A Cowboy In Shepherd's Crossing. Ruth Herne Logan

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

       Chapter Three

      Two borrowed portable cribs.

      A mountain-sized stack of disposable diapers.

      Creams, lotions, shampoos and bottles. Lots of bottles. Two babies had just moved into the ranch house.

      Melonie Fitzgerald had never changed a diaper in her life. Nor had she cared to.

      By hour three she’d changed two under Corrie’s watchful eye. “Done.” She set the wriggling girl onto the floor and stood up to wash her hands.

      The baby burst into tears. Big, loud tears.

      Then the second one noted her sister’s agony and followed suit. The babies looked around the room at all the strange faces and kept right on crying.

      “Here, sweetie.” Lizzie picked up one. Corrie lifted the other. And still they cried.

      “Mel, Rosie brought bottles ready to warm. Can you do that for us?”

      “Sure.” She slipped into the kitchen, took out the bottles and stared at them. Then she picked up her smartphone and asked it how to warm a baby’s bottle while the twins howled in the front room.

      No answer and they had two screaming babies and a perfectly good microwave. She searched for directions.

      Oops. Microwave warming was not recommended...but desperate times called for desperate measures. She followed the non-recommended directions, made sure the formula wasn’t too hot, shook it and tested it again, then recapped the bottles.

      “Mel?” Lizzie’s voice sounded desperate.

      “Coming.” She brought the bottles into the great room and handed one to Lizzie and the other to Corrie, but Corrie surprised her. “You take charge of this one.”

      “Me?”

      Corrie nodded as she tucked the baby into Melonie’s arms. “I promised Zeke I’d take him to play with the puppies. We don’t want him to feel left out.”

      “Corrie, thank you.” Lizzie looked up from the straight-backed chair and Melonie was glad she didn’t look any more skilled than Melonie felt at that moment. “We’ll get the hang of this. Won’t we, Mel?”

       Don’t say what you’re thinking. Just smile and nod.

      She did and Lizzie grinned, because Lizzie always knew what Mel was thinking. She sat down primly and posed the nipple near the baby’s mouth.

      The baby... Ava, maybe? Or Annie? She wasn’t sure so she peeked at the baby’s arm.

      Ava. She knew because she’d surreptitiously put a tiny dot on her right forearm.

      The baby grabbed hold of that bottle, yanked it into her mouth and proceeded СКАЧАТЬ