Marin Thomas - The Cowboy and the Angel

“Why not put the kids in a shelter until after Christmas? They’ll freeze to death in this weather.” Even though the children wore heavy coats, that didn’t mean their toes and fingers weren’t constantly numb.

“Shelters aren’t safe for young children or teens.”

“Better to take their chances there than die of hypothermia,” he argued.

“Typical comment from someone who doesn’t have a clue.” Renée’s fingers tightened until the knuckles turned white, and Duke figured she’d rather choke his neck than the steering wheel.

“Then give me a clue.”

“Shelters are magnets for child predators and gangs. Kids risk getting raped, molested or beaten in them.” She glanced across the seat. “You’d be wrong if you believed for a minute those children would rather stay in a shelter than out in the cold.”

“Okay, so there are problems with a shelter, but those same problems exist on the streets. What if gang members discover the kids and harass them? Or those drunks who sleep next door suddenly pay a visit in the middle of the night? At least in a shelter they’d sleep on a bed instead of cold concrete. And they’d eat regular meals.”

Renée didn’t comment as she pulled into a drive-through restaurant and ordered eighteen tacos and twelve cartons of milk.

Duke pulled out his wallet. “I admit I grew up with advantages most kids only dream about.” Even before his father had died and his mother had hooked up with her second husband, his family had lived in a nice home in an upper-middle-class neighborhood.

“Put your wallet away,” she grumbled, digging through her purse.

“I insist.” He doubted a social worker made enough money to feed herself let alone six kids. When Renée refused the two twenty-dollar bills he held out, he stuffed the cash into the purse on the seat between them. “At their age I was contemplating my next Little League game. Those kids worry over where their next meal’s coming from.”

“They’re not starving to death.” She drove forward to the order window and paid. “I’m doing my best to care for them until foster homes become available.”

The bright lights of the restaurant flooded the car and Duke swallowed a curse at the unnatural sheen in her eyes. He’d been wrapped up in his own frustration and hadn’t considered how difficult the situation was for Renée. Hell, if he was this upset after only meeting the kids once, he imagined how disturbing it was for Renée to interact with the children on a daily basis.

The pick-up window opened and Duke lost his chance to apologize. Renée set the bags of food on the seat, then drove off. “Tell me about the kids.”

“Crystal and Evie are sisters,” she began. “Their mother’s been in prison the past two years and DCFS hasn’t been successful in locating their father. Until a few months ago, the girls had been living with an aunt, but she became ill and was unable to care for them.”

“And this DC…”

“DCFS—Department of Child and Family Services.”

“Can’t secure the girls a foster family?”

“We found a home for Evie. It’s easier to place the younger ones. But Evie ran away when she learned her sister wasn’t invited to go with her. Crystal lasted a day in a city shelter before she hit the streets. Luckily, a friend of Crystal’s spotted Evie after she’d run off and took the little girl to where Crystal had been living with a group of kids in a city park.”

Duke shuddered when he considered any of a hundred horrible fates the girls might have suffered. “What about the boy with the twisted foot?”

“Timmy’s nine.”

“You’re kidding? I’d have guessed six. Maybe seven.” But what did he know about kids?

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