A Cowboy In Shepherd's Crossing. Ruth Herne Logan

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СКАЧАТЬ that explained the unexplainable visit. She’d gone batty. Clearly batty because he knew who he was.

      “Your father was Lionel Tate.”

      Lionel Tate was his father’s cousin. He’d left town a long time ago and died somewhere. Jace didn’t remember where because he’d never known the man. “My father was Jason Middleton.”

      The old woman’s frown deepened. “Jason and Ivy took you in as a baby. You were just over a year old, and when they offered to take you in, it was agreed upon because it fit.”

      Hairs began to rise along the nape of Jace’s neck. What was she talking about?

      “Your mother was angry when Lionel left. Very angry. She handed you over and went off on her own. As far as I know, no one heard from her until she showed back up nine years later with a baby girl.”

      “Mrs. Hardaway, I believe you’re confused.” He kept his voice calm as he offered an explanation. “Justine is six years younger than me. She’s just finished her master’s in biochemistry and she’s doing a paid internship in Seattle.”

      “Your other sister,” she told him. “Your biological half sister. She is younger than you by nearly eleven years.”

      The firmness in her voice—the staunch look in her eye, as if she was the one who was right—unnerved him. “Mrs. Hardaway...”

      Lizzie put a hand on his arm. Her sister darted a look from him to the old woman and back, as if embarrassed for him. Or her. Or just plain embarrassed to be there.

      “She gave that baby up for adoption, too, because she came here and no one stepped in to take care of that baby girl, and there’s plenty of shame to go around about that. When your folks offered to take her in, too, seeing as she was your sister, they were told ‘no’ because of tough family finances.”

      She wasn’t making sense, and yet... He remembered hushed whispers around that time. He’d been plenty old enough to realize something was going on, but never knew what. Snips of private conversation came back to him, conversations that meant nothing then...and everything at this moment. “That makes no sense, because we weren’t poor. My mother was a schoolteacher and Dad was a contractor. He worked all the time. We were always financially solid.”

      She locked her eyes with his, then said something that tipped everything into sharper focus. “Your sister is white.”

      And there it was. A divide he’d never personally felt in Shepherd’s Crossing because the Middletons had been some of the earliest pioneers in the area. But now—

      A mix of raw emotions began churning inside him. “How can that be, Mrs. Hardaway?”

      She held his gaze, held it hard, as if this whole thing hurt her more than it pained him. Then she spoke, and he understood the wounded expression. “Because I am your grandmother, Jace. And my daughter Barbara was...” Her mouth trembled slightly. And her eyes looked sad. “Your mother.”

      None of this could be true.

      It couldn’t.

      He’d seen his birth certificate. He had it, back at the house. “You’re wrong, I’m afraid. I have proof of who I am at my home. My family home, Mrs. Hardaway.” He stood, ready to end this nonsense and get to work.

      “Your birth certificate,” 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 СКАЧАТЬ