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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 and concentrated on it. “It was beautiful. A segmented vase made of madrone, tulipwood, wenge, and maple.”
    “Shaped like a hot air balloon?” he asked.
    “Yes.” In her mind’s eye she saw a balloon floating over a bloody killing field. Sage fisted her hands so tight that her nails drew blood from her palms. Stop it!
    He shrugged. “I gave that to Celeste as a gift. I certainly never intended to show it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then asked, “Did she sell it?”
    “No. It’s in the Aspenglow suite at the main house. With its blue ribbon.” Her chest grew tight, and it was difficult to breathe. “Could I have a glass of water?”
    “Sure. Come with me.”
    He led her inside the carriage house apartment and to the kitchen, where he filled a glass with water and offered it to her, saying, “You’re acting kinda cranky about that blue ribbon.”
    “I like to win.” She took a sip, then waited a moment to make certain it would stay down. Her mouth tasted sour and she grimaced.
    “There’s a toothbrush in a guest basket in the bathroom if you want it.”
    “Thank you,” she said quietly.
    In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth, rinsed her face, then stared into the mirror. Instead of her own reflection, she saw … carnage.
    It hit her then, the full-blown panic attack. Hyperventilation. Racing heart. Dizziness. Tight throat. Sweats.
    She must