by Leigh Duncan
She tapped her pen against the desktop. A vague description of “somewhere near Lake Okeechobee” wasn’t going to help her locate Jimmy’s father. Tracking him down meant legwork, hauling out the white pages and making thousands of calls. Unless…unless she hit the jackpot with her first spin of the wheel and the only Ty Parker she’d ever met was Jimmy’s dad.
She gave the child’s birth certificate another glance, but there was no time to dwell on Jimmy’s parentage. Candy was on the move and, this time, there was no stopping her. Before Sarah could object, the woman blotted her lips on the boy’s cheek and flounced out of the office.
Listening to the door swing shut, Sarah weighed her alternatives. There really was no choice. Not if she intended to spend a quiet Christmas packing for her Hawaiian vacation. A phone call to the housemother at The Glades was next on the agenda, and she turned toward her office, determined to make the call.
A tug at the hem of her shirt stopped her. She looked down into Jimmy’s upturned face. The little boy was trying his best not to cry, but his eyes welled.
“What is it?” She steeled herself against an urge to kneel beside him and sweep him into her arms. The foster care system wasn’t for the faint of heart, and even five-year-olds learned early to toughen up their act. The sooner Jimmy started, the better.
“Lady,” he said, “did I miss Christmas?” He pointed to the box of ornaments and tangled tree lights Sarah had been packing. “Is it over?” His bottom lip trembled as he said the last word and tears spilled from his eyes.
It was too much. Sarah knelt and drew the child close.
“No, Jimmy, you didn’t miss Christmas.” His little-boy scent filled her senses. “Did you ask Santa for something special?”
Shopping for a present was the least she could do for a new orphan who’d spend the holiday with strangers. If they moved quickly, she could swing by one of the toy stores that stayed open for last-minute holiday shoppers and still have time to drop him off at The Glades.
“I…I…” Tear tracks ran down Jimmy’s grimy cheeks. His mouth shook, but he stiffened, drawing courage from who knew where. “I need to see Santa. I hav’ta give him my Christmas list.”
Sarah’s thoughts raced. The odds of finding a shopping-mall Santa at this late hour weren’t good. “I’m afraid he’s busy loading his sleigh right now.” She forced a bright smile. “If you tell me what’s on your list, I’ll make sure he knows.”
“Can…can he…” Jimmy’s shoulders slumped. He peered up at her, tears shimmering in his wide brown eyes. “Can Santa bring back my mom? I don’t want any toys. I promise. I just want my mom.”
“Oh! Poor baby.” Only the worst sort of Scrooge could abandon this sad little boy on Christmas Eve. What did that make her?
Sarah hugged the child tighter. All too often, the system failed kids like Jimmy. The same way it was failing her. Not that she’d always wanted to become a social worker. Knowing the long hours and the tremendous workload, who would? But in her sophomore year at the University of Florida, a chance encounter with a friend from grade school had given new direction to her life. Meagan had experienced the worst of foster care. After learning her story, Sarah had switched her major from Education to Sociology so she could make a difference. So what had happened to Meagan wouldn’t happen to any other kids.
But her idealistic plans to revamp the system had been buried under two years of working for a boss who valued computer upgrades over additional staff, of shifting children from one foster home to another, of seeing them falter and not being able to do anything to stop their downward spiral. It had practically wrung her dry. And lately, she’d started asking whether anyone was interested in fixing a system that didn’t meet the needs of the children in its care.
But, if she could make a difference in one child’s life—just one—didn’t she have to do it?
She had to. That’s all there was to it.
Lightly, she kissed the top of Jimmy’s head while her dreams of a Hawaiian vacation faded.
* * *
TY PARKER SLID FROM Ranger’s saddle, lifted his Stetson and ran his arm over his forehead. The long-sleeved shirt he’d put on fresh this morning clung like a second skin, now that he’d spent ten hours on horseback. He slapped his hat against his leg to dislodge the day’s accumulation of dust. The move earned a derisive snort from the quarter horse.
“I hear ya, big guy,” Ty said, grabbing the reins. “Let’s get a drink and get outta this heat for a while.” He aimed a glance at the sinking sun and wished someone would tell the weatherman not even Florida was supposed to be this hot the last week in December.
But hot it was. Hot and humid.
No matter. According to the almanac, they were due for another cold front. With any luck, it’d arrive about the same time as the wannabe cowboys who’d signed up for the Circle P’s winter cattle drive.
In the barn, Ty grabbed a bottled water out of the fridge in the tack room. While Ranger drank his fill from a trough of clear-running springwater, Ty stopped to run his hand through hair that was two weeks overdue for a cut. Like every day on the thousand acres of palmetto and scrub that made up his South Florida ranch, there was more to do than twenty-four hours could hold. He shook his head, second-guessing his decision to hold a roundup so early in the season.
Not that it was any use. Done was done. Eight paying guests would arrive the day after tomorrow. Though he’d hoped for a bigger turnout, their fees more than covered the costs of an event that would serve as a warm-up for a larger, longer drive in the summer.
“And after last year, we could use the practice,” Ty confided to Ranger as he went about feeding the black horse and settling him into his stall. That time, unforeseen complications had nearly proven disastrous. Thinking of the steps he’d taken to correct the situation, Ty grabbed the currycomb from its hook and set to work. He’d barely made a dent in brushing Ranger’s dark coat when boots sounded on the barn floor.
“Hey, boss.” Fifty-five years on the Circle P had etched furrows so deep around Seth’s blue eyes that the man bore a permanent squint. He leaned against the lower half of the stall door. “Good ride?”
“It was pleasant enough.” Ty ran the comb through sweat-matted hair on the horse’s withers. “Spotted a couple of big rattlers down by Little Lake. We’ll want to watch out for more of them next week, especially if it cools down a bit.” The cold-blooded creatures frequently sought sunshine when the weather turned.
“I’ll spread the word,” Seth said, nodding. Rattlesnakes kept the rodent population in check, but a bite could be serious, if not deadly. “Cattle still hanging out near there?”
It was Ty’s turn to nod. “Mostly around the salt lick on the north side. Should make roundin’ ’em up easy enough.”
“How many, you think?”
“The buyer wants fifty head,” Ty answered as he worked his way down Ranger’s side. The Andalusians he raised were known for their strong bloodlines and resistance to disease. “With the added help, it’ll take two, maybe three days to get ’em in the pens.” He smiled, knowing his ranch hands could do the job in an afternoon. Their paying guests might slow things down a bit, but the trade-off—money in the bank—was worth it.
“That ought to put us on the trail to Kissimmee by Monday.”
Seth stole a piece of hay from Ranger’s crib. “Sounds about right.”
Though he practically had the schedule branded on his arm, Ty asked, “You still headin’
to Fort Pierce tomorrow for supplies?” At the older man’s affirmative grunt, he suggested adding sunblock to the list. “Cold weather or hot, a sunburn stings.”
Seth leaned against the stall door and chewed as if he had all day and no place to go.
Ty shot him a look. In his thirty-two years he’d never known Seth to laze around. “You need somethin’ else?”
“Well,” Seth drawled, “that woman from DCF called again.”
Ty’s mouth slanted to the side. “Sarah Magarity? What’s that make—four, five times?” She’d called on Christmas Eve and every day since. “She say what she wanted this time?”
“No. Just that she needs to talk to you on a—” Seth grinned, his voice hitting a high falsetto “—personal matter.” He shifted his straw into the left side of his cheek. “I think she wants t’ ask you out.”
Laughter bubbled up from Ty’s chest. The day the feisty caseworker thought of him that way, he’d share a pail of oats with Ranger. “Not much chance of that happening.” He patted the horse’s flank. “Not after the set-to we had the last time we saw each other.”
“Oh?” Seth’s sparse eyebrows knotted. “Hadn’t heard about that. Guess she wasn’t happy to hear those kids she sent us started a grass fire. What’d she say when you told her?”
“To tell the truth, the conversation never got that far.” Ty ducked under Ranger’s neck and began to work on his other side. The Big Brother program sponsored by his college fraternity had been his own personal way of honoring his best friend after J.D. died in Afghanistan. But the first batch of foster kids had been nothing but trouble with a capital T. He’d put up with the teens’ shenanigans as long as he could. Still, some rules couldn’t be broken. Starting a wildfire was one of them.
“She whisked those two juvenile delinquents into a conference room the minute my boots crossed the threshold. When she came out, it was clear they’d told some tall tales. She lit into me like a mama bear protecting her cubs.” He’d had to admire the woman’s spunk, even if she was wrong. “She blamed me, and made it clear in no uncertain terms that Alpha Rho wouldn’t be sponsoring any more kids on my next roundup.”
“You let her get away with that?”
“She didn’t leave much choice, but it suited me just fine.” He shrugged, recalling how the fiery redhead had marched him out of the DCF office, her cheeks so inflamed they matched her hair, the buttons of her sensibly tailored blouse straining with every breath. “I did manage to say those punks were born misfits, and there was nothin’ in the world she could do to change it.”
Seth chuckled. “Bet she didn’t like hearin’ that.”
“Don’t know. Don’t care. I left before she could dish out any more of her nature-versus-nurture nonsense.”
Or call Security, as the woman had threatened.
Ranger sidestepped, a move that telegraphed a growing unease.
Realizing he’d put a little more action into the brush than the job required, Ty slowed his strokes. “You sure she didn’t say what she wants?”
“Yep, but based on what you just told me, maybe she finally realized how wrong she was and wants to apologize. Beats me why you’d have to go to her office, though.”
“She wants me to come to her?” Ty clenched his teeth. The gall of women who thought they could crook their little finger and have men come running was beyond him. He’d had enough of that in the short time it had taken his marriage to fizzle. “Shoot.” He shook his head. “I don’t have time to drive into town.”
“She seems pretty insistent.” Seth sucked his teeth and spit. “Why don’t you let me handle the chores here tomorrow, and you can go on the supply run. That way, maybe you can take Ms. Magarity out for a cup of coffee.”
Ty aimed a sharp look at the ranch foreman. “You just want out of the trip, or you got something else in mind?” Lately, his nonexistent love life had been the subject of Seth’s not-so-subtle hints.
“Well, it has been a while since you’ve been past the Circle P’s gate. And you’re not gettin’ any younger. Ya know you’ll be tied up here till after the cattle drive.”
Ty forced out a long breath. Ever since he’d quit his job as an investment broker and returned home, hanging on to the ranch that had been in his family for four generations had required every minute of his day. Six years ago, it had cost him his marriage. He hadn’t gotten involved—not really—with another woman since then. Sure, there were days when he’d like to come home to something more than an empty house and an empty bed, but he’d have to be more than a little interested to drive as far as Fort Pierce for a date. And he wasn’t interested in Sarah Magarity.
Why, then, six months later, did his anger over their argument still sting?
“You honestly think she wants to apologize?”
“What else could it be? Unless she’s gonna ask you to take another couple of kids on the trail ride. Either way, she has to make nice.”
Ty couldn’t help thinking the two-hour drive might be worth the trip if it meant seeing a softer side of the argumentative woman who worked for the DCF. He bent low, examining Ranger’s hooves one by one, certain Seth would offer a snide comment if the older man saw the look on his face.
“Fine,” he said, straightening. “But there’s a lot to be done if we’re going to be ready when everyone gets here on Friday. You up for the job?”
“Have I ever let ya down?”
Ty stepped into the wide corridor between the stalls and hung the currycomb back on its hook. He trusted Seth, the same way his dad had relied on the man.
“Let’s head on up to the house and compare notes, then.” He lifted a brow, teasing. “You think Doris’ll have supper ready?”
“Beats me.” Seth grinned. His wife, Doris, was the Circle P’s head cook. She set supper on the table at six on the dot every night.
By the time he climbed into one of the Circle P’s pickups at eight the next morning, Ty was certain Seth would have everything squared away in time for their guests’ arrival. Having already put in a half day’s work himself, he was surprised to find that he actually looked forward to relaxing a bit on the hundred miles of sparsely traveled, two-lane blacktop that stretched between the ranch and the nearest city. Not that he intended to waste the time. While he drove, he worked on the lyrics of a ballad he was trying to learn. Once he came within cell tower range, he turned off the CD player and concentrated on the ranch business he could handle by phone. No one answered at Sarah’s direct line so he left a message saying he was on his way. The numbers on the dashboard told him it was a little after one when he finished his errands, including the much-needed haircut.
Inside the drab concrete-block building of the Department of Children and Family Services, Ty made his way between movable partitions that divided a large room into cubicles the size of Ranger’s stall. Reaching an open area, he nodded to a little boy who looked up from the building he was creating out of small, red bricks. The child scrambled to his feet.
“Are you a real cowboy?” the boy asked, his mouth hanging open.
Ty glanced around to see if the boy’s mother was close by, but there was no one within hailing distance. If Millie had stuck around, they’d probably have a passel of their own by now. But it hadn’t worked out and he didn’t know much about kids. This one was still staring so Ty twirled his best Stetson on one finger.
“You got me, kiddo. You like the boots?” He kicked out a foot.
“Uh-huh,” the boy said. His head s
wung toward the end of the corridor. “Where’s your horse?”
Ty let his voice deepen into a John Wayne-like gravel. “Back at the ranch.”
“Oh.” The little boy’s shoulders slumped and with a wistful look down the hall, he turned and went back to his toys.
Ty ran a hand through his freshly washed hair and watched the kid’s retreating back. Beyond the plain white walls, clear skies and balmy breezes had combined to make a perfect day on Florida’s east coast. Why, then, wasn’t the boy outside learning to ride a two-wheeler instead of cooped up in this office breathing stale recycled air? He shrugged, and with a final wave at the kid, moved farther down the hall.
Sarah Magarity’s name hung outside a workspace slightly larger than the rest. Flowers perfumed her empty office, and he bent over pink blossoms whose fragrance reminded him of tropical islands and swaying palm fronds. He inhaled, appreciating the change from the odors of horse and cow, hay and sweat that usually filled his days. He glanced around, hoping to get a better sense of the woman who’d insisted on the meeting, but she didn’t keep photographs on her desk. Rolling his hat brim through his hands, he settled onto a vacant chair and tried without success to block out the incessant ringing of telephones.
At last, he glanced into the corridor in time to catch sight of a slender foot wearing an open-toed shoe. The footwear was completely impractical, but it was pretty, and as its owner appeared in the doorway, his gaze rose past elegant ankles and trim calves to a loose-fitting business suit that effectively camouflaged womanly curves. He stood, extending a hand as he let his gaze wander Sarah Magarity’s face. The hazel eyes that met his filled with unexpected emotion when her warm hand pressed into his grasp.