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Chapter One
Kinley Reid had expected poverty, but this was worse than she'd imagined. Infinitely worse. The baby-blue house in front of her looked as sturdy as a cereal box. She matched the address on her purple sticky note with the numbers near the front door, though with the paint peeling off, they were hard to make out. Unfortunately, she'd come to the right place.
As she tiptoed over bits of trash in the so-called yard, untamed weeds brushed her ankles and the reality of her students' living conditions crashed in on her. The Martindale neighborhood sat just five miles from her own quaint little housing addition, but the differences were so extreme, they were hardly measurable. Homes on her street were well-built, though small, and lawns were nicely kept, but terms like homes and lawns were far too generous to describe Kinley's present surroundings. How could such poverty exist in Oklahoma City? Or maybe the better question was how could she have been blind to the severity of it until now? She knew her fourth-graders faced significant challenges, but she hadn't seen their lives from this angle before.
She reached the porch, paused, and then climbed the crumbling concrete steps. Squaring her shoulders, she pasted on her best teacher smile and knocked on the rickety door. A plump woman with cocoa skin and cropped gray hair answered, a crying infant in one arm and a toddler clutching her leg. The stink of sour milk hit Kinley, and she fought the urge to turn her head.
"What you want?" the woman asked. "I ain't buying nothin'."
Kinley broadened her smile and raised her voice over the baby's squalls. "I'm not selling anything, ma'am. Are you Justice's grandmother?"
"Who's asking?"
"I'm Kinley Reid, his teacher." She extended her hand, but the woman only deadpanned in return. Kinley's hand hung there for several awkward seconds before she surrendered and pulled it back. "Is Justice here?"
The grandmother angled her head, her upper lip curled into a sneer. "You always go bothering people at their houses?"
Heat crept up Kinley's neck and into her cheeks. "The school tried to call, but the number has been disconnected. Has he been sick?"
The woman glared at her, but said nothing.
"Okay, then, can you tell me why he's been absent from school for the last five days?"
The woman's eyes widened for a flicker of a second. "That ain't none of your business."
"Actually, Ms. Williams, it is. Students are only allowed a certain number of unexcused absences. If Justice misses many more days, the school will be required to report it to the District Attorney's office, and you'll have to go to court to resolve the issue."
The baby's wails grew even louder. Ms. Williams huffed and shifted the child to her shoulder, then moved to close the door, but Kinley took a quick step forward and placed her palm against it. "Ma'am, it's in your best interest to make sure Justice is back in school on Monday."
"I ain't got time for this." She scooted the toddler back and slammed the door.
"But . . ." The lock clicked before Kinley could say another word. She stood frozen, slack-jawed and staring at the weathered door. Had Justice been skipping school? It seemed so unlike him. His grandmother hadn't seemed the least bit concerned, but worry gnawed in Kinley's chest.
She turned and surveyed the Martindale neighborhood. Two houses down, yellow crime-scene tape fluttered in the autumn breeze, a grim reminder of the fatal shooting the night before. As if Kinley could forget any shooting that happened on the east side of Oklahoma City. Since her brother's death, each news report scraped at the wound until her emotions were raw.
The grief that lived in the shallows of her heart spewed to the surface. Oh, Eli. She reached for the watch on her left wrist. Its silver face was enormous, its band an inch wide. Her thin wrist looked silly with it dangling there, but it was the only thing she had left of her brother. She twirled it, letting the words of the inscription fill her mind. Thank you for making a difference.
Kinley would make a difference, too, just like Eli had. She capped the familiar ache and refocused on the police tape. No child, especially not one of her fourth-graders, should have to live in perpetual fear, wondering if his house would be the next one wrapped in yellow. Kinley couldn't single-handedly fix all that was wrong in Martindale, but she could make sure one little boy stayed in school. At least give him a fighting chance.
She stepped off the porch and navigated through the yard, weaving around an old bicycle tire and over a dirt-caked glass bottle. A red sports car in the adjacent driveway caught her eye, and a tall man in a polished gray suit stood near its front bumper. What was a man like that doing in this part of town? That car of his probably cost more than the combined yearly income of the entire block. He moved around to the driver's side, and she caught a glimpse of his chiseled face, which might've been movie-star handsome if not for the scowl pinching his features. Off-putting as his expression was, she needed to find Justice. Maybe the guy had seen him.
As Kinley strode toward him, a blue streak blurred through her periphery and crashed into her side, the impact knocking her out of step. Justice, wild-eyed and clad in his blue OKC Thunder T-shirt, bounced off of her and glanced nervously over his shoulder. "Miss Reid? What're you doing here?"
"Looking for you, buddy." Thank the Lord he was okay. She wrapped an arm around him and got a hefty whiff of sweat and the same stale odor that accompanied many of her students—the one she'd labeled the stench of poverty because she couldn't describe it any other way. Taking a deep breath in through her mouth, she gave him a squeeze, but he stiffened in her arms.
"Where have you been? I was worried about you."
He pulled away and stared at the ground. "I been around."
"Around?" She lifted the boy's chin. "Have you been sick?"
"No."
"Well, where have you been?"
He peeked at her from beneath his lashes and shrugged. "Just around."
She waited for more explanation, but none came. "Justice, you can't skip school."
"Sorry." He finally met her gaze and held it, as if silently pleading for forgiveness.
Those deep brown eyes melted Kinley. There was the boy she'd come to know. She pulled him close for another embrace and this time, he didn't resist. "Apology accepted. But no more missing school."
He nodded, but his eyes darted to the side, and he began to fidget. "I gotta go. Catch ya later, Miss Reid." He bolted toward his house, only covering a few feet of ground before the man in the suit came from behind Kinley and clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder.
After parking Justice in front of her, the man quickly removed his hand and jerked his tailored cuffs down one at a time. Did he think mere contact with the child would mar his image? His blue eyes surveyed her from head to toe. "You're his teacher?"
This guy was obviously way above her pay grade. Seemed he knew it, too. Her rumpled thrift-store skirt and scuffed flats must have given her away. She tamped down her insecurities and offered her hand. "I'm Kinley Reid. I teach at Martindale Elementary."
"Nash McGuire." His hand closed around hers with a firm grip. "Your little friend here has been busy this afternoon."
Kinley bristled at the cynical edge in his voice, but she couldn't deny the gentleness in his touch as she withdrew her hand. "What do you mean?"
He glared down at Justice. "He trashed my car." His tone was grumpier every time he opened his mouth.
Kinley leaned right, trying to see around his bulky shoulders to inspect the red vehicle in the driveway. "That car?" The passenger side was in view, and it appeared to be in perfect condition. The tires, windows, and doors all seemed fine.
"Follow me." He stalked across the yard with Justice in tow. Kinley marched along behind them until he halted near the car and motioned to the hood. Justice planted his feet, crossed his arms over his chest, and turned his head away as if any old thing on the planet would be more interesting than what was happening in front of him. Kinley moved in closer to the car and found
a giant "X" scratched into the paint, stretching across the hood from corner to corner. Okay, that looked bad.
Mr. McGuire gave her an I-told-you-so look, then stepped around the car and gestured to the driver's side.
Kinley trailed him again and gasped when she saw it. "Oh, no."
In stark contrast to the cherry-red finish, neon-green spray paint covered the door and formed barely legible words. Rich boy. A white rectangle bordered the phrase and coated every inch of the tires and rims. The side mirror lay bent at a painful angle, and the door was dented.
Staring at the damage, Kinley's hand drifted to cover her mouth. "I'm so sorry."
The man's only response was a grunt.
Kinley searched Justice's face. She couldn't fathom that the sweet boy she knew would do something so destructive. Her voice dropped. "Did you really do this?"
He jutted his chin at Mr. McGuire instead of giving Kinley an answer. His dark eyes shot arrows of defiance at the man. She'd never seen Justice like this. "It wasn't me. You can't prove nothin'."
Mr. McGuire reached into the pocket of his tailored pants, pulled out his phone, and tapped the screen a few times. He held it toward Kinley and effectively killed her hope of Justice's innocence. The screen displayed a picture of her promising young student leaning over the hood of the car with some kind of metal object in his hand—maybe part of a clothes hanger?—in mid-scratch.
Disappointment dropped like a weight in Kinley's stomach.
"Don't matter what you got." Justice balled his hands into fists. "I didn't do it."
Mr. McGuire's lips pressed into a tight line. "I've already called the police. They're on their way."
Justice looked away again but otherwise held his position. His eyelids fluttered as though he were trying to blink back tears. Kinley's heart twisted. "Justice, why don't you go sit on the porch for a minute. I'd like to talk to Mr. McGuire."
As soon as the boy shuffled away, she fired sharply whispered words at the fancy man with the fancy car. "The police? Is that really necessary?"
He lowered his voice, but with the force it contained, he may as well have been yelling. "If I don't file a report, my insurance won't pay for the repairs. Do you know how much this is going to cost?" He nodded sharply toward Justice. "Besides, there should be some consequences for what he's done."
Kinley agreed that the boy should make it right, but not like this. Not as part of the juvenile detention system. "He's only ten."
"In this neighborhood, that makes him about twenty-one."
Kinley closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose before trying once more to convince the man to be lenient. "Mr. McGuire, I don't think you understand what the juvenile system does to these children. It makes things worse, not better."
His jaw clenched, and his face turned such a deep shade of red that Kinley thought his head might explode. When he spoke, his voice was controlled, but fierce. "Miss Reid, don't presume to know what I understand and what I don't."
She held her palms out, pleading with him. "Can't you just let him work it off?"
"No." The word erupted from his mouth. "The police will decide what to do with him. I don't have time to babysit a delinquent."
"He's not a delinquent."
He cut a glance toward his car, and then looked back at her with one condescendingly raised eyebrow.
"He's just a boy who needs a second chance." Surely the man couldn't deny him that.
He hesitated and seemed to soften for a moment, giving Kinley the tiniest spark of hope that he'd change his mind. But then he tore his focus from her eyes, looked to the street, and shook his head. "It's not up to me."
Seconds later, a black-and-white cruiser pulled up to the curb. A uniformed officer climbed out of the driver's seat, and Mr. McGuire blazed toward him with long, determined strides. He couldn't wait to seal Justice's fate. Could the man not muster even a little compassion for a ten-year-old child?
Kinley hurried to Justice on the porch. He would need a caring adult by his side when the police questioned him, and it seemed she was all he had.
#
Nash stood in front of the large picture window in his downtown loft and looked out over the city. On a weekday, cars would be backed up on the streets below, people rushing to grab their coffees and get to work on time. This early on a Saturday, the smart people were still in bed. Aside from the jogger panting by, the street below was silent. This familiar place usually brought peace, but yesterday's trip to his childhood home haunted him. When he'd left that part of town years ago, he'd vowed to never go back.
So much for that plan.
Somehow, the tentacles of that place had wrapped around his ankles and yanked him back, mocking the life he'd worked so hard for. How long before they strangled the life out of him? It was bad enough he'd have to spend the next few weeks there to refurbish his late mother's property, but now his car was ruined, too. And he couldn't settle the question playing through his mind. Had he done the right thing by turning the kid over to the cops?
The idealistic teacher had certainly made her opinion known. Those compassionate hazel eyes had nearly convinced Nash to give in, but he knew there wasn't much hope for a troubled boy from Martindale. Even if he had a do-gooder like Kinley Reid on his side.
Nash's phone buzzed. The commercial real estate business didn't stop just because it was the weekend. He pulled it from his pocket and scrolled through the text message from his assistant. He responded to confirm a meeting and then checked his voicemails. Two were from clients wanting to see buildings downtown. He looked at the number of the third voicemail—it seemed vaguely familiar, but Nash couldn't place it.
He played the message, and his ex-fiancée's voice filtered through the speaker. "Hi. It's me."
Nash's chest tightened. Why in the world would Amanda call him?
She was still talking, but he hadn't heard a word after "It's me." He turned from the view and crossed the oak-planked floor to his couch, where he sank onto the soft leather. After a deep breath, he started the message again.
"Hi. It's me. Um, I know this is weird, but your brother called me. He tried your old number and couldn't reach you, so . . ." Silence, then she cleared her throat. "Anyway, he said he needs to get in touch with you, so I gave him your number. I just thought you would want to know." More silence. "Nash . . ." She sighed. "I hope things are going good for you. Bye."
Was that regret in her voice? Did she miss him?
Not that it mattered.
If Cade were trying to get in touch with him after six years, that could only mean one thing—he'd been released from prison and needed a place to freeload. Naturally, Nash was his first target.
He fisted the phone and pounded it against his thigh, but a tiny voice niggled at the back of his mind. Maybe Cade is different now. Time in prison could change a man's life.
The idea searched for a place to anchor, but Nash shoved it away before it could take hold. Nothing short of a miracle could change Cade McGuire, and Nash hadn't witnessed any miracles lately.
A knock at the door jarred him from his thoughts. He padded through the living room, pulled the door open, and his past slapped him directly in the face for the third time in twenty-four hours. "Well, that was fast," he mumbled.
His younger brother lifted his chin and tossed out a casual "Hey," as if he hadn't spent the last six years in federal custody. Hard time obviously hadn't altered Cade's easy grin and mischievous eyes. Chances were good nothing else had changed, either.
Nash gripped the doorknob. "What are you doing here?"
"Amanda told me where you lived."
Add that to the list of things Nash would never forgive her for. "So . . .?"
"Can I come in?"
"Just for a minute." Nash stepped back to let him in.
Cade crossed the threshold and looked around the apartment, admiration swimming in his eyes. Probably casing the joint. Then, he moved through the living room to the espresso-colored leather
chair.
Nash perched on the edge of the sofa. "When did you get out?"
"Three months ago."
Three months? Nash would've expected him to show up begging for help within a day or two. "Where have you been?"
"Here in the city. I found a place to live and a job, and I'm working toward getting my GED."
Job? GED? What kind of new scam was this? "Sounds like you're doing fine on your own, then."
"I'm trying. I feel like I've been given a second chance. I don't want to blow it this time."
A second chance. Suddenly Kinley Reid's face filled Nash's mind, and he heard her voice, full of conviction, saying those same words. She had clearly never met someone like his little brother, though. "Why are you here now?"
Cade glanced at the hardwood floor.
Here it comes.
But when Cade looked back up, his eyes were filled with something Nash couldn't quite name. Sorrow? Desperation? It was hard to tell. Whatever it was, at least those eyes were clear instead of drug-hazed. That was new.
"I wanted to tell you I'm sorry."
Nash narrowed his eyes. "You're sorry?" He could hear the cynicism seeping from his own voice, but he couldn't stop it.
"Yes. I'm truly sorry."
"What exactly are you sorry for, Cade?" There was a whole list of things, but Nash doubted he would acknowledge any of them.
"For everything. The drugs. Stealing. For dragging you down with me." He hesitated, dropped his voice. "For leaving you alone to take care of Mom. I know those years were hard on you."
At the mention of their mother, a wave of sorrow rolled through Nash's chest. Cade must've felt something similar because his expression sagged, along with his shoulders. He obviously shared Nash's grief, but he had no right to. "You don't know anything. You weren't there. Not even when she died."
"I know. That's my biggest regret. I'm so sorry." Cade's hopeful eyes pleaded with Nash, but his brother would have had better luck asking for a loan—or his firstborn child.
They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, Nash sighed. "So, you didn't come here to ask me for money?"
Kiss the Cowboy Page 22
