The Rancher's Secret Son. Betsy St. Amant
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Still, awkwardness for a few weeks was a thousand times better than keeping her mouth shut around Max for that long.
“Please, Emma. You’re here. You’re available.” He paused, and she risked a glance. He was frowning as if hit with a sudden thought. “You are available. Aren’t you?”
Now. Here it was—her out. But no, she was completely, totally available. With zero reason to turn this opportunity down other than the one reason she couldn’t reveal. Her secret. Hadn’t she chosen this profession to help others? What would happen if she turned her back—would Max have to send the female campers home? Then what—juvie? Jail? Probation? House arrest? They deserved more than those options.
Because Cody deserved more than those options.
She pressed her lips together, unable to believe she was even considering this. “You can’t pay me. It’d seem unethical given my relationship to an existing camper.”
Max held up both hands in surrender, grinning as if he knew he had her. But then again, he’d always known. That was the problem. “Not an issue there, trust me. The extended staff is volunteer, anyway.”
Volunteer. Right. Volunteer to put herself in Max’s presence every day, ministering to kids she wasn’t worthy of teaching. Qualified, sure—but not worthy. Not with her own failures slapping her in the face every time the police showed up with Cody. Every time the phone rang with another telling of his misadventures. Every time he smarted off to her and snuck out of the house.
But if she didn’t offer what little she had, who would? Were the girls better off without her? She thought back to the list of “or else” options the judge had provided Cody and shook her head. No, she was the lesser of those evils for sure. Everyone deserved a second chance.
“So? What do you think?”
Well, maybe not everyone. She darted a glance at Max, at his hopeful mask permanently pressed in place, then at her mother’s silhouette in the kitchen, obviously listening to their every word. She pressed her lips together to hold in her sigh and nodded before she could talk herself out of it. “I’m available. I’ll do it.”
She might be available. But when it came to Max Ringgold, her heart was one hundred percent obligated elsewhere.
* * *
That hadn’t been as hard as he thought. Well, in some ways, maybe harder.
Max drove slowly away from Emma, refusing the urge to stare in his rearview mirror at her reflection still settled on the porch. Sitting next to Emma on the swing had been a blast from his past he’d never dreamed of reliving. Well, he’d dreamt of it all right—memories that refused to die, visiting him in his sleep—but he never imagined he’d actually be there again in person.
Though this time she’d squeezed as far away from him as possible. Definitely not like the last time they’d swung on her parents’ front porch, late at night while her parents slept, Emma tucked under his arm so closely that he barely had to move his head to plant a kiss on her strawberry-scented hair.
Max tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Those days were gone. Emma had obviously moved on since then, having a kid with someone who apparently wasn’t in the picture anymore. That was too bad for Cody, though he had to admit—deep down, he was a little relieved Emma was single. Clearly she’d been with another man at some point in her life, but at least he didn’t have to see the guy who’d stolen the only woman he’d ever loved.
But now he had to see her every day for a month.
He pulled back into the ranch drive a few minutes later and stopped to send a few quick text messages to his team members about the temporary change in staff. Thankfully Faith, his part-time worker, had agreed to stay the night instead of leaving after dinner as was her usual routine. She could supervise the girl campers until Emma arrived the next day.
Less than twenty-four hours.
He hit Send on a group text and tossed his phone on the seat beside him, pausing to take a deep breath and focus. Reset his mind away from Emma and back on his duties. Rest period would be about over by now, so it’d be time to introduce the kids to barn chores. Some of the teens would have never held a pitchfork in their life—never lifted so much as a finger, for that matter, toward real labor. Other kids in this camp probably had worked so hard as children because of their family’s financial circumstances, they’d been worn down and burned-out by age fourteen or fifteen. There were always different reasons for the rebel heart.
For him, it’d been a matter of history repeating itself.
He slammed the truck door shut just as Brady rode up the drive on his favorite horse, Nugget. Oh, man, Brady would have a time of it hearing Emma was back in town. After all the teasing he’d doled out to Brady a few years ago about his wife, Caley, when they were dating, Max would be in for an earful. He’d wait a bit, make sure the timing was right before telling him—and make sure Cody wasn’t nearby. The last thing the kid needed was to discover his temporary guardian had a history with his mom.
This was getting a little more complicated than he’d realized. No wonder Emma had been so hesitant to take the job. Still, it had to be done.
A quick glance confirmed the ranch was quiet, the barn not yet teeming with the afternoon activities. He probably only had a few minutes before the counselors rounded up the teens and brought them out.
Max squinted up at Brady against the afternoon sun, grinning as Nugget stomped and snorted beneath his friend. “Cut it out, Nugget. You’re not so tough.” He reached up and rubbed the horse under his mane. “I’ve seen you run away from a bull.”
Brady swung easily from the saddle, the leather creaking beneath his displaced weight. “Yeah, I saw it a little too closely. From the ground up.”
“Not that you’re holding a grudge against me for being gone that time Spitfire got out or anything.” He crossed his arms and attempted a stern expression, but it was hard not to laugh at the story that never got old—Brady being chased across his pasture by an ornery bull who’d escaped his pen a few years ago.
“Actually, no. Not bitter at all.” Brady gathered Nugget’s reins over his head and looped them in his fist. “That was one of the things that brought me and Caley together.”
Max grinned. “Then you’re welcome.”
Brady shoved Max’s shoulder, and he laughed as they led Nugget toward the barn. “What brings you by, besides boasting about your marital bliss?”
“Not boasting. Just appreciating.” Brady tugged at Nugget’s reins to prevent him from nibbling the grass near the red structure. “Though I do hate to admit when you’re right.”
“Get used to it, pal.” Despite all his teasing along the way, Max had encouraged Brady, a former widower, to act on his feelings toward Caley when she’d worked as his daughter’s nanny. “Caley still volunteering at the fire department?”
Brady nodded. “Only when they get overworked, or when there’s a big fire.”
“So only during the times it would make you the most nervous.”
His friend rolled his eyes with a groan. “Pretty much. But it’s working out. She’s good at what she does.”
“No doubt.” Max looked again toward the dorms, halfway eager to tell Brady what had transpired in the past two days, and halfway dreading it. Though he’d never met her, Brady knew the whole story about Emma—the whirlwind relationship, the way Max fell faster than a steer during a team roping competition. Her desertion. If anyone would “get it,” it’d be his friend.
But admitting he was still so affected by her didn’t come naturally.
“I actually came to borrow your wire puller.” Brady gestured toward the general direction of his property. “Have a fence to repair and Ava broke mine last time I let her help.” He cut his eyes at Max. “And trust me, I say help lightly.”
Max