Striding out of the house, I braced my shoulders and strode across the meadow where Hope waited for me. She sat on the fence line with a bottle of water in her hand and a cowboy hat on her head.
She grinned, jumping from the railing and jogging to launch herself into my arms. “I missed you. I thought you said you’d only be a few minutes.”
“Yeah, sorry.” I hugged her hard before placing her on her feet. Her belly nudged me, pregnant and protecting our daughter.
Wren.
Her hand touched my cheek, dragging my attention from my mother’s manuscript. “What’s wrong?”
I forced myself to focus on her and not on the sudden, overwhelming need to tell Hope our unborn daughter already had a name, selected by ghosts and predicted by a storyteller.
“Nothing.” I kissed her gently. “Ready for a ride?”
“Yep.” She rubbed her belly. “I want to get in as many as I can before I can’t.”
“If I didn’t like that mare of yours so much, I wouldn’t let you ride in your current condition.”
She winked, moving toward Snowy and stroking the pretty mare’s mane. “We have a connection, me and her. She won’t hurt me.”
I went to my own horse, and my heart softened with affection as Forrest nudged my hand for a scratch. “I know the feeling.”
Hope still rode in a saddle and bridle, but she’d made me promise to teach her how I did it tackless after she’d given birth. She hoisted herself up with the aid of her stirrups while I backed up and ran at Forrest, vaulting up and into position.
“Show-off,” she muttered.
I laughed, but my eyes kept trailing to my parents’ house. The presence of both of them pressed on me. I swear I caught glimpses of them on the meadow and heard the echo of their voices in the air.
Hope guided Snowy forward, and Forrest followed. She twisted in her saddle to look at me. “Spit it out, Jacob Wild. What happened in there?”
I shook my head. “To be honest, I don’t really know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…I went inside with ideas to do a renovation. To ask if you would be okay moving into a bigger place now…now we have a little one on the way.”
Her smile split her beautiful face. “That sounds amazing.”
“Okay, great.” I grinned, doing my best not to mention anything else but knowing Hope would get it out of me anyway.
“And the rest…” She cocked her head. “The bit you’re trying to hide?”
“Can’t I have any secrets, woman?”
“Nope.” She laughed gently. “Spill.”
I sighed heavily. “Turns out my mother had been writing letters to my dad. I found them.”
Hope halted Snowy. I caught up with her. “Wow. That would’ve been hard to read.”
“Yeah.” I raked a hand through my hair. “Not as hard as reading a manuscript that she never intended to publish and is just gathering dust in a box.”
“Oh?”
I kicked Forrest ahead, needing some space. Should I tell her what it was about? Should I reveal the name? The most perfect name? The only name I could imagine calling our daughter now that I’d seen it?
Hope trotted Snowy to appear beside me. Her hand reached for mine, and her touch gave me courage. Bringing her hand to my lips, I kissed her knuckles. “I’ll show you the manuscript. You should read it.”
“What’s it about?”
“Death.” I smiled. “Death and reuniting and love.”
“Okay…” She licked her lips. “I’d be honoured to read it.”
I sucked in a breath, forcing myself to be brave. “There’s something else.”
“I thought there might be.” She sat serious and patient in her saddle. “Do you need time or—”
“Mom predicted we’d get married.”
“Wow, really?”
“She also wrote we’d have a daughter.”
“Whoa, that’s rather—”
“And we’d call her Wren.”
Hope fell silent.
The same goosebumps that infected me washed up her bare arms. She opened and closed her mouth, her eyes skating to the horizon. The horizon where ghosts apparently knew our tale before it even came to pass.
Our horses ambled forward, swaying us with their steps, taking us closer to the treeline.
For the longest minutes, we said nothing as we let the word settle between us, sink into us, become a part of us.
“Wren,” Hope breathed.
I stiffened. “We don’t have to—”
She stopped Snowy and turned to me. Tears glittered in her gaze, shock whitened her cheeks, and love glowed on her skin. “Wren Della Wild.”
A name in honour of my father and mother. For love, impossibilities, and miracles.
The force of such a name fractured my heart, and I slipped off Forrest. Going to my wife, I tugged her from the saddle and into my arms. “Are you sure?”
She kissed me, deep and true and long.