Chapter 1

The townsfolk called Brady a hero.

Sheriff Brady, with his star pinned neat on his chest, always ready with a firm handshake and a reassuring smile.

I was Savannah, the oil heiress from Texas, the one who'd turned down a future mapped out by my father, all for love.

For Brady.

Our sprawling ranch outside Abilene, Kansas, felt like a world away from the dusty oil fields I grew up on.

It was supposed to be our haven.

Eight months into carrying our first child, the local paper ran another piece on Brady's latest daring rescue.

"Sheriff's Wife Beams with Pride," the headline read.

I did beam. Or I tried to.

My four closest friends, Willow, Amber, Crystal, and Daisy, lived with us.

They'd followed me from Texas, girls I'd known since cotillion, their own prospects less golden than mine.

Here, they helped manage the household, a comforting presence. Or so I thought.

The day our daughter, Lily, was born, the world tilted.

One moment, the doctor was placing her, small and perfect, into my arms.

The air in the delivery room was thick with relief, with Brady's proud, beaming face.

Then Dr. Peterson cleared his throat, his gaze shifting uncomfortably.

He spoke to Brady, a low murmur I couldn't quite catch.

Brady's smile froze.

"What is it?" I asked, my voice still weak.

Dr. Peterson looked at me, then at the floor, then back at me.

"Savannah," he began, his voice hesitant. "There's... something else."

A knot formed in my stomach.

"It's about your friends. Willow, Amber, Crystal, and Daisy."

He paused.

"They're all pregnant, Savannah. Each of them. Around two to three months along."

The words hung in the sterile air.

Four friends. All pregnant. At the same time.

My gaze drifted to Lily, her tiny face serene.

Then I looked up at Brady.

His face was a mask of shock, or something pretending to be shock.

"What?" I whispered.

The door creaked open and Martha, Brady's mother, bustled in, her face alight.

"A granddaughter! Oh, Brady, I knew you had it in you!"

Her eyes, sharp and assessing, swept over me, then landed on the doctor.

"And I hear there's more good news?" she chirped, oblivious or deliberately ignoring the tension. "More little Bradys on the way?"

My head swam.

The doctor stammered, "Well, Mrs. Henderson, it's... a unique situation."

Martha clapped her hands together. "Unique is good! Means my Brady is a virile man! Four more chances for a grandson to carry on the Henderson name!"

My blood ran cold.

I looked at Willow, who had followed Martha in, her face pale, eyes downcast.

Amber stood behind her, a defiant tilt to her chin. Crystal wrung her hands. Daisy looked like she might faint.

"Martha," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, dear," Martha said, her smile unwavering. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. Brady will explain everything. Won't you, son?"

Brady finally moved, stepping towards me, his expression pained.

"Savannah, honey..."

I cut him off.

"Them," I said, nodding towards my friends. "Are you the father, Brady?"

The silence was a living thing, suffocating.

Amber smirked.

Willow flinched.

Brady opened his mouth, then closed it.

Martha stepped forward. "Now, Savannah, this is a blessing. Our family needs heirs."

"I asked Brady a question," I said, my eyes locked on his.

He finally met my gaze, his own filled with a practiced sorrow.

"Yes, Savannah," he said, his voice low. "It was... an accident."

An accident. Four times.