Ruth Herne - Their Surprise Daddy

Cruz didn’t just tamp his emotions down. He fought them into submission. For long years he hadn’t heard from his mother. His phone calls went straight to voice mail. His Christmas gifts came back, unopened. By the fifth year, he’d stopped trying and worked to make himself one of New York City’s toughest investment funds managers, respected in international circles, and he’d succeeded.

And now this.

He checked his watch. Whatever was going on, whatever mess his mother had gotten herself into, he had every intention of returning to the city the next morning. By afternoon he’d hand in the keys of the upscale rental car and return to his desk overlooking the Hudson. Tomorrow afternoon couldn’t get here soon enough.

He parked the car and strode inside, legally and mentally prepared to put an end to the nonsense. He rounded the corner of the quaint town hall, then thrust out his arms to keep from barreling into a young woman carrying a small child. “Whoa.”

“Whoa?” The little boy placed tiny hands over his mouth and giggled out loud. “He finks you’re a horse, Miss Wory.”

“Does he now?” The woman—the beautiful woman—raised her eyes to his while his grip kept her from slipping to the floor.

“No. He doesn’t.” Cruz held her gaze and her attention as he quickly corrected the boy’s assertion. He arched his right brow, nice and slow. “He doesn’t think you’re a horse at all. In fact, that would be about the last thing he’d think while looking at you.”

“’Cause she’s not, siwwy.” The child giggled again, a happy sound, about as unfamiliar to Cruz now as it had been when he was growing up in Grace Haven. “She’s my teacher!”

Cruz made sure she was steady before releasing her arms, then acknowledged the boy’s statement with a frank glance of appreciation. “I lived here for eighteen years. I never had a teacher that looked like this.” She had gorgeous eyes, a mix of caramel and gold that matched her long tawny hair.

She started to reply, but then the boy turned her way, plainly worried. “Huwwy, Miss Wory! Huwwy.”

She hustled the child to the restrooms down the hall while Cruz entered the small courtroom marked “Judge Murdoch” on the door.

“Cruz.” Reverend Steve Gallagher saw him come through the door and quickly moved forward extending his hand. “Welcome home.” Steve oversaw a local church and the antiquated abbey abutting Casa Blanca, the picturesque vineyard and event center where Cruz grew up.

This wasn’t home, and it hadn’t really been home when he lived there, but he wasn’t going to argue with the cleric. Steve Gallagher was a fine man and a great neighbor. Cruz gripped his hand. “It’s good to see you, Reverend Gallagher.”

“Good to see you, too, son, but we’re all grown up. Steve works just fine.” The reverend clasped his hand in a firm, friendly grip. He motioned to the man standing nearby. “This is Judge Murdoch. Your mother’s case was brought to his attention.”

As Cruz reached out to shake the other man’s hand, Steve added, “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”

Cruz turned his attention back to Steve. “You left me little choice, and I’m fairly certain you knew the summons was out of left field and issued it, anyway.”

“Because you and your mother haven’t spoken in years.” Direct and honest, two qualities Cruz had always liked about Steve.

“My father played intermediary. Once he was gone, well...” Cruz shrugged. “My mother made it plain I wasn’t needed or welcome here.”

“You’re needed now.”

Cruz was needed, but not in this full-of-itself, old-fashioned town. He was needed right where he’d been up until five and a half hours ago, tucked in Lower Manhattan, making more money than most men see in a lifetime. “Reverend, I—”

“Ah, Rory, perfect.” The reverend smiled beyond him, as if he’d said nothing. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“It seems I’m not the only one being offered limited options,” she told Steve. Cruz had to hand it to her. Dissing clergy wasn’t a skill that got practiced much, even in Manhattan.

Steve Gallagher laughed, unaffronted. “True enough. Cruz, meet my niece, Aurora Gallagher. She’s the summertime pre-K teacher here in Grace Haven. And this—” he reached out and palmed the little guy’s head “—is Javier. He’s the youngest of your new responsibilities.”

Cruz stared from the cute kid to the minister. “Reverend Gallagher—Steve,” he corrected himself. “You’ve got this all wrong. There’s no way I can—”

“I found a toad, Reverend Steve!” A little girl sporting twin ponytails bounded through the door. Her presence hiked the room’s energy level as she slid to a stop near Steve’s legs.

“A lively one at that,” Steve replied. The gray-green toad bounded to the floor from her tiny fingers. “Cruz.” His tone changed. Softened. “This is Liliana.”

The girl didn’t peek up at him like her brother had done. She lifted her gaze as if excited by all life had to offer, brows raised, brown eyes sparkling, and grinned.

Elina.

The child was the absolute image of her mother, his beloved cousin, playmate and childhood best friend. Through all the turbulence of his parents’ marriage, Elina had looked after him, played with him and sheltered him. He owed her. He owed her so much, and yet he’d let time and space separate them long ago, and never looked back.

He swallowed hard, facing Elina’s daughter, and knew what he had to do, but hated having to do it because the last place Cruz wanted to be was in Grace Haven, New York.

“Tara, can you take the kids down the hall to see the aquarium? Cruz, you remember my daughter, Tara, don’t you?”

Cruz smiled and extended a hand in greeting. “I believe you had pigtails and braces when we last met.”

“An awkward stage only recently corrected,” Tara replied, laughing. She shook his hand, then took the little fellow from her cousin. “I’ll keep these guys busy for a few minutes while you make plans.”

The only plan Cruz intended to make involved a checkbook and an escape route.

“Our church is part of the ICM,” Steve told him.

Cruz had no idea what that meant. He folded his arms over his chest because just the thought of Grace Haven made him feel defensive. The reality of being here magnified the emotion. “Which is what?”

“The International Children’s Ministry is a nationally certified group that maintains legal jurisdiction for foreign children in times of crisis. We have the power to place children in foster care by approved members of the church and/or the community, along with the laws of a given locality. Dual guardianship is required in all cases.”

“So you are actually authorized to place these children into care in light of my mother’s health problems, despite the shaky legalities?”

“I have the legal right, and the moral obligation that goes along with it,” Steve told him. He swept Cruz and the honey-haired young woman a troubled look. “I’m sure this was nothing either of you expected to be thrust into today, but if there’s one thing that can be said about life, it’s that things are guaranteed to change when you least expect it.”

“Or when people fail to follow legal procedures with little regard to who’s affected.” The teacher directed a frank gaze to her uncle.

“Rosa’s been ill...”

The young woman held up a hand. “I understand that better than most, but the welfare of a child should always come first. And leaving these two precious little ones in legal limbo could mean a quick ticket back to Mexico, when a fairly simple process would have at least made them American citizens. Right now I’m wishing their mother or great-aunt had taken the steps to do the right thing.”