Christmas at Hope Ranch

by Loretta C. Rogers

  Nell’s gaze shot up, horrified. “Addy, I don’t mean to pry but, my goodness, child, you’re skin and bones. No wonder you look so pale and washed out.”

  Addison tried to make light of her foster mother’s alarm. “Flab is not acceptable in the world of fashion.”

  “You…you aren’t anorexic, are you?”

  Addison looked into her foster mother’s worried eyes. “In the beginning, yes, I did purge. Not anymore. Not for years. I’ve simply learned how to subsist on very little.”

  The answer didn’t seem to satisfy the woman who had raised her. Addison smiled at Nell. “I would never turn down your blueberry pancakes, or homemade chili. I won’t promise to eat a lot. I must maintain a size four or I won’t fit into any of my clothes.”

  Addison felt a foolish, almost overwhelming urge to fling herself into the older woman’s arms and sob, but she was no longer a child. Besides, years on the runway had taught her there was no room for displaying private emotions.

  Childhood remembrances continued to sweep over Addison as Nell’s deft fingers wove the silken strands into a long braid. “I’ve missed being home, Nell. My life…” With a hitch, her voice trailed off.

  Nell patted the young woman on the shoulder. “I suspect there’s more than a broken arm that’s brought you home, Addy. No pressure. When you’re ready to talk, you know I’ll listen, and without judgment.” She bent and kissed Addison on top of the head. “Now, off to bed with you, and don’t get up until you’re ready.”

  At the opened door, an upturned smile on her lips, Nell said, “Blueberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon for breakfast. You’ll need your strength. There’re chores to do, you know.”

  “Yes, I remember.” Addison held up her arm. “I’m not sure how much I can do with a bum wing.”

  Nell winked. “It only takes one hand to load a dishwasher, or feed the chickens, or collect eggs.” She eased the door shut.

  In the moonlit room, Addison snuggled under the covers and relaxed against the downy pillow. She swallowed hard to avoid giving full rein to her emotions. She fell asleep and dreamed of Humpty Dumpty, except the face on the large white egg was hers.

  ****

  On the drive back to his office, Addison intruded on Wade’s thoughts. He wondered what she was running from, and why after fifteen years she had suddenly returned to Meadow Creek. There was no doubting Addison James was beautiful. He wondered what really lay beneath the layers of makeup and false eyelashes—not just her physical features, but her integrity, her heart and soul.

  He silently recited the nursery rhyme “Humpty Dumpty.” Why had she asked him if he knew the poem? He suspected it had a lot to do with the sadness in her eyes that she’d tried to hide behind an artificial smile.

  She did appear slightly jaded. Her sarcasm hadn’t affected him in the way he thought it would, and her laugh had left an ache that mystified him. Her female scent permeated the truck, and he inhaled deeply. The memory of how their brief contact felt when he’d lifted her into the truck and the momentary heat that had flickered in her eyes caused a soft moan to slide from his lips. What the hell?

  He played good-cop-bad-cop with himself. The good cop wanted to believe that Addison had returned for rest and relaxation, to recuperate from the fall. From what he’d read on the internet, it was fortunate she had survived virtually unscathed, well, except for a broken arm and a gash over her eye. Unfortunately, one young model had been crushed to death under the weight of the scaffolding.

  His bad-cop persona argued Addison was running from…what? He figured she hadn’t returned to Meadow Creek to catch up on old times with her foster mother. He justified this thought because Nell had mentioned on occasion that unlike the other children she had fostered, Addison never sent Christmas cards or greeting cards of any kind, and on Nell’s sixty-fifth birthday bash, out of the fifty kids that Nell had opened her home and her heart to, Addison hadn’t responded to the invitation.

  Wade wheeled his truck into the parking space in front of his office. He sat in the warmth and listened to Dean Martin crooning “Walking in a Winter Wonderland,” while mulling a rampage of concerns about Addison. Whatever her reason for returning, as long as Nell’s heart didn’t get hurt he was willing to give Addison the benefit of the doubt. When the song finished, he switched off the radio and stepped into the cold night air. He battened his hat against the wind as he sprinted up the steps.

  Inside, the night dispatcher glanced up from the mystery novel she was reading. Millie Mann pointed over her shoulder. “Coffee’s fresh and hot.”

  He set the bag on the desk. “Gift from Nell—fresh gingerbread.”

  Millie opened the bag and removed a wrapped dark brown wedge. She sniffed and purred her pleasure before removing the protective paper wrapping and uncapping the plastic container of clotted cream. “Perfection.”

  Wade shucked out of his coat and hung his hat on the hall tree. He poured two cups and set one in front of the dispatcher, who was old enough to be his grandmother. She always claimed the only way she’d retire was if she was carried out with her boots on and toes turned to the sky. “Anything exciting happen while I was out?”

  Millie chuckled. “The widow Turley called in, frantic, saying someone was trying to break into her house.”

  Wade propped his long legs on his desk and leaned back in the chair. “Did you remind Freddie not to turn on the siren?”

  “I did.” She was thoughtful for a moment. “I swear I don’t know how that poor boy made it through the police academy.”

  Wade waggled his eyebrows. “That’s why he isn’t allowed to keep his revolver loaded.” It was common knowledge that Freddie Sumner was easygoing, good-natured, and about as bumbling as they come. “And…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. His daddy’s money…ˮ Millie’s voice trailed off when the young deputy entered the office, cat hair clinging to his coat.

  The deputy expelled a series of sneezes. “False alarm.”

  “Freddie Sumner, what in Hades happened to your jacket and your face?” Millie set her book and the gingerbread aside. She rushed to get the first-aid kit from the filing cabinet.

  The deputy touched the long red scratch on his cheek. “Like I said…false alarm. Busby—that’s the widow Turley’s tomcat—was outside, and was scratching on the bedroom window and yowling up a storm. I guess he was cold and wantin’ to get inside.”

  Freddie obeyed when Millie ordered him to sit down. “Anyhow, fool cat started hissin’ and spittin’ when I grabbed hold of him. Scratched my face and then dug his claws into my jacket when I tried to set him down.” Freddie guffawed. “For a minute I wasn’t sure who was gonna win…me or Busby.” He peeled the gloves off his hands. “Good thing I was wearin’ these.”

  A smile played in Wade’s voice. “How is Busby, and Mrs. Turley?”

  “Oh, they’re both okay. Mrs. Turley apologized for Busby, and said she was sorry for bringing me out on a wild goose chase.”

  Millie swabbed antibiotic ointment along the scratch. “Looks like you got the worst end of it.” She patted the young deputy on the shoulder. “You’ll live.”

  Freddie sneezed again. “Guess I’ll write out my report and file it.”

  Concern laced Millie’s voice. “I hope you’re not coming down with the flu. It’s going around, you know.”

  In the middle of another sneeze, Freddie managed, “Ca-ca-cat hair.”

  Millie returned to her desk and picked up the novel. “Better cat hair than a bullet.”

  Although only three years separated them, in some ways, his deputy seemed much younger, and definitely less mature, than the sheriff. The crestfallen look on the Freddie’s face tugged at Wade. “Take the rest of the night off, Freddie.”

  Freddie accepted a tissue and honked out a hefty blow. “Anything on my transfer to Baltimore, Sheriff?”

  “You’ll be the first to know, Freddie.”

  The deputy sighed. “Nothin’ excitin’ ever happens in
Meadow Creek.” He hefted on his coat, and thumbed a finger at his chest. “I’m tired of chasin’ cats and helpin’ round up stray cows. Wastin’ my talent as a lawman is what I’m doin’.” Situating the hat on his head, he bemoaned, “Wade, don’t you ever itch for some excitement, like an armored car heist or a shootout with gang members?”

  Wade reared back in the chair; he placed his hands behind his head. “Nope. The only itch for excitement I have is taking home the grand prize in next year’s big-mouth bass tournament.” He nodded toward the dispatcher. “Millie will fill out a requisition to get you a new jacket.”

  The zipper snagged as the deputy pulled it up. He made a frustrated gesture with his hands. “Freddie is a kid’s name. I’d appreciate it if everyone would call me Fred. I’m thirty-three years old, for gosh sakes.”

  Millie glanced at Wade. She winked. “Tommy Jenks is sixty-five. I’ve never heard him complain about folks not calling him Thomas.”

  The material tore as the deputy gave a forceful yank on the zipper. “Don’t make fun, Millie. I’m serious.”

  The chair squeaked as Wade set his feet to the floor and stood. He walked over and clapped Freddie on the back. “A name doesn’t make a man; it’s how he wears it that earns the respect he wants.” He glanced at the wall clock. “Go on home, Fred. Relieve me at six.”

  “Fred! Dang it! Don’t say it like you’re pokin’ fun at me.”

  Millie handed him the paper sack. “Here. Maybe this will take the sting out of your harrowing experience. Nell sent gingerbread and clotted cream.”

  “Well…well. Dang it…just…well. That’s all.” He grabbed the sack and without another word, Deputy Freddie Sumner turned on his heel and pushed through the double glass doors. Wade watched him trudge down the steps, one hand jammed inside a pocket of the tattered jacket and the other gripping the paper bag.

  “You know, with the political pull and money to back it, ol’ Ed Sumner could easily get Freddie the transfer he so badly wants.” Millie plopped a large piece of rum-cream-soaked gingerbread in her mouth, then picked up the mystery novel and opened it to the bookmarked page.

  Wade sauntered to his desk and sat in his office chair. “Uh-huh. For Freddie’s sake, let’s hope his father doesn’t do that.”

  Waking the computer from its hibernation mode, he typed Addison’s name in the search engine. He clicked on a link that opened to an article titled “Supermodel Set to Wed Billionaire Rowan Sarkozy.”

  The punch to the gut reaction surprised Wade when he looked at the picture of Addison wrapped in the arms of a man who looked as if he were in his late forties and wearing a killer smile, clearly a playboy, with a touch of gray at the temples and a manicured five o’clock shadow. Holding long-stemmed fluted glasses, the couple stood on the bow of a yacht. Addison was nothing to him, so why should he care who she married? And he’d never heard of Rowan Sarkozy. Wade emitted a low whistle when he read the price of the engagement ring.

  Quickly scanning through several articles and not finding what he was looking for left Wade frustrated and dissatisfied. He shut down the computer. “Millie, what do you remember about Addison James…when she lived with Nell?”

  The night clerk-dispatcher set her book aside. Swiveling her chair around to face her boss, she furrowed her forehead as if trying to recall long-lost information. “Best as I can recall, I think she was about six when Child Protective Services showed up on Nell’s doorstep with Addison and another little girl.” She pondered for another second. “I believe that was Ruby…uh-huh, Ruby Raye. I remember because I was at the ranch. It was late September. I and several other ladies from the church were helping Nell plan the annual bazaar for the Christmas festival.”

  She was thoughtful for a moment as she plopped the last bite of gingerbread in her mouth and washed it down with a generous sip of coffee. Wade thought perhaps her thoughts had meandered elsewhere and was about to prod her back to the present when she spoke.

  “I don’t know that it’s my place to be talking about Nell’s business. You know everything with foster kids is s’posed to be confidential.”

  “Millie, I’m the sheriff. I can spend hours researching CPS’s files, or you can tell me what you remember.” He made a zipping motion across his lips. “My lips are sealed. Whatever you say is between the two of us.”

  The dispatcher harrumphed. “Sometimes I forget you’re the sheriff, because you’re so…so…”

  Wade smiled. “So dadgum young. Yeah, I know. You keep reminding me.”

  “Smarty pants!” Millie smirked. “So where was I? Oh, yes, wide-eyed with fear those two little girls were. They gripped each other’s hands like they’d never let go. Like I said, I think they were about six years old. Anyhow, Addison’s story is about as pitiful as it gets. Ruby Raye’s is fairly typical.”

  “How so—for Ms. James, that is?”

  “As I recall, it seems someone found her at the bus station in Boise. She was just sitting on a bench crying. Apparently no one saw who left her. Barely a toddler, she was too young to talk. There was no note or anything to identify her. Nell asked if the police had looked at the bus station’s security camera to see if it showed who left the little girl.” Millie stopped to make a sound of disgust. “Apparently, from what the caseworker said, the station manager reported that the camera had been out of commission for a couple of weeks. Humph. How convenient. From that point on, it seems the little girl was shuffled from one foster home to another until she came to live with Nell.”

  Wade felt the scowl on his face deepen as he leaned forward. “Then how did the authorities know her age, and how did she get her name?”

  “Nell asked the same questions. A doctor determined her age by the number of teeth she had cut. As for her name, apparently CPS named her.”

  Silence filled the office, broken only by the ticking of the large wall clock. Millie picked up her book and opened it to the marked page. “I can tell you one thing. From the very beginning it was obvious the girl was a natural beauty—and sassy-mouthed and defiant. Nell gave her heart and soul to all her kids. She made excuses for the girl and always said that Addison was—spirited.”

  Millie looked Wade square in the eye. “Remember when we celebrated Nell’s sixty-fifth birthday—all of Nell’s kids that could come came, and the ones who couldn’t either called to wish her well or sent cards and gifts? But there was nothing, absolutely nothing from Ms. Addison James.” She made a motion that reminded Wade of a hen ruffling her feathers.

  “I guess she had her reasons.” This last bit of information piqued his cop curiosity even more. “I was one of Nell’s kids. I can’t seem to remember knowing her.”

  “Well, it’s no wonder. First, you’re a few years older, so you would’ve been several grades ahead of her in school. Plus you and Ava had already been adopted.” It appeared Millie was doing a mental calculation. “By the time you graduated high school and joined the Marines, Addison would’ve only been fourteen or thereabouts.”

  He smiled. “Yep, in those days the only thing on my mind was football and…Gracie.” His eyes blurred. After all these years, the memory of the fiasco with his one and only love still stung.

  He stifled a yawn. “I’m grabbing a nap. Unless there’s an emergency, wake me before you clock out.”

  “Humph, it’d be nice to have a little excitement around here. Dull as a cemetery.”

  He chuckled. “Now you’re beginning to sound like Freddie.”

  Millie gave him one of her Don’t be a smarty-pants glares.

  Wade made himself comfortable in the jail cell reserved especially for him and his deputy. He lay on the cot, his hands folded behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. He didn’t like the direction of his thoughts. He had a sudden wild desire to run his fingers through Addison’s silvery strands of silken hair, and to frame her face with his hands, and to…he hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until Millie’s voice jerked him back to reality. His eyes clouded with sleep, he blin
ked until they cleared and he was able to focus.

  “It’s midnight, Wade.”

  He grunted a reply.

  “You were babbling a lot of nonsense.” Millie voiced her concern. “You okay…one of your bad dreams?”

  Wade swung his feet to the floor and sat up. He stretched and yawned, and made light of the dispatcher’s concern. “Nothing that a week-long fishing trip wouldn’t cure.”

  “Yep, I reckon. Anyhow, all’s quiet, coffee’s hot, and I’m taking my weary bones home.”

  He yawned again and riffled his hands through his hair. “It’s freezing out. I’ll drive you home.”

  “Not on your life. I can walk two blocks faster than you can get the heater going in the squad car.” Millie hefted into her jacket, tied a scarf over her head, and pulled on a pair of gloves. She collected her purse and pushed through the office door. “Call if you need me.”

  Wade merely nodded. After splashing water on his face, combing his hair, and straightening his tie, he poured a cup of coffee into his favorite mug, the one with a bass-shaped handle, and walked to the double-paned glass doors to stare out into the night. Meadow Creek was a beautiful old town with hiking trails, not far from Sun Valley and Jackson Hole, and with a population of less than a thousand. Nothing much out of the ordinary happened. Even the tourists seemed to respect the quiet ambiance of Meadow Creek.

  He realized he wasn’t studying the town or his current surroundings. Instead he was recalling another time, another place. Both hostile. Closing his eyes, he pressed his head against the cool glass. He understood his deputy’s urge for excitement. Once upon a time, he’d been a gung-ho eighteen-year-old eager to conquer the world. With a fifteen-year stint in the Marine Corps, including deployments in Africa, Iraq, and Afghanistan, he’d seen enough injustices to last him a lifetime. He’d put up plenty of safety nets these past four years to make sure he never slipped back into the darkness he’d so painstakingly left behind, and he continued to shove back the unpleasant images that threatened to escape from his mental closet. He surmised that Freddie might never appreciate the peacefulness of home until he’d experienced the ugliness of elsewhere.