Boone

by Emily March

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  Maddie P. Maddie P. Nana loves her Maddie P.

  She’s the sweetest girl in Texas and her Mommy will agree. Maddie P. Maddie P. Welcome to the world, my love. Our 2020 saving grace.

  Chapter One

  Boone McBride tried hard to keep the commandments attached to Thursday-night Beer League softball in Eternity Springs, but it wasn’t always easy. Oh, he didn’t have trouble remembering to bring the beer when it was his turn or leaving his cell phone in his car at the ballpark. He wasn’t tempted to skip games or yell at the umpire or covet a different position than the one he drew from a ball cap at the beginning of the game, as was the team’s custom. What gave Boone trouble was the team’s first commandment: Thou shalt not ogle thy buddy’s wife.

  Considering that he was a single man and all of the Base Invaders’ women were as hot as Austin in August, keeping the first commandment required considerable effort.

  It didn’t help anything that the bleacher smoke show observed no reciprocal rule. Some of the things those women said to a man on the field could make a batboy blush.

  Not that the women were vulgar. There were, after all, children present. Lots of children. So many children, in fact, that one had to question just how many home runs were hit each night in Eternity Springs. But Boone would bet the keys to his Maserati that they spent the days between games googling baseball innuendos. They didn’t spare him either. In fact, as the only single man on the Base Invaders, he seemed to get attention from all of them.

  The commandments said nothing about being an ogle-ee, so Boone, being Boone, played to the crowd during his turn at bat.

  He approached home plate using what he thought of as his gunslinger walk—molasses slow, thighs spread, his arms swaying. A confident swagger. A few steps from home plate, he glanced toward the bleachers and gave the ladies a wink and the bat in his right hand a slow, 360-degree swing. Wearing his cockiest grin, he took his place in the batter’s box.

  The whistles and catcalls elicited a grouchy scoff from the catcher. With the hint of his native Australia in his tone, Devin Murphy said, “You’re a dick, McBride.”

  “Add an adjective to that noun, and you’ve got it right.” Boone took position, bat up, weight forward, knees flexed, which served to pull the material of his softball pants tight over his ass. “I’m a swingin’ dick.”

  He let the first pitch sail by.

  “Strike,” called the umpire, Harry Falwell, a retired ball coach from Indiana who obviously needed new glasses.

  Boone gave him a look but kept the umpire commandment.

  “I think we’re good without the adjective,” Devin commented.

  “Waiting for my pitch.” On the pitcher’s mound, Josh Tarkington began his windup, and Boone added, “Then I’m hitting a homer.”

  The ball headed for the plate. Boone liked it. Thump. Bat connected with ball, right on the sweet spot. He stood and watched it sail over the fence before turning to tip his cap to the cheering bleacher brigade.

  “Oh, go run your bases,” Devin snarled. “Better enjoy it. Unlike the rest of us, it’s the only home base you’ll see tonight.”

  “You’re a dick, Murphy,” Boone replied before tossing down his bat and making the trek around the bases.

  The Base Invaders won the game 9 to 6.

  Boone hung around for the postgame beer, fielding dozens of questions about his cousin Jackson’s destination wedding to the lovely Caroline Carruthers, which was scheduled for a week from Saturday here in Eternity Springs. Folks were abuzz because Jackson’s ex-wife and the mother of his daughter, Haley, was a pop music celebrity who performed as Coco. She was going to sing at the rehearsal party on Friday night, an event to which all Eternity Springs residents were invited. Around eight thirty, he climbed into his Land Rover and made the short drive to his office.

  Celeste Blessing had asked for an appointment, and with both their schedules, the best they’d been able to do was nine tonight. He had a little paperwork to finish up before she arrived, and he’d no sooner walked inside than his landline began to ring. That was curious. Who would be calling his business number instead of his cell at eight thirty on a Thursday night?

  He checked caller ID and froze. The familiar number sent a chill of apprehension down his spine. WAGGONER, THOMPSON, AND COLE.

  Boone’s stomach sank. To call his personal history with the Fort Worth law firm unpleasant was like saying the water of Hummingbird Lake was a little chilly in February. They were directly connected to the darkest days of his life, and not very long ago, any type of communication with them would have him breaking out in a cold sweat. His hand hovered over the receiver as he debated letting the call go to voicemail. It was well past business hours, after all.

  No. He was a swingin’ D, right? He wasn’t going to duck a freakin’ phone call from Fort Worth. “Screw it,” he muttered and picked up the receiver. “Boone McBride.”

  “Boone? This is Ellen Woods.”

  Boone’s brows arched in surprise. Ellen Woods had been a colleague of his at the DA’s office. “Ellen. Nice to hear from you. Except, you’re calling from WTC? Don’t tell me you’ve gone over to the dark side.”

  She laughed. “No, I’m still fighting the good fight. I’ve been here for a meeting. I had an empty conference room and time to reach out to you, but my phone is about to die, so I’m using theirs. Boone, something rather unusual has come up. It involves you.”

  He took a seat in his desk chair and said a wary, “Okay.”

  “Yesterday Sarah Winston reached out to me for help. She’s been trying to reach you. She thinks you’re dodging her calls.”

  I am. He’d dodged three calls from Sarah Winston today.

  Boone picked up a pencil and began tapping its eraser on the desk. “She’s still with Child Protective Services, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. She—”

  “Tell her I said no.”

  “Boone—”

  “Tell her to talk to Jenkins or Moffat. They’re tough as nails on child abuse cases. Either one of those guys will do a fabulous job for Sarah.”

  “But—”

  He interrupted. “Okay, look. I’ll do this much for her. Tell her I’ll read over what she’s done before they go to trial, but I’m not working the case.”

  “Boone McBride, would you please zip your lips long enough to let me get a word in edgewise? Sarah is not looking for legal help. That’s not why she’s been calling.”

  “Oh.” He set down the pencil. “I’m sorry. The last case she brought to me was brutal. These days I’m sticking to writing wills and contracts for real estate deals.”

  “She told me that. That’s a shame, because you have a particular talent working with victimized youth. Children adore you. Your heart is so big.”

  Boone stifled a snort. If he had a big heart, it was due to all the scar tissue.

  Restless now, he rose from his chair and walked to his window where, if he stood in the right spot, he coul
d see the chimney in the master bedroom of the new house Jax Lancaster had built for him up at Hummingbird Lake. He’d moved in a week ago, and he’d opened the last box earlier today. He was close to being ready for the wedding guests arriving next week.

  With his gaze locked on his home, his haven, he said, “I hate to rush you, Ellen, but I have somewhere I need to be soon.”

  Home. Sitting on the dock, getting a worm wet. Short of rolling around his bed with a beautiful woman, it was his favorite way to wind down at the end of a summer day. “What is the message Sarah wants you to pass along?”

  “You need to call her. There’s a baby, Boone. A newborn. He could be yours.”

  Boone took just a second to do the math, and then burst out laughing. Last fall he’d been having an affair with a ski instructor over at Wolf Creek. The affair ended by Thanksgiving, but they’d remained friendly. They’d had lunch together just two weeks ago, in fact. He’d been monogamous during the affair and celibate since. “No, Ellen, take my word for it. A newborn child cannot possibly be mine.”

  “He’s officially a Safe Haven baby who was surrendered at a fire station. He arrived with a letter from the mother naming you as his legal guardian. She said she wanted you to adopt her baby, but she didn’t know how to find you.”

  Boone went still. “Excuse me? Say that again?”

  “Someone who knows you surrendered a newborn at a fire station.”

  “Who?”

  “We don’t know. She didn’t say. That’s what the Safe Haven law is all about.”

  Boone knew that, of course. Texas law provided that a parent could leave a baby up to sixty days old with an employee on duty at any hospital, emergency medical services provider, or child welfare agency and not be charged with abandonment. Parents were encouraged to give information about the child’s health, race, date of birth, place of birth, and the parents’ medical history, but it wasn’t required.

  Ellen continued, “Sarah did say there was a separate, personal message for you.”

  “A message? What does the message say?”

  “I don’t know. Sarah didn’t share that with me. Call her, Boone. Tonight. You have a ticking clock situation here with this. Do you need her number?” His former colleague rattled it off, and then ended the call saying, “This could be a good thing for you, Boone. Good luck.”

  “Goodbye.” He disconnected the call and stood frozen as walled-away memories began chipping at the mortar in his mind.

  Boone fought back. He couldn’t allow any breach in his defenses. That way there be dragons.

  A Safe Haven baby. Holy hell. Ellen thought that bringing a child into his life could be a good thing?

  “Not hardly,” he muttered. Not according to his history. He’d been down this road before. Traveling it brought only heartbreak and pain. “No. Not going there. Never again.”

  He returned to his desk and took a seat. He didn’t phone Sarah Winston. Instead he phoned Josh Tarkington to schedule a tune-up for his Maserati. After that, he took a call on his cell from Brick Callahan and answered a handful of questions related to Jackson and Caroline’s wedding at the Callahans’ North Forty property on the shore of Hummingbird Lake. Upon ending the conversation with Brick, Boone phoned the Mocha Moose Sandwich Shop and placed a pickup order for dinner on the way home.

  He no sooner set the phone down than it rang again. Sarah Winston. Why had he ever given her his cell number? He let out a string of curses that would do a bronc buster proud and then answered the call.

  He let her go through the entire story before he began asking questions. “Why is this even a possibility? I know how the system works. This is highly irregular, to say the least.”

  “That’s true. But Boone, you are a hero to everyone in our office. In the courts too. Throw in the fact that you are related to half the judges in Texas, and three-quarters of the politicians on both sides of the aisle want you to run for office—nobody is going to interfere. You’ve long been a champion for victimized children. You helped so many people. And what happened to you—” She paused a moment and softened her voice. “What happened to you and Mary was tragic. People want to help. This can be treated like a private adoption.”

  He closed his eyes and massaged his brow. “I appreciate the sentiment, Sarah, but I don’t need this.”

  “Really? Are you so certain of that? You’re personally and professionally fulfilled by writing wills and contracts?”

  “The world needs ditch diggers too, Danny.”

  “What?”

  “Caddyshack. And I don’t need to defend my choices.”

  Besides, his work was more than contracts and wills. He was working his butt off managing the family trust with all the Enchanted Canyon projects. He stayed busy as hell. “I don’t want or need a baby. If I did, I’d go out and get one the old-fashioned way.”

  “Fair enough. Be the baby’s guardian, then, if not his father. Find him a family. He needs you.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I don’t need to be involved. Infants are a snap to place.” As long as the mothers don’t change their minds. “You probably have dozens of approved adopters who’d love nothing more than to bring a Safe Haven newborn into their home. Hell, I’m not even on the list anymore. Plus, I live in Colorado!”

  “Lucky baby gets to avoid the Texas summer,” she responded. “They say we might reach a hundred and ten later this week. That’s brutal for this early in the season. Colorado’s not a problem. I had everyone up and down the line check off on this before I ever called you. Like I said, Boone, you have lots of friends.”

  “Yeah, and like the old yarn goes, with friends like these who needs enemies. You’re not listening to me, Sarah.”

  “His mother chose you.”

  That stopped him. “About her. Who is she? Ellen said she left me a message?”

  “I don’t have a name. What I do have is a folded note with your name on the outside.” Sarah Winston waited for a beat before adding, “It’s written in gel ink. Pink gel ink.”

  Pink gel ink. Boone closed his eyes as his defensive walls collapsed, and he was catapulted into his past.

  It was the one case that haunted him. The one case he’d totally blown. The system—Boone—had failed a sweet, vulnerable twelve-year-old girl who could not speak of the abuse, but who had managed to write it down. Seven handwritten pages with hearts dotting her i’s. Cruel, sickening abuse.

  Detailed in pink gel ink.

  With dread crushing his chest, he cleared his throat and asked, “What does the note say?”

  Softly, gently, Sarah said, “‘You owe me.’”

  “Oh, God.” Boone closed his eyes. He massaged his brow with fingers and his thumb. “I need to think. I’ll phone you tomorrow.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  The call ended, and he sat without moving, haunted by his ghosts, his emotions a maelstrom. He only vaguely heard the knock on his door. Only vaguely heard the hinges creak as the door opened.

  “Boone?” Celeste Blessing said as she approached his desk. She was a lovely older woman with kind, periwinkle eyes and a ready smile. Her silver hair was cut in a modern bob, and her signature angel wing earrings dangled from her ears. “Is everything okay?”

  The concern in her voice caused a sudden lump to form in Boone’s throat. He swallowed it. “No. No, Celeste, it’s not. I just received some disturbing news.”

  “Oh, dear. I hope all of your family members are okay?”

  “Yes. This has nothing to do with my family.”

  “That’s reassuring, especially with Jackson’s wedding next weekend.”

  Boone nodded absently. The wedding. Oh, holy hell. His entire family was descending upon Eternity Springs in less than a week. What would he tell them?

  Nothing, that’s what. After what had happened last time, no. Mom, especially, couldn’t know about this until everything was settled. Permanently settled. The stress would kill her. He wasn’t at all that
sure that it wouldn’t kill him.

  He did his best to lock away all his turmoil. He had business to do. “So, Celeste, what did you need to see me about tonight?”

  “It’s nothing.” She wrinkled her button nose and shook her head. “We’ll deal with that another day. Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you, Boone?”

  The soft, golden lamplight illuminating the office gave her an ethereal glow. Her smile was compassionate. Her gaze offered gentle encouragement.

  Boone had lived in Eternity Springs long enough to know that intelligent people listened whenever Celeste Blessing spoke. She was a wise woman, and Boone valued her opinion.

  So he told her. The good, the bad, and the heartbreaking.

  It took him forty minutes and two glasses of scotch. When he finally finished, he felt drained. “I guess I’ll go to Fort Worth tomorrow, but I don’t know what I’ll do when I get there. I’m a mess, Celeste.”

  Celeste tossed him a lifeline. “I have a suggestion. Go to Texas tomorrow, but rather than Fort Worth, go to Enchanted Canyon. You owe it to yourself and to that sweet little baby to take a little time with this decision. Make peace with it.”

  Enchanted Canyon was the Hill Country property not far from the small town of Redemption that he, together with his cousins Tucker and Jackson, had inherited from a distant relative. They had refurbished a nineteenth-century cathouse, and now Celeste’s cousin Angelica was the innkeeper at their Fallen Angel Inn resort. Boone’s lips twisted in a wry smile as he quoted part of the marketing tagline Celeste had insisted on. “You’re saying I should go ‘Where troubled souls find peace’?”

  “Exactly. Take the weekend and do some hiking and climbing. A little swimming.”

  “Maybe a bit of spelunking,” Boone said, warming to the idea. “Tucker has found a couple of caves he told me to explore.”

  “I find caves particularly intriguing,” Celeste said. “Shelter is a basic need of life. I believe your cousin spends an entire morning on sheltering in his wilderness school’s Survival One Oh One class, doesn’t he?”