Into the Sunshine: Of Love and Loss Series Book Two

1

Saturday May 23, 1920

Malad City, Idaho

The first buttery yellows and tangerine oranges of dawn crested over the Great Basin Mountains, framed by Everett Monterose's large bedroom window. He cracked open an irritated eye at the cheerful beams of light falling squarely on his face. They all but trumpeted the morning's arrival and his failure to close the curtains last night.

Right on cue came the twin's strident wails, snapping him to full wakefulness with the same sudden brutality of being doused by a pail of ice water. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, unsure if he'd gained a few prized hours of rest or only a handful of minutes.

Shoving the covers aside, he put on his glasses and massaged his aching right thigh. Then, with a mournful glance at Elyria's walking stick next to his cane in the corner near his desk, he let out a weary exhale. "Time to rise and shine like the gloomy, dull ray of humanity you are," he mumbled, his voice slipping into a deep yawn.

And try, for the one-millionth time, to pretend—for the sake of his son and daughter—that he hadn't become a husk. Filled with anger. Disillusionment. Bitterness. And devoid of any soft emotion, save for where those two precious souls were concerned.

Hitching up his drawers and adjusting the buttoned waistband at his hips, Everett scratched his naked, battle-scarred chest while limping to the second bedroom.

"Morning, my lovelies," Everett crooned, opening the door. The scent of soiled diapers and baby powder filled the air. However, he couldn't keep a smile from curling his lips, the fresh sting of tears in his eyes, or a sharp pang at wishing his wife was there with him. "Stephen, you look dashing as ever, sir... ooooh, and fair Bailey, beautiful as this morning's sunrise, my sweet."

The babies' cries changed tonal frequency, clearly not placated by their father's compliments.

"So, it's to be the usual demands? No negotiations? All right, ladies first," Everett chuckled, scooping Bailey out of the crib. "Fresh nappies and warm bottles for the both of you."

Stephen wailed in protest.

Everett flicked a glance at the crib and flailing infant appendages, then turned his attention back to Bailey and grinned. He couldn't help it. His auburn-haired daughter was adorable—even if she currently had one of the most odious diapers he'd ever seen or smelled.

"Do you hear the racket he's making? What a baby... little does he realize, you, my darling, have a foul caboose not easily cleaned with one or two wiperoos—unfortunately. What did you eat last night, hmm? If I didn't know better, I'd almost believe you snuck out of your crib and raided the pantry after I fell asleep."

Several minutes later and a quick trip to the bathroom for a thorough backside cleanse—wiping was getting Everett and Bailey nowhere—he pinned a fresh diaper in place and finished dressing her. "One problem sorted, my dear," he whispered, scooping her into his arms and cuddling her to his chest. Everett kissed her cheek while limping to the crib. Then he nuzzled her neck before swaddling her in one of Elyria's knitted blankets and laid her down.

"Oh, Bailey love, he's furious with us... Sir Stephen," Everett said, a pain forming in the center of his chest at his son's ragged cries. Burying his hands beneath Stephen's tiny body and picking him up, Everett cringed and clucked his tongue. "Please forgive me, my boy. I'd be irate too if I'd been made to lay in sodden, befouled drawers."

Everett clasped his son to his chest, smoothing a gentle hand across the shock of bright, wavy red hair atop Stephen's head—the exact match to Elyria's—and kissed him in apology. Then, Everett glanced at Bailey in the crib before rushing to the bathroom for the second time. He changed the soiled crib linens after bathing, dressing, and safely depositing the now swaddled and pacified twins in the bassinet. Then he wiped down the oiled sheet covering the mattress and hurried to prepare their bottles.