV station’s foster-and-adoption programming. But from the moment he’d held the twins, he’d loved and wanted them. After a lengthy process, they were legally his, with his name secure on their birth certificates in the line that read father.

Wyatt’s hands worked the leather-wrapped steering wheel, and he drove away from a town square decorated in snowmen and snowflakes. The Larrabee Ranch was five country miles outside of town, so he’d take the next left onto the county highway for the final stretch. A soft sigh of sweet, dreamy slumber came from the back as Wyatt waited for a green left arrow. He tamped down his anxiety. His father had been correct about one thing: babies were a lot of work.

He tried to erase the woman’s pretty image. He hadn’t needed a judgy woman around his age to make comments today. He tried to let it go, but found it difficult. Why was her rebuke under his skin? He’d been fending off well-intentioned, and some not so well-intentioned, women for months. Once the Denver news station had aired a story on the double adoption as part of its commitment to helping children find a home, female admirers had poured out of the woodwork, a situation made even worse after the national news rebroadcast the story. The subsequent attention was annoying rather than flattering. Overwhelming instead of helpful. Trying to work full-time and be a full-time single parent was stressful enough, but he’d been unable to go to the supermarket without attracting notice and people wanting to touch his sons. Thankfully, the Larrabee Ranch had gates and better protections.

As the town gave way to the wide-open fields that belonged to the cattle ranchers, Wyatt leaned forward over the steering wheel. Despite the snow, the area had been in drought the last two years, and dry, brown grass poked through the layer of white snow. He studied the remains of a gray sky blocking the sunset as he drove through the gates onto Larrabee Lane. The former dirt-and-rock, one-mile drive was now plowed clean. Above his head the light, snow-covered branches of the half-century-old, fifty-foot-tall honey locusts created a magical winter canopy. He reached the Y and took the right fork, toward his childhood home. If one pictured a rectangle of nearly one hundred thousand acres of land, his mother and father lived in the lower right corner on five dedicated acres. His Uncle Silas was somewhere to the left, and his brother, Caleb, more to the center right. His grandparents lived more toward the center, and his grandparents had an additional twenty thousand acres of their own.

Alerted to his presence by the security cameras, his family stepped onto the wide front porch that ran around three sides of a rambling two-story house decorated in colors similar to the town storefronts. His father’s frown accompanied a green plaid shirt and tan corduroy jacket. Joe Larrabee had shoved his hands into the front pockets of a pair of worn blue jeans spread in a bow-legged stance. The ever-present Stetson topped a full head of graying hair. Everyone said thirty-two-year-old Wyatt looked like a carbon copy of his father at that age. Wyatt had the same jet-black hair, same Roman nose, and same brown eyes with gold flecks. He didn’t have the same dedication to the ranch, which remained a bone of contention. Thankfully, Caleb had stepped into that gap. But Wyatt didn’t see his younger brother among the welcome party, but then again, they had nothing in common minus the fact they were both parents. They’d catch up at some point. They always did.

Wyatt waved to the onlookers waiting on the porch, a gesture two of them returned. His mother wore slacks and a long-sleeved sweater. She rubbed her arms against the cold. Born and raised in LA, his mom was proof that while you could take the girl out of the city, you couldn’t take the city out of the girl. Wyatt wasn’t surprised to see that his eighty-year-old grandmother was already moving spryly down the front steps. In clear contrast to Wyatt’s mother, she wore snow boots and blue-jean overalls with a red polka-dot T-shirt underneath. An unbuttoned black parka covered everything. Clarissa Larrabee was a force of nature in her own right, and without hesitation she tugged open the back door of the car the moment Wyatt had put the vehicle in Park and turned off the engine. Cold air swirled inside. She peered at Ethan.

“Ooh, look at how cute they are! Much more adorable in person. Aren’t you so cute! So sweet,” his grandmother cooed at the sleeping Ethan. She made to reach for him but stopped. “You will let me hold both of them, yes?”

Wyatt climbed out of the vehicle. “Once they’re awake, of course. We’ve had a bit of a rough go lately, as both are getting their top incisors. I’ll let you carry him inside if you’d like, and I’ve got Grandpa’s medicine.”

“Good, good. Let’s get these precious bundles inside.”

“Yes, hurry. It’s too chilly out here,” his mom called, stepping off porch. His dad disappeared back inside.

Standing five-six to Wyatt’s six-one, his grandma straightened as Wyatt rounded the car. She took the medicine he handed her and shoved it in a coat pocket. “You did good, my boy. Very, very good.” She lowered her voice for his ears alone. “Don’t let your dad get to you. He’ll come around, you’ll see.” Then, smiling, she opened her arms. “Now, come here. Don’t think I’m letting you get by without giving me a quick hug. Then let’s get them inside out of the cold.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Arms that felt less strong than they had over a year ago enveloped him, giving him a tight squeeze before she leaned back to size him up. “You’re thinner but nothing some home-cooked food won’t cure. The organizing committee sent casseroles.”

“They sent multiple casseroles,” Wyatt’s mother murmured as she edged closer. “Because, well…” She paused. Considered her words carefully. “Because they’re your grandmother’s friends,” his mother said diplomatically from her spot on the sidewalk.

Officially, the organizing committee was an ad hoc committee—as if fifty years of being a committee could still be considered ad hoc—consisting of civic-minded women and store owners who worked for the betterment of Legacy Canyon. The group not only organized the Lasso for Legacy charity rodeo, but also put together other community events. Unofficially the committee also served as the town’s welcome wagon, grapevine and gossip central. If anything happened in Legacy Canyon, everyone knew about it within seconds. That was critical during times of crisis. Not so helpful when Wyatt had tried his first and only cigarette during eighth grade. So much for looking cool in front of his friends.

He smiled at his grandmother. “Tell the committee I said thank you. I’m going to love not having to cook. I consider it a victory that I can make the scrambled eggs my boys like.”

“Oh, don’t let them hear that, they’ll keep dropping things off,” his mother said.

Wyatt covered Ethan’s face with a blanket and lifted the car seat from the base. Months ago, he’d fumbled with the contraption. Now, he unhooked the seat with ease. His grandmother reached for the handle.

“They wanted to make sure you were fed well and not eating fast food or carryout,” his grandmother said cheerily as she started for the house. “You know how they are.”

He did. For better or worse, so did everyone in Legacy Canyon. He went to retrieve Noah. “And I’m grateful. Truly.”

“I’ll pass on your thanks,” his grandmother called as she climbed the porch steps. “There’s enough to feed you for a month, so we put the dishes in the cabin fridge. You can choose which to freeze. I’d eat Betty’s beef Stroganoff tonight. She makes a mean one, but for some reason it won’t keep. Not sure why.” With that, the force that defined his grandmother hustled through the heavy wood front door. Wyatt’s father had long disappeared.

“You can toss it if you want.” Wyatt’s mother’s pink-tinged lips thinned and she gave another shiver. “It might not be to your liking.”

“It’ll be delicious. You’re getting cold. Let’s get inside.” Wyatt tucked the receiving blanket around Noah. He and his sons would be living in “the cabin,” which was the name for the two-bedroom guesthouse located about one hundred feet from the main house. He lifted the car seat, closed the door with his foot and carried his son quickly inside. His mother followed, rubbing her arms until she closed the front door behind him.

Wyatt glanced around. Like the town, not much in his boyhood home had changed. A formal dining room to the left awaited dinner guests. A Western-themed living room on the right contained family photos of various generations on the fireplace mantel and a bookcase filled with nostalgia from his dad and Caleb’s rodeo days. The kitchen was straight ahead, past a wide flight of stairs. Beyond that was the family room addition. He set the car seat on the hardwood floor next to Ethan’s. As his mom bent to peer at Noah, Wyatt shed his coat. “He’s adorable,” she said. “I’ve already missed so much.”

Guilt twinged at not having visited in the past seven months. But once the social worker had contacted him last May, saying she had infant twins whose mother had named him their guardian, he’d been busying with the foster and adoption process.

“How is Grandpa?” Wyatt asked as he hung his coat in the closet. His grandmother passed him hers.

“He has more good days than bad,” his grandmother answered, her pragmatic nature not allowing her to sugarcoat anything. “So far the cancer’s stayed gone. The medicine’s helping, so thanks for getting the refill. He’ll be glad to see these guys. The thought of seeing your boys, of seeing you marry, gives him something to fight for.”

“Uh-huh.” There it was. That pressure to marry.

Clarissa continued cheerily. “He’s napping now or he’d be here. And I told your father to unload your luggage, so he probably went out back to unlock the cabin first before heading to your car,” she said, answering Wyatt’s unasked question as to where his father had gone. “I told him to make himself useful. Besides, I wanted some uninterrupted time with my littles before the two of you start butting heads. Aren’t you the sweetest thing,” she cooed to Ethan as Wyatt juggled both car seats.

They moved into the kitchen and Wyatt set the seats on the kitchen counter.

“That is Ethan,” he told his mother and grandmother as they crowded around. “This is Noah. These are my sons. You can tell them apart because Ethan has this little dimple in his cheek and his eyes are darker.”

“Oh, I see it,” his grandmother said.

“They are beautiful.” His mom fingered the strand of pearls skimming her collarbones. “I love them already. Let’s get some food in you, and then we’ll help you get settled.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Wyatt had no problem agreeing. He was hungry and the boys were starting to stir. “Once they wake up, would you like to hold them?”

Clarissa never stopped looking at the babies. “Of course, we would. What kind of question is that? Been waiting forever for great grandchildren and now I got two more teeny ones. Emma’s two and, well, we never see Kate since your sister stays in Chicago for the holidays. We send presents, though. But it’s not the same.”

Emma was Caleb’s daughter. Wyatt’s niece, Kate, was five, and her mom, Kristen, was a veterinarian. Whereas Wyatt and his father butted heads, Kristen and their mom were like bighorn sheep. She’d followed Wyatt’s footsteps in leaving Legacy Gap to blaze new trails in a big city.

“I like the new high chairs.” He nodded toward the breakfast nook.

His grandmother grinned. “Your mom and I figured we’d need them with the babysitting and all. And wait until you see what your mother and I did with the cabin. Fixed it right up.”

“We shopped at Bundle and Bloom, the baby boutique on the square.” While Clarissa might be more forthright, Wyatt’s mother was not one to be left out, and had learned to hold her own. She’d decided to assert herself.

Wyatt had never heard of Bundle and Bloom. “Is that new?”

“Been there about two years,” his mother said. “Excellent quality. And if they don’t have it, they can order it.”

“Huh. Good to know we have a local place.” Then again, he hadn’t been looking for baby items the last time he’d visited and he hadn’t driven all the way around the entire square today.

“It’s an excellent store. Marya Brennan, she’s a friend of mine, started the place after she permanently retired from teaching,” his grandmother said. “You remember her, don’t you?”

How could he forget the infamous Mrs. Brennan? She’d caught him and his friends smoking behind the middle school, and when she’d surprised them, he’d inhaled wrong. She’d pounded his back and told him she was calling his mother. While Wyatt was bent over wheezing, his friends, who hadn’t lit up, had scattered, even though Mrs. Brennan knew them all and called their mothers, too. As punishment, the entire group had had to give up a Saturday to clean the entire campus. Wyatt had never smoked again.

“Anyway, gave her something to do and the shop does really well,” his grandmother continued. “Did you have Mrs. Brennan as a teacher? She taught journalism at the high school.”

“She’d moved to the middle school by then.”

“Oh, that’s right. She was a principal.”

“Yeah. I had Mr. Bradley for journalism. He’s the one who inspired me to go into broadcasting.”

Ethan began kicking his legs, making the quilt fall off. “They need a diaper change, and they’ll be hungry.” He reached into the diaper bag and retrieved two baby spoons, two jars of sweet-potato baby food and a fresh banana. He put them on the table and the strap back on his shoulder. “Where can I change them?”

“I moved the old nursery changing table in the spare room,” his mother said, her eyebrows knitting together when Ethan started fussing. Noah had opened his eyes and was looking around, and Wyatt knew Noah’s lower lip would start quivering soon. Juggling the diaper bag and both car seats, Wyatt went into the spare room, where he discovered his mother had created a nursery complete with two cribs. “This is nice,” he said.

“Thanks. I wanted something so that when you work they could stay here, if that’s okay.” His mother seemed hesitant.

“That’s one reason I came home,” Wyatt reassured her. “And we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, do you want to fill these sippy cups with water and cut up this banana?”

He swore his mom lit up like a firecracker. “I would love to.”

“Perfect. That way I can feed them when I get done.”

His grandmother passed his mom and stepped into the room. “Isn’t this nice? She’s very excited about the prospect of babysitting.”

“I noticed. I’m glad one of my parents is.” Noting the changing table already held the correct size of diapers and a container of wipes, he lifted Ethan and placed him on the table. “My father has made it clear he isn’t pleased with my choices. All he wants is for me to settle down and man the ranch. Oh, and find a wife and have real kids.”

“He’s my son, so I can say he’s hardheaded. But he’ll come around.” His grandmother’s prediction contained a confidence that Wyatt couldn’t echo.

“You mean the way he did when I said in ninth grade that I planned on studying meteorology and being a weather forecaster?” He’d gotten an earful about how the ranch needed him, how it was his destiny, his legacy, like the canyon off to the east.

Clarissa made funny faces at Noah, who watched her with wide-eyed interest. “You’re as headstrong as he was. Neither of you knows how to back down. You’re both as stubborn as the land. Perhaps this will mark a new start for you two.”

“I hope so.” They needed a reset. Their arguments had increased once Wyatt had begun to exercise his own agency, be his own person, finally out from underneath his father’s thumb. When he’d chosen to leave the TV station in Amarillo for the far larger Denver market, he and his father had stopped speaking for almost two weeks. “I’ll try if he does.”

“You aren’t opposed to dating, are you?” his grandmother asked instead of acknowledging his conditions. “You’re young. Handsome. A Larrabee.”

An awkward laundry list if ever there was one. He made a goofy face at Ethan, who grinned. “With what time? I’m not opposed to dating, but I’m not finding some woman to raise my boys because they need ‘a woman’s touch.’”

Still irked by that particular commentary from his father, Wyatt began to unsnap Ethan’s pants. He’d grown adept at swapping the diapers, quickly covering that part of baby boys that could let loose an arcing stream if one wasn’t careful. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. A new mom who anchored the newscast had laughed at his story and explained what to do.

“Your dad only want what’s best for you. Always has. If the two of you could get your heads out of your…well, you know, you would both realize you have a lot more in common than you think.”

Ah, the second woman to criticize him today, but he’d allow this one since he loved his grandmother. “Well, I’m here, back in Legacy Canyon, so maybe it’ll happen. I’ll make an effort. Best he’s going to get. Remind me to tell my mom to expose then cover before the fast swap.”

Clarissa tickled Noah’s sleeper-covered foot and he grinned. “She’ll remember. She did raise you, Kristen and Caleb.”

“With the help of the bunkhouse cook as our part-time nanny.”

“Your mother wasn’t perfect and you won’t be, either. No parent is, and everyone needs help.”

“Touché,” Wyatt acknowledged. He’d used a nanny in Denver.

“Now, these babies…that’s another story. They are perfect. Perfectly adorable. Gimme. I’ve waited long enough.”

Wyatt passed a changed Ethan to Clarissa. Holding him close to her chest, she blew bubbles at him. The outgoing one of the twins, Ethan immediate reached for Clarissa’s thick black glasses. “No, you don’t,” Wyatt’s grandmother said as she pushed them back onto her nose. She held out a rattle instead. 

“Da da da,” Ethan babbled as the rattle shook in his fist.

His grandmother grinned. “I can see this one loves music. Will he play the saxophone like you did?”

“No idea. Another bridge we’ll cross when we get to it. We do like listening to the classics. They particularly like the London Symphony Orchestra.”

“Classics, huh?” Clarissa cooed at Ethan as he continued to shake the rattle. “We need to get you into some country classics, like Reba and Dolly. Maybe some Merle.”

“They’ve heard them. I’m no heathen. Did I tell you I got to meet Luke Bryan when he came by the station before a concert?”

“Ooh, your daddy thinks he’s a big shot meeting a celebrity,” Clarissa teased, rubbing her nose into Ethan’s belly.

Wyatt set Noah on the table and unsnapped his pants. The second born by six minutes, Noah’s deep brown eyes blinked as Wyatt changed him. Wyatt ran his hand over the top of a head covered in soft blond hair. “Shall we find out if your grandma has your food ready? No worries, little buddy. Baby food, she can do. That’s why she had a cook and still does.”

“Da,” Noah said with a wide grin that showed his bottom two teeth.

“That’s right. I’m your Dad,” he confirmed. At some point, it would click.

Soon Wyatt had both boys strapped into their high chairs eating pieces of banana. Wyatt alternated between spooning pureed sweet potato into one mouth and then the other.

“It’s good to have babies in the house again,” his grandmother said as Ethan drank water from his sippy cup. “Tomorrow morning you should go into Bundle and Bloom. Since you sold most of your stuff and babies grow so fast, I know you’ll need things. Are they crawling?”

Knowing the cabin was already furnished, he’d moved only the essentials. “Yes, but not far.”

“That’ll change quickly.” His mother hovered on the periphery, participating but not intruding. Wyatt never doubted her affection, but she’d never been touchy-feely in the way his grandmother was.

“I believe you. They’ve already grown so much.” When it was clear the twins were done eating, Wyatt began the process of cleaning messy fingers and removing the high-chair trays. He suppressed a yawn. “I know we said we might do dinner, but can we rain check? Say until tomorrow? I’d like to get them settled in. And I should probably eat Betty’s Stroganoff so it doesn’t go bad.” His mother appeared slightly crestfallen by his choice. “Do you want to hold one? Carry him over to the cabin for me?”

He’d never seen his mother appear truly excited, until now. Sadness morphed to joy and she stepped toward him. “I would love that.”

Since Ethan was kicking, she unbuckled Noah and lifted him from the high chair. “Come here, sweetheart.” Noah immediately began crying and reached for Wyatt.

“Maybe take Ethan,” he suggested. In contrast to his brother, Ethan immediately began to smile. 

“Aren’t you the cutest thing,” his mother cooed as she settled him onto her hip. “I’m your grandmother and I love your red shirt.” Ethan made a razzing sound.

They bundled the kids into coats and hats for the short walk, and soon after, the group entered the cabin. Five minutes later, after a round of hugs and kisses for him and his sons, his mother and grandmother said their goodbyes. His dad had unloaded the car, and set the suitcases and boxes to the left of the front door. Wyatt decided to unpack everything but the essentials tomorrow. And his grandmother was right in that he could use a few things from the baby store, starting with a stroller. They’d borrowed one from a friend in Denver and had returned it when they’d left.

“Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.” He unpacked the play yard and set Ethan and Noah inside. Once they were secure, he took inventory. His mom and grandmother had babyproofed. The outlets had safety covers. The former open-to-the-room fireplace had new glass doors secured with a child lock. Corners had bumpers. Electrical cords had been secured. The cabinets had safety latches. Heavy furniture had either been removed, or secured to the walls. A wood coffee table with rounded edges had replaced the glass one.

The smaller, second bedroom had two cribs and a changing table similar to what was in the main house. However, he’d need a gate or two. A small bookcase for the growing collection of children’s books. A rocker was a must, as was a small dresser that would fit inside the closet. He assumed Bundle and Bloom would have furniture he could order. The boys would enjoy an outing into town, especially as the weather would be warmer. Maybe he’d ask his mother if she’d like to go with them. See if being with her grandsons might loosen her up. Wasn’t that what his coworkers had said? That their own parents had done one-eighties when they’d become grandparents? Like, who knew my mom could be fun? one had said.

With his sons happily gnawing on the soft teething toys he’d put in the play yard, Wyatt microwaved some beef Stroganoff, which turned out to be so delicious he had two helpings. As he ate and watched the twins, he continued to make a list. Any stroller needed to be something that would handle the long ranch driveway and town sidewalks, along with some of the gravel paths of the nearby parks. He didn’t remember the brand he’d used, but it had had all the bells and whistles.

Since the twins still ate formula about every four-to-six hours when awake, he prepped seven ounces for each. After their feeding, he cuddled each boy in his lap as he read aloud from a board-book version of Goodnight Moon. Then, after another changing into fresh diapers and bunny-themed sleepers, he set the boys in their cribs, checked that the baby monitor worked, started some soft classical music and flipped on the night-light. If he was lucky, which he normally wasn’t, they’d sleep a good eight to nine hours, especially as it was past their usual bedtime.

Hopefully, this move to Legacy Canyon meant that their family’s routine would shift for the better, especially as he no longer had to wake up around 1:30 a.m. to get to the news station by three. Leaving the rest of the luggage and boxes for tomorrow morning, Wyatt unpacked his carry-on suitcase, stored his toiletries in the medicine cabinet and wandered into the bedroom to check on the twins. He found them fast asleep, their chests rising and falling smoothly, their tiny fists above their heads. His heart overflowed. They were marvels. The closest thing to seeing an angel was a sleeping baby. And he had two. His sons.

They were his family. His future. He’d lay down his life for them. As for dating? He meant what he’d said. As much as the idea of holding a woman held appeal—and in his single days Wyatt admittedly had enjoyed sex—life was different now. The boys came first. He’d willingly chosen this path and was all in.

Whether his father liked it or not.