by Hebby Roman
All in all, she was a sight to behold. He’d wondered where Aaron got his pretty-boy looks—now he knew.
Not that he knew much about the boy’s mother. He’d read over Aaron’s documentation, forwarded by McNamara, his attorney contact in New York. He had attorney contacts across the nation and boys from all over. Along with New York, he had a handful of teenagers from Los Angeles, some from Chicago, Philadelphia, Seattle, and even as close as Houston.
For the boys from out of state, he had to hire, on a contract basis, Texas probation officers to meet with them. Since they’d been given probation in another state, the state of Texas wasn’t liable to fulfill the terms of their probation. To satisfy the conditions of each state, his probation officers reported the boys’ progress to their home states, meeting the differing standards. It was a lot of paperwork shuffling, but it was the only way to satisfy the local jurisdictions.
He took a sip of his coffee and considered. The parents hadn’t married, but Van Wyck, the boy’s father, had acknowledged him and was on the birth certificate. It seemed the two parents had joint custody but, somehow, Van Wyck had become the de facto primary custodian.
He didn’t like being lied to, especially by a highly-paid lawyer like McNamara. It was obvious the mother hadn’t deserted her son. Unusual for McNamara to flout the law and not get her signature.
Then he remembered a snippet of something from the records. Several years ago, the mother had been pulled in on drug charges, but she’d been acquitted and released.
She didn’t strike him as a drug user. And she didn’t look old enough to have a fifteen-year-old son, either. It was puzzling and, for Aaron’s sake, he wanted to understand the boy’s family dynamics.
“You’re not hungry?” he asked.
She smiled, a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t eat much, not in my profession.” But like an obedient child, she flipped open her napkin and put it in her lap, lifting her fork. She took a bite of the scrambled eggs. “These are very good.”
“You’re not from around here. Are you?”
“Of course not. You must know from Aaron’s records, we’re from New York.”
“But you’re not originally from there, either.”
“Oh, the Spanish… that’s how… No, I’m originally from Argentina.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Argentina, and then New York. Lady, you are a long way from home.”
“Yes, you’re right. Though, New York is home now.”
“What kind of profession puts you off eating?”
“I’m a model.”
“In New York?”
“Yes, in New York.”
“But you know about horses, don’t you?”
“How can you tell?”
“Because your son is a natural and, somehow, I don’t think that comes from Mr. Van Wyck’s side of the blanket. Does it?”
She smiled, this time a real smile. “No, I was born on a ranch in the Pampas of Argentina.”
He let loose a low whistle. “The Pampas, gauchos and everything? I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“But why? It is an out-of-the-way place, Mr. McCulloch.”
“I like ranching, working with cattle. This may be a rehab center, but it’s also a working ranch. I’ve always wondered what ranching is like in other parts of the world, and Argentina is known for raising cattle.”
“I doubt it’s different from here. You breed the cattle, pamper the calves, fatten them up, cull the herd and send them to market. In some ways, it’s a cruel business, Mr. McCulloch.”
“I guess you’re right, but people have to eat. And I wish you would call me Gar, not Mr. McCulloch. We’re not much on formality in Texas.”
“Alright, Gar it is then. Are you named for the country-western singer, Garth Brooks?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Sofia, I might look old to you, but Garth Brooks wasn’t famous when I was born. Nope, my mother named me after my great-uncle, a war hero in World War II.” He frowned. “My proper name is Garland, but I’m not fond of it.”
She lifted the coffee carafe, helping herself to another cup. Then she took the cup in both hands and cradled it, as if it were a bowl and didn’t have a proper handle.
He liked to get to know his boys’ parents. Not that he was given a lot of opportunity to do that. He only took first offenders, who were usually remanded to home custody with mandatory visits to a probation officer. But most of his boy were from privileged homes. Those parents didn’t bother to visit. They just wanted to write a check and have him solve their teenagers’ problems.
But this lady had come all the way to see her son, knowing he didn’t want to have anything to do with her. She struck him as one of the few who genuinely cared.
“Why don’t you like your name?” she asked. “After all, you were named for a hero.”
“Well…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “If you don’t know about the hero part, Garland sounds like a fancy Christmas decoration.”
She giggled, a deep, throaty sound that riveted him, ricocheting through his body, warming parts of him that hadn’t been thawed out in a long time.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said.
“If you’d had to defend my name in a schoolyard growing up,” he purposely deepened his drawl, “you’d think twice about naming your son for a Christmas decoration.” He paused and then shook his head. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
She stiffened, holding herself ramrod straight. She jutted out her chin, too, shooting him a defiant look. He’d seen that look a hundred times in the past two weeks from her son.
“Do you tango?” he asked.
“Do I, uh, tango?”
He’d posed the question to catch her off guard, knowing she was expecting something about Aaron and their relationship.
“Yes, do you tango?”
“No, I don’t. Do you tango, Gar?”
“Nope, but I’m a fair two-stepper.”
“Pardon me?”
“Two stepping. It’s a kind of country-western dancing. Most people around these parts are pretty partial to it.”
“Why did you ask if I dance the tango?”
“Because you’re from Argentina. Doesn’t everyone do the tango there?”
“No, not everyone. It’s a rather…” She licked her berry-red lips. “It’s a decadent dance. My parents were strict.”
“But you’ve a son out of wedlock.” He’d circled and closed the gap.
Registering the startled look on her face made him uncomfortable, but the question was necessary. These troubled boys were his responsibility, and the more he understood their background, the more he could help.
She shot to her feet. “That’s unkind and ungallant of you—”
“Your English is very good, Sofia. Ungallant… haven’t heard that word in years or maybe only in books.” He bit back a smile. “Basically, you’re right, it wasn’t very polite of me.”
“In Argentina we speak several languages and when I came to the States, I studied English. Both online and in class.” She frowned. “Why did you want to be unkind?”
“Why are you here?”
“To see my son.”
“Yes, but sleeping in your car? Are you out of work?”
“For a few weeks. I took some time off to see how Aaron is doing.”
“But are you out of work? I thought they liked their models young in New York. You have a fifteen-year-old son, Sofia, and unless you had him when you were a baby, you have to be at least…”
“I’m thirty-four years old. I make no secret of it.” She looked down her nose at him. “I don’t do high-end, fashion modeling, mostly catalogues and print ads. I’m too full-figured for runway modeling. I still get plenty of bookings, and I make good money. I’m no vagabond… or is it a vagrant.”
He lifted his gaze, taking her in. She was tall for a woman, but to his way of thinking, she was slend
er. Though, she did have high, full breasts and rounded hips. Maybe in the fashion world she was considered full-figured. Not in his world, for him, she was perfect.
He pulled his thoughts out of the bedroom. “Vagrant is probably the word you’re looking for. If you have money, why sleep in your car?”
“I don’t think it’s any of your business.” Her tone was this side of defensive. She tilted her head and glanced at him from the corners of her eyes.
He waited. Though Aaron’s paperwork was faulty, something he’d attend to sooner rather than later, she needed his cooperation. And she was smart enough to know it.
She threw up her hands. “Okay, I’ll tell you. I didn’t think about it being the week of Thanksgiving and all the hotels in Bandera are full.”
“Of course.” He thumped the desk with his knuckles. “Why didn’t I think of that? So, no reservations, you just came down and—”
“Mr. McCulloch, don’t patronize me. I don’t know anyone in Texas and I couldn’t get a room. Why is that hard to believe?”
“Did you fly down or drive?”
“I flew and rented a car at the airport.”
“Then you saw San Antonio. It’s a big city with lots of hotel rooms.”
“Yes, but it’s an hour’s drive away, and I didn’t know what to expect.”
“I see.” He folded his napkin and placed it beside his almost-empty plate. “So, you hung around, learning our routine, and when you saw your son sneak out early, you let yourself onto my land to approach him.”
“I know I was trespassing, but I had to see if Aaron was okay.”
“Even if he doesn’t want to see you? Doesn’t want anything to do with you?”
“Yes, but I have my custody papers. I can prove I’m his mother and I have a right—”
“You must be the lady who spoke to Kiki, a couple of days ago, about seeing your child, even though, you weren’t the parent who had admitted him. Am I correct?”
“Yes, you’re correct.”
“What did she tell you when you presented your custody papers?”
“That I could see my son.”
“But you didn’t get to see him. Why not?”
“He refused and being a teenager, he has the right…” She trailed off and looked down at her feet.
“Did it go any better for you, sneaking into the barn?”
“No, it didn’t.”
“Now you understand why I was impolite. I had to be sure.” He waved his hand. “I don’t need to see your papers. I know you’re his mother. But stalking him is probably not going to get you very far. I could force Aaron to spend time with you, but that wouldn’t mean he’d talk to you or you’d make any inroads with him.”
“I know. You’re right.” She paused, as if thinking. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Shoot.”
She frowned and shook her head.
“Ask away.”
“Why only boys? I’m sure there are teenaged girls who could benefit from your ranch, all this nice fresh air and horses.”
Her question knifed him in the gut, filleting him like a fish. He flinched and clenched his hand into a fist. He had no intention of answering. He was the last person to oversee teenaged girls in need of rehabilitation.
“I’m more at ease with boys.”
“I see.” She hesitated, and then she opened her mouth slightly and ran her tongue over her lips.
Just watching her, he almost came unraveled. His groin tightened. He shifted in the chair and crossed his legs.
Good thing his desk was wide.
“Even boys who have been admitted without the proper papers?” She wasn’t letting him off the hook.
“I have every intention of rectifying that as soon as possible. I’ll be calling McNamara. He will need to send new papers, and you’ll have to come back and sign them. But I can’t force your son. You know that.”
“I know.” Her voice sounded small.
Truth be told, his heart ached for her, knowing what she was going through. How she was feeling.
She lifted her head and gazed directly into his eyes. “Would you help me? Would you try and convince Aaron? I just want to talk to him a few times.”
He tapped the side of his empty cup with his fingers. He wanted to help her, but he wished he had more to go on.
“First off, I want you to know I only take first-time offenders on probation. I’ve learned, over the years, those juveniles have the best chance of staying clean. And I treat the ‘whole’ boy, as much as is possible, so they can get a fresh start. The more I know about their backgrounds, the better the outcome.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sure you have a long, sad story that explains why Aaron doesn’t want to have anything to do with you. Am I right?”
She nodded.
“I have a master’s degree in juvenile counseling. And we have psychologists who come by three times a week and work with the boys. After the boys finish their time here, the psychologists write a report with suggestions for continuing care, such as individual or group therapy, a twelve-step program, cognitive therapy—there are a range of options. And not all boys need follow-up treatment.”
“Sounds complicated but thorough.”
“Yes, and necessary for the judge to make a final discharge.”
She nodded.
“There’s also a doctor who specializes in addiction therapy for the boys who need prescriptions to help with their dependencies. Luckily, marijuana is a drug that doesn’t need medical intervention to overcome.
“I’m assuming you believe Aaron will be rehabilitated. That you’re more concerned about his hostility toward you. Am I correct?”
“Yes.”
“I think it’s important, too, as it might be the key to his long-term success. It would help if I knew more.”
She turned her head and gazed out the window.
“I’m guessing you don’t want to tell me your long, sad story, so I could give the psychologist some insight.” He drummed his fingers on the desk. “You could speak directly to one of the psychologists, if that suits you better.”
She turned back, and her golden-brown eyes struck sparks. “My sad story has nothing to do with my son’s behavior.”
“I doubt that. These boys don’t get tied up with drugs because they’re from perfect homes.” He got to his feet. “Oh, a few do, egged on by their friends or for experimentation purposes, but usually the reason they take drugs is to escape and that leads right back to their upbringing.”
She licked her lips again and crossed her arms. “I know that.”
“So, why won’t you help me? Give us a head start?”
She turned her head and looked out the window again. “I haven’t led an exemplary life. I guess I’m afraid of what the psychologist might say. It’s embarrassing.”
“I already know you and Aaron’s father weren’t married. But illegitimacy is seldom an issue, especially with kids, not unless the child feels unwanted.”
Her head snapped back, and she looked him in the face. “I love Aaron more than life itself.”
“I can see that. Help me out.”
“Alright. But I don’t like bad-mouthing his father, either. I’m afraid Aaron will find out somehow and…” She uncrossed her arms and threw up her hands. “What if I’m wrong, what if it’s only my interpretation of things?”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
Given the fact Aaron’s father had dumped him, he had a sneaking suspicion anything bad she might say about the boy’s father was probably spot on. Not to mention Aaron’s father had falsified the admittance papers and lied about her.
“Okay, but you’re right. It is a long, sad story and a very personal one. I’m going to need time to put my thoughts together.”
Her gaze flicked to him and then she looked away again, glancing around the room. The look on her face was like a hunted animal, caught in th
e cross-hairs.
He sucked in a breath. “Alright, we’ll do it your way.”
“For the time being, I’d settle for being around my son. Try to see if my suspicions are accurate.”
“That could take a while.”
“You said you had to redo the paperwork. Can I ask how long his father admitted him for?”
“Sure, the term of his probation, ninety days.”
“Then we should have plenty of time.”
“Maybe. Depends on…” He stopped himself and shook his head. “Okay, but you need to get a room, even if it’s in San Antonio.” He snagged her gaze again. “You said you don’t know anyone down here?”
“Not really, but my business manager wants me to call a retired model who lives in San Antonio. I didn’t call her because I didn’t want to impose.”
“You might want to rethink that. This is going to take some time. It could be a drawn-out process and frustrating, too. Thanksgiving is in a couple of days. You don’t want to be alone for that. Do you?”
“If I’m not with my son, I really don’t care. How long before you can get the papers for me to sign with the holiday coming?”
“I’ll get right on it. Should have them by Monday after the long weekend.”
“And you’ll think about allowing me to be around Aaron.”
“I’ll give it my best shot.” He offered his hand. “Call your contact and get settled. If you’re going to stay the course, any support would be a blessing.”
Chapter Two
Sofia cupped her hands around the glass of black, unsweet iced tea and sipped. In New York there would be frost on the ground, maybe even snow. Here in Texas it was warm enough for iced tea. Texas reminded her of back home; it was summer in Argentina.
Even though it was a couple of days before Thanksgiving, the Starbucks counter had red and green tinsel hanging from it and a tiny artificial Christmas tree next to the register.
Like New York, it appeared Texas businesses pushed the Christmas season, for commercial purposes, earlier and earlier each year. Sad, in some ways, and such a hollow thing, too. She shook her head. When had she become such a “grinch?” She used to love Christmas, especially when Aaron had been young.
