The Doctor's Texas Baby. Deb Kastner
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across her face.
For now.
What did that mean? That she wasn’t planning to stick around?
Surely not. She couldn’t be so coldhearted as to just waltz into town, inform Wyatt that he had a son and then disappear again.
Could she?
He didn’t have the opportunity to clarify, because at that moment Bea Brewster approached, saying she’d managed to round up Gabe Everett, who was the president of the local chapter of the Lone Star Cowboy League, and attorney Harold Haverman, who was representing the Culpepper estate. They were awaiting Carolina’s presence in Bea’s office.
Carolina reached for Matty, and Wyatt reluctantly handed him back to her. Right when he was starting to adjust to the feel of Matty’s chubby little body in his arms, the boy had been taken from him. Wyatt desperately craved more time. Much more.
He started to follow Carolina to Bea’s office but then paused. If Gabe and a lawyer were involved in the meeting, it wasn’t exactly his business to invite himself. Though he didn’t know any of the details, he assumed the gathering had something to do with the terms of Cyrus Culpepper’s will and the town’s ability to retain the new boys ranch facility.
Before Carolina went anywhere, though, Wyatt intended to tell her where he stood in regard to fatherhood—in regard to Matty. He wanted to make sure his feelings on the matter were perfectly clear.
He just needed the opportunity, which would be difficult when Carolina was deep in conversation with Bea.
“You are welcome to join us, Wyatt,” Bea offered, casting a grin at him.
Wyatt agreed right away, partially because he volunteered at the boys ranch and thus had some vested interest in the legal matters that would be presented, but mostly because he was determined to find the opportunity to speak to Carolina once the meeting was adjourned.
As they walked back toward Bea’s office, Wyatt gave Bea an apologetic smile and snagged Carolina’s elbow, urging her aside for a moment. He bent his head to whisper close to her ear so the others wouldn’t hear.
Her eyes met his, large and unblinking. He’d forgotten the way those pretty golden-brown eyes, rimmed with thick, dark lashes, used to do a number on him.
Well, not this time. He ignored the tightening of his throat and the way his gut flipped over.
“We’re not finished here,” he warned.
“No. I didn’t think we were.” Her gaze broke away from his and she sighed deeply.
“Just so I know we’re on the same page.” His voice was low and huskier than usual.
The same page?
They weren’t even in the same bookstore. The three previous years spanned behind them like a dilapidated rope bridge, and an enormous, gaping breach lay before them. From his vantage point, it seemed like an impossible chasm to cross.
But he had to try.
For his son.
For Matty.
* * *
Carolina felt very much like she’d just escaped a firing squad, if only temporarily.
How had she not planned for this contingency? Why had it not occurred to her that, free from the burden she and Matty would have been for him, Wyatt would not have taken the very first plane out of the country?
But she hadn’t, and Wyatt was here in Haven, and she didn’t know what she was going to do about it.
She didn’t even know what her options were.
Maybe she should just take care of this legal matter and leave Haven behind her, this time for good.
Except, she reminded herself, she had nowhere else to go. No family. No friends outside Haven other than her ex-roommate and work acquaintances. Nothing.
She’d been living in Colorado since she’d left Haven, working as a nurse at a senior center and hospice. She was surviving, if not thriving, as a single mother. She’d found the Lord, and God was faithfully seeing her through, one deliberate step at a time.
But then, in a matter of weeks, her life had completely upended and fallen apart. She’d taken a bad turn on a ski slope and trashed her knee, which had required major surgery and months of physical therapy. And then her great-uncle Mort had passed away.
Between her hospital stay and recovery, combined with her doctor permanently banning her from lifting more than fifty pounds, her entire life had quickly fallen apart at the seams. Lifting fifty pounds—sometimes much more when patients slipped and fell—was required for a first responder in a nursing home, and the senior center had simply let her go, which was a nice, polite way of saying she was fired.
And then, to top it all off, her roommate, who had been Matty’s primary caretaker while Carolina was in the hospital, had eloped with her boyfriend, leaving Carolina on her own without the means to cover her month-to-month rent on her apartment and nobody available to watch her son while she looked for work.
It was a catch-22 to put all others to shame.
It had frightened her beyond measure that there was a very real possibility that she and Matty might end up living in a homeless shelter. She might have grown up in the country with a single mother, where there was sometimes little left over, but there had always been a roof over her head and enough food to go around.
Now it was her responsibility to make sure Matty had the same security.
Somehow.
As devastated as she’d been about Uncle Mort’s passing, when she discovered he had willed her his cabin in Haven, it had been an answer to her prayer. Owning his cabin free and clear, she would be able to live rent-free—at least until she got back on her feet and was more financially stable. Then she could make more permanent decisions about their future.
The letter from Haven’s Lone Star Cowboy League arrived soon after, when she was packing up her apartment to make the move, and she felt as if the Lord was validating and confirming her plans. After the frightening time when it had felt like her whole life was going down the drain, life suddenly appeared to be on an uptick. She thought maybe everything might be turning around, falling into place for her and Matty.
And they had been.
Until she’d run smack-dab into Wyatt. Now she was wondering if her life had just taken the biggest downturn of all.
“Carolina,” Bea said, her voice breaking sharply into Carolina’s thoughts. With effort, she turned her attention to Bea. “First, we would all like to express our appreciation for your rapid response to our letter.” Bea took a seat behind her desk and clasped her hands in front of her, her expression unusually grim. “And we appreciate the fact that you’ve taken the time out of your busy schedule to come see us.”
Carolina bit the inside of her lip. If only Bea knew. Her schedule was, unfortunately, wide-open.
“We were concerned when we never heard directly from Morton,” Bea continued politely.
Bea was a tall middle-aged woman with bobbed brown hair and dark eyes set off by horn-rimmed glasses. She definitely looked the part of the capable boys ranch director—which was the position she’d maintained for approximately the last twenty years. Her sensible jeans and well-worn boots attested to her proficiency.
Carolina was acquainted with Gabe, a muscular, dark-haired man with friendly blue eyes. He’d been a couple of years ahead of her in school. She assumed that the imposing silver-haired man who popped his leather briefcase open on the corner of Bea’s desk was Harold Haverman, the lawyer representing the Culpepper estate.
Even though Wyatt hung back, leaning his broad shoulder against the door frame instead of fully entering the office, Carolina felt his presence so deeply that it filled the entire room.
Or maybe it