Finally a Hero. Pamela Tracy

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      “Dad’s being secretive, more so than usual. Makes me worry. Last time we brought in a new hire this quickly, it was Mitch.”

      Jane made a face. “I remember. Last summer he was the one who wanted to sleep until noon every day and then needed two hours before he was ready to work. You hired him back, right?”

      “Dad did. And the time before that it was some writer who wanted to work on the ranch as research for his book. We actually needed someone in that position. He quit the second day, muttering about dirty fingernails and finding a scorpion in his boot.”

      “I hate when my fingernails get dirty,” Jane joked.

      “Yeah.” Eva looked at her own nails. Unpainted, cut short, but very clean. Then she studied her hands, smooth and soft—without the calluses she’d have if she could find the courage to get back in the saddle. “We certainly can’t afford a new hand, especially now. But Dad just says yes to anyone who asks.”

      “Your busy season’s coming up in a month or two. Maybe your dad’s thinking ahead.”

      “Maybe,” Eva said, but she didn’t believe it. Her dad had a weakness for hard-luck cases and a habit of taking in ex-alcoholics, ex-cons and ex-rodeoers. Sometimes the ex-rodeoers worked out.

      A bell sounded from the kitchen. Jane headed for the back with an “I’ll be right out with your meal.”

      The moment Jane disappeared, the restaurant’s door opened. Eva reached down, snagged her book from her purse and randomly turned to a page as she tried to ignore the family. It wasn’t easy. They were the elephant in the room, and fact was much more entertaining than fiction.

      The woman was loud and defensive. She kept prodding the little boy forward. “Hurry up, Timmy. Sit down, Timmy.” Once the kid was settled, she dropped her car keys on the table with a clatter. The man wore brand-new jeans, about two sizes too big, and a dark-blue T-shirt that stretched across his chest. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Well, from what Eva had overheard, no wonder. He slid a duffel bag under the table and put his left foot on it as if he were afraid it would escape. His gaze slid across the room, finding hers and locking in. His eyes were dark and brooding. The little boy looked in need of a bath and scared of both adults.

      Embarrassed, Eva turned away. Her youngest sister, Emily, would see a story begging to be told. Eva just saw people struggling with problems they’d made for themselves and probably did nothing to change.

      “Here ya go,” Jane said, putting a hot plate in front of Eva and snagging ketchup and maple syrup from her apron pocket. “Your toast will be out in a few minutes. Cook burnt it.”

      “That’s okay. You’ve got some other customers.” Eva nodded at the newcomers.

      “Oh, thanks. I didn’t hear them come in.” Jane took out her pad and headed over to stand between the man and boy.

      The little boy was eating a cracker left on the table from a previous diner. His dirty, bare feet were tucked under him as if he knew that shoes were required.

      “I’m hungry, haven’t eaten since last night,” the woman said, then loudly gave her order and the boy’s. Once the man made his selection and Jane walked away, the man leaned in to do the talking.

      “I can’t believe you didn’t call me, didn’t put this in the letter,” the man said, obviously trying to keep his voice low.

      Maybe Eva should just leave. When Jane came back, Eva’d ask for a to-go box, never mind the toast.

      “Surprise for me, too,” the woman insisted. “This Matilda showed up at my house last Monday. She said she couldn’t take care of Timmy anymore. She showed me his birth certificate. Your name isn’t on it, but look at the kid. He’s you all over again.”

      Eva peeked over her book. Same hair, same facial shape, same skin tone, same deer-in-the-headlights expression. Yup, they were related.

      Just then Jane brought out salads for their table. The moment she finished, Eva would let her know she needed a to-go box. The woman dug right in. So did the boy. The man, however, bowed his head in prayer.

      Something Eva had forgotten to do.

      She’d been too busy being judgmental.

Chapter Two

      It didn’t seem possible, but the longer Jesse stared at the boy, the more he believed it. He had a son.

      He tried to think of a scripture where a surprise son or daughter appeared, but couldn’t. Joseph might have been surprised when Mary told him about the son she carried, but she’d not followed the pronouncement with “Guess what? He’s yours.”

      “So, you met Matilda?” It was all he could think of to say.

      “Interesting girl,” his mother said.

      Jesse’d lived with Matilda Scott for three months, just after he’d aged out of the foster system. He’d managed to deal with the assigned group home for only three days. Matilda’s one-room apartment had been an oasis for the next few months. Then she’d disappeared overnight, leaving him with rent due and a vague fear that he’d just been used by a woman too much like his mother.

      He’d steered clear of relationships ever since.

      Easy enough, since he’d spent much of that time in prison.

      “But then, I only talked with her for all of twenty minutes.” His mother shook her head, her expression half mad, half impressed. “She knocked on the door. Next thing I knew, she was in the house telling me that Timmy was your son and that she had dreams to pursue. She wanted me to keep Timmy until you got out of prison. She kept saying, ‘It’s just nine days.’ I told her no. I mean, come on. Couldn’t she see we were in a one-bedroom apartment? She went to use the restroom and crawled out the window and disappeared. Wonder what she would have done if I hadn’t been on the first floor? And, she left me with the kid! If I’d been sober, she wouldn’t have gotten away with it.”

      Looking across the table at Timmy, he tried to decipher if the young boy showed any emotion at being abandoned. Not really. Then, Jesse looked at his mother and tried to see any hint of interest, grandparental pride, something.

      Nothing.

      “How’d Matilda find you?”

      “Didn’t get around to asking,” Susan said. “And she didn’t bother telling.”

      “Timmy,” Jesse said, “did you know Matilda, your mom, planned on dropping you off?”

      The yellow crayon clutched between Timmy’s fingers was quickly becoming a nub. The little boy didn’t look from the gold-panning scene he was coloring.

      “Do you know your mom’s phone number?” Jesse tried next.

      “I’ve already asked him, at least twice a day. He hasn’t said a word. I don’t think he can talk. Anyway, she didn’t leave a phone number or previous address. Nothing except her car, some games and a bunch of clothes.” His mother picked up her fork and ate her СКАЧАТЬ