Cowboy for Keeps (18 page)

A tug at the hem of her shirt stopped her. She looked down into
Jimmy's upturned face. The little boy was trying his best not to cry, but his
eyes welled.

“What is it?” She steeled herself against an urge to kneel
beside him and sweep him into her arms. The foster care system wasn't for the
faint of heart, and even five-year-olds learned early to toughen up their act.
The sooner Jimmy started, the better.

“Lady,” he said, “did I miss Christmas?” He pointed to the box
of ornaments and tangled tree lights Sarah had been packing. “Is it over?” His
bottom lip trembled as he said the last word and tears spilled from his
eyes.

It was too much. Sarah knelt and drew the child close.

“No, Jimmy, you didn't miss Christmas.” His little-boy scent
filled her senses. “Did you ask Santa for something special?”

Shopping for a present was the least she could do for a new
orphan who'd spend the holiday with strangers. If they moved quickly, she could
swing by one of the toy stores that stayed open for last-minute holiday shoppers
and still have time to drop him off at The Glades.

“I…I…” Tear tracks ran down Jimmy's grimy cheeks. His mouth
shook, but he stiffened, drawing courage from who knew where. “I need to see
Santa. I hav'ta give him my Christmas list.”

Sarah's thoughts raced. The odds of finding a shopping-mall
Santa at this late hour weren't good. “I'm afraid he's busy loading his sleigh
right now.” She forced a bright smile. “If you tell me what's on your list, I'll
make sure he knows.”

“Can…can he…” Jimmy's shoulders slumped. He peered up at her,
tears shimmering in his wide brown eyes. “Can Santa bring back my mom? I don't
want any toys. I promise. I just want my mom.”

“Oh! Poor baby.” Only the worst sort of Scrooge could abandon
this sad little boy on Christmas Eve. What did that make her?

Sarah hugged the child tighter. All too often, the system
failed kids like Jimmy. The same way it was failing her. Not that she'd always
wanted to become a social worker. Knowing the long hours and the tremendous
workload, who would? But in her sophomore year at the University of Florida, a
chance encounter with a friend from grade school had given new direction to her
life. Meagan had experienced the worst of foster care. After learning her story,
Sarah had switched her major from Education to Sociology so she could make a
difference. So what had happened to Meagan wouldn't happen to any other
kids.

But her idealistic plans to revamp the system had been buried
under two years of working for a boss who valued computer upgrades over
additional staff, of shifting children from one foster home to another, of
seeing them falter and not being able to do anything to stop their downward
spiral. It had practically wrung her dry. And lately, she'd started asking
whether anyone was interested in fixing a system that didn't meet the needs of
the children in its care.

But, if she could make a difference in one child's life—just
one—didn't she have to do it?

She had to. That's all there was to it.

Lightly, she kissed the top of Jimmy's head while her dreams of
a Hawaiian vacation faded.

* * *

T
Y
P
ARKER
SLID
FROM
Ranger's saddle, lifted his Stetson and ran his arm over his forehead.
The long-sleeved shirt he'd put on fresh this morning clung like a second skin,
now that he'd spent ten hours on horseback. He slapped his hat against his leg
to dislodge the day's accumulation of dust. The move earned a derisive snort
from the quarter horse.

“I hear ya, big guy,” Ty said, grabbing the reins. “Let's get a
drink and get outta this heat for a while.” He aimed a glance at the sinking sun
and wished someone would tell the weatherman not even Florida was supposed to be
this hot the last week in December.

But hot it was. Hot and humid.

No matter. According to the almanac, they were due for another
cold front. With any luck, it'd arrive about the same time as the wannabe
cowboys who'd signed up for the Circle P's winter cattle drive.

In the barn, Ty grabbed a bottled water out of the fridge in
the tack room. While Ranger drank his fill from a trough of clear-running
springwater, Ty stopped to run his hand through hair that was two weeks overdue
for a cut. Like every day on the thousand acres of palmetto and scrub that made
up his South Florida ranch, there was more to do than twenty-four hours could
hold. He shook his head, second-guessing his decision to hold a roundup so early
in the season.

Not that it was any use. Done was done. Eight paying guests
would arrive the day after tomorrow. Though he'd hoped for a bigger turnout,
their fees more than covered the costs of an event that would serve as a warm-up
for a larger, longer drive in the summer.

“And after last year, we could use the practice,” Ty confided
to Ranger as he went about feeding the black horse and settling him into his
stall. That time, unforeseen complications had nearly proven disastrous.
Thinking of the steps he'd taken to correct the situation, Ty grabbed the
currycomb from its hook and set to work. He'd barely made a dent in brushing
Ranger's dark coat when boots sounded on the barn floor.

“Hey, boss.” Fifty-five years on the Circle P had etched
furrows so deep around Seth's blue eyes that the man bore a permanent squint. He
leaned against the lower half of the stall door. “Good ride?”

“It was pleasant enough.” Ty ran the comb through sweat-matted
hair on the horse's withers. “Spotted a couple of big rattlers down by Little
Lake. We'll want to watch out for more of them next week, especially if it cools
down a bit.” The cold-blooded creatures frequently sought sunshine when the
weather turned.

“I'll spread the word,” Seth said, nodding. Rattlesnakes kept
the rodent population in check, but a bite could be serious, if not deadly.
“Cattle still hanging out near there?”

It was Ty's turn to nod. “Mostly around the salt lick on the
north side. Should make roundin' 'em up easy enough.”

“How many, you think?”

“The buyer wants fifty head,” Ty answered as he worked his way
down Ranger's side. The Andalusians he raised were known for their strong
bloodlines and resistance to disease. “With the added help, it'll take two,
maybe three days to get 'em in the pens.” He smiled, knowing his ranch hands
could do the job in an afternoon. Their paying guests might slow things down a
bit, but the trade-off—money in the bank—was worth it.

“That ought to put us on the trail to Kissimmee by Monday.”

Seth stole a piece of hay from Ranger's crib. “Sounds about
right.”

Though he practically had the schedule branded on his arm, Ty
asked, “You still headin' to Fort Pierce tomorrow for supplies?” At the older
man's affirmative grunt, he suggested adding sunblock to the list. “Cold weather
or hot, a sunburn stings.”

Seth leaned against the stall door and chewed as if he had all
day and no place to go.

Ty shot him a look. In his thirty-two years he'd never known
Seth to laze around. “You need somethin' else?”

“Well,” Seth drawled, “that woman from DCF called again.”

Ty's mouth slanted to the side. “Sarah Magarity? What's that
make—four, five times?” She'd called on Christmas Eve and every day since. “She
say what she wanted this time?”

“No. Just that she needs to talk to you on a—” Seth grinned,
his voice hitting a high falsetto “—personal matter.” He shifted his straw into
the left side of his cheek. “I think she wants t' ask you out.”

Laughter bubbled up from Ty's chest. The day the feisty
caseworker thought of him that way, he'd share a pail of oats with Ranger. “Not
much chance of that happening.” He patted the horse's flank. “Not after the
set-to we had the last time we saw each other.”

“Oh?” Seth's sparse eyebrows knotted. “Hadn't heard about that.
Guess she wasn't happy to hear those kids she sent us started a grass fire.
What'd she say when you told her?”

“To tell the truth, the conversation never got that far.” Ty
ducked under Ranger's neck and began to work on his other side. The Big Brother
program sponsored by his college fraternity had been his own personal way of
honoring his best friend after J.D. died in Afghanistan. But the first batch of
foster kids had been nothing but trouble with a capital
T.
He'd put up with the teens' shenanigans as long as he could.
Still, some rules couldn't be broken. Starting a wildfire was one of them.

“She whisked those two juvenile delinquents into a conference
room the minute my boots crossed the threshold. When she came out, it was clear
they'd told some tall tales. She lit into me like a mama bear protecting her
cubs.” He'd had to admire the woman's spunk, even if she was wrong. “She blamed
me, and made it clear in no uncertain terms that Alpha Rho wouldn't be
sponsoring any more kids on my next roundup.”

“You let her get away with that?”

“She didn't leave much choice, but it suited me just fine.” He
shrugged, recalling how the fiery redhead had marched him out of the DCF office,
her cheeks so inflamed they matched her hair, the buttons of her sensibly
tailored blouse straining with every breath. “I did manage to say those punks
were born misfits, and there was nothin' in the world she could do to change
it.”

Seth chuckled. “Bet she didn't like hearin' that.”

“Don't know. Don't care. I left before she could dish out any
more of her nature-versus-nurture nonsense.”

Or call Security, as the woman had threatened.

Ranger sidestepped, a move that telegraphed a growing
unease.

Realizing he'd put a little more action into the brush than the
job required, Ty slowed his strokes. “You sure she didn't say what she
wants?”

“Yep, but based on what you just told me, maybe she finally
realized how wrong she was and wants to apologize. Beats me why you'd have to go
to her office, though.”

“She wants me to come to her?” Ty clenched his teeth. The gall
of women who thought they could crook their little finger and have men come
running was beyond him. He'd had enough of that in the short time it had taken
his marriage to fizzle. “Shoot.” He shook his head. “I don't have time to drive
into town.”

“She seems pretty insistent.” Seth sucked his teeth and spit.
“Why don't you let me handle the chores here tomorrow, and you can go on the
supply run. That way, maybe you can take Ms. Magarity out for a cup of
coffee.”

Ty aimed a sharp look at the ranch foreman. “You just want out
of the trip, or you got something else in mind?” Lately, his nonexistent love
life had been the subject of Seth's not-so-subtle hints.

“Well, it has been a while since you've been past the Circle
P's gate. And you're not gettin' any younger. Ya know you'll be tied up here
till after the cattle drive.”

Ty forced out a long breath. Ever since he'd quit his job as an
investment broker and returned home, hanging on to the ranch that had been in
his family for four generations had required every minute of his day. Six years
ago, it had cost him his marriage. He hadn't gotten involved—not really—with
another woman since then. Sure, there were days when he'd like to come home to
something more than an empty house and an empty bed, but he'd have to be more
than a little interested to drive as far as Fort Pierce for a date. And he
wasn't interested in Sarah Magarity.

Why, then, six months later, did his anger over their argument
still sting?

“You honestly think she wants to apologize?”

“What else could it be? Unless she's gonna ask you to take
another couple of kids on the trail ride. Either way, she has to make nice.”

Ty couldn't help thinking the two-hour drive might be worth the
trip if it meant seeing a softer side of the argumentative woman who worked for
the DCF. He bent low, examining Ranger's hooves one by one, certain Seth would
offer a snide comment if the older man saw the look on his face.

“Fine,” he said, straightening. “But there's a lot to be done
if we're going to be ready when everyone gets here on Friday. You up for the
job?”

“Have I ever let ya down?”

Ty stepped into the wide corridor between the stalls and hung
the currycomb back on its hook. He trusted Seth, the same way his dad had relied
on the man.

“Let's head on up to the house and compare notes, then.” He
lifted a brow, teasing. “You think Doris'll have supper ready?”

“Beats me.” Seth grinned. His wife, Doris, was the Circle P's
head cook. She set supper on the table at six on the dot every night.

By the time he climbed into one of the Circle P's pickups at
eight the next morning, Ty was certain Seth would have everything squared away
in time for their guests' arrival. Having already put in a half day's work
himself, he was surprised to find that he actually looked forward to relaxing a
bit on the hundred miles of sparsely traveled, two-lane blacktop that stretched
between the ranch and the nearest city. Not that he intended to waste the time.
While he drove, he worked on the lyrics of a ballad he was trying to learn. Once
he came within cell tower range, he turned off the CD player and concentrated on
the ranch business he could handle by phone. No one answered at Sarah's direct
line so he left a message saying he was on his way. The numbers on the dashboard
told him it was a little after one when he finished his errands, including the
much-needed haircut.