Cowboy for Keeps (17 page)

Epilogue

Five months later

Conner stood outside Dallas's hospital door, holding a
bouquet of freshly cut flowers. He'd been about to go in, and hesitated when he
spotted Richard standing over the bassinet and gazing fondly at his daughter,
Grace Marina. She was named for both her grandmothers, who'd been there for the
birth and only left within the past hour.

Conner thought Richard had left, too.

He didn't barge in. Instead he gave Richard and Dallas a few
minutes of privacy. Conner would have to get used to that. They were Grace's
parents and, as such, there'd be times when Conner would have to watch silently
from the sidelines.

He was okay with that. Just as Richard would be okay watching
silently from the sidelines when it came to Conner and Dallas.

They'd done pretty well so far, handling potentially awkward
and difficult situations with calm and reason. Such as the holidays, Conner and
Dallas's wedding two months ago and Grace's birth late last night. When Conner
would have remained outside in the waiting room, Richard had agreed to Dallas's
request that he be allowed to stay during the delivery.

Conner had held her hand. It was Richard, however, who got to
hold baby Grace first, after Dallas.

Next time, when Conner and Dallas gave Grace a younger brother
or sister, he would hold Dallas's hand
and
the
baby.

“Hey, come on in.”

He looked up to find Richard smiling foolishly—like a man who'd
just become a father for the first time—and motioning him in the room.

Dallas reached out a hand. When he neared the bed, she drew him
down for a light peck on the lips. “Baby's sleeping. Mommy wants to sleep,
too.”

None of them had rested more than a few hours after the 1:27
a.m. birth. Conner's Z's were courtesy of the painfully uncomfortable chair
beside Dallas's bed.

“Better hurry,” he told her. “I think you're being released in
a few hours.”

“Are these for me?” She took the flowers. “They're lovely.”

“I'm heading home.” Richard stretched and yawned. “Call me if
you need anything.” He came over and kissed Dallas on the forehead.

“I will. Thank you, Richard.”

There was affection in their voices, that of two friends and
two people committed to being wonderful parents to their daughter.

“Do you mind if I stop by tomorrow after work to visit Gracie?
I won't stay long.”

“That would be fine.”

“I'll bring dinner if you can stand eating takeout.” Richard
extended his hand to Conner.

They weren't going to be one big, happy family. But they would
manage well enough.

After Richard left, Conner went over to the bassinet and took
in his fill of sleeping Grace. Unable to resist, he slipped his index finger
into her tiny, delicate hand and was rewarded with a light squeeze.

“Sleep tight, beautiful girl.”

She was beautiful, a combination of the best traits from both
her parents.

Conner would have some influence on her, too. If he had
anything to say about it, she'd grow up to be the roughest, toughest cowgirl in
Mustang Valley. About the time she was ready for her first horse, Pito would be
trained and gentled.

The tradition of wild mustangs and the cowfolk who rode them
would continue for another generation.

He returned to the bed. Dallas was almost asleep, her eyelids
drifting shut, the bouquet of flowers in her hand.

There were several other floral arrangements in the room, one
from Infinity. Conner's job had turned out to be harder than he'd anticipated,
and came with demanding hours.

He loved every minute and couldn't wait to go to work in the
mornings.

The only thing he loved more was coming home in the evenings to
Dallas.

He bent and nuzzled her cheek. “I love you.”

She mumbled her love in return before drifting off again.

Conner thought about lying down next to her, but then little
Gracie started making anxious mewling sounds. He went over and instinctively
rested a hand on her tummy to comfort her. She didn't stop.

Not wanting the cries to wake Dallas, Conner lifted Grace out
of the bassinet, adjusted her blanket and held her against his chest.
“Shhh.”

“Bring her here,” Dallas said sleepily, and set the flowers on
the nightstand.

She'd woken up anyway, despite his efforts. He supposed mothers
were keenly attuned to their babies' every noise and movement. Especially new
ones.

Carrying Grace, he laid her in Dallas's outstretched arms. She
scooted over and patted the mattress beside her.

While she held their baby, Conner held her—and kept holding her
long after she fell asleep.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
Rancher's
Son
by Leigh Duncan!

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Chapter One

Sarah Magarity rose to her tiptoes on the stepladder.
The large silver star atop the Christmas tree wobbled when her fingers brushed
against it. As she wrestled the heavy ornament from the center post, it tipped,
threatening to throw her off balance. For a second, Sarah saw herself lying on
the floor, alone and injured, through the long holiday weekend. Normally hectic
on a Thursday afternoon, the Department of Children and Family Services in Fort
Pierce, Florida, had slowly emptied once the tech guys shut down the computers
for a system-wide upgrade. Now only a tree that smelled more like plastic than
pine stood between her and a much-needed two weeks out from under a crushing
workload.

Two weeks of white, sandy beaches and a cell phone that didn't
buzz with a new crisis every ten minutes. Two weeks of gathering plants for her
growing collection of tropical flowers. Sarah took a deep breath and braced
herself against the wall. She could almost smell Hawaiian orchids and
plumeria.

Dreaming of ukuleles and fruity concoctions decorated with tiny
umbrellas, she whistled a slightly off-key version of “Somewhere Over the
Rainbow.” Carefully, she toted the star down the ladder. Her foot had barely
touched the worn carpet when one of the doors at the main entrance swung open.
Sounds of heavy traffic on U.S. Highway 1 blared into the office before the door
swished closed. Silence, broken only by the noisy hum of an air conditioner,
once more filled the room.

“C'mon, Jimmy.” A voice whined over the warren of empty
cubicles. “We hav'ta find someone pronto. It's late.”

Late for what?

Sarah swallowed a groan. Whoever had arrived at four-thirty on
Christmas Eve, they were late, all right. The holiday party for kids in foster
care had ended at two.

“Can I help you?” Sarah prayed the curvy brunette rounding the
last of the partitions wanted nothing more than grocery money. A couple of
ten-dollar gift cards, and not much else, remained in the emergency fund.

“This is Jimmy Parker.” The woman's plunging neckline dipped
perilously low as she placed her hand square on the back of the little boy at
her side and shoved. The child stumbled forward. “His mom asked me to drop him
off.”

Sarah mustered a smile for the pair of sad brown eyes that
peered up from beneath a thatch of sandy-blond hair. The boy's hollow gaze met
hers only briefly before he looked away. When his focus dropped to a pair of
tattered sneakers, Sarah hiked an eyebrow. She skimmed over high-water jeans,
frowned at a shirt Goodwill would reject. Fighting a protective nature that made
her want to wrap the little boy in her arms and make everything right in his
world, Sarah stiffened her spine.

The brutal truth was, a dozen kids just like this one walked
into the DCF offices each month. She had a hundred more open cases in her file
cabinet. She couldn't give every child assigned to her the attention they
deserved. Not and still keep her sanity. The situation was far from her
idealistic dream of how things ought to work. But there were too many at-risk
kids, too few dollars to go around and too few workers to do the job.

Letting her eyes narrow, she faced the older of her guests
head-on. “You're too late.” She grimaced when a little more vehemence than usual
crept into her voice. “The party was hours ago. You should have been here
then.”

Despite herself, Sarah glanced across the room at a whimsical
mural of a sleigh propelled by eight flying porpoises. Were there any presents
left? Not a chance. Every gift from Santa's bag had been distributed into the
eager hands of other kids who were just as needy as this one.

“Party?” The latecomer's dark eyebrows lifted. “Who said
anything about a party?” The brunette chewed a wad of gum and swallowed. “I
promised to deliver the kid, and here he is.”

An uneasy feeling settled in Sarah's chest when her visitor
dropped a worn duffel bag to the floor.

“Hold on a sec,” she ordered. “Maybe you'd better start at the
beginning and tell me exactly what brought you here. I'm Sarah Magarity, the
senior caseworker.” She paused for a look around. With no husband or children of
her own to rush home to, she'd offered to keep the office open until closing
time. A skeleton staff would report in on Monday and man the offices through the
New Year. For tonight, though, she was it. “And you are?”

“Candy. Candace, really, but everyone just calls me Candy.” The
woman settled one hand on a cocked hip. “Candy Storm. And this little guy,” she
said, tapping a bloodred fingernail on the boy's head, “is James Tyrone Parker.
Jimmy. He's five. His mom was my best friend.”

The implication sent Sarah's stomach into free fall. She swept
another look at the child who studied the stained carpet at his feet. “His mom
is…?”

“Yeah.” Candy blinked several times before patting the skin
beneath lashes so long they had to be fake.

“I think you and I should talk privately.” Sarah motioned
toward a nearby cubicle. “Jimmy, I need you to watch TV or play with some toys
while Miss Candy and I chat for a few minutes.”

Without waiting for a response, Sarah took the child's tiny
hand in hers. His thin shoulders and bony frame raised troubling questions. When
was the last time this kid ate? How long ago had his mother passed? Who had been
taking care of him since then? And where?

Her tone softened. “I think we have some cookies in the break
room. Would you like some?” When Jimmy didn't answer, she called to Candy. “Does
he have any allergies?”

The woman's gum snapped and popped before she shrugged a vague
“Nope?”

As the child scrambled onto the couch near the bare Christmas
tree, Sarah overlooked his soiled shirt and grimy fingernails, knowing that if
she accused the parents of every unwashed youngster of neglect, the foster
system would collapse under the load. Bruises or injuries were another matter,
and she scanned the child for visible signs. Her breath eased at the sight of
pale, but unblemished, skin. Relieved that the boy wasn't in immediate physical
danger—and thus, not really her problem—she clamped a heavy lid over the urge to
take him under her wing.

She couldn't get involved. Not now. Not when doing so would
ruin her plans for the holidays and dash her hope to rest and recharge. And,
after five years with the DCF in Melbourne and two more in Fort Pierce, it was
either that or quit. No, she shook her head, this little boy was Candy's problem
and he had to stay that way. At least until next week when her coworkers would
be back in the office. Steeling her heart, she settled him in front of a cartoon
video with a small plate of cookies and a juice box she took from the office
refrigerator.

“Okay, what's this all about?”

With Candy lagging behind, Sarah led the way to a cubicle where
a line of red
X
's across the bottom of the calendar
marked the vacation days she had to use or lose according to DCF's policy
manual. She waved her guest into the only other chair in the cramped space and
swung to her computer. She stilled. Until the IT department completed their
work, no one could access the DCF database. Or learn whether Jimmy Parker
already had a caseworker to look after him.

With a sigh, Sarah pulled a yellow legal pad and a pen from a
drawer and hoped Candy would quickly get to the point. Across the desk, the
woman gave her a petulant look, her jaw jutting forward.

“Millie, Jimmy's mom, made me swear if anything ever happened
to her, I'd bring the kid to Florida,” she said, with an accent from
considerably north of the Sunshine State. “She said his dad owns a ranch
somewhere near Lake Okeechobee. Jimmy's named after him.”

James Tyrone Parker.

Sarah pursed her lips at the memory of a tall, broad-shouldered
rancher with sun-bleached hair. She brushed a speck of dust from the desktop,
chasing the image away. Surely there were thousands of Parkers in the hundreds
of square miles bordering the largest lake in Florida. There were probably a
dozen Jims and Tys among them. The odds against this little boy's father being
the same Ty Parker she'd run out of DCF's offices last spring were practically
astronomical. Still, it wouldn't hurt to move the rancher's name to the top of
the list.

“And where's home, Candy?”

“New York, of course.” The brunette slid one slim leg across
the other. “Me and Millie met at a casting call for an ad agency when Jimmy was
just a baby. We was both trying to break into movies.” She leaned forward,
nodding the way people did when they had a secret to share. “It's tougher than
anybody thinks. Anyways…” Candy thrust her shoulders back until the fabric of
her T-shirt tightened. “I got the gig and Millie didn't, but we hit it off, you
know? Millie, she didn't have much acting experience. And the kid only made it
harder. I'd babysit when I could, but eventually Millie gave up and took a job
waitressing. That's what got her killed. Some guy knifed her f' tip money.”

Candy studied the floor. “After Millie died, it wasn't easy. I
did my best by him, but it's been three months, and the kid still asks f' her. I
took a job in Tampa over the holidays just so's I could bring him to you. I
guess you'll take it from here.” She shrugged and uncrossed her legs. “I got a
life, too. You know?”

“Look.” Sarah placed her hands flat on the desk. “The system
doesn't work that way.”

She scanned the notes she'd taken while Candy had rambled on.
Like acting, there was more to transferring a child into DCF's custody than one
might think. And nothing, absolutely nothing, could be done before the first of
the year when the computer system was up again.

“I'd need proof Jimmy is who you say he is. His birth
certificate. Millie's death certificate. And that's just the beginning. We'll
also need a home study to make sure you're able to provide a suitable
environment for a little boy until his father can be located.”

“Whoa, now.” Candy's hands rose defensively. “I'm not keepin'
him. I've done my part. As for those papers, I think I got everything you need
right here.” She reached into a voluminous bag and pulled out a raft of wrinkled
forms.

Thumbing through them, Sarah had to admit they substantiated
Candy's story. She smoothed the curled edges of a birth certificate listing
Millicent Gage and Tyrone Parker as Jimmy's parents. An odd feeling stirred in
the pit of her stomach as she traced the names with her finger, but she refused
to jump to conclusions. Just because she knew one Ty Parker, that didn't make
him this little boy's father. She'd worked for six months on his fraternity's
ill-fated plan to sponsor foster kids on a cattle drive. He'd never once
mentioned a wife…or a child.

She stared at the calendar that hung over Candy's head. She
didn't need a computer to know the added pressure of the holidays had fractured
some of the county's most at-risk families. As a result, every single bed in the
foster care system had already been filled.

“You still can't leave him.” Sarah slid the papers across the
desk. “Until we locate his father, the only place I have available is a group
home with a bunch of older boys.” A bed in The Glades was definitely not the
ideal situation for a young child. “It'd be better if Jimmy spent Christmas with
you. And maybe New Year's. If you absolutely have to, you can bring him back
then.”

“Impossible.” Candy rose, her arms crossed. “I've lined up a
gig at The Pole Club in Tampa. Tips are very good this time of year, and it's
not a place where I can take a kid, if you know what I mean.”

A bitter taste rose in Sarah's throat. “What about Jimmy's
father?” she asked. “What else can you tell me about him?”

A crafty sneer told her Candy recognized a stall when she heard
one. The woman thrust a thumb toward the duffel bag still sitting on the floor
outside the cubicle. “The kid's clothes are in there. And a picture of his mom.
His dad? You'll have to track him down yourself. That's what you do, isn't
it?”

Not really, thought Sarah. More of her work involved taking
abused or neglected children
from
their parents than
reuniting them. That part of her job was turning her into someone she didn't
like very much. It was the reason her vacation was so important. Not just to
take a break and recharge, but to make up her mind about where she went from
here. Lately, she'd thought a lot about quitting. If it hadn't meant admitting
defeat, she might have done it long ago. Her parents had never understood her
career, and no wonder. Compared to her brother's groundbreaking work in physics
or her sister's latest appearance at Carnegie Hall, her job at the DCF wasn't
going to set the world on fire. But a decision about her future would have to
wait until she found this latest abandoned kid a new home.

She tapped her pen against the desktop. A vague description of
“somewhere near Lake Okeechobee” wasn't going to help her locate Jimmy's father.
Tracking him down meant legwork, hauling out the white pages and making
thousands of calls. Unless…unless she hit the jackpot with her first spin of the
wheel and the only Ty Parker she'd ever met was Jimmy's dad.

She gave the child's birth certificate another glance, but
there was no time to dwell on Jimmy's parentage. Candy was on the move and, this
time, there was no stopping her. Before Sarah could object, the woman blotted
her lips on the boy's cheek and flounced out of the office.

Listening to the door swing shut, Sarah weighed her
alternatives. There really was no choice. Not if she intended to spend a quiet
Christmas packing for her Hawaiian vacation. A phone call to the housemother at
The Glades was next on the agenda, and she turned toward her office, determined
to make the call.