Betsy St. Amant - The Rancher's Secret Son

Really weird they had that, of all things, in common.

Was it possible this was part of God’s plan for Cody? Maybe this was the avenue he needed to turn his life around. God knew what He was doing...right?

Emma sure hoped someone did, because she’d never felt more lost. How embarrassing was it for her to struggle to understand her own child, when she was paid good money to evaluate the inner musings of other kids? In all her career, she never imagined she’d end up here.

Probably just part of the punishment for her own reckless choices that summer. Wasn’t there something in the Bible about the sins of the fathers affecting their children? And speaking of fathers and sins...she kept her eyes lowered as she studied Max. He looked more like Cody—or rather, Cody looked more like him—than she’d realized at first glance in the parking lot. The way they hunched over their plates, one forearm resting casually to the side, was identical.

Hopefully no one else noticed the similarities. Her stomach hurt just imagining that particular scenario. At least Cody would have no reason to suspect. All she’d ever told him growing up was that his father had been a bad guy who left her when she was pregnant. Not a complete lie—even though she’d been the one to technically do the leaving.

But Max had left emotionally first when he chose to do that drug deal and break his promise.

She sat back, pushing food around her plate with her fork as she observed the way Max interacted with the other parents. Patience personified, though he didn’t seem patronizing or condescending. Just confident. The parents, especially the mothers, seemed to warm to his personality like butter melting on a crescent roll. Not flirty, though one father did scoot his chair closer to his wife when she laughed at something Max said.

She swallowed a sip of water, her appetite long diminished from the tension-laced drive over with Cody and the surprise of seeing Max again for the first time in so long. Her body hadn’t caught up to her emotions.

And if her stomach kept jumping every time Max’s gaze flitted her direction, it might not ever catch up. Over a decade had passed, and he still had the power to physically undo her.

She was absolutely terrified to analyze that one.

“Well, folks.” Max scooted his chair back with a scrape against the polished wooden floors and stood. He braced his hands on the table, leaning forward slightly and pausing to briefly look every parent in the eye. “It’s time to say goodbye. I’ve learned the hard way already that here at Camp Hope, dragging it out isn’t good for anyone.”

No kidding. She’d end up crying and Cody would end up looking for an escape. Not like he needed any more prompting to run away. It wouldn’t be the first time. She slowly stood with the others, fighting the rising panic welling in her throat as they filed outside to the porch. He would be fine. And so would she.

But what if he found out? What if Max found out?

She smiled at her son, who bobbed his head in a nod but didn’t return the smile. He was nervous. She could tell by the pinched brow and the way his bottom lip curved on the side. Suddenly, all she could see was her baby boy, the one who used to follow her around the house, zooming a fire truck under her feet and burning his fingers on the cookie sheet because he was too impatient to wait. He needed her. Needed his mom.

But the only way for her to be there for him now was to leave.

Unwanted tears welled, and she blinked rapidly, forcing her voice to stay strong. She held out her arms, praying he would pacify her request for a hug. He fell quickly into her embrace, then hid a sniff behind a cough. She clutched him tightly, despite his stiffening against her touch, and tuned out the sounds of the parents around her performing similar rituals with their own kids.

Far too soon, she pulled away until she could see Cody’s eyes. “I’ll be back when it’s time. You just obey Mr. Ringgold.” The name tasted foreign on her lips, but her heart knew it well.

“He said to call him Max.” Cody kept his eyes focused somewhere past her shoulder, and she could only assume it was for the same reason she kept darting her gaze to his nose. Easier not to cry that way. Maybe he wasn’t so tough after all.

She pulled him in for one more hug, despite his grumbled protest. Don’t overdo it, Emma. But the self-coaching wasn’t working. Her desperate mommy heart kept taking charge. “Just obey. Let’s do this right and get you home, okay?” She still couldn’t believe she was telling anyone to do what Max Ringgold told them. Once upon a time that would have been a prison sentence—or worse.

“I know.” Impatience crowded Cody’s tone as he pulled away, and she bit back any more natural but unwanted advice. He was about to get plenty of that. Maybe he’d listen to someone else. But Max? It went against every instinct she had.

Still, he’d proved himself at the dinner table with the kids. He was capable and in charge. Max wasn’t a punk teenager anymore, and she wasn’t a needy girl attempting to fill herself with the temporal.

Mostly.

She grazed Cody’s arm. “You know I love you, right?” She couldn’t help it—her voice cracked.

“I know.” Cody shuffled his feet, nodding with a jerk. “Relax, Mom. I’m not a murderer or anything.”

At least there was that. She figured she wasn’t getting a return “I love you,” but then again, he hadn’t said that in a long time. Probably not since she got him his iPod at his last birthday.

She forced the negative thought away. They were here. They’d get through this, and she’d figure out what—if anything—to do about Max later.

Her eyes darted to where he stood a respectful distance away from the group, giving the parents space to say their goodbyes, and then flicked to the ground as his gaze met hers. Right now, her secret was safe, and Cody was in a good position to do what he needed to do. That was what mattered the most. The rest would just have to wait.

Max would just have to wait.

Chapter Three

Emma poured herself what had to be her fourth cup of tea in the past two hours—and still, her headache had yet to abandon ship. She settled back against the throw pillows on her mother’s couch, then adjusted positions as a knotted tassel dug into her spine. She’d hated those pillows growing up. Still did.

Her mom sat across the coffee table from her in a straight-back chair, one sandal-clad foot bouncing an easy rhythm over her crossed leg. Her softly curled brown hair was cut the same, maybe a little shorter. The wrinkles under her eyes were new. Then again, the bags under Emma’s eyes were relatively new as well, thanks to Cody.

“Camp Hope is a quality facility, Emma. Cody will be fine.” Her mother paused as she took a sip from her teacup. “It will be good for him to get out of Dallas for a while.”

“I know. You’re right.” But she heard what her mom wasn’t saying. You should have brought him here more often. And maybe she should have. But she’d made her choices, and they worked for them. Or at least, they had worked until Cody cannonballed off the deep end.

Besides, it wasn’t as if she kept Cody from his grandmother. Her mom came and stayed with them in the city multiple times during the year, shopping, dining out and enjoying spa days at Emma’s expense. She didn’t mind pampering her mother—her father never did growing up, and her mom definitely deserved it.

Mom just never understood why Emma kept her secrets to herself.

“Will you still be in town for Thanksgiving?” Her mother’s tone was even, controlled, so much so that Emma couldn’t decipher the meaning behind the words. Did she want them to stay? Was that hope hidden? Or resignation of the inevitable inconvenience?