The Bride Wore Red Boots

by Lizbeth Selvig

  “Such a shame.” Dottie frowned. “You two look very pretty together.”

  Small-town mother hens. Mia shook her finger at Dottie, knowing all too well how gossip in the little town flew. She looked again for Gabriel’s reaction, but this time she could see immediately he was frozen in place, staring at the television.

  She peered at the flat screen and made out the closed-caption crawl across the bottom. As she realized what the story was about, she squeezed Gabe’s arm tighter. Footage of soldiers dodging through an Iraqi city was alternated with a video of a family of six. The text told of a reunion—four family members reunited with a grandmother and an uncle after five years of each thinking the others dead.

  She stared, waiting for any sign of names. It couldn’t be such a coincidence as to be Gabriel’s missing family . . .

  The story ended. She hadn’t seen most of it, just enough to understand why Gabriel looked shell-shocked.

  “Hey,” she said softly. “Tell me you didn’t just see a ghost.”

  “Oh, I saw plenty of ghosts.” His voice held a touch of grim resignation. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  She followed without questioning him further, letting his tension and his silence settle around them as they left the cozy bistro for the cold November night. The wind had picked up, and Mia buried her face against Gabe’s coat sleeve. He pulled free of her grasp and wrapped his arm fully around her shoulders. “Maybe it’s a little chilly for a walk,” he said.

  “For a long walk,” she agreed. “But we do need a short one, I think.”

  “I’m sorry about that, back in the Bistro.”

  “Don’t apologize. For a moment I thought maybe you’d seen something about Jibril.”

  “No.”

  “But you think something like that family’s separation happened to Jibril’s family. I’m sorry. Seems like tonight is one for unpleasant memories.”

  He didn’t say anything but squeezed her more tightly. “I do wish I knew where he was.”

  “I know. Despite what you’ve always said.”

  “I have something to show you. Then when you heard about Rory, I decided not to. Now I’ve changed my mind again. That report was a little freaky.”

  He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, let her go, and reached inside his coat. He pulled out an unaddressed, white, number ten envelope.

  “When you told me two weeks ago, the first day you arrived and learned about Jibril, that I shouldn’t give up trying to find him, it annoyed the crap out of me. Who were you to tell me what to do about something so personal?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I’d annoyed you.”

  “Because I didn’t tell you. Deep inside, I knew there was truth to what you’d said. Still, I came up with a hundred reasons I wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t try anymore. But then . . . ” He handed her the envelope but wrapped her with his arm and started walking again so she couldn’t open it. “I started watching how you solve problems—one after the other. You don’t question, you just do. Things like driving eight people across the state to adopt five wild horses would seem Herculean to most people. You planned it and executed it like it was a church picnic. And it’s working.”

  “Of course it is.”

  “You told me about the boy you’d met several years ago, and how when he came back into your life you searched out a homeless man and a cat in the heart of New York City and then brought the cat back to your house. Who does that?”

  “You do. You did the same thing with a squad of injured men—rescued them from homelessness and helplessness. Gabriel stop talking about me. What’s this really about?” She waggled the envelope.

  “I contacted the US Embassy in Baghdad. Believe it or not, I know somebody who works there—a friend from the VA in Montana. He actually found the name of someone who appears to be Jibril’s great-uncle. If I send him some information and pictures, he will try to contact the man. It took me a long time to decide I wanted to do it.”

  “Gabe, that’s fantastic!” She stopped him and tugged on his jacket front to get him turned toward her.

  “But then you got the news about Rory and his mother. I didn’t want to throw all my potential emotional shit at you when you’re dealing with something this big in your life. It was one kid too many, you know?”

  “That’s ridiculous. One isn’t any more important than the other.”

  He pulled her into a full bear hug. “See? You just go for it, whatever it is that needs going for. I’m acting like the damn girl here.”

  “Oh, shut up, you chauvinist.” She drew back enough to cup his cheeks, now cold from the breeze, as they’d been that afternoon by the round pen at the ranch. “You don’t ‘go for it’ because you survey all the angles first. Then you go into battle mode and fight for the people under your care. I rush in headlong. There’s a time and place for both methods. Damn girl, my butt. I’m the damn girl.”

  With that she dragged him to her and kissed him, long, hard, sweet and hot. His breath warmed her, and her fingers warmed his face.

  “Oh yes, you are definitely the girl.”

  “Let’s forget about window shopping and go back to the house. Maybe we can commandeer the family room fireplace for ourselves.”

  “I dunno.” His eyes shone with relief in the glow of the street lamps and his breath hung in frosty smoke between them. “There are five other women there. I don’t see us being alone much.”

  “They’d stay away if I asked them to.” She smiled.

  “But still, we’d never know when they’d accidently come down the stairs, would we?”

  “It would keep us honest.”

  “That’s what you want? Us to stay honest?”

  The question was meant to tease, but she couldn’t find a quick retort. What did she want? Her life was whirling further out of its normal orbit every minute. Wouldn’t a night with Gabe fit right into the craziness? The idea of keeping him with her for an entire night was far from objectionable. In fact, it sounded warm. And safe.

  “Yeah,” she said finally. “Isn’t honesty the best policy?”

  “How about we go home and find out?”

  “What about this?” She lifted the envelope again. “It’s a letter, right? To your friend?”

  “I wanted you to read it before I sent it. I’d almost decided to wait. Then I saw that story on the news and it was eerie—cosmic.”

  “My grandma Sadie would say the Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  “Well something or someone sure does. What are the odds of seeing that exact story right now?”

  “Don’t question it. Come on. I’ll read the letter in the car.”

  She opened the letter before Gabriel had even pulled away from the curb and read silently by the map light above her, painfully aware of his steel-straight and anxious form behind the wheel.

  Dear Paul,

  Thank you for your offer to help locate Malik al Hamal. I am enclosing information about the boy, Jibril al Raahim, whom I hope we discover is Malik’s great-nephew . . .

  The letter continued with a very clear timeline of Gabriel’s tour in Baghdad and the years spent with Jibril. Gabe had given all his contact information and made certain his friend Paul knew to reassure the man that he wanted nothing from the family. He only wanted information about the boy’s fate the day the city square had been shelled.

  “So?” Gabe asked once she’d folded the letter carefully. “Should I send it?”

  She set the envelope on her lap and placed her hand on Gabe’s tensed thigh muscle, stroking along its length hoping to comfort. “Of course you should. Why are you nervous to try? Finding this potential relative was such a lucky break.”

  “Because not knowing might be better than knowing.”

  “That’s never true,” she said firmly. “We hear that all the time—people didn’t come to the doctor soon enough because they didn’t want bad news. But how can you move ahead if you don’t know the truth?”

  “You just
keep moving,” he replied. “That’s what I did.”

  “But did you?” She stilled her hand on his thigh for a moment, but then began to knead gently. “You know that part of your life isn’t healed. You fight so hard for everything just to make up for what you think was a mistake. You need to find out one way or another.”

  “This man could be no relation at all.”

  “And then you’re no worse off than you are now.”

  “Unless Jibril is dead.” The tiniest hint of bitterness crept into the words.

  “Unless he’s dead,” she agreed. “And then you’ll grieve, and you’ll go to a counselor just the way you send your men to therapy, and you’ll heal.”

  “I won’t need a counselor if I have you.” He covered her hand with his, and she flipped her palm upward so it nestled into his grip.

  “No, I’ll be your letter-writing consultant, but that’s it. Unless you need your appendix taken out.”

  “Uh, not today thanks.”

  She grinned. “I have one suggestion for you, but you don’t have to take it.”

  “Hey, a pretty woman is holding my hand. I’ll do whatever she says.” He squeezed her fingers, and his voice regained its natural humor.

  “I think you should make what you have here a cover letter to your friend—it’s perfect. But also add a very short letter for the man you’re trying to reach. I’m sure someone there can translate it. Assume he’s the uncle. Tell him something personal about your relationship with Jibril. Send him a picture. Tell him you’ve worried about him and would love to hear from any relative—something like that. A personal touch will get you a lot further than simply something official from a government embassy.”

  He contemplated her suggestion for several moments.

  “That’s not too much? If it’s not a relative?”

  “Then it doesn’t matter at all. If it is the uncle, then it’s absolutely not too much. With luck he’ll think of you less as a soldier and more as a friend.”

  “All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll think about doing that.”

  “Don’t think too much, you’ll think yourself out of it. Just do it.”

  “If this turns out to be a cluster, I’m blaming you.” He lifted their clasped hands and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

  “That’s okay. I’m a big girl; I can take it.”

  MIA FULLY EXPECTED the house to be calm and quiet. Preparations would be started for Thanksgiving in two days. Grandma Sadie would be in bed. Her mother would be knitting or reading. Her sisters would be in their rooms. She had it planned perfectly in her head that she and Gabe would be able to sneak off by themselves. The house was plenty big enough for everyone to have a space.

  What greeted them was just the opposite: frenetic excitement and planning that couldn’t have been more involved if her sisters, mother, and grandmother had been prepping for a presidential visit.

  “Oh, I’m so glad you’re back,” her mother said, hugging her tightly and then unashamedly offering the same to Gabe. “Are you all right? Are you feeling a little less overwhelmed?”

  She’d told her family about Rory. “I’m all right, Mom.”

  She braced for further parental solicitousness but it didn’t come. Instead, Grace tugged her without ceremony toward the stairs.

  “You have to see what we’ve done!” she said. “It’s so great.”

  “What’s going on?” Mia exchanged a mystified look with Gabe.

  “First of all,” her mother said, “since Rory won’t be here in time for the real Thanksgiving, we’re postponing our celebration until next week. We concentrated instead on a place for him to stay.”

  “Harper had a fantastic idea,” Grace said. “Look!”

  She opened the door to the room next to Mia’s. In the three hours Mia and Gabe had been gone, Rory had gained a bedroom in what had been the sewing room. It was now decked out with a twin bed, a bookcase, and a desk. Grandma Sadie bent over the bed, straightening a log cabin quilt in deep red, blue, and green. A huge painting of Wolf Paw Peak, which stood on Paradise property near the middle of the ranch’s land, hung on one wall. Harper’s exquisite work.

  Mia marveled at the room. “This is above and beyond. Who moved all the furniture?”

  “Cole and Bjorne helped us,” Harper said. “We moved the sewing machine and fabric into the guest room downstairs next to Grandma.”

  “But you were staying there.” Mia looked at her mother.

  “I decided I wanted to go back up into my own room. I can manage the stairs now. It’s good for me to make the effort.”

  “This is pretty cool.” Gabe gazed in from the doorway and nodded.

  “We left the shelves and other walls for you to decide about,” Raquel said. “You might know some things Rory likes we can put up.”

  Mia moved slowly around the room, hugging her grandmother, staring at the painting, her mind numb to ideas—blown away by the effort her family had put into creating this spot.

  “I . . . I have no idea,” she said. “I’m so grateful. But he’ll be here such a short time. You didn’t need to disrupt the whole house—”

  “Of course we did!” Her mother hugged her again. “This is sad, but exciting. We want Rory to know that whenever he comes to visit with you, he’s part of the family now.”

  Mia’s throat tightened and she grabbed for Gabe’s hand. Part of the family? Three weeks ago, she’d barely felt like part of the family. She didn’t even know if Rory was going to stay in her life. A request in a will was important, but not binding. Just as Gabe had said.

  But as she took in the eager faces of the women in her life who’d moved a holiday and two rooms, who’d done this huge thing for her, something deep inside shifted. Maybe, she thought, it was to make room for a sad, orphaned little boy. And a cat named Jack.

  MIA MET THE plane alone on Sunday afternoon. Rory had no idea of the reception he was in for, and she’d begged her excited family to forego any kind of welcome party. For all she knew, Rory—who was arguably one of the biggest lovers of a party she’d ever met—might want nothing more this time than to curl up and hide.

  Nerves like insidious drops of acid assailed her stomach as she waited by baggage claim for a first glimpse of Rory. Half-embarrassed at her anxiousness over a child, she used every yoga breathing technique she could remember, and every head-to-toe relaxation method she’d ever read about to calm herself.

  They didn’t help. She caught sight of the social worker who’d accompanied him first. It wasn’t her friend Samantha—who’d had an emergency to attend to—but Samantha’s colleague Hannah White. And then she saw the beautiful head of curls she recognized beyond any doubt. She’d envisioned every manner of greeting from tears and a hug to a stoic high five. She wasn’t prepared for what she got.

  “Mia!” Rory pulled away from his chaperone with a twist and burst simultaneously into tears and a dead run.

  She barely had time to brace herself. From five feet away, Rory, with his backpack flapping, launched himself into her arms and clung like a little spider monkey.

  Chapter Nineteen

  GABE HAD PROMISED to be at the house when Amelia returned with her new charge, and as he watched her car pull slowly down the driveway, excitement mixed with apprehension. The idea of meeting the boy in his first moments at Paradise Ranch seemed suddenly, enormously important, as if this was a do-or-die test. Ridiculous. It was a child.

  He’d once loved kids. Funny guys always liked small people who were suckers for clowning around. Now that he was much less the clown, however, he’d lost his effortless ability to relate immediately on their level.

  He hadn’t admitted to Amelia—he’d barely admitted it to himself—that Rory’s appearance in her life worried him. He wasn’t stupid. He knew his nerves stemmed from emotional garbage that had to do with Jibril. He’d followed every wrong instinct in the world with the boy who’d become his little shadow in Baghdad. He’d thought he was being so smart, so kind,
and so righteous befriending a local child and showing him the wonderful ways of American life.

  Instead, he’d been selfish. Nice maybe, but deep down he’d been making himself feel powerful. And it had cost a family dearly. Until Amelia, he had preferred to wear his guilt like a martyr—doing more work with adults and depriving himself of children. Then she’d started hounding him about not giving up. About closure. About all the things he’d planned never to face. And for the first time he’d been willing to search one more time for the truth, not so he could help himself, but so he could be a little bit more whole for her.

  So he’d put together a note and some pictures for Jibril’s maybe-uncle and sent the whole package off to the American Embassy yesterday morning before he could lose his nerve.

  But he was losing it. He was glad Amelia was doing just what he advocated: making a home for a child who needed one. He just didn’t want to blow it. He’d thought it was just his own biological children he didn’t want to bring into the world and mess up. The truth was, he didn’t want to mess up any kid.

  The front door opened slowly, and Gabe stole glances at Bella and Grace, the other two designated welcome committee members, seated on the couches in the living room with him. His stomach rolled in queasy anticipation.

  He was a grown man, for God’s sake.

  Amelia stepped through the door, a quiet smile on her lips as she caught everyone’s eyes and then glanced down at the boy plastered to her side.

  “Hi, everyone,” she said. “I found the man I went looking for.”

  Gabe followed her gaze, and his heart punched against his ribcage. Rory held a pet carrier in front of him that took up almost his entire wingspan. Behind the lines of effort on his face, the boy was beautiful. He also could have been Jibril’s brother.

  His skin glowed like it was bronzed from the sun, and a halo of black curls framed his face. Jibril’s hair had been coarse and straight, but his skin tone and dark eyes had been similar.

  Amelia spoke quietly to Rory, and he set the carrier down. She squatted with him in front of the little door and helped him open it. She looked like a natural with the boy, peering alongside him, one graceful hand resting on his shoulder, her shapely, jean-clad legs folded easily into the crouch, and her red boots punctuating the picture. Sweet and sexy—a woman who could rescue a child and rock a pair of hot boots.