Her Surprise Hero

by Abby Gaines

  “I’m still wondering why you want to. This isn’t your kind of place.”

  She clamped her mouth shut, wanting to argue, knowing she didn’t have much of a case. “Tell me more about your program. The administrative side.”

  “You mean the money.” His cool tone matched hers.

  “Hey, Ethan!” Connor called. “Where do I tip all this oil?”

  “Jacob will show you!” Ethan yelled back. “Connor and Jacob used to throw punches at each other in high school. Out here, they pull together—when I force them to.”

  Impressive…but now she’d recalled her purpose, she wasn’t about to be diverted. “So, the money?”

  “Let’s walk.” He slapped the horse’s rump and sent the animal on its way. “There’s a trough over by the shelter belt—” he indicated a stand of pine trees beyond a wire fence “—that’s been losing water. I patched it yesterday, I should check if it’s holding.”

  He opened a gate that she suspected he’d normally climb over, and they started across the paddock. As they walked he explained the entire work program setup to her, patiently articulate. Cynthia made some mental calculations and figured that if today’s shenanigans were anything to go by, the money he was paid to run the program didn’t come near the hassle factor.

  They reached the trough, which was half-full. Ethan hunkered down and stuck his arm in the cloudy water, feeling for his repair. “Seems okay. I’ll check the level again tomorrow.”

  “Why do you help these kids?” Cynthia asked.

  “To exploit the free labor.” He dried his hands against his jeans.

  “When we met, you told me you had a wild youth.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Bending, Cynthia trailed a finger across the top of the water and watched the ripple that fanned out behind. “How wild?”

  Ethan bit down on a Butt out. His past was none of her business and he wasn’t about to tell her a damn thing. Amazing a woman could look so cute while she jabbed a guy with questions in all his most vulnerable places. Cynthia looked about eighteen in her tank top and cropped pants. Except her curves were more womanly. She shaded her eyes with her hand as she waited for his answer, and the pose lifted her breasts.

  “Ethan?” she persisted.

  He did what men had been doing since caveman times. Changed the subject.

  “The problem with the kids who come through the courts is often a lack of a decent male role model.”

  “If you don’t want to tell me how wild you were, I’ll ask the sheriff.”

  Of course, women had been ignoring men’s attempts to change the subject since caveman times.

  “Ask away,” he said. The sheriff knew only what Ethan had told him.

  “Strange that you’re so good with the youths in your program, yet you struggle with Sam.”

  “Sam and I just need more time,” he growled.

  “Did you have a good male role model in your life? Your father?”

  “This is not about me.” He stabbed a finger at her. “Are you checking my qualifications to be Sam’s dad? Because as far as I know, you’re even less qualified to be a social worker than you are a judge. And I bet you don’t know squat about families who don’t fit the Atlanta mold. What’s the bet you were born and raised in Buckhead—” the fanciest part of Atlanta “—and no one in your family ever got arrested?”

  From the flicker in her eyes, he saw he was right. But being Cynthia, she came back fighting.

  “My parents separated when I was three, and divorced on my fifth birthday, just in time for Dad to marry his second wife, who was pregnant with my youngest sister.” She checked off each point on the fingers of her left hand. “Mom and Dad played bitter custody games for a few years, until Mom died of an aneurysm when I was ten.”

  Hell. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She’d run out of fingers, but she kept going. “My stepmother, a wonderful woman, was killed in a car accident when I was twenty-one. My youngest sister couldn’t walk for a year and a half after the crash.” She was breathing hard, remembering.

  “You poor kid.”

  She blinked. “I wasn’t in the accident.”

  “I shouldn’t have presumed to know anything about your life.”

  Her breathing slowed. “You’re telling me I shouldn’t about yours, either.”

  He shrugged.

  “You asked me to reconsider Sam’s sentence. I’m trying to understand what’s best for him.”

  “I’ve told you what’s best for him. I’m his father, I know him a hell of a lot better than you do.”

  “Fathers don’t know everything,” she said.

  Was that hurt in her gray eyes? “Sounds like your dad put his kids through a lot, one way or another.”

  “My father is a wonderful man,” she snapped. He’d forgotten she hated sympathy. “At least he’s always been there for me.”

  “You think I’ve only known Sam three months by choice?” he demanded.

  “Give me a reason why Sam should spend time here now that it suits you. One that’s good for Sam.”

  He tipped his head back and stared at the cloudless sky.

  “I dated Susan, Sam’s mother, when I was eighteen. We broke up and I left town before either of us knew she was pregnant. She never told me about Sam.”

  Cynthia’s mouth opened, then closed again as she processed the information. “Did your family know?”

  He started walking back to the barn. She fell in beside him. “It was only me and my mom by then. She left town—we lived in Augusta—soon after I did, so she didn’t know about the baby, either.”

  “What if Susan had told you she was pregnant?”

  The big question he’d never get a chance to answer. Ethan stopped in the middle of the paddock. Cynthia did, too. “Hell, I was pretty angry at life back then,” he said. “But I like to think I’d have stepped up to the plate. It might even have prevented me doing some stupid things.”

  She nodded, though she could have no idea what he meant. “So how did Sam know where to find you?”

  “His mom kept tabs on me, in case Sam needed me for medical reasons or whatever. When she ran out of patience with his antics, she sent him here in the hope I could handle him.” Susan’s exact words were Your genes made him like this, you deal with him.

  “It must have been a shock,” Cynthia said, “to discover you had a son.”

  “That doesn’t begin to describe it.” He fixed his gaze on the horizon. “I was furious with Susan for not telling me sooner. But I understood.”

  She scuffed the grass with her sneaker. It was still green, but another month or so of these temperatures would surely burn it off. By then, he and the boys would have all the hay in. With or without Sam’s help.

  “It sounds inexcusable,” she said.

  Yeah, the judge saw everything in black and white. Ethan wondered how little he could get away with telling her. Because the truth would have her labeling him an unfit parent. “Susan didn’t think I’d be good for Sam.”

  So far, she was proving right, though not for the reasons she’d thought. Ironic that other kids’ parents thanked him for his help, but when it came to his own son…

  “Do you like him?” Cynthia asked.

  Air flew out of his lungs. “What kind of question is that?”

  “He’s almost a stranger,” she observed. “I assume you love him at some elemental level, because he’s your son.”

  “Of course I do.” He lengthened his stride. “Your visit to the Double T is about making a decision on the facts. Being the judge doesn’t give you the right to pry into my personal life.”

  “You said you like all the kids in your program. You don’t have to spend time with them, but you do. Is Sam someone you’d choose to spend time with?”

  “Damn straight he is.” He pounced on the question. “You’re the one who’s preventing me doing just that.”

  The hint of a breeze sent a strand of blond hair drifting across her fa
ce. “You have evenings together, don’t you?”

  For Sam’s sake, Ethan answered. “There’s something about the evenings that doesn’t work. We’re both tired, and with just the two of us, no one else to take the heat, it’s too easy for disagreements to escalate. He thinks I’m always on his case, but it’s not how it is.”

  “Does he know how much you care about him? It’s easy for kids to doubt their parents.”

  He frowned. “I’m not good at telling him how I feel, but I do my best to show him. Sam likes the ranch—he tries to hide it but I can see. Having him work here during the day would let us focus on something that’s potentially important to both of us.”

  Something sparked in her eyes. Had something he said resonated with her? Ethan held his breath. Her lips parted, then closed again, her head tilted appraisingly. “If Sam didn’t like the ranch, would that change the way you feel about him?”

  He had the feeling this was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, though he couldn’t think why. “I love my son. I loved him the moment Susan called and told me he existed and he was on his way here. That will never change.”

  What he didn’t love was the way the feeling had sprung up so instantly, so intense. Beyond his control.

  “The troubles you’re having,” she said tentatively, “they don’t make you love him less?”

  “I guess love isn’t about what someone does or doesn’t do,” he said to the sky. “It’s about who they are in your life.” As if he was any kind of expert. But if he was only going to love Sam for good behavior, he’d have given up by now.

  Still, Cynthia seemed to be waiting. Dammit, what else did he have to give? Her expression had softened. That had to be good, right?

  “You asked…if I like Sam.” Getting each word out was like sneezing stones. “I don’t know him. I want…I really want to know him and to like him.”

  She let out a little sigh. “Thank you.” She smiled. It turned her eyes a silvery color, made her mouth temptingly mobile.

  “You’re welcome, though I have no idea for what.” Though answering her questions had drained him, Ethan smiled back and there was that zing that shouldn’t still be taking him by surprise with her.

  A knot loosened between his shoulder blades. Over beyond the barn, tires crunched on gravel, too fast, skidding. But it didn’t put his hackles up the way it usually did. “That’ll be Sam now.”

  He realized he was pleased his son was back. And relieved—even more relieved than he’d been when Sam left.

  The electric-blue Mazda came into sight. The driver’s window was open and Ethan lifted a hand in greeting. As he got a few steps closer, he cursed before he could stop himself.

  “What’s wrong?” Cynthia scrambled to catch up.

  Neutral voice. “Sam’s brought my mom. I wasn’t expecting her.” He’d all but persuaded Cynthia that Sam’s place was here with him. What were the chances he could hold everything together now?

  “Your mother lives in Stonewall Hollow?”

  “She moved here soon after I did. She has a place in town.” He cursed again, this time keeping it inside. Things were about to get weird. He should have told Cynthia earlier who his mom was.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ETHAN WATCHED CYNTHIA tug down her tank and pat her hair into place. As if she was a teenager about to meet her boyfriend’s parents. He had the crazy thought she was the kind of girl a guy would be proud to bring home to his mom.

  Not him. Not his mom.

  The passenger door opened, and his mother climbed out. Ethan tried to see her the way Cynthia would, minus the baggage. A short, slim woman, looking good for her fifty-three years. She’d easily pass for mid-forties. Casually dressed in inexpensive jeans and a T-shirt, with open-toed sandals that he knew without seeing would reveal red nail polish. She looked like a normal mom.

  “Afternoon,” she called. Then she saw Cynthia. “Oh, you have company.” She glanced at Sam, who shrugged.

  Cynthia grabbed Ethan’s arm, her fingers heating his skin where they wrapped around him. “Your mom is the mayor’s assistant? Why didn’t you say so when I mentioned her the other night?”

  “We were talking about you coming out to the ranch. I was in the middle of a poker game. It wasn’t relevant.” Three excuses, each as spurious as the last.

  “Was it relevant when we were talking about your past just now?” She released his arm as his mom reached them.

  “Ethan.” Linnet didn’t kiss him. They weren’t that kind of mother and son.

  “Mom.” If they were handing out awards for family interaction, he and his mother would win the booby prize. Don’t blow it. “I believe you’ve met Cynthia Merritt, our new judge? Cynthia, this is my mom, Linnet Robinson.”

  The two women shook hands, both cool.

  Sam returned Cynthia’s greeting in a civilized manner that made his grandmother beam. She moved closer to him. “Sam invited me for supper.”

  Of course he did, because he knew Ethan didn’t want her here today.

  “I brought a salad,” Linnet said. “I hope I’m not in the way.”

  Ethan forced a smile. “It’s fine.” Dammit, he should have told Cynthia about his mom. Now she would think they had some peculiar, dysfunctional relationship. Oh, yeah…

  “I didn’t realize Ethan had family so close,” Cynthia said. “Close by,” she elaborated deliberately.

  “How about we go inside?” he suggested, an attempt at normalcy he knew was doomed to fail. But he had to try. “Janet—my housekeeper,” he explained to Cynthia, “left tea in the fridge.”

  Her jerky nod said she still wanted to know why he hadn’t told her Linnet was his mom. He led the way into the open plan living and dining room that ran the entire front of the long house. The dining room backed onto the kitchen, and behind the living room was the den he used as his office.

  “This room is amazing.” Cynthia wandered over to look at the red-and-white rag rug that hung above the mantelpiece. She sounded surprised, as if she’d expected his home to be as much of a mess as his relationship with Sam. “Did you decorate it yourself?”

  “It’s pretty much as the previous owners had it.” Ethan loved the house, simple and sprawling though it was. “I painted a few walls, had some couches reupholstered. It works for me.”

  Linnet sat down at the pine dining table. Cynthia pulled out a chair, too.

  “Can I pour you some tea, Gram?” Sam offered.

  “Thanks, honey.”

  Ethan had to be some kind of monster, to resent his mom looking at Sam with that tender warmth.

  Typically, as soon as Sam had offered the tea, he forgot about it. He sat down with the two women. Ethan would have reminded him, but he didn’t need Sam getting uncooperative in front of Cynthia.

  As he pulled glasses from the cupboard, he heard Linnet answering a question from Cynthia. “I’ve been here eleven years. I arrived about a year after Ethan.”

  He froze…then moved to get the tea from the fridge. His mom wouldn’t blab the full, grim truth about his past. They’d agreed it was best for Sam not to know—it was about the only thing they did agree on.

  He inadvertently banged his mother’s glass down on the table, drawing a curious glance from Cynthia.

  “Thanks.” Linnet added an extra spoon of sugar to the already sweet tea and stirred.

  He set another glass in front of Sam, with little expectation he would drink it. Sam didn’t seem to want anything from Ethan. If it wasn’t for hunger pangs, Ethan doubted the kid would even eat.

  “Are you doing the late shift at Al’s tonight?” he asked. It would explain why Sam had brought Linnet out in his car; he could take her home on his way to work.

  “Yeah, sole charge. Al says he trusts me more than his own son.” There was a challenge in Sam’s eyes that Ethan wasn’t about to meet in front of his mom and Cynthia.

  “Great,” he said, his lower face stiff.

  LINNET WANTED TO SLAP Ethan’s cheeks until h
e snapped out of the calm and responsible manner he considered good parenting. But her son would never take advice from her, even if she got up the guts to offer it.

  It was easier to deal with Sam, even when he scowled. The sullenness disguised his good looks, but Linnet saw past that. She patted the back of his hand. “Don’t mind your dad, he’s been wearing that poker face longer than I can remember.” It had frustrated the heck out of her in the days when she’d wanted Ethan to pretend, to make an effort, even a tiny one, for the sake of harmony in their home.

  At a glance from Ethan, she realized she’d done it again. Hurt him in her attempt to placate. She should fix it. But she knew the words would come out wrong. She gave up too easily, of course, always had.

  Which was why, although she’d moved to Stonewall Hollow specifically to get close to Ethan, she’d barely progressed in eleven years. She’d make an effort, be rebuffed, give up. Then find herself, out of hurt, rejecting Ethan’s rare, halfhearted attempts at reconciliation. By the time her skin thickened and she was ready to try again, Ethan would have lost interest.

  She had no trouble identifying the pattern. Changing it was the problem.

  “Sam’s a hard worker,” Ethan was telling the judge. The compliment didn’t lessen Sam’s ferocious expression. “He’ll turn his hand to pretty much anything.”

  Linnet recognized a quality in his voice when he spoke to the judge that she hadn’t heard in a long time. A softening, barely discernible, but it made her catch her breath. Was Ethan attracted to Cynthia? After what she’d done, refusing his request to have Sam work with him?

  Linnet wasn’t a hundred percent sure if Sam should be working on the ranch, but she could tell how upset Ethan had been. Cynthia Merritt didn’t have any right to turn him down, not after the good work he did with those kids. And Ethan had it in him to be a better parent than Linnet had ever been.

  “How long are you in town, Judge Merritt?” she asked.

  Cynthia sipped her tea. “I’m not sure. It’s a temporary position, as you know.”

  “Must have been difficult, leaving your family,” Linnet said.

  “Mm-hmm.”