by Linda Warren
There was a bench where customers could sit and wait for their orders. Rico turned to Anamarie. “Do you have any big jackets, a blanket or something?”
Rico laid Dusty on a big quilt Anamarie had provided. “Why don’t you take a nap while I find out about your grandma.”
“’Kay.” His eyelids fluttered again and in a second he was sound asleep. The dog hopped up on the bench and snuggled against the boy.
Rico stared at the boy who seemed lost and alone, and a memory from his past wedged its way into his mind. He tried forcing it away but it was right there on the edge of his memory—a little boy, about the same age as Dusty, facing loss and an undetermined future. His mother had just died from a drug overdose. The boy was half Latino and half white and neither side of the family wanted him, so he was put into foster care. Then a miracle happened. His great-grandmother on the Latino side of the family came and got him and raised him. She lived in Houston and she taught him about love, faith and God. She also taught him about respect and manners. Every day she preached right from wrong and at night when she put him to bed, she always told him she loved him. His great-grandmother had been his whole world. Then the gangs had moved into the neighborhood and his happy world had been turned upside down. He promised his grandmother he would never do drugs and he fought those outside influences every step of the way. His hand unconsciously touched the scar on his face. His life was never the same again. But that boy got a second chance. The Rebel family said that Rico had saved Egan’s life, but in truth Egan had saved Rico’s life.
Rico was going to make sure this little boy had every chance available to him. He pulled out his phone and called the sheriff.
* * *
ANAMARIE WATCHED AS Rico dealt with the boy. He was gentle, loving and caring, and the boy responded to that. Dustin didn’t even seem to notice the scar on Rico’s face, as most kids did. People in town steered clear of the mysterious man who worked on Rebel Ranch. He was often given the cold shoulder. The first time Anamarie had met him he had come into the bakery to buy kolaches for Egan’s dog. Any man who would take the time to buy kolaches for someone else’s dog had to be special, that was her thought at the time. And that thought had never changed. He came into the shop many times and they talked about nonsensical things. Her mother scolded her for talking to him, but Anamarie never listened to her.
He stood staring at the little boy. Dustin was adorable and she knew the sheriff would find out what had happened to Wendy. It would get sorted out. She had to restrain herself from gobbling up the little boy like Mickey had gobbled his food. She was good at restraining herself around children. That was one area she knew she couldn’t get involved. It would break her heart.
Her eyes rested on the man. Well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, Rico had dark brown eyes and hair and a lean muscled body. His hair was long and tied into a ponytail at his neck, giving him a roguish sort of look. His face was all angles and planes, sharp and defined. The scar across his left cheek made him appear dark and intimidating to others, but never to her. Something in her was drawn to him. He had an air of inherent strength that came from life’s lessons. He’d had a hard life and his persona spoke of that every time she saw him. When she looked into his dark eyes, all she could feel was the warmth they radiated and she knew there was a softer side to Jericho Johnson—a soft pleasant side. But his strength was always there.
About two years ago some boys who were being bullied placed bombs in the school and locked everyone inside the gym. Elias and Jericho had gone in to get everyone out, not knowing when the bombs would go off. Elias had gotten all the credit for that, but Jericho had also risked his life to save other people’s children. After that, the town’s attitude toward Jericho had changed a little. Some people spoke to him when they met him on the street, but not one of them would invite him into their home or invite him to dinner. Her mother was one of those people and some days that was hard for Anamarie to stomach.
It was about that same time Miss Kate had a problem with her heart and Jericho started coming in to get kolaches for breakfast so Miss Kate wouldn’t have to cook. It turned into a weekly thing and she couldn’t bear to think about not seeing him on Tuesday morning. They talked about many things, but they shied away from the personal. There were times she wanted to tell him about her past just to see how he would react. She never had that much courage, though. One rejection in her life was enough.
Earlier when she’d touched his hand, she just wanted to wrap her hand around his. And then she’d realized what she’d done and she was embarrassed. A woman her age was embarrassed at touching a man. How pathetic was that? Enough to give her cold feet. Since her fiancé had jilted her over twenty years ago she hadn’t dated anyone. She was nervous as a teenager. And that was really pathetic.
Rico walked over to her and she quickly gathered her thoughts.
“The sheriff’s going to Wendy Miller’s house to check things out.”
“If he’s out this time in the morning, that means there’s something really wrong with Wendy. She would never let him outside this early.”
He glanced toward the boy. “Yeah. I’m taking him over to the sheriff’s office until we find out. If something has happened to his grandmother, there has to be a relative who will take him.”
“He’s so adorable. I’m sure someone will want him.” Rico reached down to gather the boy into his arms and she quickly added, “Take the quilt. He’s still asleep. Call me when you find out anything.”
He frowned. “I don’t have your number.”
What! All the time she’d known Jericho amd she’d never given him her phone number. How stupid was that? Then it hit her. Maybe she was like the rest of the people in this town. She was willing to talk to him, but she would never invite him into her home. She would prove to him that she wasn’t like everyone else.
She pulled his phone from his pocket and added her number and then reached for hers on the counter and added his to hers.
“Done. We should have done that a long time ago.”
He settled Dustin on his shoulder and headed for the door.
“Rico...”
He glanced at her. “Hmm?”
She wanted to say something, but words failed her. Then she thought of the boxed kolaches on the counter. “What about the kolaches for Rebel Ranch?”
“I’ll get Elias to pick them up.”
“Okay. Call me about Dustin.” As he went out the door, a deflated feeling came over her. After all these years, why hadn’t she given him her phone number? Was she afraid her mother would find out? Was she a hypocrite like everyone else in this town?
CHAPTER TWO
THE BAKERY WAS on the east corner across the street from the courthouse, facing the main entrance. The sheriff’s office and the jail were on the west side and connected to the courthouse by a covered walkway. Jericho walked instead of taking his truck. He called Elias on the way, telling him about the kolaches, the boy and that he would explain later.
It was after six in the morning and a steady line of people were going into the diner for breakfast. Another morning. Another day. Jericho looked down at the boy in his arms. But this one would be different.
He went through the sheriff’s office door, but no one was at the front desk so he continued on into the office. Bubba was at a desk writing something in a file.
“Hey, Rico, what have you got there?” Bubba was a big guy, tall as Jericho, but he weighed close to three hundred pounds. That never held Bubba back. There wasn’t a friendlier person in Horseshoe, Texas.
“Dustin Miller. He walked into the bakery about five thirty this morning hungry and dirty. The sheriff is checking on his grandmother.”
“What were you doing at the bakery that early?” There was an accusatory tone in his voice and Rico didn’t like it. It was so unlike Bubba. But when it came to family, the Wiznowskis always pu
lled together. For a moment it crossed his mind that Bubba might think Rico wasn’t good enough for his sister.
“I was picking up kolaches for the guys at Rebel Ranch. We go to work early, you know, and Anamarie always has them ready early.” Rico laid Dustin on one of the cots in a cell and straightened to face Bubba, trying to ignore that feeling in his gut at the steel bars. “Do you have a problem with that?”
Bubba held up his hands. “No, man, no. You’re taking this the wrong way.”
“Which way should I take it?”
“Well, you know, my mom is...”
“She doesn’t like me,” Rico finished the sentence for him.
Bubba nodded. “Yeah. She’s kind of out there—” he made waves with his hand “—when it comes to Anamarie.”
“Why is that? Or is it just with me?”
Bubba looked down at the floor and usually Rico wouldn’t say another word. He’d already fought all his battles and he wasn’t looking for another one. But this was about Anamarie and that was too important for him to walk away.
“You’re judging me, Bubba, and your family is judging me without knowing the facts. You have no idea why I was in prison. You just know that I was and automatically that puts me on the outside of your righteous family.”
“Come on, Rico, that’s not true. The Rebel family accepted you and they mean a lot to me. They have been my friends all my life and that makes you my friend.”
Rico shook his head. “Until you can accept me for me without the Rebels’ approval, you’re not my friend.”
“Come on, Rico.”
The sheriff came through the door and Rico walked out of the cell to talk to him. Some things were more important than the hypocrisy of the Wiznowski family.
“What did you find out?” he asked the sheriff, Wyatt Carson.
When Rico had first come to Horseshoe, he steered clear of the sheriff and his deputies. He just felt safer that way. But over the years Wyatt had begun to trust him and treated him as a person and not a convict. He appreciated that and today their relationship was based on trust, especially after rescuing the kids from the school before the bombing.
Wyatt removed his hat and sat in his chair. It squeaked from his weight. Wyatt had to be in his forties and he’d been sheriff for a long time. Everyone respected him, as did Rico.
Scooting forward, Wyatt asked, “I sensed a little tension when I came in. Is something going on with you and Bubba?”
Rico always tried to be honest and today he didn’t shy away from that. “He and Miss Doris object to my friendship with Anamarie.”
“Anamarie, huh? I didn’t see that one coming and—” he held up a hand “—I’m not getting involved. But give Bubba a chance. He’ll come around. That’s the type of guy he is.”
Rico didn’t get a chance to respond as Bubba shouted from somewhere in the jail, “Wyatt, I’m clocking out.”
“Okay,” Wyatt called back. “But hang tight. I might need you some more today.”
“Will do.”
Rico was through with small talk. He needed to know what had happened at Mrs. Miller’s.
“Wendy has passed away, probably night before last,” Wyatt said before Rico could ask anything.
“That means Dustin was alone for two nights and a day.”
“The funeral home is picking up the body and Stuart is over there getting all the information. I talked to Mrs. Waring, who lives next door, and she said Wendy had pneumonia and the doctor wanted to put her in the hospital, but she refused because she didn’t have anywhere to leave Dustin.”
“What kind of neighbor is she that she didn’t offer to help?”
Wyatt glanced at Rico. “She’s eighty-five years old and uses a walker. There’s no way she could handle a four-year-old.”
“Sorry, the thought of that little boy walking around during the night looking for food just gets to me.”
“Mrs. Waring also said that Dustin’s mother is still in prison for drug use. There is a sister, but as I recall Darlene and Connie are not on good terms. Connie didn’t take Dustin when Darlene went to prison, so I’m guessing she’s not going to want him now. I’ll leave that up to CPS.”
“A four-year-old couldn’t have been easy for Mrs. Miller.”
“She was fifty-two years old, Rico, but had a lot of health problems. She was a heavy smoker and had COPD and used an inhaler every day, so yeah it probably wasn’t easy.”
Another place. Another time. A great-grandmother had accepted a four-year-old into her life and it had changed that little boy forever. Would Dustin be that lucky?
“I have to call CPS to find a home for Dustin until they can locate the aunt or a relative who will take him.”
“They’ll put him in foster care.” Rico’s stomach clenched. The words created a bad taste in his mouth and he knew he had to do something. “Wyatt, can I ask a favor?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll take him until they find someone.”
Wyatt leaned back his chair. “Rico, that’s very admirable of you, but I have to be honest. CPS will do a thorough background check before they place Dustin in your care. And you know what that means.”
“My record.”
“Yeah.”
“My record was supposed to be expunged. Will I have to pay for it the rest of my life? I’m a model citizen and you know that.” Rico looked at his friend. “You would vouch for me, wouldn’t you? To keep Dustin from being put into the system?”
“Rico.” Wyatt sighed. “I’d trust you with my own kids, but this is CPS. They have rules and have to cross their t’s and dot their i’s. I’m sorry, that’s just the way it is.”
“Then why is there so much abuse and neglect in foster homes?”
Wyatt shrugged.
“I can offer Dustin a home for now. I never take any vacation and I know Miss Kate and Falcon will give me some days off. Dustin needs someone to be there for him. One-on-one. Not a household full of kids. I can help him through this. I’ve been through it.” He stared into the sheriff’s eyes. “Don’t let me down. Don’t let Dustin down.”
“Rico...”
A loud wail sounded from the jail cell and Rico bounded for the door. Dusty was sitting up crying at the top of his lungs. Mickey barked just as loud. Rico quickly gathered the howling boy into his arms and said, “Hey, hey, buddy. I’m here. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Dusty buried his face into Rico’s chest. “I want my grandma. I want my grandma.”
“You have to tell him,” Wyatt whispered, standing in the doorway.
“I know.”
“I can do it, if you’d rather.”
“No, I just need a few minutes.”
“I’m going to talk to CPS.”
He held Dusty a little tighter and the boy drifted off to sleep again. Rico couldn’t do this alone. He needed help. There was only one person he wanted with him. He fished his phone out of his pocket and sent a text to Anamarie:
I need help telling Dusty his grandmother has died. Do you have time?
In a second he got a text back: I’ll be right there.
The weight on his shoulders lifted a little.
Dusty stirred and looked up at Rico. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“My real name is Jericho, but everyone calls me Rico.”
Dustin touched the scar on Rico’s face. “How did you get that?”
“In a fight.”
“Did you win?”
“Yeah.” Sort of.
“Can you take me home now?”
“We need to talk first, buddy.”
“Why?”
Rico heard the front door open and soon Anamarie was in the cell. Her face was slightly flushed, as if she’d run there.
She sat beside them. “Hi, Dusty. Look what I brought
you.” She handed him a sippy cup of milk.
“Thank you. I have to pay you for it.”
“No, no, you don’t. You’ve already paid me. Remember?”
Dusty sipped at the milk. “’Kay,” he mumbled.
Rico looked at Anamarie for guidance. He didn’t know how to start the conversation, but he knew he had to. Dusty took it out of his hands.
“I want my grandma.”
Rico’s arms wrapped around the boy and he struggled for words. The right words. “The sheriff checked on your grandmother and...she went home to Jesus.”
Dusty sat up, his dark eyes wide. “Without me?” he cried.
Clearly the boy misunderstood and Rico was going to have to say the words out loud. “Buddy, can you be brave for me?”
Dusty nodded, taking another sip of milk, his eyes on Rico.
He took a deep breath. “Your grandmother...died. That’s why you couldn’t wake her. She went to heaven to be with Jesus. Do you understand?”
“No!” Dusty shouted and threw the milk on the floor. “No!” Pitiful sounds erupted from his throat and then he laid his head on Rico’s chest and sobbed until Rico thought his heart would break. At that moment he realized he had never had the chance to cry for his own mother when she had died. But he’d cried for his great-grandmother like Dusty was crying now. That pain he would never forget.
Anamarie moved closer and stroked the boy’s hair. “It’s okay, sweetie. Cry all you want. Rico and I are here for you.”
“Rico,” Wyatt called from his office. “Can we talk a minute?”
“Sure.” With his thumb, he wiped a tear from Dusty’s cheek. “Stay with Anamarie. I’ll be right back.” He placed the boy in Anamarie’s lap and she cuddled him close. Dusty seemed content.
“I just got off the phone with the CPS worker for this area. At the moment she doesn’t have a foster home for the boy, but she said she would have one shortly just as soon as she could talk someone into it. All the foster homes are full.”
“And...” He was hoping the next part would be what he wanted to hear.