by C. C. Coburn
She turned toward him, and he held up his hand. “Don’t say anything—just hear me out, okay?”
* * *
FIVE MINUTES LATER, true to his word, Jack stopped speaking. It was the longest speech she’d ever heard him make, but it was heartfelt and full of apology. He was asking her to forgive him?
Unable to speak, she held out a hand to him. Jack crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. “I can’t live without you, I don’t want to live without you. Please forgive me, Grace. If you’ll come back to Spruce Lake with me, I’ll never mention our child again. It’ll kill me not to know her, but you mean everything to me. And if that’s the trade-off, then I can deal with it.”
Grace lifted a hand to his cheek and said, “I was about to go and meet our daughter when you arrived. Would you like to come, too?”
This time Jack was mute, so she said, “Her name is Amelia Johansen and she lives on Cape Cod with her parents, Amy and Gil. They’ve invited me to stay for the weekend so Amelia and I can get to know each other. I’m sure they’d all want to meet you. Especially Amelia.”
Tears brimmed in Jack’s eyes as he hugged her. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, yes, yes!”
* * *
AS THEY PULLED into the driveway of the neatly tended Cape Cod home, the front door swung open and a young teen appeared on the doorstep.
“Is that her?” Jack asked, his voice choked with emotion.
“She looks the right age,” Grace said.
“She looks like you.”
He said the words so softly she turned to him and saw his smile—the Jack smile she loved so much. “Shall we go and meet her?” she asked, barely able to keep from wrenching her door off its hinges as they got out.
Millie was pacing the backseat, sensing excitement in the air. She gave a woof at the same time that a Jack Russell terrier shot out the front door of the house and dashed toward them. He barked furiously, protecting his home against the intruders.
Then Millie jumped out, landing gracefully on her three legs, and he went crazy. Barking and leaping before detecting she wasn’t a threat, he sniffed her diligently, then came to greet Grace and Jack.
The teen had made her way to their little group. Jack was ruffling the terrier’s ears but then straightened. “What’s his name?” he asked the girl as a way of breaking the ice.
“Jack,” she said, then, as if realizing the coincidence, laughed.
Jack was nearly knocked off his feet. She was almost the image of Gracie when she laughed. A wide, open smile, shiny light brown hair and...blue eyes! So she had his eyes. Cool!
He held out his hand. “You must be Amelia. I’m Jack. And this,” he said, pulling Grace to his side—since she seemed to have lost all ability to speak, “is Grace.”
“Hi,” the girl said shyly as she shook their hands. To cover her shyness, she dropped to the ground and petted Millie. Jack the Jack Russell, in a fit of jealousy, threw himself into her lap, wedging himself between Amelia and the canine intruder. Amelia giggled, serving to relieve Grace’s nervousness about meeting her daughter after all these years.
Amelia got to her feet and said, “Come on in. Mom’s been dying to see you.”
At that moment an older woman, her hair graying slightly at the temples, came down from the doorstep and walked toward them, wiping her hands on her apron.
Amy! Grace thought. The uterine cancer survivor who wasn’t able to bear children. She’d promised Grace she’d take good care of her child, love her, teach her right from wrong.
Amy enfolded Grace in a warm hug, holding her tight. The other woman might have twenty years on Grace but she was strong. Grace hugged her back, saying, “It’s so good to see you, Amy.”
Amy eventually released her and stood back, studying Grace. “You haven’t changed a bit, Grace. Still as beautiful as ever. And our daughter takes after you!”
She turned to scrutinize Jack and said, “Except she has her father’s eyes. I’m delighted to meet you.” And before Jack could shake her hand, she pulled him into a hug, as well.
Grace was pleased to see that he returned the embrace with equal gusto. For one awful moment during the drive here, she’d wondered if she’d done the right thing, asking Jack along. What if he’d demanded custody of his daughter, tried to tear her away from these good people and the only home she knew?
Legally, Jack could claim her, since he’d never signed the papers relinquishing Amelia. But he’d guessed Grace’s thoughts and assured her that if he was happy with the people who’d adopted Amelia, he wouldn’t make a fuss. Grace crossed her fingers and prayed that the Johansens would live up to his expectations.
“What’s all this?” Grace heard someone say, and pivoted toward the cop car that had pulled into the driveway behind them. Gil Johansen was climbing out, dressed in his uniform, looking much the same as he had the day Grace first met him and decided she’d like a small-town cop to be her daughter’s father. He’d gained a few pounds over the years but still had that gorgeous smile, those kind, dark eyes.
“Gil!” she said, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek that turned into a bear hug from him.
Introductions were made all around again and Gil said, “So what do you think of our little girl?” as he drew Amelia to his side.
The girl rested her arm around her father’s waist, looking happy and at home there.
“She’s beautiful!” Grace breathed, taking another long look at her daughter.
“She’s the image of her mom at that age,” Jack said.
“You’ve known Grace that long?” Amelia asked, and Grace wondered if she detected hurt in her daughter’s voice.
“Almost,” Jack said, glancing at Grace. “I met your mom...I mean Grace, when we were both sixteen.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “I don’t mind you saying Grace is my mom, because she is and so is my mom!” She laughed and it broke the tension. She held out her free hand and Jack took it, walking into the house with her two fathers. Her two mothers watched them with tears in their eyes.
“You’ve done a wonderful job of raising her, Amy,” Grace said. “She’s a remarkable young lady.”
Amy laughed and put her arm around Grace as they, too, walked toward the house. “She’s not always an angel,” Amy warned. “Especially since she hit puberty. But thank you. We’re both very proud of our little girl and love her to pieces. Now come on inside. I’ve baked lemon drizzle cake. It’s Gil’s and Amelia’s favorite and they’re hoping it’ll be yours, too.”
* * *
THE DAY COULDN’T have been better. Before lunch they all took a walk along the nearby beach, the dogs chasing each other and any object thrown remotely near them.
They then enjoyed lunch on the large veranda overlooking the Johansens’ backyard, which was filled with flowers and well-established trees.
That evening, Jack treated them all at a local seafood restaurant on the waterfront. It was the perfect ending to a perfect day, with their perfectly happy daughter and her parents.
Grace hadn’t pointed out that she and Jack weren’t in a relationship when Amy showed her to the guest room, so that night she and Jack shared the king-size bed, usually reserved for Amelia’s grandparents.
Lulled by the sound of the distant surf, for the first time in too long Grace slept like a baby, right where she wanted to be—wrapped in Jack’s strong arms.
Epilogue
Jack and Grace got married that fall in the Johansens’ backyard. The entire O’Malley clan flew out for the simple ceremony, since Amelia’s adoptive grandparents were too elderly to fly.
The garden had rung with the excited shouts of children and the barking of two very happy dogs. Edna and Frank had also made the trip. Frank, fifty pounds lighter, looked fitter than anyone could remember. He left Louella back home in Spruce Lake—much to everyone’s relief.
Sarah and Mac O’Malley had cherished meeting another grandchild, and although distance prevented Amelia from being an everyday v
isitor to Two Elk, she’d already been to the ranch twice—once with Amy and Gil and the second time on her own. She’d fit right in, learned to ride and gotten along famously with all of her cousins.
Sarah was delighted that her granddaughter had inherited Jack’s and her blue eyes. They’d developed a close rapport, and every evening of Amelia’s visits she and Sarah could be found on the back porch, knitting blankets for charity or sewing quilts to be sold in the thrift store in town to benefit animal rescue.
The clinic had been completed and opened on September 1, Aunt Missy’s birthday. The ribbon-cutting ceremony was attended by people from all over the county, including many of the old-timer miners who regaled everyone with tales of Missy’s school days. The renovations turned up a number of photographs of the old house and Missy and scenes of the town taken in the 1920s. Jack had them copied and the originals framed and hung in the Medical Center as a tribute to Aunt Missy. Grace was delighted.
Grace worked at the clinic full-time as a family practitioner, but was hoping to lighten her load once two more physicians started in the new year.
It was mid-December and Jack and Grace were preparing their home because Amelia was spending part of the Christmas holidays with them. Amelia had declared the cabin one of her favorite places in the whole world, and she was fine with sleeping on the sofa for a few nights. So it was decided she’d spend a couple of days with Grace and Jack, and the rest of her holiday with Grandma Sarah and Grandpa Mac and Luke’s family at Two Elk.
As she watched Millie snoozing in her dog bed in front of the fire, happiness filled Grace’s heart. Jack was trimming the tree, taking more care than Grace felt necessary—Christmas trees were Christmas trees. They were all beautiful in their own way, and their eight-foot monster was more than spectacular, even without the decorations. Unable to resist, she grabbed the front of Jack’s shirt as he passed her and pulled him down onto the sofa.
He lifted her onto his lap and said, “What’s up, lazybones? We’ve still got a tree to decorate.”
“I was advised not to overdo it. To put my feet up whenever I get the chance.”
Jack nuzzled her neck. “Hmm.” He sighed against her throat. “Who by?”
“Lucy.”
Jack sat up and looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Lucy your friend? Or Lucy the OB/GYN?”
“Lucy the latter.”
“You’re kidding.” A smile as wide as Colorado broke across his face.
Grace touched her finger to his lips and he drew it into his mouth.
“I think your doing something along these lines got me into this state in the first place,” she teased.
He let go of her finger and said, “You’re sure? About the baby?”
“Absolutely. I wanted you to be the first to know.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice gravelly with emotion. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything.”
“Can we make Amelia the second person to know? Since this will be her little brother or sister.”
“Of course. Should we call her now?”
Jack touched her hand. “Let’s tell her in person. She’ll be here in a couple of days. Can you keep a secret that long?”
“Hey, I’m the queen of keeping secrets,” she said. “I kept the biggest secret in the world from you for nearly thirteen years. Remember?”
Jack grinned. All was forgiven, so there was no heartache when they discussed Amelia and her adoption. They’d both agreed the Johansens were the perfect adoptive parents for their daughter. She was a contented child who wanted for nothing and had all the love in the world to give.
“I remember,” Jack said, then turned playful as he growled, “Come here, wife!” and lunged for her.
Amid squeals and giggles, Grace allowed Jack to carry her to their bedroom and place her on the bed. He knelt over her, kissing her deeply. Then he kissed her abdomen, where their child resided.
“I love you, Grace. I always have. And I always will,” he said. He gently undressed his wife and made love to her, the way a man should make love to a woman.
The way Grace had dreamed of all those years...only better!
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Rancher’s Son by Leigh Duncan!
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Chapter One
Sarah Magarity rose to her tiptoes on the stepladder. The large silver star atop the Christmas tree wobbled when her fingers brushed against it. As she wrestled the heavy ornament from the center post, it tipped, threatening to throw her off balance. For a second, Sarah saw herself lying on the floor, alone and injured, through the long holiday weekend. Normally hectic on a Thursday afternoon, the Department of Children and Family Services in Fort Pierce, Florida, had slowly emptied once the tech guys shut down the computers for a system-wide upgrade. Now only a tree that smelled more like plastic than pine stood between her and a much-needed two weeks out from under a crushing workload.
Two weeks of white, sandy beaches and a cell phone that didn’t buzz with a new crisis every ten minutes. Two weeks of gathering plants for her growing collection of tropical flowers. Sarah took a deep breath and braced herself against the wall. She could almost smell Hawaiian orchids and plumeria.
Dreaming of ukuleles and fruity concoctions decorated with tiny umbrellas, she whistled a slightly off-key version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Carefully, she toted the star down the ladder. Her foot had barely touched the worn carpet when one of the doors at the main entrance swung open. Sounds of heavy traffic on U.S. Highway 1 blared into the office before the door swished closed. Silence, broken only by the noisy hum of an air conditioner, once more filled the room.
“C’mon, Jimmy.” A voice whined over the warren of empty cubicles. “We hav’ta find someone pronto. It’s late.”
Late for what?
Sarah swallowed a groan. Whoever had arrived at four-thirty on Christmas Eve, they were late, all right. The holiday party for kids in foster care had ended at two.
“Can I help you?” Sarah prayed the curvy brunette rounding the last of the partitions wanted nothing more than grocery money. A couple of ten-dollar gift cards, and not much else, remained in the emergency fund.
“This is Jimmy Parker.” The woman’s plunging neckline dipped perilously low as she placed her hand square on the back of the little boy at her side and shoved. The child stumbled forward. “His mom asked me to drop him off.”
Sarah mustered a smile for the pair of sad brown eyes that peered up from beneath a thatch of sandy-blond hair. The boy’s hollow gaze met hers only briefly before he looked away. When his focus dropped to a pair of tattered sneakers, Sarah hiked an eyebrow. She skimmed over high-water jeans, frowned at a shirt Goodwill would reject. Fighting a protective nature that made her want to wrap the little boy in her arms and make everything right in his world, Sarah stiffened her spine.
The brutal truth was, a dozen kids just like this one walked into the DCF offices each month. She had a hundred more open cases in her file cabinet. She couldn’t give every child assigned to her the attention they deserved. Not and still keep her sanity. The situation was far from her idealistic dream of how things ought to work. But there were too many at-risk kids, too few dollars to go around and too few workers to do the job.
Letting her eyes narrow, she faced the older of h
er guests head-on. “You’re too late.” She grimaced when a little more vehemence than usual crept into her voice. “The party was hours ago. You should have been here then.”
Despite herself, Sarah glanced across the room at a whimsical mural of a sleigh propelled by eight flying porpoises. Were there any presents left? Not a chance. Every gift from Santa’s bag had been distributed into the eager hands of other kids who were just as needy as this one.
“Party?” The latecomer’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Who said anything about a party?” The brunette chewed a wad of gum and swallowed. “I promised to deliver the kid, and here he is.”
An uneasy feeling settled in Sarah’s chest when her visitor dropped a worn duffel bag to the floor.
“Hold on a sec,” she ordered. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning and tell me exactly what brought you here. I’m Sarah Magarity, the senior caseworker.” She paused for a look around. With no husband or children of her own to rush home to, she’d offered to keep the office open until closing time. A skeleton staff would report in on Monday and man the offices through the New Year. For tonight, though, she was it. “And you are?”
“Candy. Candace, really, but everyone just calls me Candy.” The woman settled one hand on a cocked hip. “Candy Storm. And this little guy,” she said, tapping a bloodred fingernail on the boy’s head, “is James Tyrone Parker. Jimmy. He’s five. His mom was my best friend.”
The implication sent Sarah’s stomach into free fall. She swept another look at the child who studied the stained carpet at his feet. “His mom is…?”
“Yeah.” Candy blinked several times before patting the skin beneath lashes so long they had to be fake.
“I think you and I should talk privately.” Sarah motioned toward a nearby cubicle. “Jimmy, I need you to watch TV or play with some toys while Miss Candy and I chat for a few minutes.”
Without waiting for a response, Sarah took the child’s tiny hand in hers. His thin shoulders and bony frame raised troubling questions. When was the last time this kid ate? How long ago had his mother passed? Who had been taking care of him since then? And where?
