Chapter 7: A New Certainty
The nausea had become a familiar, unwelcome companion. It wasn't just mornings. It was a sudden, rolling wave that could hit when she was weighing dried chamomile, or bending to restock the lemon verbena bars, or like now, hunched over her desk in the back office trying to make sense of a supplier invoice. The numbers on the page swam, her mouth flooding with saliva. Rose clamped a hand over her mouth, breathed deeply through her nose—a trick she’d read online—inhaling the scent of beeswax and the lingering trace of Bear’s cedar-and-sage cologne on the sweater she’d stolen from his closet.
It had been three weeks. Three weeks of a strange, quiet peace settling over the ranch, punctuated by this new, insistent physical rebellion. Three weeks since the green Jeep in the alley, which Bear had, of course, mentioned to Brody. Nothing had come of it. No sightings, no more texts, no sign of Lisa. The door was closed. But this… this was something opening.
A flicker, tentative and bright, ignited in her chest, right beneath the queasiness. Her cycle was late. By eight days. She’d chalked it up to stress, to the emotional quake of her mother’s final, toxic aftershock. But the timing… they’d stopped preventing. That night by the fire, his words still echoed in her bones. You’re my always.
She dropped the pen. Her hands, usually steady enough to pour delicate swirls of soap, were trembling. She looked at her phone, a heavy, hopeful anxiety tightening her throat. This couldn’t be a text. This had to be in person. But she needed to know. Now.
She opened her browser, her fingers clumsy. She found the number for Dr. Evans’s clinic. A kind, no-nonsense woman in her fifties who had delivered half of Bear’s nieces and nephews. Rose dialed, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her ears.
The receptionist, Sharon, recognized her voice. “Rose! How are you, sweetheart?”
“I’m… okay. Is there any chance I could get in for a quick blood test? Today?” She tried to sound casual, like she was asking about a flu shot.
A pause, the clicking of a keyboard. “Let me see… Dr. Evans has a cancellation at 2:15. Will that work? We can do a quantitative hCG. Results by tomorrow morning.”
Tomorrow morning felt like a lifetime. “That’s perfect. Thank you, Sharon.”
She hung up, the reality of the appointment slot making it all feel terrifyingly concrete. She pressed a hand low on her stomach, over the soft cotton of her dress. Maybe.
Then she picked up her phone again, her thumbs flying over the screen in a message to Bear. Not dramatic. Just them. Can you come home for lunch? I need to tell you something.
His reply was almost immediate. On my way. 20 minutes. Everything okay?
Everything’s good, she typed back, a nervous laugh catching in her throat. Promise. Just need you.
She told Liam and Chloe she wasn’t feeling well and was heading home. Chloe, with her intuitive kindness, simply nodded and said, “Tell Bear we said hey.” Liam, for once, didn’t crack a joke, just gave her a long look and said, “Go on. We’ve got this.”
The drive home was a blur of stark, beautiful winter scenery and racing thoughts. What if she was wrong? What if she got his hopes up for nothing? What if she was right? The fear was there, a cold thread woven through the warmth of the hope. It was the fear of something so longed-for actually becoming real. It felt fragile.
His truck was already in the driveway, engine ticking as it cooled. He must have flown. She parked beside it and walked into the kitchen.
He was at the island, his back to her, washing his hands at the sink. He’d clearly come straight from the fields; his worn jeans were dusty at the knees, his thermal shirt stretched across the broad planes of his back. He turned, drying his hands on a towel, his blue eyes scanning her face with focused intensity. “Hey. What’s up? You’re pale.”
“I’m okay,” she said, leaning against the doorframe, suddenly unsure how to start.
He crossed the room in two strides, his hands coming up to cradle her face. His thumbs traced the arches of her brows. “You’re trembling. Rosebud, what is it?”
She covered his hands with hers, drawing strength from their familiar roughness. She took a deep breath. “I have a doctor’s appointment at 2:15.”
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. The gears were turning. He knew what kind of doctor Dr. Evans was. His voice dropped, soft as gravel. “Yeah?”
“I’m… late.” The word hung between them. “And I’ve been sick. Not just mornings. All the time.”
The air left his lungs in a quiet, controlled rush. His gaze dropped to her stomach, then flew back to her face, searching for certainty. “How late?”
“Eight days.”
He was silent for a long moment, just looking at her, his eyes bright with a mixture of awe and naked, vulnerable hope. It was a look she’d seen only a handful of times in their lives: when she’d said yes on one knee in a field of wildflowers, when she’d walked toward him in her wedding dress. “You think…?”
“I don’t know. I’m scared to think. But I need to know. So I made the appointment. For a blood test. They’ll call with results tomorrow.”
He pulled her into him, his arms wrapping around her so completely she was enveloped in his warmth, his smell of fresh air and hard work. He buried his face in her hair. His heart was hammering against her cheek. “Okay,” he whispered, the word vibrating through his chest into hers. “Okay.”
“It might be nothing,” she mumbled into his shirt.
“It might be everything,” he countered, his voice thick. He leaned back, holding her shoulders. “I’m coming with you.”
“Bear, you have the fence crew…”
“I don’t give a damn about the fence crew. Tex can handle it. I’m coming.” It was said with a quiet finality that brooked no argument. This was non-negotiable. “Lunch. You need to eat. Even if it’s just crackers.”
He made her tea and toast, watching her like she might dissolve. She managed a few bites, the simple food helping to settle the persistent roil in her gut. They didn’t talk much. There was too much hovering in the space between them, too many maybes. He just held her hand, his thumb stroking over her wedding band.
At 1:45, they got into his truck. The clinic was on the other side of town, a low, friendly-looking brick building. Bear’s hand was a constant, warm weight on her thigh the whole way.
The waiting room was soothingly bland, smelling of antiseptic and worn magazines. They sat side-by-side in padded chairs. He picked up a farming quarterly, put it down, then just sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the pattern on the carpet.
“Jake Cooper?” a nurse called.
They both stood. Bear’s hand found the small of her back as they followed the nurse down a hallway to a phlebotomy room. It was quick, efficient. A pinch, a vial of dark red blood filling, a cotton ball and tape on the crook of her elbow. “Dr. Evans will call with results tomorrow,” the nurse said with a practiced smile.
It felt underwhelming. Such a monumental question answered by a tiny vial sent to a lab.
Back in the truck, the tension was different. The waiting had begun in earnest.
“Now what?” Bear asked, pulling out of the parking lot.
“Now we pretend to be normal people until tomorrow,” Rose said, attempting a smile.
He didn’t smile back. His jaw was tight. “I don’t think I remember how.”
That night was endless. They made dinner—pan-seared trout and roasted vegetables—and ate in near silence, both lost in thought. He built a fire. She tried to read a novel, but the words bled together. Mostly, they just sat, wrapped up in each other, waiting for the sun to go down so they could maybe sleep and fast-forward a few hours.
Sleep was fitful. She woke at 3 a.m. to find him awake beside her, staring at the ceiling, his hand resting on her hip.
“Can’t sleep either?” she whispered.
“No.” He turned his head. “I keep thinking about teaching a kid how to ride a horse. Or fix a fence. Or… just being a dad.” His voice cracked on the last word. “I want this so damn bad, Rosebud.”
She rolled into him, pressing her face against his chest. “Me too.”
The phone call came at 10:07 the next morning. Rose was at the shop, attempting to design a new scent blend—something with juniper and snow-pine—but mostly just staring into space. Her private office line rang, shattering the quiet.
She snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Rose, it’s Sharon from Dr. Evans’s office. How are you?”
“I’m… okay.” Her heart was in her throat, choking her.
“Well, I have your results. Your hCG levels are quite elevated. Dr. Evans would like you to come in for an ultrasound. Can you make it this afternoon, say, 3 p.m. She wants to take a look and get some measurements.”
Elevated. Quite elevated. The room tilted. “Yes. Yes, of course. 3 p.m. We’ll be there.”
She hung up slowly. She texted Bear. Levels are elevated. Ultrasound at 3. Can you meet me there?
His response was one word. Yes.
The hours dragged. She told Liam and Chloe she had a follow-up appointment and left at two, driving straight to the clinic. Bear’s truck was already there. He was leaning against it, arms crossed, but pushed off the moment he saw her car. He met her at her door, his face a mask of controlled tension.
“Elevated,” he said, as if testing the word.
“That’s what she said.” Rose took his hand. It was freezing cold. “Bear, your hands are like ice.”
“Haven’t been able to feel them since you texted.”
Dr. Evans’s ultrasound room was dim, lit by the cool glow of a large monitor. The table, the machine, the tub of gel—it all felt surreal. Rose changed into a gown, her hands fumbling with the ties. Bear stood by the wall, looking like a bull in a china shop, completely out of place and trying not to show it.
Dr. Evans came in, her manner crisp but kind. “Alright, you two. Let’s see what we’ve got. Hop up here, Rose.”
Rose lay back, the paper sheet crinkling. Bear moved to the head of the table, taking her hand. He was staring at the blank screen as if he could will an image to appear.
The gel was shockingly warm. Dr. Evans moved the transducer over Rose’s lower abdomen, her eyes on the monitor. The screen was a chaos of shifting grey and black shapes, meaningless to Rose. She held her breath.
“Okay, there’s the gestational sac,” Dr. Evans said, her voice calm and focused. She clicked a button on the machine, a measuring cursor appearing. “Good. Measuring right on track for your dates.” She moved the wand slightly, angling it. A concentrated look crossed her face. Her lips pursed. She moved the transducer again, a little to the left, then back.
Bear’s grip tightened on Rose’s hand. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low.
Dr. Evans didn’t answer immediately. She clicked more measurements, her eyes darting across the screen. Then, a slow smile spread across her face. She turned to look at them, her eyes twinkling. “Well, I see why your levels were ‘quite elevated,’ Rose.”
Rose’s breath hitched. “Why?”
Dr. Evans turned the screen slightly toward them. She pointed with the cursor. “Right there. That’s one strong, beautiful little heartbeat.” She moved the cursor a fraction of an inch. “And right there… is another one.”
Silence.
Absolute, breathless silence filled the room, broken only by the rapid, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh that suddenly filled the air as Dr. Evans turned on the audio. A swift, galloping sound. Then she moved the wand, and a second, identical, galloping rhythm joined the first, slightly out of sync.
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh. Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.
Twins.
Rose’s head whipped toward Bear. His face had gone completely white beneath his tan. He was staring at the screen, his eyes wide and unblinking, fixed on the two flickering, tiny pulses of light. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
“Two?” Rose whispered, the word barely audible.
“Two,” Dr. Evans confirmed, beaming. “Two gestational sacs, two yolk sacs, two beautiful heartbeats. You’re measuring at seven weeks exactly. Everything looks textbook perfect.”
Tears, hot and instantaneous, flooded Rose’s eyes, blurring the two luminous flickers on the screen. Two. A whole family, all at once. The fear, the hope, the waiting—it all coalesced into a shockwave of pure, undiluted joy so intense it was almost painful.
She looked back at Bear. A single tear had escaped, tracing a clean path through the dust on his cheek. He blinked, slowly, as if waking from a dream. He looked from the screen to her face, his expression one of utterly gutted wonder. His brow furrowed, then smoothed, then furrowed again as the reality kept hitting him in waves.
“Bear?” she said, squeezing his hand.
He swallowed, hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. His voice, when it came, was a shattered, rough-hewn thing, full of awe and a tinge of terror. “Two?”
Rose nodded, a watery laugh escaping her. “Two.”
He bent then, as if his legs wouldn’t hold him, folding over her. He didn’t kiss her. He just pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes squeezed shut, their tears mingling. His breath was ragged against her skin. “Two,” he breathed again, the word a prayer, a promise, a reckoning.
They listened to the heartbeats a while longer, a primal, miraculous duet. Dr. Evans printed out images—two small, grainy grey circles, each with a tiny, blinking star at its center. She gave instructions, prenatal vitamins, warnings about expecting more intense nausea. Rose heard it all through a joyous fog.
The walk out of the clinic was like walking on another planet. The winter air felt sharper, the sunlight more brilliant. Bear held the ultrasound photos in one hand, staring at them, then at Rose, then back at the photos, as if trying to make the connection between the pieces of paper and the world.
He helped her into the truck, his movements strangely deliberate, gentle to the point of reverence. He got in the driver’s side but didn’t start the engine. He just sat there, the photos on his lap, staring straight ahead through the windshield.
“Bear? You alright?”
He shook his head, a slow, dazed movement. “No.” He finally looked at her, his blue eyes blazing with an emotion so fierce it stole her breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever been less alright in my life. I feel like… like every damn thing has just been rewritten.” He reached over, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped her cheek. “Two.”
“Are you… are you happy?”
A laugh burst out of him, short and disbelieving. “Happy? Rosebud, I think happy is too small a word. I’m… leveled. I’m terrified. I’m so goddamn proud of you I could scream. I want to build a fortress around this truck. I want to call my dad.” He dragged a hand down his face. “I need a minute.”
She gave him a minute, watching the waves of emotion break over him. This stoic, dominant man, utterly undone by two blinking lights on a screen.
Finally, he took a deep, shuddering breath and started the truck. “We’re not going home.”
“We’re not?”
“No.” He put the truck in drive, a new, determined set to his shoulders. “We’re going to my parents’. Right now.”
“Bear, it’s Thursday. We can’t just show up and—”
“Yes. We can. And we are.” He glanced at her, that familiar, loving command in his eyes. “This news… it’s too big to hold by ourselves. It belongs to them, too. I need to tell my dad I’m going to be a dad. Twice over.” His voice softened. “Please?”
How could she refuse? She nodded. “Okay.”
He drove the familiar route to the sprawling Cooper family homestead, the house he’d grown up in. Several cars were in the driveway—his youngest sister, Sarah, was probably here with Brody and the kids.
Bear didn’t bother knocking. He pushed the front door open, his hand on Rose’s back, and called out, “Mom? Dad?”
The cozy, chaotic warmth of the Cooper house enveloped them—the smell of baking bread, the sound of a toddler shrieking with laughter from the living room. Helen Cooper appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her kind face curious. “Jake? Rose? Everything okay?”
Bear’s dad, Charlie, a taller, older, silver-haired version of Bear, came in from the den, a newspaper in his hand. Sarah followed, holding her two-year-old, Ellie, on her hip.
“What’s going on?” Charlie asked, his gaze sharpening as he took in his son’s expression.
Bear held up the ultrasound photos. He looked at his father, his own eyes shining. “Rose is pregnant.”
Helen’s hands flew to her mouth. A joyous cry was stifled by her fingers. Charlie’s face broke into a huge, unsurprised grin. “Well, I’ll be damned! That’s fantastic news!” He stepped forward to clap Bear on the shoulder.
But Bear wasn’t finished. He looked at his mom, then back at his dad, his voice dropping, thick with emotion. “There’s two heartbeats.”
The room froze.
Helen’s eyes went impossibly wide. The dish towel fell from her hands. Charlie’s congratulatory hand froze on Bear’s shoulder. Sarah gasped, “Shut the front door!”
Then chaos erupted. Helen surged forward, tears streaming, pulling first Rose and then Bear into a crushing hug. Charlie laughed, a great booming sound of delight, and pulled his son into a back-slapping embrace. “Two! By God, boy, you never do anything by halves, do you?”
Sarah was jumping up and down, making Ellie giggle. “Twins! Oh my god, Rose! Twins!”
The photos were passed around, exclaimed over, cried over. Questions flew. When are you due? How are you feeling? Helen was already talking about converting one of the upstairs bedrooms into a nursery for when they visited.
Bear stood in the center of it all, his arm around Rose, watching his family absorb the news. The terror in his eyes had been replaced by a profound, settled pride. This was his tribe. And it was about to grow exponentially.
Later, after promises of a huge celebratory dinner on Sunday and a million pieces of advice Rose knew she’d forget, they drove home in the dark. The ranch house was quiet, waiting for them. Bear built a fire while Rose changed into her softest pajamas.
She came out to find him standing before the mantel, looking at the row of family photos. He’d already propped the two ultrasound images right in the center, between their wedding photo and a picture of his parents on their 40th anniversary.
He turned when he heard her. The firelight played over his face, highlighting the exhaustion and the undimmed wonder. He opened his arms. She went to him, fitting herself against his chest, listening to the solid, steady beat of his heart. Two new heartbeats, tiny echoes of this one, existed in the world now because of them.
“I love you, Rosebud,” he whispered into her hair. “Thank you. For this. For everything.”
She leaned back, looking up at him. “You’re going to be an amazing dad, Bear.”
He shook his head, a slight smile touching his lips. “I’m going to try. With everything I’ve got.” His hand drifted down, coming to rest, warm and sure, over her still-flat stomach. A protector’s touch. A father’s touch. “My always just got a whole lot bigger.”