There’s a little over an hour before I have to go out for evening chores, so I run a hot bath to soak my aching muscles. Between Tate coming here and there during the week, and Roger stopping by some weekends, I’ve managed to keep on top of my ranch without having to hire more than one additional hand. However, if this injury isn’t as temporary as I’d hoped, I should probably work on hiring one more.
I live in the main house, which isn’t very large. It’s a ranch style with three large bedrooms and an office. The basement is finished and contains one of the bedrooms, a large greatroom for entertaining, as well as a laundry room, full bath, and additional space for storage.
There are a couple of small cottages on my property, far enough away that they are private, but close enough to be convenient to the main house as well as the barn and stables. The cottages mostly remain empty, but the ranch hands know where the keys are if they ever need a place to stay. My ranch is small compared to Boulder Ranch and even the Garrison ranch. I only have a handful of horses and thirty head of cattle.
After stripping off my clothes, I step into the steaming hot bath. The water temperature is so high it’s barely tolerable. But I know it’s just what my sore body needs. Goosebumps spread over my flesh as I lower myself into the water. I settle into the tub and try my best to relax as the water laps over my shoulders.
As soon as the ache finally begins to calm down, pounding on my door causes me to sit up straight, my muscles going rigid and causing me to grunt in pain. Gingerly, to avoid relying on my bad shoulder, I step out of the tub and wrap a towel around my waist. I’m trailing water across my wood floors, but that’s the least of my concerns as the pounding continues.
“Yeah?” I bark, whipping the door open to a concerned-looking old woman and a younger girl, maybe a teenager.
“Hayden Scott?” The woman adjusts her gray bun while she waits for me to respond.
My eyes dart between the woman and the teenage girl whose eyes are cast down toward her shoes. Her dark curls cover most of her face, and I’m reminded that I’m standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a white bath towel. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m Marianne Jones, from Children’s Services. Can we come inside?”
Children’s Services?I step back, allowing them both to pass before I close the door. If this woman tries to tell me this is my kid, I’ll have to politely tell her she’s insane. It’s a nice touch bringing the kid along, but I have only been with two women since Lisa. One of them was five years ago, and the other one was Miranda.
“Excuse me a minute. But please, have a seat.” I gesture toward the living room before heading to my bedroom to get dressed.
I pull on the first pair of boxer briefs in my drawer along with Wranglers and a T-shirt while I continue to rack my brain. There’s no reason a woman from the county and a kid should have appeared on my doorstep. I scrub my towel over my hair before tossing it into the hamper and rejoining my surprise guests.
The two ladies have taken a seat on my sofa, but the girl still doesn’t look at me. Marianne smiles and stands as I approach, accepting my outstretched hand. She glances at the girl beforegiving me a brittle smile. I gesture for her to sit as I do the same in the armchair diagonal from the sofa.
“Now,” I begin, pausing for a moment as I decide how to start the conversation. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, Mr. Scott, there’s been an accident.”
Returning my gaze to the girl, I gasp when her eyes meet mine. Large brown eyes. Lisa’s eyes. I study her. She’s pretty. Looks to be around sixteen or seventeen. Thick, dark curls frame nearly flawless light-brown skin—the same complexion as Lisa and her sister, Monica.
“Monica?” My voice is barely more than a harsh whisper as I’m momentarily transported back sixteen years.
“Who’s that at the door?” Lisa asks as she approaches from behind me before stopping in her tracks. “Monica? What are you doing here?”
Stepping aside, I wrap my arm around Lisa. I know the two women aren’t close. There’s a reason I’ve only ever seen her in photos up until now. The baby in Monica’s arms begins to fuss, so I motion for them to come inside. Obviously, the women need to talk, and it’s not a conversation for the front porch.
Monica sits down on the loveseat, while I lead Lisa to the sofa and take her hand as soon as we get situated across from her. She runs her free hand over her short pixie cut, her eyes never leaving Monica and the baby. It’s now that I notice how similarthe women look. The only difference is that Monica has long, natural curls, while Lisa wears hers straight and short.
“I just wanted to say sorry,” Monica says after a long silence. “And that you were right. Ben is still married. And he’s never going to leave her. I should have ended things five years ago, like you said I should. When I found out I was pregnant, I was stupid enough to think it might bring us closer.”
Lisa squeezes my hand as she listens. I squeeze back in support, even though I have no idea where this conversation is headed. I turn my attention to the tiny baby swaddled in her mother’s arms.
“Do you need help?” I ask without hesitation, despite being a mere stranger.
Monica shakes her head. “No. I just came here to say sorry to Lisa. And to ask one favor. I know we aren’t close, but Ben signed away his rights today. I just want to be sure that if something happens to me, there will be someone to take care of Sierra. Will you be her godparents? It’s just the two of us, and I don’t want…”
“Of course,” we both say in unison.
“Thank you,” she breathes, fresh tears glinting in her eyes. “Thank you. Ben was generous enough to give me some money before permanently disowning his child. I’ll get whatever papers we need, so it’s set. Thank you.”
I shake my head to clear the memory. It takes a few beats before I realize Marianne is speaking to me.I’m not sure how long she’s been talking or what she’s said, so I hold up a hand to stop her.
“I’m sorry. Can you give me a moment?” I ask, doing my best to rein in my emotions. “Sierra?”
The girl’s eyes widen and her shoulders sag in…relief? Hope? I’m not sure, but my muscles tense as I brace myself for what Marianne is getting ready to say.
“Monica Johnson passed away in a car accident. Sierra has been in our care for the past two weeks until we could gain access to your contact information. Monica had a will, and you are one of the two people listed to take care of Sierra should something happen. All the paperwork checks out. I understand Lisa…” Marianne trails off, apparently noticing the way I stiffen.
