Going Home (Nugget Romance 1)

by Stacy Finz

  The woman appeared to be equally befuddled. She pushed away from the counter, offering her hand. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Annie Stover from San Joaquin County Child Protective Services.”

  Before she could say more—like what the hell she was doing here—Shep stammered, “I’m not sure who they are. But . . .”

  Either the old man was confused, or pretending to be. Duck and cover.

  Because whatever bad news the social worker was here to deliver involved Shep. Rhys at least knew that much.

  “But what!” he asked, his voice louder than he wanted or intended it to be.

  The girl burst into tears, uncontrollable sobs, actually. The boy narrowed his eyes at Rhys and got up to stand by his sister (or presumably his sister).

  “Stop crying, Rosa,” Shep demanded. “Tell him who you are, girl.”

  The social worker Annie tried to step in, but the girl forcefully asserted, “I’m Lina and this is Samuel.” She stabbed Shep with a what-on-earth-is-wrong-with-you? glare. “Momma died.”

  The room went silent and Samuel went back to his chair and looked down at his grilled cheese.

  “She’s gone,” she repeated, laying her hand gently on Shep’s shoulder. “A car ran her over. Annie explained this to you already.”

  Shep suddenly got very still and like a baby waking from a nap and picking out a face from the general mayhem of shapes and colors, he focused clearly on the children at the table, then put his face in his hands and wept.

  In his whole life, Rhys had never seen his father shed one tear. Not in physical pain, nor in sadness. As far as Rhys had known, Stan Shepard only had one emotion. Anger.

  Rhys got up and went into the bathroom, returning with a roll of toilet paper.

  “Someone needs to tell me what’s going on here.” He looked meaningfully at Annie.

  Lina tore off a wad of the tissue, dried her eyes, and blew her nose. “We had nowhere to go, so Annie brought us here.”

  “Your mother is dead?” Rhys tried to keep a soft tone and to appear calm. They were just kids, after all. But he was starting to lose it.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Why? Why would you come here?” The acid moved into his mouth, leaving a bitter taste—metallic and sour.

  Her expression turned shocked, almost angry, like why would he ask such a stupid question. “Because you’re our only family.”

  Shep seemed to shrink right in front of him and that’s when Rhys knew for sure.

  “Pop, you want to chime in here?” A part of him still held out hope that he was wrong. Could be that they were just distant cousins and if he gave them money, they’d go away.

  Shep turned to Lina and looked so damned apologetic that for an instant Rhys didn’t recognize him. “I never told him,” he said.

  “Why not?” she asked, so utterly bewildered that it was painful to watch.

  Shep lifted his shoulders in response, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “He wouldn’t have understood. He wouldn’t have liked it.”

  Lina shook her head as if to clear it of confusion. “But he’s our half brother.”

  If it hadn’t been like looking in a mirror, Rhys wouldn’t have believed it. The only physical differences between him and the kids—besides age, and in Lina’s case, gender—were his fairer skin and hazel eyes. Theirs were brown.

  Still, the idea that Shep had actually been able to maintain a relationship with someone, had fathered children and kept it a secret, was so far-fetched that Rhys couldn’t help rejecting the evidence staring him in the face. Rookie mistake.

  The burning sensation in his throat returned. Maybe it had never left, Rhys didn’t know. “Why don’t you start at the top,” he told Lina, without so much as glancing at his father.

  Annie started to interrupt, then seemed to think better of it, letting Lina take the lead. He got the feeling she was assessing their family dynamic—and finding it a whole lot fucked up.

  Forty-five minutes later, Lina told him how a hit-and-run driver had left Rosa to die on the road as she was walking home from work. Child Protective Services had come to their house near Stockton, tracked down Shep, and had gotten them to Nugget. To their father.

  Rhys was still trying to wrap his head around that last one. Had Shep been married to this woman? Had he had a relationship with these kids all these years? Stockton was more than four hours away by car. Farmland. What would Shep have been doing there?

  He didn’t know what rocked him more, the fact that his father had carried on a whole other life, or that he’d completely cut Rhys out of it. What a joke, he reminded himself. Rhys had never been part of Shep’s life—just an appendage.

  “How did you know this woman, Pop?”

  Shep just stared at him vacantly and started keening again.

  Annie came forward and smiled at the children. “Your brother and I need to talk outside for a few minutes.”

  Ya think?

  He led her to the front porch and plopped down on the steps. “Grab a seat,” he said, pointing at Shep’s lone chair.

  “I wasn’t aware you didn’t know about them,” Annie said, primly perching on the edge of the rocker. “Someone else has been handling the case. I was thrown in at the last minute and no one told me. I’m so sorry. Obviously this came as quite a bombshell.”

  Understatement of the year.

  “According to the case file, your father met Rosa Silva when he was with Union Pacific. She worked for an almond packing company that used the train to ship product. We couldn’t find a marriage license, but your father’s name is on both children’s birth certificates. Lina says that although his visits were sporadic, he’d been going back and forth to Stockton since she was born—seventeen years. Then about a year ago he abruptly stopped. Rosa had told Lina that they’d broken up.”

  Rhys wondered if perhaps his father had already begun experiencing symptoms of the Alzheimer’s and it had taken a toll on their relationship. Or, more than likely, knowing Shep, visiting his kids had become too much effort, so he cut them off. Bastard.

  “It’s apparent to me, Mr. Shepard, that your father is suffering from some mental health issues.” She paused, clearly waiting for him to fill in the blank.

  “Alzheimer’s.”

  “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “So the thing is he’s in no condition to take on two kids. If you had called, I could have saved you the four-hour trip.”

  “My predecessor did call, Mr. Shepard. Repeatedly. No one answered and no one returned her messages.” Rhys would have, if he had known.

  “Rosa died ten days ago,” Annie said. “Some of the neighbors were good enough to take the children until we finally reached your father.”

  Rhys shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to do. You saw him.”

  “What about you, Mr. Shepard? You’re their half brother and according to your father, you’re the police chief here.”

  “Interim police chief. I’m only here to find my dad a permanent situation. In six months I go back to Houston—to the police department there. My hours are crazy. Not a good situation for kids. Don’t they have an aunt, an uncle, relatives somewhere?”

  “No, they don’t,” she said tersely. “They only have you.”

  “Look . . . Annie, right? I don’t even know these kids. I’m a single thirty-six-year-old narcotics detective . . . work a lot of nights . . . live in a one-bedroom. Them . . .” He motioned inside the house, feeling panicked. “Not happening, Annie.”

  She stood up and walked to the other side of the porch, gazing out into the forest. “It’s pretty here,” she said, almost like she was talking to herself, then let out a breath. “I guess I’ll have to make other arrangements.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’d like to help out, do what’s right. But I couldn’t give those kids what they need. You said the girl’s seventeen. Maybe the courts can emancipate her. She seems very mature. Very responsible.” God, he felt
like a prick.

  “And how,” she asked with unconcealed hostility, “should she go about supporting herself and her brother? As far as social services can tell, your father hasn’t been paying child support.”

  No revelation there.

  “I will absolutely take care of that,” he said. “Whatever they need.” Great, now he was one of those assholes who threw money at the problem.

  “What they need, Mr. Shepard, is their family. Otherwise they go into the system—foster care.” She let that hang in the air like a gun to his head.

  Intuitively, he knew there were good, caring foster families. But as a cop, he’d seen the horror stories. They’d probably get split up. He thought about the girl. Alone. Living with God knows who. At least she could go her own way in a year. Not the boy, though. He was just a kid—twelve at the most.

  Rhys wanted to hit Shep. Wrap his hands around his throat and choke the sorry life out of him for putting him in this untenable situation. He took in large gulps of air, trying to regulate his breathing, and with resignation asked, “Could it just be temporary . . . until I can make appropriate arrangements?”

  “That would be a good start, Mr. Shepard.”

  He let out a breath. “What do I have to sign?”

  “So you’ll take them, then?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” Because coming back to Nugget wasn’t bad enough.

  And if taking responsibility for these kids—total strangers—didn’t send him around the bend, he now had the unenviable task of telling them that their father was losing his memory and that it would only get worse; the only person they had left in the world would forget them altogether in a few years.

  Clay towed the monster trailer down the driveway as Rhys directed him to a pad by the side of the house near the electrical hookups. After a few deft maneuvers, Clay managed to lay the RV right in the spot. It was no easy feat, but he was used to landing jets on the world’s smallest runways—flight decks no larger than five hundred feet.

  He jumped out of the truck and had a look. Rhys had predicted that the trailer would take up the whole yard and he was right. The thing was fricking huge.

  When Rhys had called with the bizarre story of Shep’s second family, Clay had come up with the idea of bringing over Tip’s fifth wheel. He’d also offered a barn on the ranch that his late wife had converted into her design studio, but it wasn’t much larger than Shep’s place.

  Unhitching the trailer, he tossed Rhys the keys. “Have a look.”

  Rhys checked out the exterior of the motor home from various angles before ducking inside the door. “Whoa!”

  Clay watched, amused, as Rhys walked the length of the living area, dazzled by all the gewgaws. At least that’s what Clay’s dad used to call the built-in flat-screen TV, the leather-upholstered recliners with cupholders, the full kitchen. Even skylights.

  “I was expecting something a little more bare bones,” Rhys said.

  “You know Tip—always liked living large. Used to haul this thing to cattle auctions.” Clay pointed down the hallway. “Head’s in there.”

  The bathroom was small, but it had an enclosed shower and enough storage for towels and toiletries.

  “Check this out.” Clay led him into the bedroom.

  Rhys bounced on the queen bed. “Damn, Clay. This beats the hell out of Shep’s actual house.”

  “You planning on having the kids live in here?”

  “That was the plan,” Rhys said. “But when I told them about it, they didn’t like the idea—afraid to be out here alone. It would work for me, though.” He played around with the remote control, surfing the channels on the Dish. “But someone needs to keep an eye on Shep at night.”

  “The girl’s old enough to do that, right?”

  “She’ll have to, if they want to stay in the house,” Rhys said.

  “You told them about the Alzheimer’s?”

  “Yeah. The girl, Lina, had already figured out something was wrong. Shep keeps calling her by her mother’s name.”

  Clay sat down next to him and looked up at the low ceiling. “It’ll get old fast, Rhys. What you’re doing for those kids . . . It’s a good thing. But you need better digs, man.”

  “Eventually Maddy’ll move into the inn,” Rhys said. “Then, if they want, they can convert the duplex into a single-family home.”

  “Maybe you should rent it out and find something more suitable. Now’s a good time to buy, and if you need help with a down payment—”

  “I’ve got some money put away.” Rhys got off the bed and tested the drawers in the built-in dresser. “But I’m not staying, Clay. Six months, that’s all my union contract gives, and I’m going back to Texas, back to Houston PD. This trailer will be fine until then . . . Unless you need it back?”

  “It’s yours for as long as you want it,” Clay said. He certainly had no use for a fifth wheel and his friend had gotten dealt a cruddy hand. “If you go back to Texas, what will you do with those kids? With Shep?”

  “All the medical professionals I’ve talked to say that it’s inevitable—Shep’ll need round-the-clock care. As for the kids . . . beats the hell out of me.” Rhys shoved his hand into his hair. “Everything’s happened so fast, I haven’t had time to think that far.”

  “Well, you better get to figuring it out. People aren’t like dogs—you can’t send them back to the pound when they become inconvenient.”

  If Clay knew his friend, Rhys wanted to send Shep straight to hell for putting him in this predicament. Clay understood the feeling. Lately, he’d been cursing Jennifer for wrapping her Lexus around a tree, leaving him alone with two boys to raise. It wasn’t enough that he had a cattle ranch to run.

  “I think the girl, Lina, will be eighteen by then,” Rhys said. “She can be the boy’s legal guardian at that point. But . . . me . . . and those kids . . . that was never part of the bargain.”

  “Tough situation. I don’t envy you. What about school?”

  “Yeah. I guess that’s left to me to figure out, too.”

  “Bring ’em over to the ranch, introduce them to Justin and Cody.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Rhys paused. “Thanks.”

  “Forget about it,” Clay said, knowing that Rhys was awkward about accepting help, or even acts of kindness, since there had been so little of it in his life. But to the McCreedys, Rhys was family, so he’d better get used to it. “So, what’s going on with the brunette?”

  “Maddy?”

  “You got any other hot brunettes living next door to you that I don’t know about?”

  “The guy she’s married to is cheating on her,” Rhys said.

  “The hotel guy?” Clay asked and Rhys nodded. “She leaving him?”

  “She says she is. The giant rock’s off her finger. Funny thing, when I first found out who she was, I figured her for one of those spoiled high-maintenance chicks. She’s actually pretty awesome—sat with Shep when I had to go out on the Sierra Heights call, helped unpack my stuff. And, as you so astutely pointed out, she’s easy on the eyes.”

  Clay raised his brows. “You interested?”

  “Nah. I’ve got enough complications.”

  “Probably wise,” Clay said. “Dollars to donuts, she gets back with the hubby.”

  Chapter 7

  Buzz saws screeched and hammers banged so loudly that Maddy signaled for Nate to follow her outside. “I couldn’t hear you in there,” she said.

  “That’s the sound of money, Mad.”

  Nate had driven the four hours from San Francisco the night before to deliver the latest architectural plans. The drawings had been revised repeatedly to meet Nugget’s rigid aesthetic requirements. The city hadn’t minded when the building sat rotting, but now that she and Nate had gotten permission to turn it into a twenty-room inn, there were all kinds of rules about maintaining “the rustic charm” of the town’s commercial district. Apparently no one else in the square had to adhere to the requirements.

  “You like my
place?” she asked Nate, who’d spent the night on her fold-out couch after they’d had a long dinner with Sophie and Mariah.

  “Uh . . . not that much. The layout’s a little funky, don’t you think?” He’d whined about having to walk through Maddy’s bedroom to get to the kitchen and bathroom. “And I could hear the guy next door snoring. Are there like ten people living over there?” Generally, Nate liked to complain.

  “Well, it’s only temporary—until I can move in here.” Given the Shepards’ new overcrowding situation, they could definitely use her side of the duplex. But the truth was she felt comfortable living there. Safe. And having Rhys as a neighbor . . . well, you couldn’t ask for a better view. Or a better listener, considering how he’d let her dump all that crud about Dave on him. He’d even acted indignant on her behalf. At the end there, when he’d walked her home, she’d surely thought he was going to kiss her. Crazy, but despite being cheated on, lied to and screwed over, she would’ve let him.

  Clearly, she needed to get her head examined.

  “So the cop lives in the motor home?” Nate asked.

  “That just happened, but, yes.” One day she’d come home to find two kids on the other side of the duplex and a behemoth trailer parked in the yard. Rhys hadn’t said too much about them other than they were Shep’s children and that their mother had died in a hit-and-run accident. She’d talked to the kids a few times in passing. Polite and beautiful and so sad that it broke her heart.

  She looked up at the cross-gabled roofline of the Queen Anne and held her breath, pointing up at one of the workers testing the pitch. “That safe?”

  Nate rolled his shoulders. “I guess. They’re roofers; they ought to know what they’re doing.”

  Maddy frowned at the massive piles of debris ripped from the mansion that now covered every inch of the yard. “I didn’t think it possible, but the place looks even more hideous than when we first bought it.”

  “I told you, the demolition phase is ugly. In a few days they’ll haul all this refuse away and we’ll have a clean slate to work with. You take a look at the blueprints yet? They’re off the hook.”