Linda Goodnight - Home to Crossroads Ranch

“Emma,” Rainy said gently. “It’s hard for Nate to work with you hanging on him. Why don’t you and the boys come out of here and leave him alone?”

“But, Miss Rainy, he’s teaching me how to change a hose so I can do it next time.” Will’s eyes were dead serious behind his glasses. That was the trouble with Will. He was too serious. He seldom laughed, didn’t play like a normal kid and considered his younger siblings to be his responsibility. Even after six months of consistent, loving care, he hadn’t loosened up. The boy needed a strong man in his life, one of the reasons Rainy worried about adopting him and his siblings, though she longed to do so. She could love and nurture, but she could never be a male role model. She could, however, expose him to good ones and pray that would be enough.

The cowboy handyman twisted his head in her direction. “He’s a quick learner.”

Rainy beamed as if the compliment was for her. She saw the flush of pleasure on Will’s cheeks and decided she liked Nate Del Rio. “He is. Thanks.”

She bent to unwind Emma from the man’s neck. “This one is a charmer, but also a pest at times.” With a counselor and lots of prayers, they were working on Emma’s weak personal boundaries. “Come on, Emma. I need help with the babies.”

Emma came, but gazed longingly at the cowboy’s back. “He’s nice.”

Rainy stood in the doorway for a minute, watching and listening to Nate’s low voice explaining the great mysteries of washing machines to the two rapt boys. His patience with them solidified her conclusion that he had kids of his own.

She chided herself for being disappointed. She did not covet another woman’s husband. She simply wanted one of her own.

“Is there anything you need before I go on about my business?” she asked.

Without turning, he shook his head. “Got all the help I need right now. Thanks.”

She wasn’t sure how he meant that, but she let it go and headed back to the disaster area that had once been her home.

By the time she’d set things to right, fed both babies and put them down for a nap, Katie had thrown up again. Wearily, she cleaned up the mess, took the child’s temperature and debated calling the doctor. The last thing any of them needed was a virus spreading through the house.

Going to her bedroom to change the now disgusting sweat suit, she happened to glance in the mirror. The Wicked Witch of the West stared back.

Bags the size of carry-on luggage puffed beneath her eyes. Her hair shot out in every direction. She slapped at it. Had she combed it at all this morning?

With a growing sense of chagrin, she knew she hadn’t. She had shoved the shoulder-length mass into a scrunchie in the wee hours of the morning when the social worker arrived with the babies. After that she never made it back to bed because Katie had started throwing up. Then the washer had sprung a leak and she’d been too busy to care about how she looked.

Horrid. She looked horrid. Horror-movie horrid.

No wonder the kids were crying. She was tempted to do the same.

Quickly yanking away the scrunchie along with a few hairs, Rainy ran a brush over her head and put the ponytail up again. Better.

She leaned into the mirror and grimaced. Makeup. Fast.

She dabbed a little concealer under each eye, mostly to no avail, stroked some mascara on thick lashes and added a hint of pink lip gloss. She was no beauty, but she normally tried to accent her best features, thick lashes and a tilted, full mouth. Today she’d settle for not frightening small children.

“Miss Rainy!”

This would have to do. Without a backward glance, she rushed toward the sound of Katie’s voice.

The child lay on the couch where Rainy had left her, a pink Hello Kitty blanket up to her chin.

“What is it, punkin? Are you feeling sick again?”

“I want a Pop-Tart.”

“Are you sure that’s such a good idea? How about something gentle on your tummy first and then the Pop-Tart later.”

A million russet freckles stood out on the sad, pale face. “Okay.”

Rainy entered the kitchen as Nate Del Rio and the boys entered from the opposite end. Nate glanced up at her, surprise registering in his eyes.

“You look—” He seemed to catch himself, for which she would be eternally grateful, and said instead, “We’re all finished. If you’ll hand us a mop, we’ll sop up some of the water for you.”

“Oh, goodness no. Don’t bother. I’ll do the sopping up. You’ve done enough.” She whipped toward the broom closet and took out a sponge mop. “Why don’t you have a seat and let me get you some cookies and milk.”

Those dimples of his activated. Killer dimples. Goodness.

“Cookies and milk? Sounds great. My breakfast wore off after the stop at Milly Jenkins’s.”

“Milly?” Rainy propped the mop against the wall, only to have it taken by Will, who disappeared into the laundry room with faithful Joshua by his side. “Doesn’t she play the organ at church?”

“Yep. Nice lady. Her old Mercury needed new spark plugs.”

Rainy took down two glasses and filled them with cold milk, then added milk to the ongoing grocery list posted on the fridge. “This ministry is a real blessing to people, Nate. I hope you men who volunteer realize that.”

“It’s a blessing to us, too,” he said simply, and she liked him for the sentiment. Nice guy. No wonder some smart woman had snapped him up like the last chocolate truffle.

With a plate of yesterday’s homemade double chocolate chip cookies in hand, she joined him at the round glass table. She still questioned her sanity for buying a glass dining table with so many children coming and going, but other than the persistent presence of small fingerprints, the glass had held up well so far.

Nate reached for a cookie, bit, chewed. “Wow. Powerful.”

“I hope that means good. I tend to be a little heavy-handed on the chocolate, especially during high-stress days.”

“With all these little ones underfoot, those are probably pretty frequent.” He sipped at his milk, managing not to create a milk mustache. “What is this anyway? A day care?”

Rainy broke an edge off a moist cookie and held it between thumb and finger. “I’m a foster mom.”

“They let singles do that?”

“The Department of Human Services is desperate for foster moms. So, yes. They do.”

“That explains it, then.”

She laughed. “Explains what? The total chaos?”

He had the grace to look guilty. “Well…”

“Today is unusual. You see, I normally take on only school-age children because I’m a teacher. I have to work. But last night, actually early this morning, I got an emergency call from the social worker about the two babies.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Most calls do come at night, unfortunately. Nighttime seems to be when families fall apart. Drugs, drinking, and in this case, those eighteen-month-old twins were found alone in a car outside a casino.”

She didn’t mention the ongoing problem faced by the beleaguered social worker. There were not enough foster homes to care for all the needy children. And Rainy had trouble saying no, regardless of how full her house might be.

“The babies were in the car? While their mother was in the casino?”

“Yes. She’d been there for hours.”

His horrified look matched her own reaction. “It’s still cold outside.”

March might be springtime, but at night the Oklahoma temperature tumbled to freezing.

“I know. Very cold, not to mention dangerous as all get out. Anyone could have stolen those children.” She popped the bite of cookie into her mouth and almost sighed at the rich, gooey chocolate flavor. “That’s why I agreed to take them until the social worker can find another placement, hopefully today.”