Roping Ray Mccullen. Rita Herron
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Tears trickled down her cheeks. Ray and his brothers were still mourning their father.
So was she. But just like the rest of her life, she had to do it alone. She’d kept her distance at the funeral for fear someone would ask about her relationship with Joe. Plus, she’d respected him too much to intrude on his sons’ day.
Maybe she should just disappear from the McCullens’ lives now. Forget the will reading. Not ask for anything.
She had her memories of Joe. That was all she needed.
She started her engine and headed back toward her rental house.
She had survived being abandoned as a child, and now she’d earned her degree in social work and was helping other children like herself. She had a fulfilling job and she was giving back.
Even if she was alone at night, it didn’t matter. There were children who depended on her. She wouldn’t let them down just like Joe hadn’t let her down.
Her stomach twisted. Which meant she couldn’t run from the McCullens.
She needed the money Joe had left her to help The Family Farm.
* * *
RAY STUDIED THE sign for the children’s home—The Family Farm. The house was set back on several acres with room for livestock and stables, but he didn’t see any cattle or horses.
He maneuvered the drive and parked in front of the rustic wooden structure that reminded him more of a fishing lodge than a home for children.
Someone had probably designed it that way. Smart.
A big front porch overlooked the property, the two-story house more welcoming than he’d expected. A van was parked to the side with an emblem of a circle of children holding hands and the name painted on the side. Two other vehicles were parked in the graveled lot. Probably employees.
He climbed out and walked up the steps, then knocked. A pudgy middle-aged woman with a short brown bob answered the door. “Yes?”
“My name is Ray.”
“Faye Gideon,” the woman said with a warm smile. “What can I do for you?”
“May I come in and talk to you?”
A slightly wary expression flickered in her eyes, and she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. “It’s dinnertime for the kids. What’s this about?”
He didn’t want to divulge that he was a private investigator yet. “I recently met a woman named Scarlet Lovett. She said she grew up here.”
Faye’s eyes widened, but a smile flitted across her face. “Yes, Scarlet. She did live here. Now she’s a social worker and helps place kids in forever homes when she can.” She opened the door and stepped onto the porch. “What did you say your name was?”
“Ray McCullen.”
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my goodness, I thought you looked familiar. You’re one of Joe’s boys, aren’t you?”
Ray swallowed. “Yes, ma’am. You knew my father?”
“Of course!” Faye grinned. “He volunteered here. That’s how he connected with Scarlet. But if you’ve met her, you probably know all of this.”
So Scarlet’s story was true.
“I’m so sorry about your daddy,” Faye said. “We all loved him. He was so wonderful with the children. We used to be in this old house nearer to town, but it was small and run-down, and Joe helped us build this place. Now we have twelve rooms, a big kitchen and land for the children to run and play.”
Ray couldn’t believe what she was saying. This wasn’t the man he remembered from his high school years at home.
“We’re all sad that he passed and will miss him,” Faye said. “Do you want to meet the children? They’ll be thrilled to visit with one of Joe’s sons. He talked about the three of you all the time.”
Emotions welled in Ray’s throat. Why hadn’t his father told him about this place? About what he was doing?
Because you left and never came back. You refused to talk to him.
And now it was too late.
* * *
SCARLET PARKED AT her rental house outside Pistol Whip, still shaken over the conversation with Ray McCullen. But there was nothing she could do tonight except give him time to process the bombshell she’d dropped on him.
Heart heavy, she let herself inside the tiny house. Although it was small, she had filled it with homey furniture, handmade quilts and crafts from Vintage Treasures, and she’d hung photographs of the farmland where the orphanage was housed on the walls.
She loved the beautiful landscapes and had been excited about Joe’s plans to add a stable and horses so the children could learn to ride. He’d also intended to add farm animals and assign the children chores to teach them responsibility. Working together would make them feel like a real family. God knows, most of them were plagued with self-doubt, insecurities and emotional issues.
She lit a fire in her fireplace, brewed a cup of tea, then grabbed her files and spread them on the kitchen table. She was most worried about one of the preteen boys, Trenton Akers. He was angry and lashing out at everyone, which made it more difficult to find him a forever home.
But there was a four-year-old, Corey Case, who a couple from Cheyenne were interested in. She opened the file on the couple to study their background check, but a noise outside startled her.
She went to the back door and peeked through the window in the laundry room. Wind hurled leaves across the backyard that jutted up to the woods. Night was setting in, the gray skies gloomy with shadows.
Suddenly she heard the doorknob jiggle, and she crept to the back door. A second later, the door burst open and Bobby appeared. He’d always been a foot taller than her, but he’d gained at least twenty pounds, making him twice her size.
Her lungs squeezed for air at the fury radiating from him. Beard stubble covered his face, and he reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. “Hello, sis. We have to talk.”
Scarlet inhaled sharply. “Bobby, you’re drunk. Come back when you’re sober.”
He gripped her arm, then dragged her toward the living room and shoved her against the wall. “No, Scarlet. We’re going to talk now.”
Fear crawled through her. She’d borne the brunt of Bobby’s temper before, and barely survived it.
No telling what he’d do now that Joe wasn’t around to protect her.
Ray reluctantly stepped inside The Family Farm house.
Part of him wanted to deny everything Faye was telling him, go home and forget about Scarlet Lovett.
But he couldn’t forget about her. Not if his father had included her and this other son in his will.
Bobby Lowman—his half brother.
Good God...he still couldn’t believe it. His father had another son. One he and Maddox and Brett had known nothing about.
Maddox and Brett were going to have a fit.
As he scanned the interior of the farmhouse, he couldn’t deny his father’s influence. It reminded him of the house on Horseshoe Creek. Wood floors, sturdy oak furniture, a giant family table in the dining room, a kitchen adjoining it that held another big round wooden table and a butcher-block counter.
Landscape paintings and farm and ranch tools decorated the walls in the hall and the dining room where several kids of varying ages sat eating what smelled like homemade chicken potpie.
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