you inside. The three of you need some alone time.”
“Okay.” He pushed away from the wall, but before he could take a step, Celeste placed her hand on his arm.
“You should get in touch with your family, Gabe. Tell them your glorious news.”
He nodded. “You’re right. I’m ready. I think I’ll do that. Or, better yet, once the girls are old enough to travel, I think we should pay them a visit.” A wistful smile touched his lips. “Maybe for Christmas.”
“Yes. The season of miracles. It’s fitting.”
Gabe bent and kissed her cheek, then walked into the bedroom, where Nic had one baby at her breast. Sage sat in the rocking chair with the other. The babies appeared to have been washed, and Nic’s hair was freshly brushed. “You are so beautiful,” he said to her.
Sage rose from the rocker. “It’s about time you came back, Daddy,” she said, handing the baby over to Gabe. “I have it on certain authority that there’s a plate of barbecue waiting for me downstairs in the kitchen. Holler if you need me, but I don’t expect you will.”
As Sage quietly left the room, Gabe kicked off his shoes, then sat beside Nic in the queen-sized bed. “I love you, Nicole Callahan.”
“I love you, too, Gabe Callahan.”
He smiled from one baby to the other. “I want to say that to these little bits, but I don’t know what to call them. Do you?”
“I thought …” Nic glanced up at him. “Maybe after our mothers?”
Gabe thought back to when his mother was still alive, and his father’s pet name for her. “Meg, for Margaret? Or Mary.”
“Meg, I think. And Carolyn for mine? Meg and Cari Callahan?”
“Works for me. What about middle names?”
“Hmm …”
“I have an idea,” Gabe said, gazing at his girls. “It’s probably hokey.”
“Tell me.”
“I don’t know—I guess it’s the Eternity Springs influence—but somehow it just feels right.”
“What feels right?”
“I think—if you don’t mind—I’d like their middle names to be Faith and Joy.”
“Oh, Gabe. That’s sweet. A little hokey, but that’s what makes it perfect. I think Margaret Joy Callahan and Carolyn Faith Callahan are our names. You choose which baby gets which name.”
Gabe frowned as he studied his daughters’ identical little faces. “We’re gonna have to mark them somehow so we don’t get them mixed up.”
Nic shook her head. “Their cries are different. Our firstborn is louder.”
“Which one is she?”
“The one you’re holding.” She waited a beat, then added, “Sarah put a dot of fingernail polish on her toe just in case.”
“Starting on makeup already.” He sighed. Then he pressed a kiss to his firstborn daughter’s forehead. “Okay, then let’s name her Cari. It comes first in the alphabet. That’ll help me remember.”
“Don’t be silly. You won’t forget.”
She was right. He had been blessed with another chance at happiness, and he intended to treasure it, revel in it, from this moment forward. He wouldn’t forget a minute of it. John Gabriel Callahan’s heart overflowed. Here, in this one little corner of the big wide world, he’d found his faith, his joy, and his love.
Sage’s stomach was about to erupt. She’d held off her nervousness, nausea, and panic during the heat of the moment, but once the emergency was behind her, she began to lose it. Seeking fresh air, she exited the house by the back door and fled from the crowd toward the mountain behind the estate and the cover of the forest.
She made it as far as the carriage house apartment. Ducking around behind it, she bent over double and vomited. When she was finished, she leaned against the house, closed her eyes, and shuddered.
A male voice she didn’t recognize said, “Please tell me it wasn’t the barbecue. I had two helpings.”
The wood-carver. Of course. That was just her luck. Her cheeks stinging with embarrassment, Sage warily opened her eyes. He extended his hand, offering her a dampened washcloth. She accepted it, wiped her brow, then said a bit crankily, “Where did you come from?”
“I’m staying here in the carriage house.” He waited a beat, then asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I just …” She exhaled heavily as the memories gnawed at the edge of her consciousness, so she welcomed a distraction. “You shouldn’t have entered the arts festival contest as a local.”
He frowned. “What arts festival?”
Her fingers were beginning to tremble. She narrowed her gaze and focused on Rafferty. “The one last month where you won the blue ribbon.”
“I didn’t enter any contest.”
“It was your work.” She recalled the image of the artwork