A Cowboy in Shepherd's Crossing

by Ruth Logan Herne

  She arched one eyebrow in his direction.

  “It wasn’t my brightest move, I know. Five minutes wouldn’t have made a difference, and the girls were in good hands. I’m not sure why I left like that.”

  “You did just become an instant daddy.”

  “And the county contacted me about filing for legal guardianship. When I told the social worker I’d like to adopt the girls, she said we either have to wait a long time for the courts to declare them abandoned, or get signed papers from Valencia that she’s giving up her rights.”

  “Walking away and signing them away are two very different things.” She patted the baby’s back as she rocked.

  “And no one knows where she is.”

  “Give Lizzie forty-eight hours and I expect she’d have an address for you. Probably less. She was an investigative reporter before she got pulled into a desk job at a ridiculously young age. She’s got connections.”

  “But do we want to stir the pot?”

  She understood the question. “Because she might want to come back and take over with the girls?”

  Regret darkened his expression. “I’m not wishing their mother away. There’s been enough heartache in this extended family to last a lifetime. But if she’s in a bad frame of mind, would coming back help the girls? Or hurt them?”

  “Will realizing their mother abandoned them help them or hurt them in the future?”

  He winced slightly. “That will be a hard thing to face, I expect.”

  “That’s one of the things your grandmother protected you from,” she noted softly. “By pushing for a solid home for you, she gave you a normal life. From the sounds of things, if Barbara had kept you, your life would have been quite different.”

  “You want me to play nice with her.”

  She shook her head slightly. “I’m talking about understanding. Maybe putting three decades under the microscope and seeing why people made the choices they did. This isn’t about her mean-spiritedness or a racist attitude toward a grandson. It’s easy to look back and find fault with decisions people made years ago.” She dropped her eyes to the sleeping baby in her arms. “It’s much more difficult to make those decisions right now.”

  He drew a breath. Then he folded his hands. “I hear you. And if you asked me a week ago, I’d have said I was a fair man, schooled to think things through. Figure things out. Then decide accordingly. So maybe I need to do some serious praying about what I want to have happen and what should happen. Because it’s a really muddy pond from where I’m sitting.”

  The promised rain began to fall. A summer rain, waking up the quiet dust of the graveled barnyard with each initial drop.

  “We wait for the storm to pass, the skies to brighten. It always clears eventually.”

  “You’re right.”

  She didn’t mind hearing that at all because she was pretty sure he might have a different opinion when she showed him some of her ideas for Hardaway Ranch.

  “I’m going to go check on Annie. You sure you don’t want me to tuck Ava into bed?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, we’re good right here. What if she wakes up crying when we lay her down, wakes up her sister and then we’ve got two fretful babies? Peace and quiet is always better.”

  “Can’t argue that. Tea?”

  “Yes, thanks.” She smiled up at him. “Sweet tea, a front porch rocker and a sleepin’ baby. I might just imagine myself down South after all.”

  Chapter Nine

  The sight of Melonie, cradling Ava, not worried about her time or her work...and he knew she cared a lot about both those things.

  Yet here she was, comforting a small child she barely knew.

  A gust of wind swept in with the rain.

  He took a lap blanket from the glider and laid it around Ava and Melonie. “Those gusts have a chill in them.”

  “Thank you, Jace.”

  He went inside.

  Zeke was still sleeping on the small sofa. Lizzie sat nearby. Heath had gone off to the fields to check on the sheep with a couple of hands. Rain didn’t bother sheep. A bad storm might send them into a huddle, but normal rain was no big deal.

  Annie slept on upstairs.

  He felt superfluous all of a sudden. And restless.

  Cookie was out back, grilling ribs for dinner. Corrie was working in the vegetable garden they’d created. And here he was, with nothing to do when there was so very much to do.

  “I suggest you take a minute to breathe.” Lizzie came into the kitchen, grabbed a coffee pod and brewed herself a steaming mug.

  “I’d have gotten that for you.”

  She shrugged. “Little guy is sound asleep, I need to get some wedding stuff done and the babies are both napping. I’m grabbing the minutes I can, same as Heath. I think this is how it’s going to be,” she warned him. “The minute you think you’ve got clear sailing, something goes wrong and a mad scramble ensues. Rosie said a few kids in town had a bug like this. It ran its course and was done in a couple of days.”

  “Shouldn’t they see a doctor?”

  “Corrie calls it the three-day rule,” she told him. “If their fever doesn’t come down with meds, call the doctor. If they get suddenly worse, call the doctor. Or if there’s no change for the better by day three, call the doctor.”

  “So we wait?” Irritated, he scrubbed his hand along the nape of his neck. “I don’t do waiting well.”

  She raised her coffee mug and clinked it against the glass of tea. “Welcome to parenthood. Maybe we can form a support group.” She grinned, teasing. “Only new, uncertain parents need apply.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “It’s about your sister.”

  Lizzie lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t ask me to divulge intense sister secrets, Jace. I value my life.”

  “The scar on her face. Backside of the left cheek. How’d she get that?”

  “Not my story to tell. And not a topic she brings up. So good luck. But tread lightly. And most folks don’t notice it now because of the way she wears her hair.” She studied him. “But you did.”

  He was not about to mention dancing in the grass with Melonie. Dipping her. Then seeing the long curve of the scar just inside her hairline. “When we were working.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She sipped her coffee. Gazed at him. Then she smiled. “Work’ll do it, Jace. Every time.”

  He flushed.

  She wouldn’t know it because the tint of his skin hid it, but the minute he did, Lizzie grinned.

  Melonie had said she used to be an investigative reporter. He realized he wasn’t getting much by the oldest Fitzgerald sister. “Melonie said that if I wanted to find Valencia, you might be able to help.”

  “Oh.” Doubt changed her expression. “Are you sure you want to stir that up?”

  “Not at all. But I need to have legal recourse with the girls. Gilda has already spoken with the county.”

  “A precipitous move on her part.”

  “Tell me about it. But we need to have things in place in case Valencia comes back. Except how do we keep a mother from her children?” He folded his arms, conflicted. “That seems so wrong.”

  “Speaking as the daughter of a runaway father, I can heartily say that it’s never a black-and-white situation, Jace. But if we’re looking after the safety of the children, then we have to look at any possible dangers to them. What if Valencia takes them and leaves them alone in some other place? Where there’s no sweet uncle ready to open his doors and his heart? She’s gone off and used false names before.”

  Gilda had said as much.

  “Can we risk that?” she continued. “I can do a search,” she went on as she moved back toward the living room. “I’ve got connections and it’s pretty hard to hide these days. But you have to make sure it’s what you rea
lly, truly want.”

  He didn’t want it. He didn’t know this sister, didn’t know her story, her choices. Why would she take off now? Did something make her flee? Or did she simply abandon her babies? “I’ll think about it.” He’d set down Melonie’s tea. He lifted it again. “Pray on it, too. I don’t know what’s right or wrong in all this.”

  Lizzie’s face echoed that statement.

  “But I know I want and need to do the right thing. Whatever that is.”

  He took Melonie’s tea to the porch.

  She’d dozed off with that sweet baby in her arms. Ava was nestled against Melonie’s shoulder, and the pair of them sent a surge of protectiveness through him.

  He set the tea down and put a firm check on his emotions.

  He should want to protect these baby girls, his nieces.

  He couldn’t feel the same way about Melonie. They’d work together, help Gilda with her house. Then winter would sweep in and he’d spend the long, cold months running sheep. Counting lambs. Winter lambing was always much more labor intensive. The Middletons had run cattle. Not a huge operation, but a profitable one. They made do. But that had all ended when he was a boy. His father had dreamed of starting again. They’d envisioned running Angus together on the broad sweep of land that used to be Middleton property.

  But then Sean Fitzgerald bought the land from his grandfather for a fair price. Once property values began to skyrocket the last decade, his father stopped talking about beginning again.

  Then he was gone. They had the small stretch of land behind the house. Big enough to house the horses. Maybe a pig or two to put in the freezer. Not enough to stake a beginning. And with contracting jobs few and far between...

  He’d finish this job. Do his best to make Gilda happy and bring Melonie’s vision to life.

  Then he’d go to Sun Valley next spring. As originally planned.

  And Melonie would go back to her quest for success.

  She shifted slightly. The small blanket slipped down.

  He lifted it and gently settled it back where it had been.

  He couldn’t see the scar now. That side of her pretty face was obscured.

  But having seen it made him wonder about her. The woman behind the classy clothes and strong work ethic. Seeing her in the dirt today, seeing that scar, he realized there was more to this woman than he first thought.

  But she was cradling the very reason he couldn’t explore that. His parents had always put their kids first.

  He wouldn’t be the man they raised him to be if he did any less.

  * * *

  “Now, that is a pleasant sight,” Perched on the front porch railing, Melonie lifted her coffee mug in salute as Corrie walked the double stroller down the driveway toward Rosie’s place three days later. “Two happy babies and one busy five-year-old, fully recovered.”

  Jace was standing just inside the screen door. He lifted his coffee in Corrie’s direction, too, and agreed. “I’m glad they’re better.”

  “Me, too. And we can be thankful for Corrie and Rosie, because now we can return to work.”

  She was glad when he kept their conversation work-related. “The supplies for my place are being delivered this morning. I’m heading over there to accept delivery, then I’m backtracking to Hardaway Ranch to check on the roofers. They’re supposed to start today if the Dumpsters have been dropped off and...” He lifted his phone when it buzzed. “That’s my cue that they’ve arrived and tear-off will commence within the hour. Listen, Melonie.” He came through the door with a to-go cup in one hand and his phone in the other. “Why don’t you work here where it’s quiet?”

  She slid her gaze from the busy sheep barn to the horse stables, then to the ranch house, where three hearty stockmen were having a quick bite of sausage, bacon, home fries, eggs, Texas toast and pancakes.

  Then she brought her gaze back to his. “Your idea of quiet and mine are on opposite ends of the spectrum,” she told him. “Gilda’s due here anytime,” she reminded him. “And while I’m sympathetic to her cause, I can’t imagine getting a whole lot done if she’s looking over my shoulder.” She hesitated, then faced him directly. “Do you mind me working there?” she asked outright. “I figured on letting the morning sun dry up some of the rain so I’ll work in your office at first, if that’s all right.” She lifted her laptop bag. “Then garden duty this afternoon.”

  “Shouldn’t we hire someone to finish the rest of the garden?” he asked as he moved down the stairs.

  “Except I enjoy it.” He stopped when she said that. He didn’t look back, but he paused, unmoving. “I like working in the dirt. Making things pretty. And seeing them stay pretty for years to come.”

  He hesitated for another moment, then continued down the stairs. “All right.”

  He drove off in his truck.

  He didn’t invite her to ride along.

  That was okay. She’d need her own transportation later that day, but a part of her wished he’d offered her a ride.

  He didn’t, and when she got to the house a half hour later, the supplies were neatly stacked in the garage and his truck was gone. Off to Gilda’s, she supposed.

  He’d left the door unlocked. She moved through the newly opened living area, then past what remained of the bathroom.

  When she heard him return less than an hour later, he didn’t seek her out to say hi. Or check on progress.

  The sound of his saw cut the morning quiet, followed by the pneumatic snap of a precise air hammer.

  She stayed in his simple office space, the door shut, until she heard him call her name just before lunch.

  She hit Save, got up and opened the door. Jace wasn’t on the far side of the room like she expected.

  He was there. Right there. And a trail of bright red blood marked the path behind him.

  There was no time to think. Or swoon, which would have been her first choice.

  She grabbed a towel from the adjacent linen closet. “How bad?”

  “Nothing some salve and duct tape won’t cure. But I can’t do it one-handed.”

  Salve? Duct tape? “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

  He looked positively perplexed.

  “Anything that’s bleeding that badly needs professional help, Jace.”

  “Or salve and duct tape. Seriously, if I could do it myself, I would, but I can’t. Even if I tear the tape with my teeth.”

  She looked behind him, and sure enough, there were scraps of tape on the floor where the dolt had tried to treat himself. “I’ll drive you to the ER.”

  His eyebrows arched. “All that time and money lost? Listen, my father used to say that if it bleeds well, bandage it. We’ll know soon enough if it’s not right.”

  She was not about to argue with his late father’s advice. She motioned forward. “Kitchen.”

  He moved that way.

  “Keep the pressure on.”

  “Got it.”

  Her stomach had risen right up into her throat at the sight of that blood, a leftover reaction from her childhood trauma. Since then she’d steered clear of anything blood-related, including rare meat.

  She swallowed hard to gather her strength, turned the water on to a warm temperature and lifted the bottle of antibacterial soap. “Put your arm under here.”

  He did, letting the warm water sluice over the wound.

  “Was this from your saw?” she asked as she finished scrubbing her hands.

  “A piece of wood that bounced back.”

  “Equally unhygienic.”

  “Actually, it looked pretty good until I messed it up by bleeding on it.”

  “Jace.” She didn’t want to do this. She wasn’t sure she could do this. But she also realized he might be right, that it wasn’t necessarily an emergency-room injury. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”

&nbs
p; “If you could see the scrub-brush techniques ER nurses use, you would not say those words. They’re earnest,” he told her, eyes wide on purpose.

  He made her laugh.

  She was laughing at his expression while cleaning a life-threatening wound. Well, maybe not life-threatening, she decided as she continued to flush the area. But not exactly minor, either.

  “Are you sure you don’t need stitches?”

  “This only needs some Steri-Strips and a gauze pad under the duct tape to keep the duct tape from sticking to the gash. The first-aid box is right up there.” He motioned to a shelf by the back door, and when she eyed the dust on it, he had the nerve to grin.

  “That’s why the case closes real tight,” he told her. “To keep everything inside nice and clean.”

  Oh, brother.

  “Those butterfly-shaped things. They’re made to pull the sides of the cut together.”

  The last thing she wanted to think about was pulling sides together.

  “Then maybe two of those gauze pads,” he continued. “There’s a fresh roll of duct tape right there alongside.”

  Yup. A thick roll of silvery gray industrial tape held a place of honor. “No medical tape? That nice, clean white stuff?”

  “Doesn’t stick,” he answered. “Duct tape is made to stick. Gets me right back to work.”

  Inside the first-aid kit was a selection of bandages and pads, antibiotic salve and the duct tape right next to a clean bag containing tweezers, a needle and a tiny scalpel-like instrument that she refused to contemplate. “You have a personal ER right here,” she muttered. “What are the super sharp scissors for?”

  “Fish hooks,” he told her. “They snap right through them, the normal-sized ones that is. We use them as needed.”

  Have mercy. She left his arm under the running water while she set things out and cut two lengths of tape. “If you get infected...”

  “I’ll go right over to the little clinic in Council and they’ll put me on antibiotics. This isn’t my first rodeo, Miss Mellie.”