Page 107 of We Drank the Dawn

Her hand moved down to mine and I gripped it. “Your marriage is not over yet, Peter.”

Immediate heat stormed my eyes, and I blinked them back. This stupid ranch had me waging war against my emotions. “I want to believe that.”

“You listed a lot of stuff you can’t give her. But all of those things are rooted in a perception that isn’t even real.” She squeezed. “Loving someone through every mountain and valley is the greatest adventure you will ever embark on. If you give Sarah yourself and love her with everything you have and everything you don’t have, it will be enough.”

“But she might not forgive me.”

“True. She might not.” Bea said matter-of-factly. “But one day, you have to forgive yourself. And you won’t be able to do that if you don’t know, deep down in your heart, that you did everything you possibly could to make it right with her. Letting go might feel like the easier thing to do, but it’s the most painful. And you’ll never be able to fully breathe knowing that you didn’t try.”

I nodded. She was right.

“You sound like Dad,” I said.

She breathed a small laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I’m sorry for being ugly to you in the fifth wheel. Please forgive me, Bea. I don’t want to keep hurting my family.”

“Of course I forgive you. And I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

Just then, Wren stretched, a rattly yawn cutting through the silence, and a soft hand flopped over my own—making a stack of hands on the arm of Bea’s chair. It was then I realized I hadn’t touched Wren since I came to the ranch. Slowly, I reached over with my other hand, dragging my index finger through her palm. In her sleep, she reflectively squeezed, trapping me.

A smile I couldn’t stop lifted my cheeks. “She’s got a good grip on her.”

Bea chuckled. “And she loves grabbing my hair.”

“Her hand is so warm.”

“You want to hold her?”

A swallow pulled at my throat with a beat of indecision. “Uh…yeah. I do.”

Bea moved out of her chair and positioned herself in front of mine. I opened my arms as her presence leaned down, a warm bundle nearing my chest. Bea did the pass off slowly, providing time for me to situate my hands on Wren’s head and bottom. My fingers sunk into the butteriest curls and I pressed her sleeping body against my chest. She melded against me, instantly cozy in my arms.

Unable to stop myself, I leaned down and took a deep breath of her hair. She smelled like Bea usually did—a combination of flowers and honey. A confession slipped out of my lips before I could stop it. “When I talk to people, remembering what they look like helps me feel connected to them. But two years is a long time, and there’s people I can’t remember anymore. And I…” My voice turned husky with emotion. “I have no idea what Wren looks like. I’ve only seen her as a newborn.”

“Oh, Peter. That’s so sad.”

I nodded, unable to respond. Of its own volition, one of my hands raised to run a finger over Wren’s face. No sooner had my finger brushed her chubby cheek than I let it fall back to my lap.

“Don’t be shy. You can touch her.”

I wanted to, but it felt awkward as hell.

“She has the roundest cheeks and chunkiest legs. And she looks like Tag, I think. She has his curly brown hair and gray eyes.”

A little braver, my hand moved to touch Wren’s cheek again, this time finding where it drooped and lifting it a little. That made Bea laugh.

Then she said, “You know, it would help me out if you rocked her for a few minutes while I took a shower.”

“Yeah.” I said quickly. “I can do that.”

She stood and squeezed my shoulder, tossing a thank you behind her as she disappeared into the cabin. When the front door closed, my rocker and Wren’s contented snoring blended into a soft song. And I relished in how calm and safe it felt to hold her in the quiet. When I lifted my hand to touch her curls again, it dawned on me that Bea probably knew I felt uncomfortable. She gave me a little space to fumble through it without an audience.

So I did.

I let my finger trace her cheekbones, scrunched-up lips, and tiny ears. I played with her hair and hands then found her bare feet and toes. But her feet must’ve been ticklish because she squirmed and a soft whine lifted from her lips. “Mama?”