A Cowboy In Shepherd's Crossing. Ruth Logan Herne
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she said.
He nodded. “It lists everything. Mother. Father. Date and time of birth. Place of birth. We’re haying today, but if you give me a day or two, I’ll bring it by so you can see it for yourself.” Whatever had happened back then, he had government-certified proof of who he was. Clearly the old woman was mistaken.
“It is the practice in many states to alter the birth certificates of adopted children, Jace. Adoptions back then were meant to be private affairs for a reason. I have the original certificate here.” She reached into an old purse and withdrew a folded, faded sheet of paper. Then she handed it over.
He didn’t want to look at it.
What if it was true?
He unfolded the paper and read the information there. And his heart chugged to a slow, draining stop in his chest.
“Jace.” Lizzie had stood, too. She gripped his arm gently.
He read his birth date.
The time of birth, the place—all exactly the same as his certificate at home. But the names were different. He swallowed hard, wanting to shove the paper back at her and walk out the door. Wanting—
“I know this is hard, but there’s a reason I’m here today.” The old woman hunched forward. “I have things to fix.”
Not on his dime.
He set down the paper. He didn’t crumple it and throw it back at her, which is what he wanted to do. No. He set it down and started for the door.
“Jace.” The old woman stood and began to hobble after him. She looked frantic, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care one bit, he—
“I’m not looking for forgiveness.” She rasped the words and his heart lurched. “I’m looking for help. For labor.”
None of this was making sense, but he turned back. “Listen, Mrs. Hardaway...”
“Gilda. Please.” She held out a picture of the old, rambling house on Hardaway Ranch. The place must have been a beauty in its time, but that was a generation or two back. Now it was a neglected wreck with a grumpy recluse living inside. “I had to tell you the truth, Jace, because I need you. Your sister’s gone off, leaving her two babies. If we don’t step in and do something to claim those little girls, they’ll end up in foster care. And I can’t let another wrong go unchecked.”
Now she had his attention. “What do you mean about my sister? About babies?”
“Valencia.” Corrie breathed the word softly. She folded her hands tight in her lap, as if praying.
“You know her?” asked Mrs. Hardaway.
“I have met her twice, but it’s the children I know best. Two beautiful children, twin girls. Ava and Annie. Rosie watches them here on the ranch. But I believe that Valencia has a mother working at the Carrington Ranch. Correct?”
“She did, but she’s left there and gone to Florida. Lora Garcia is her adoptive mother and she wants nothing to do with Valencia or those children,” Gilda told them. “She has made that clear. But I cannot turn my back on another child. I’ve done that three times.” She stood and locked eyes with Jace. “I must make amends, but my house is unlivable for children.”
“You’re thinking of taking these children?” This reclusive woman could barely care for herself. “Impossible. If what you say is true—”
“It is,” she interrupted firmly, then waited.
He prayed.
In his head, quiet as can be, he prayed because right now he had no idea what to do. Except he knew he couldn’t turn over two small children to an elderly woman with health issues and a laundry list of regrets regarding children already. He’d seen the two little girls at Rosie’s house a time or two. He hadn’t thought much of it. Now he’d be able to think of nothing else. “I will take charge of the children.” He thought he glimpsed a gleam of approval in her eye, but if he did, it was short-lived. “Unless you have objections to their dark uncle taking charge.”
She flinched, but then shook her head. “No objections at all. I don’t have energy for little children, I’m not what they need, but I’ve got money.”
He didn’t need her money. “I—”
She raised a hand “To hire you. And her.” She poked a finger toward Lizzie’s very surprised sister and Melonie’s eyes opened wide. “To make a difference. I want my house to be beautiful again. To be a place I can be proud to leave for these children. It’s time I took charge, Jace. And I’ve seen your work.” She tapped the magazine as she drew Melonie into the conversation. “It’s remarkable and inviting. I want you to do the designing.” She turned to face Jace again. “I want you to make her designs come true. If you can both look at the project once the hay is in the barn, you can come up with an estimate and I’ll give you start-up costs. Then we’ll have begun to fix two things. My great-grandchildren will have a place to live. And maybe the ranch won’t look sad and lonely anymore.”
Renovate her home. Her ranch. Take on the custody of twin toddlers he didn’t know.
Six hours ago he’d lamented his lack of family in Shepherd’s Crossing.
What a joke. Because now he seemed to have more family than he knew what to do with...
He caught Melonie’s eyes across the room. She had the grace to stay quiet, but what choice did he have?
He turned toward Lizzie and Corrie. “I’ve got to help get the hay in. Rain’s expected and my house isn’t ready for two little kids. Can I impose—”
Melonie stood up. “It’s no imposition. You can have my room here. I’ll bunk in the stable with Lizzie.” She faced her sister. “There’s room, isn’t there?”
“Always, Mel. It will be like old times,” Lizzie said quietly. “The horses won’t bother you?”
“Not as long as they stay downstairs.”
They’d thrown him a lifeline. A lifeline he’d gladly take hold of. “I’d be grateful,” Jace told them. “Just until I can get things right at the house. And—” he turned toward Melonie and had to eat his words from that morning “—the advice you offered this morning?”
“About your house?”
The sudden addition of two toddlers negated his reluctance to change things up. “I’m ready to take it.”
He went through the door and didn’t look back. The women would sort things out with Gilda, and they’d be more diplomatic than he could be right now.
He crossed to the hay stacker, climbed in and turned it on. He spotted Wick and young Harve making bales in the far field. He aimed the stacker that way while his mind churned on what he’d just heard.
He hated that it made sense. He hated that the two wonderful, faith-filled people he loved weren’t really his parents and had never trusted him enough to tell him. Why would they keep this a secret? It wasn’t like there was shame in adoption.
He’d been hoping for local jobs to crop up again. He’d said that often enough, and here was a mammoth one being laid at his feet, a job that hinged on something he’d never much thought of until just now. The color of his skin and the accidents of birth.
His grandmother hadn’t wanted him thirty years ago. She’d made sure he was tucked in with a lovely black family because it fit.
And now it didn’t.
His phone buzzed. He pulled it out. Glanced down. I scheduled a meeting with Gilda Hardaway for 3:00 p.m. tomorrow. Okay?
It was from Melonie Fitzgerald, telling him what to do and how to do it. Could this possibly get any worse?
He sighed, texted back Yes and shoved the phone away because he was pretty sure it could get worse.