The Chosen Child. Brenda Mott
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shuddered, thinking of the things cops in bigger cities had to deal with. Things like kids as young as Dustin being jumped in to gangs through initiation beatings and worse.
“So, his friends painted a squad car, too?”
“Nope.” He chuckled, and the sound sent a pleasant shiver up her spine. It had been a while since she and Cody had laughed together. “The trouble Dustin got into with me and his foster parents was enough to make his pals change their minds. He cooled his heels in juvie for a couple of days, then the judge assigned him forty hours of community service. I’ve had him pulling weeds and mowing the grass around the station, the senior housing units and the park. But his foster parents—Frank and Sylvia Thompson—have been harder on him than I’ve been.
“Dustin’s been getting into quite a bit of mischief lately, though he hasn’t broken any laws, until now. Or at least, none that we know of. They’re fed up with his nonsense. Asked me to keep him busy here on the ranch, too. So I have.” He gestured at the walls around them, bringing Nikki’s focus back to the reality of her and Cody’s circumstances.
She looked through the doorway that divided the living area and kitchen from the bedroom and bath. Cody’s clothes hung from pegs on the walls, and she saw several personal belongings on top of a small chest of drawers squeezed into one corner between the window and the foot of the bed. Her throat constricted, and she fought back the hurt. “So, are you already sleeping here?”
“Not yet,” he said. “I figured I’d wait until you got back.”
Nikki plastered a humorless smile on her face and lifted her hands. “Well, I’m home. So I guess that means you’ll be sleeping here tonight.” She spun on her heel and left the room.
“Nikki.” Cody followed her, but she was already halfway across the room, halfway to her horse before he could close the door and catch up to her. She gathered Cheyenne’s reins, swung into the saddle and faced him. “What did you expect?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” She tried to sit up straighter in the saddle. To cowboy up. “I guess I knew this was coming…well, not this specifically, but that you might move out.”
“I thought it would be better this way.” Cody shrugged and leaned against a newel post, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Damn but he looked tempting standing there, hip cocked, black cowboy hat shadowing his face. He looked like a man who belonged here.
Nikki felt like the outcast, a stranger. Maybe she should be the one leaving.
It was going to be a long, hard summer.
“Sure.” She gave Cody a tight smile. “It’ll be better this way.” She lifted the reins and backed Cheyenne away from the hitching post. “I’ve got to finish unpacking. I’ll see you later.”
She spun the mare around and galloped down the trail toward the barn.
CHAPTER THREE
CODY WATCHED NIKKI ride away, his heart heavy. He wanted to go after her, sit her down and make things right between them. But he didn’t exactly know how to go about doing that.
He shook off the thought. Nikki needed a little time to let it sink in. Lord knew, it hadn’t yet sunk in for him—that they would actually be living apart. Sure, he was still on the ranch, but the acreage separating him from Nikki felt like the Grand Canyon. Still, he needed to focus on work and his search for Anna’s killer.
Not expecting Nikki to be home until tomorrow, he’d made arrangements for Dustin’s foster parents to bring him to the ranch this morning. Cody had a long row of fencing that needed to be repaired and replaced, and he figured it would keep Dustin out of trouble. It was also a good way to get to know him better. The more time he’d spent around the kid, the more curious he was about Dustin Holbrook.
In spite of his penchant for mischief, the only previous trouble Sylvia could recall was Dustin’s shoplifting a candy bar when he was eight. According to her and Frank, Dustin did things to get attention, even if that attention was negative. Like joining a gang and spray-painting a squad car. But his attitude made it difficult to find him a permanent home.
Cody rode back to the barn, but not until he’d given Nikki ample time to put her mare up and return to the house. He unsaddled Raven and rubbed him down before turning the gelding back out with the other horses. Forcing himself not to so much as glance at the ranch house, Cody made his way to his pickup truck, Max at his heels, and checked to make sure he had the tools and supplies he and Dustin would need for the fence.
Minutes later, the sound of a vehicle drew his attention, and Max barked a warning as the Thompsons’ minivan pulled into the drive. Sylvia parked beside Cody’s Chevy and leaned through the open window, her long, gray-streaked ponytail hanging over one shoulder. She gave him the same warm smile she always wore whenever he went through her checkout line at Wal-Mart. “Hi, Cody. How’s it going?”
“Not bad, Sylvia.” The lie rolled easily off his tongue. He nodded toward Sylvia’s husband. “Good to see you again, Frank.” He didn’t know Frank well, but he seemed like a pretty good guy. Walked with a limp as the result of some shrapnel he’d taken in his hip in Nam.
“Likewise.” Frank nodded. “I sure appreciate you finding some more chores for Dustin.” The older man shot the kid a look.
“No problem.” Cody craned his neck to peer into the van where Dustin sat in the middle seat beside one of his foster siblings, brooding as usual. He hadn’t taken kindly to the community service he’d been assigned, much less to the extra work Frank and Sylvia had sentenced him to. “Ready to string some fence, Dustin?”
“I guess.”
Progress. Not much, but some.
“I wanna help, too.” Five-year-old Michael spoke from the back seat. Beside him, the two-year-old, Jessica, began to fuss in her car seat.
“So do I.” Michelle, seven, smiled widely at Cody.
He smiled back. “You keep eating your vegetables, kids, so you’ll grow big and strong, and then we’ll talk.”
“I am big and strong,” Michelle insisted.
“I think I’m going to puke.” Dustin rolled his eyes and climbed from the van, his body language letting everyone know there were a thousand places he’d rather be than here.
“Dustin,” Frank warned, “mind your manners.”
But Dustin only scowled, ignoring Frank. With both hands he ruffled Max’s fur, avoiding further conversation. Cody had been surprised by the way the big German shepherd had taken to the boy—and vice versa—the first time the two had met.
Max’s normal attitude ran the gamut from aloof to forbearance. He’d been Cody’s dog for two years now, after a gunshot wound had put him out of commission as a K-9 officer with the neighboring Ferguson Police Department. Though he tolerated and respected Cody, Max had never shown much interest in bonding or being overly friendly toward anyone after losing contact with his partner. Until Dustin came along. Even now, despite his normal pickiness, he took the bone-shaped treat the boy withdrew from his pocket and chomped it down with enthusiasm.
Turning his attention from dog to boy, Cody noticed Dustin’s previously long and shaggy, chestnut-brown hair trimmed to a reasonable length. Yet he still wore baggy jeans and running shoes with his ball cap at a cocked angle to match his attitude. Instead of his usual oversized T-shirt, he’d put on a long-sleeved shirt, untucked. Stringing fence, even if it was barbless wire, wasn’t something a person wanted to do without the protection of sleeves and leather gloves.
“Let’s get to it.” Cody gave the van’s door a friendly tap. “’Bye, kids.” He waved at Jessica, who paused in the throes of fussing to stare at Cody, wide-eyed. Cody tried not to think about how the little girl’s big, blue eyes reminded him of the child he’d lost. “Frank, Sylvia, see you later.”
“Keep