by Camille Eide
Sue opened the door and peered outside.
A late-model Escalade sat in the drive beyond the front lawn, engine still running. A man, barely visible behind tinted windows, remained in the car while an athletic-looking woman in designer warm-ups dropped two pink suitcases on the front porch of the main entrance. A black-haired girl stood beside the bags, shoulders cinched up so tight they nearly touched her ears.
Jasmine—the new girl.
Sue’s heart tripped.
The woman hurried back to the SUV. Halfway across the lawn she turned, said something to the girl, and then pointed to the front door.
Sue’s breath caught and stung. No. Please don’t. Not like that. Don’t just dump her and go. She rushed outside, down the steps, and across the lawn. “Hi, Mrs. Walker?”
The woman turned with a start. “Is this Juniper Ranch group home?”
“Yes.” As Sue approached, she glanced at Jasmine. The preteen was as stiff as a fence post.
“We got lost trying to find the place.” Mrs. Walker crossed her arms like a shield. “Where do I sign?”
Sue couldn’t answer. Bertie was right—the woman was ready to sign away her child on the hood of a car. Sue stole another look at Jasmine, who stared at the hot pink bags in silence.
Beyond the girl, curtains twitched in the den window, partially revealing the curious faces of Cori, Edgar, and Tatiana.
While Mrs. Walker signed the papers, the man remained at the wheel, shoulder belt still fastened. It took the woman all of six minutes to complete the paperwork.
A new Juniper Ranch record.
Then the couple drove away. The Escalade’s brake lights didn’t blink once.
Sue joined Jasmine on the porch, feeling oddly connected to the girl who hadn’t uttered a sound. Sue had done this countless times and still didn’t have the words. What could she possibly say to a kid who had just been dumped off on a total stranger?
I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know the feeling. But you’re among friends here.
Sue inhaled the dry, sage-scented air and made a quick study of the new girl.
Wafer thin. Cambodian, maybe Vietnamese. About eleven or twelve. Jasmine’s paperwork was a jumbled maze of inconsistencies and missing information—which was not uncommon—so Sue would have to best-guess her age.
“Well, Jasmine.” Sue summoned a bright smile for a moment that was anything but. “You hungry? We’re not serving dinner for a while, but I bet I can find you a snack.”
The girl turned her gaze toward the long driveway leading away from Juniper Ranch. The ribbon of dust disturbed by the Escalade rose and spread slowly, drifting in the afternoon sun, bound to settle in some other place.
The pair of suitcases flanked Jasmine’s feet, price tags still attached. A couple of bags that held everything. And nothing. Much like the beat-up green Samsonite that had once followed Sue to more foster homes than she could count.
Sue’s stomach growled as she grabbed a suitcase. “All right, kiddo. Let’s get your stuff inside. We’ll get you set up in your new room.”
Jasmine turned then, her eyes almost level with Sue’s.
No shocker there. At five-two, Sue was used to meeting preteens eye to eye.
The girl’s face had no remarkable features. Wide nose, small eyes. No abnormalities, no physical handicap that Sue could see. No sign of the kinds of imperfections that often made Mr. and Mrs. Disenchanted back out of an international adoption.
What fears haunt you, little friend? What coping quirks couldn’t they handle?
“I no need room.” A frown creased the girl’s brow. “I no—I not staying here.”
“Well, we can discuss that. Just not here on the front porch. Okay?” She softened the question with a gentle smile.
Jasmine’s frown deepened. Thick tears pooled, glittering in her dark eyes.
Oh, honey, no, please don’t do that … A quiet ache squeezed Sue’s heart. It wasn’t the first time she’d stood on these weathered steps, a silent witness to the aftermath of a “disrupted” adoption. It came with the job. But no matter how many times she’d done this, she still couldn’t get used to watching a young heart break in the middle of her front porch.
Sue shifted the girl’s bag to her other hand and motioned with her head. “C’mon, kiddo. This way.” She opened the front door and went inside. If she hesitated or looked back, it wouldn’t work. “It’s not Disneyland,” Sue called over her shoulder, “but at least it’s a place where you can fit in.”
The door hung open, letting in cool October air.
Sue headed for the stairs. “Fitting in” might be aiming a bit high. But she would do whatever it took to make Jasmine feel like there was one place in the world where she wouldn’t be an outsider. Sue reached the staircase and paused.
No sounds of footsteps came from the porch.
Dragging a girl inside and forcing her to stay wasn’t high on her list of favorite things to do. Come on, Jasmine. I’m offering you some dignity here. Please take it. Fighting the temptation to look, Sue headed up the staircase, straining to hear sounds of Jasmine following.
Fourth step. Sixth.
Take it from me, little one. The sooner you learn to stop longing, the sooner the pain will go away. Trust me.
Ninth step.
The urge to look back reached a cresting point.
Then, shuffling footsteps and the click of the front door.
Sue turned and gave the skinny girl with the pink suitcase a smile. “C’mon, slowpoke. Follow me.”
* * *
While Miss Elena introduced Jasmine to the kitchen crew, Sue dashed to her office and grabbed the new paperwork. Maybe she could learn something else about Jasmine while the kids were occupied with dinner duties.
“Hey, boss.” Bertie came from the dining hall, trailed by the scent of toasting garlic bread. “Bowman clocked on, but he’s not—hey, you okay? I didn’t want to mention it earlier, but you look like something not even Ringo would drag home, and that dog’s not picky.”
“Thanks, Bert.” Sue tugged the band from her frazzled braid and combed fingers through her blonde waves. “You know, you ought to try saying what you really think instead of bottling it all up like that. It’s not healthy.”
Bertie snorted. “You think you’re joking, but you have no idea what I hold back.”
“Ha.” Sue returned her attention to the paper. Actually, after the day she’d had, she probably looked like she’d been thrown under a tractor and dragged across one of the neighbors’ alfalfa fields. She needed no reminder that her professional look had taken a long departure from her social services days of pantsuits and heels. But for running a place like this, a braid, sturdy boots, and a pair of well-worn jeans was her professional look, and the only one that made any sense.
Besides, who was there to get all dolled up for? Juniper Valley, little more than a speck of dust in the wide expanse of Oregon’s outback, wasn’t exactly swarming with eligible guys. Not that she had the time—or the need—for any of that.
Sue massaged her throbbing temples. “About Bowman—”
“He clocked on at three, but I haven’t seen him. I think he might have left.”
“He did.”
Bertie froze, her look instantly wary. “What’s going on?”
Sue scanned the file once again. “Mr. Bowman no longer works here.” When Bertie didn’t comment, Sue looked up.
The thin line of the dorm supervisor’s mouth made her look like a Muppet.
“Something you want to tell me?”
Bertie’s gaze darted away.
“Have you seen him hung over at work after he was warned?”
With a shrug, Bertie took the paper from Sue and read it, frowning. “Hard to say what someone’s been doing on their day off, boss.”
Sue stared at Bertie. “You’re kidding, right? You know the rules.”
“Yep.”
“I made it clear he’d be gone if he ever showed up like that again. An
d today he’s not only hungover, he’s half hammered.” Sue glanced out the window toward the shop. If only she could go back to the first time she’d talked to him about the issue and follow her gut. “I can’t believe I gave him a second chance.”
Bertie glanced up. Sympathy radiated from behind her round lenses.
But in Sue’s mind, another face came into view.
He won’t do it again, Susie. He just had a li’l too much. You know how he is …
No, Mom, ten-year-old Sue had finally gotten up the nerve to say. How should I know how he is, or how any of them are? Most of the time, I don’t even know their names …
“Well, if he was warned,” Bertie said, shutting down Sue’s ancient memory, “then he had it coming.”
If anyone had earned the right to question Sue, Roberta “Bertie” Hayes had. “He knew the rules and signed the ranch’s conduct agreement like everyone else.”
“You’re right. Absolutely.” Bertie’s forehead pleated into a frown.
It wasn’t like Bertie to hold back. “What?”
Bertie tossed the paper onto the desk with a long sigh. “It’s just—what are we going to do? We got a mile-long list of repairs, and being short on care staff, we were already pulling doubles, and now—”
“Now we get creative and figure something out, just like we always do.” Sue rubbed her temples. “I won’t compromise safety just because we need a body. I’d work myself to the grave before I’d keep a guy like that on staff.”
Bertie locked Sue in a hard stare. “Trouble is you’re working the rest of us into the ground right along with you.”
The pasty gray patches beneath Bertie’s eyes matched the ones Sue had noticed on her own face. The work had been harder lately, no doubt. She and the remaining core staff had to shoulder the load with the constant turnover of college interns, and worse, the loss of Emily, her best dorm counselor. Had it already been a year since Emily left?
“Listen, Sue, I’m not trying to add to our troubles. But in case you haven’t noticed, Elena and I are nearly shot from running short-handed. And now we’re down another staffer.”
Our troubles? Sue studied Bertie. The care staff at Juniper Ranch shared Sue’s heart for outcast kids but did they have the same vested interest that she had in making this home work?
“Now Elena and I will have to split the boys’ dorm shifts,” Bertie said. “And I’m not even going to bring up adult-to-child ratios.” Arms crossed against her faded tie-dyed shirt, she pinned Sue with a steady look. “We need help.”
Sue nodded. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll get us some help. Right away.”
* * *
On her way out to the work shop, Sue mulled over the day’s events. She did not regret her decision to fire Bowman—the kids’ safety came first. And the ranch would bounce back. It would take more than a staff shortage to topple the system she’d spent two years building. Discipline and routine not only kept Juniper Ranch running smoothly, it gave the kids a sense of stability, of normalcy. And these kids needed to feel normal and stable even more than they needed food and shelter.
But Bertie was right. Losing Bowman was a blow.
Sue straightened the cardboard over a busted-out shop window, then made the call to Layne Stevenson. Getting through to a DHS district manager was a lot harder now than it was when Sue and Layne worked family cases for the county.
Layne answered with a cheerful “hello,” then listened as Sue explained about firing Bowman and asked about college interns.
“We didn’t get many interns this term, but I’ll see if I can figure out something.”
Sue slipped inside the shop and flicked on the fluorescents. “Thanks, Layne. I owe you.”
“Speaking of help, I was going to call you.”
“Really? You’re finally coming to work for me?”
“Tempting, but no.” Layne chuckled. “I’m a newlywed, remember? I like going home every night to a warm body. You oughta try it.”
Sue shook her head. Layne’s “warm body” was a former NFL linebacker who made King Kong look like a Happy Meal toy. She shivered. “I’m plenty warm, thanks.” She picked her way around the mess.
Her Suburban sat in the center of the shop under a film of high desert dust. Her old Harley stood behind the Suburban, streaks of sunset glinting off the chrome, and her Honda dual sport was parked next to it. In one corner, the riding mower lay in pieces. In another, discarded car parts were piled in a heap like a dismantled carcass, and most of her tools littered the shop as if three-year-olds had been playing tune-up.
“Sue, I hate to mention it, but your last licensing inspection—”
“I know.” Sue heaved a sigh. “I’m on it.”
Layne’s end went silent for several seconds. “Really? You’ll have all the repairs done in time for the follow-up?”
Sue leaned against the Suburban. The latest list of repairs the state required to keep her license was the toughest she’d ever received. With Bowman gone, Sue had no idea how she was going to get the repairs finished in time. She groaned.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Layne said. “Listen, I’ve got the perfect solution for you. My brother’s boss from Alaska is in the area, and he’s looking for temporary work until the first of the year. Dan said he’s absolutely the best guy—”
“Boss of what?”
“Um, well … an offshore oil rig. But he’s—”
“An oil rigger?” Sue hacked out a laugh. “A roughneck? Great. Who are you going to send next, a lumberjack and a couple of bikers? Maybe they can pull night watch in the girls’ hall.” Sue yanked open the driver’s door of her Suburban, climbed in, and cranked the key.
A few feeble chugs, then nothing. Big surprise.
“I’m serious, Sue. Joe is an all-around handyman and knows how to manage a crew.”
“I’m sure he’s charming, Layne. On an oil rig. But I need someone with experience handling kids. Special needs kids. You know that.”
“Yes, in the long run, in optimal circumstances, absolutely. But you’re going to give old Bertie a stroke if you don’t get some help. You have to hire someone.”
Sue rested her aching head on the steering wheel. Pain and fatigue rolled over her in a cold fog. Why couldn’t Emily have stuck around instead of running off to Scotland?
“Sue?”
She slipped out of the Suburban. “Sorry, Layne, but Juniper Ranch isn’t hiring oil drillers. If you want to help, find me some experienced temps or at least a couple of interns. Just make sure the interns know they’ll be living in the desert a hundred miles from the nearest club. Thanks.” She let herself out of the shop and trudged the path back to the porch.
From somewhere inside the house, a metallic crash rang out, followed by shouts.
Chapter Two
Joe Paterson wiped the men’s room mirror with the towel, then grabbed his razor and leaned closer for a better look. He smoothed a hand over his head, already fuzzy with a day’s worth of dark growth. He’d kept up the shaved-head routine even after Dave’s funeral, but there was no point shaving it any more.
By now, his best friend probably had a full head of hair and was discovering that everything Joe had told him about heaven was true. No more pain, no more chemo.
Father, thanks for letting me be there when Dave gave his life to You. Glad I got to be a part of that. Clearing the sudden knot in his throat, Joe stowed the memory, returned to the mirror, and gave his dark jaw a shave. Then he stuffed the towel in the stained laundry bag marked “Gordy’s,” grabbed his duffel, and left the men’s room.
In spite of the bustle in the crowded truck stop diner, the waitress at the register beamed a dimpled smile as Joe passed her.
“Thanks for the shower.” He made a mental note to remember this truck stop in case he ever made another road trip through Oregon.
Blushing, the waitress glanced around. “Actually, only truckers are supposed to use it, so it’ll just be our little secret.”
“I did, thanks.” He checked the time. Going on noon. He could still get to Bend and search the public records before the courthouse closed for the weekend. The three-hour drive would give him plenty of time to rehearse what he wanted to say to his ex-adoptive dad.
Not that he needed practice. In the fourteen years since Joe had aged out of the system, not a day passed that he hadn’t thought about finding John Jacobs and making him hear the truth about his family.
“Sure we can’t bring you out a few more Gordy’s Grinders?” Blondie nodded toward the kitchen. “That is, if we got anything left back there.”
“I’m good, thanks.”
She winked at him. “Aw, hon, I’m just kidding. Strapping guy like you—” She tapped his bicep with her order pad. “Bet it takes a lot of protein to maintain all that muscle, huh?”
Joe answered with a smile. If he were still seated, he’d have to add a couple more bucks to her tip. He stepped outside and climbed into his pickup truck.
Next order of business was getting directions to the Bend courthouse. He reached under the seat for his laptop, but his fingers groped at empty air. He looked around the cab and under the seat again.
His laptop, coat, and extra duffel of clothes—gone.
He jumped out and checked the truck bed.
His tent, sleeping bag, and fishing poles were gone too.
Adrenaline surging, he scoured the lot, feet pounding the blacktop, searching for signs of his stuff.
A man pumping gas said he’d seen someone near the truck but couldn’t remember any details.
Blasting out a breath that didn’t unload his frustration, Joe returned to the diner.
Blondie met him inside the door.
“I need the number for the local police,” he said. “Someone stole all my stuff from my truck while I was in here.”
“I’m so sorry, hon.” She scrawled the number and handed it over. “Might as well have a seat while you wait for the deputy. Lemme get you some more coffee.”
Temples pounding, he strode to a window seat at the far end of the diner, made the call, and sat back to wait. Idiot. In Alaska, he’d always left his rig unlocked. He’d forgotten how different things were in the Lower Forty-Eight.
