Читать книгу Home To You - Cheryl Wolverton - Страница 9

Thirty-two-year-old Dakota Ryder quickly finished the report he was reading and scrawled his signature across the bottom. He leaned back in the dark brown leather chair, grimacing as he heard it squeak. He needed to get that oiled, he thought, but then immediately dismissed the idea as yet another thing to do later, when he had more time. He glanced at the clock over the sofa and sighed. Pushing back from his mahogany desk, he grabbed up the papers he’d just finished and stood. He was running late.

He strode across the deep, thick, mauve carpet, pausing only to pull open the door before leaving his office. At Sherry Anne’s desk, his assistant, who was busily creating next Sunday’s bulletin on her computer, he hesitated. Smiling at the middle-aged blonde, he dropped the reports he’d signed into her in-box on the corner of her small desk.

“Can you see that these get mailed to headquarters?” He twisted his wrist to look at his watch, confirming that the time was the same as the clock in his office. “I’m going to be late for my meeting with the contractors.”

Sherry Anne picked up the papers and checked the address. “Sure thing. Jacob and Marlene called about their counseling appointment. They want to change it to next week.”

“Fit them in.” Looking again at his watch, he muttered, “I’m going to be out the rest of the day. Lock up when you leave.”

“Sure thing, Pastor.” Sherry Anne turned back to her computer screen. “Don’t forget your 9:00 a.m. meeting tomorrow with Mr. Bennett. He wants to talk to you about the finances.”

Dakota groaned. “Thanks.” Zachary Bennett and his wife, Georgia, were huge contributors to the church—and somehow they felt that gave them the right to tell Dakota how to spend church money.

He headed through the foyer. The dark red carpet muffled his footsteps as he passed between the two long middle rows of white pews. The padded seats matched the red of the carpet.

How many times had he looked out over the congregation who filled these pews three times each week? He mentally calculated as he hastened toward the back door and to his appointment. Seven years, nearly three services every week…too many to count.

He continued down the aisle, hearing the air-conditioning turn on. Pausing by the thermostat, he clicked the switch to off. The band had forgotten to turn it off after practice earlier. He made a mental note to mention it to them.

Life was too short, he thought, making a list of things he needed to do. He never had enough hours in the day to get things done. The church currently had no associate pastor, so Dakota was trying to complete all of the pastoral jobs himself. Except for the youth. They did have a great youth pastor—who was still in his office working right now, as a matter of fact.

Working.

Just like Dakota was working, even though he was leaving the church. Just like he’d be working late into the night on a load of reports he’d stashed in his car earlier.

Heading out to his little compact sedan, Dakota tried to think of a time since returning from seminary that he hadn’t been busy working on one project or another. There weren’t many times, lately. At least he was busy doing God’s work, he thought as he pulled out his keys to unlock the door.

But that didn’t leave him time for anything else.

Glancing at his watch again, he noted he was going to be late-late-late. He pulled out his cell phone as he unlocked the car, and struggled to balance the phone against his shoulder.

“Call, Chandler Contracts,” he spoke into the phone.

The sun was shining brightly today, even though it wasn’t hot. Summer was past and fall had finally arrived. The wind whipped at his hair as he finally managed to get the lock turned in the door. Ah, the wind. There was nary a day without it on the plains of Texas.

The phone on the other end began to ring.

He slid into the silver Honda and slipped on the gray seat belt.

He loved his hometown and all that went with it; the weather was great, he knew everyone, it was small enough to get anywhere pretty fast, but it was still big enough to have most of the stores and businesses he might need—like the contractors he was about to hire.

“Chandler Contractors. How may I direct your call?” The deep baritone voice came across the line clearly.

Dakota started his car. “This is Dakota Ryder. I have an appointment with Harry Chandler regarding an extension to our church. I’m running about ten minutes behind. I need you to let him know.”

He could hear typing in the background and then, “Very well. Thank you for letting us know, Pastor Ryder.”

He shook his head with a slight smile, realizing the young man on the other end of the phone must know him. “No problem.”

Clicking the phone off, he dropped it in the empty seat next to him and then pushed the gearshift into Reverse with one hand while twisting the wheel of the car with the other.

Glancing over his shoulder as he backed out, he shook his head. Life couldn’t get any more hectic.

Chase Sandoval paused as he set the porcelain figurine over the hearth of the fireplace.

They’d been back barely a week in Shenandoah, Texas, and he had finally started unpacking things beyond the basics they’d needed to survive.

This was why.

The porcelain figure was of a woman wearing a long dress. Her long, wavy hair was pulled back with a blue bow. On her lap sat a tiny child, and the mother stared down lovingly at the child, her arms protecting it carefully.

He’d gotten the figurine for Ruthie when she’d found out she was pregnant with their child.

With Sarah.

Sarah was eleven and his precious Ruthie was gone.

Chase’s heart contracted and his hands shook.

Cancer.

Chase and Sarah had watched Ruthie fade away before dying.

Why hadn’t she gone for checkups more often? Why had she ignored the signs? More important, why hadn’t she told them about her secret?

Angry at first, Chase had finally sunk into acceptance. However, as acceptance had come he’d realized their house in Fort Worth was too empty without her. His job, which had kept him gone so much, now hindered his ability to raise his daughter.

If he’d been around more, perhaps he would have noticed the changes in his wife before it was too late.

But he hadn’t and his wife was dead and his daughter was on the road to becoming a juvenile delinquent. She didn’t want to be around him or talk to him. She’d started hanging out with some of the bad kids and running the streets. He’d had to find some way to head it off, and quick.

But how?

The house was too empty, his job hours were too long, and his daughter was acting more like eighteen than eleven…

How he had wished he could capture his own childhood and share it with her.

And that’s when the idea had struck him.

It’d only taken a few weeks to get a reply back from the local sheriff’s office about jobs and then a few more weeks to sell their house.

Then, he’d come back home, to Shenandoah. This was a place where he could raise his daughter, a place to help her find good influences for her life, a place to start over and try to do things right this time. It was a place where they could heal.

Without Ruthie.

Chase hugged the figurine to his chest, and then, with a sigh, reluctantly released his grip on the tiny porcelain figure as he tried to release past pain, setting it upon the hearth just as he tried to set aside the grief and leave it in the past.

The oak hearth was beautifully crafted, the intricate designs made by loving hands. A mirror stretched above the length of the hearth, reflecting Chase’s own short, dark brown hair and deep brown eyes. He looked a bit haggard—he needed to step a bit closer to the razor that morning.

He turned his gaze from the mirror, glancing around the room. The floors and ceiling beams were also made of wood and shone as if freshly oiled. The walls were white and the windows were tall and narrow, covered by curtains left by the last owners, who’d said they fit these windows and wouldn’t go with their new house.

He appreciated their generous gift.

Still, at moments like this, Chase wondered why he’d bothered with such an elaborate house. There was no one here to care for it, no wife to see that those curtains found matches in furniture or knickknacks.

But he knew.

It was because of Sarah that he’d bought the house.

She needed a home in a good neighborhood with good schools.

The people who had lived here before him had built a fort out back and had a permanent swing set made of wood cemented into the ground. There was a great climbing tree with a picnic table under it. All were constructed with good craftsmanship. He should know—in his spare time he used to build things. He’d gotten some experience here in Shenandoah, working for a carpenter. He loved building and thought Sarah would love the sturdy, beautifully crafted equipment out back, as well as the large spacious room and the quiet small-town feel of Shenandoah.

It would be a place for Sarah.

Staring at the beautiful, though painful, reminder of his beloved wife, Sarah’s mother, he decided he’d done enough unpacking for the day. He was going into town for lunch.

He and Sarah could unpack together later. Maybe they’d order a pizza tonight and pop in a movie.

But being in this house, alone, with all of the memories—

Turning away, he headed to the door, scooping up his keys on the way, and leaving the pain for later.

Carolyne Ryder sat in the old-fashioned, padded rocking chair, holding her four-month-old grandson, Joshua. He’d been fussy and unable to go to sleep, while his twin sister, Julie, was resting like a little angel in the crib across the room.

Joshua was asleep now, but Carolyne continued to rock back and forth, back and forth, patting the child’s back.

Her daughter, Susan, didn’t really need her here. She’d come to that conclusion about three weeks ago. She had a live-in housekeeper who doubled as a nanny and who was there to take care of the kids. Cokie did a great job.

Still, Susan and her husband, Johnny, had insisted that Carolyne stay as long as she wanted. These were her first grandchildren, Susan had only returned to work six weeks ago, and the kids needed a grandmother there for a while longer…

So Carolyne had stayed.

But she was restless. Montana was getting cold, a cold Carolyne wasn’t used to, and this just wasn’t her home.

Looking around the peach-and-green pastel-shaded room, she smiled at how it had been decorated. Two beautifully multicolored mobiles, one hanging over each crib, danced quietly to their own simple tune, courtesy of the air vent above them that blew out a warm breeze. The cribs had pink-and-blue sheets and baby-bumper pads that were decorated with flounces and tiny teddy bears. A changing table complete with diapers sat between the two cribs.

Carolyne and her husband hadn’t had enough money to have anything this fancy when they had been young and Susan had come along. Even when Dakota arrived, they’d been happy just to make ends meet.

Oh, how holding this child brought back such memories of when her own two children were small—and she was needed.

She stared down at the chubby-cheeked, dark-haired baby in her arms.

Now her children were grown. Susan lived half a continent away from Shenandoah and Carolyne’s life there, she and Johnny having started their own life with their own friends and their own traditions right here in Montana.

Yes, Susan had her husband and babies, and Carolyne, though she knew would always be welcomed, was no longer needed here.

Susan and Johnny needed time alone. Carolyne might have helped at first, but now she was in the way.

She felt in the way with her son, Dakota, as well. He was the pastor of a growing church that took up most of his time, and he didn’t need her anymore, either.

Her husband had died ten years ago, and Carolyne found herself at loose ends. Dakota was so busy with the church that she rarely saw him. He did, however, still live at home with her. She cooked meals, but many days he was so caught up in church work that he missed the meals completely.

She loved him, but she still felt very alone.

Both of her kids were adults.

What was supposed to happen when her kids grew up? What did she have left to look forward to? A simple life, spent growing old in the same house she’d lived in for the last thirty-five years? Would her obituary read that she was fond of puttering in the garden, or that her flower beds took up all of her time? Would her friends say that, yes, she was the one waiting each day for her son to eventually come home and regale her with tales of what went on in his life?

She sighed.

In the other room she heard the phone ring.

Moments later, Cokie entered the room where Carolyne sat, baby in her arms.

Cokie was of Asian descent and one of the nicest women Carolyne had met in Montana. Cokie was quiet. She didn’t talk much except to the children. She stayed busy cleaning, cooking or being there for the babies when Carolyne wasn’t.

“You have call, Ms. Carolyne.” Her softly accented voice drifted quietly to Carolyne.

Surprised, Carolyne wondered who it could be. “Thank you.”

She stood and carefully tiptoed over to the crib and laid her grandson down.

She lovingly tucked the small receiving blanket around him and held her breath as he screwed up his mouth. But his eyes remained closed as he adjusted. As he let out a shuddering breath, his tiny fists relaxed next to his head.

Certain he wasn’t going to wake up, she left the room and treaded down the light brown carpet into the large living room.

Johnny was a lawyer and evidently did well at his job. The house was beautiful, much bigger than the one Susan had grown up in. With soft earth-toned furniture and brass tables, the living room had a very modern look.

Pity her grandchildren learning to walk in this room, she thought, looking at the many hard surfaces they’d have to crash into as they discovered their balance.

She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Carolyne? Is that you?”

“Margaret?” Why in the world would her next-door neighbor be calling her? Color drained from her face as she realized something had happened to Dakota. “Dakota? Is he okay?” Fear clutched her heart.

“Oh, he’s fine, he’s fine—shush, sister, I’m getting to it,” the woman on the line told someone in the background.

Margaret and Mary, twin sisters who had lived next door since Carolyne and her husband had moved in thirty-five years ago, well over eighty now, still bickered as they did when their parents were alive and living in the house with them. “Getting to what? Margaret?” Carolyne asked patiently of the one on the phone. Sometimes she had to prompt the sisters because the two would get so caught up in their own conversation they’d forget who they were actually talking to.

“It’s not much, dear,” Margaret said now, and Carolyne didn’t believe her for a minute. She wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t much…

“But,” Margaret continued, “we wanted you to know we’ve missed you and so has Dakota. Has he called you much?”

Carolyne took a slow breath and held it for a moment. The two women were up to something. She could sense it. They weren’t going to tell her immediately, however. She’d just have to wait them out.

Seating herself in the chair next to the Princess-style phone, she crossed her legs. “No, not today. It’s been about a week now since we’ve talked.”

“I thought as much.”

“He’s a busy man,” Carolyne defended her son.

“Is he ever. No, sister, she said he was busy. Busy. Now just wait until I’m off the phone. Carolyne, are you still there?”

Carolyne nodded. “Yes, Margaret. As I said, Dakota has his own life. He doesn’t need me there or calling him constantly.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Margaret dropped that last sentence and utter silence filled the phone line.

Now they were getting somewhere. But what was this all about? “Why do you say that, Margaret?”

“Well, I’m not one to tell tales, now. You know that, Carolyne dear, but then, when I feel something isn’t right, I’m not one to go hide, either. I’m not some fainthearted girl who simply swoons every time I see something like, well, you know…”

No, she didn’t know.

“So, I’m glad it was me that saw it. Yes, sister, and you, too. She always thinks I’m trying to best her, Carolyne. Anyway, we saw it. And I felt it my duty to call you.”

Margaret took a deep breath, but before she could continue, Mary’s voice came across the line. “There’s a strange woman on his front doorstep.”

“Mary. Get off that extension and let me handle this!”

Carolyne held the phone away from her ear, frowning. Margaret was usually the more practical of the two. What was going on?

“You aren’t telling her about the shenanigans, sister, so don’t you tell me to get off the phone.”

“If you would give me a minute.”

Carolyne sighed. Confused, but determined to wade through their chatter to find out just what was going on, she raised her voice firmly, “What woman?”

“I don’t think she’s addled or slow, mind you,” Margaret butted in over Mary. “To be honest, I don’t recognize her at all and I’m sure that Dakota won’t either. Anyway, we’re about to go over and talk to her.”

“We thought about reporting her to the police—” Mary added.

“She’s drinking.” This from Margaret who attempted to cut Mary’s words off.

“And she’s dressed, well…indecently,” Mary added, not to be outdone.

“Black boots up to her thighs,” Margaret supplied.

Alarmed, Carolyne sat up straight, both feet coming to rest on the floor. “Boots to her thighs?”

“And what she’s wearing would make anyone blush,” Mary said outrageously.

Alarmed, Carolyne tried to tell herself not to overreact. “I’m sure there’s some explanation…”

“There sure is,” Margaret said bluntly. “Your son needs you. He’s not eating supper at home and not getting home until late at night. He’s gotten to where it’s as late as midnight or more before he makes it home and now this woman is on his doorstep. He’s ruining his reputation!”

“Well now, sister,” Mary interrupted, “I wouldn’t say he’s ruining his reputation, but it is obvious that he needs Carolyne back home.”

“It’s scandalous,” Margaret sounded knowing.

“Maybe I should call him,” Carolyne’s mind whirled in a tizzy over the conversation these two women were attempting to have with her.

“He’s not home yet. Believe me, if he was, I’m sure that woman wouldn’t be lolling out on the front porch like she is.”

Mary added, “If you were here, everything would be fine. It seems like as soon as you left, Dakota went wild.”

“He always was the wilder of the two,” Margaret butted in to say.

“I have to agree with sister on that. But I think this is all some mistake. Dakota is a fine man. Still, he has no one here and I think he’s lonely.”

“Lonely?” Margaret scoffed. “He’s so busy he doesn’t know what lonely is. Carolyne, we tried calling Pastor Cody at the church and he wasn’t there. He’s making an early day of it, which means he’ll be home soon. If you want my advice, I’d suggest you get home as soon as possible. I think your son needs you.”

Carolyne’s mind raced.

Dakota didn’t need her at all. He was a grown man. Just as her daughter, Susan, was a grown woman.

But hadn’t she just been thinking about returning home?

She missed Texas and it was getting too cold here.

She missed her church and the familiar sounds and ease of her own house.

Of course, Dakota didn’t really need her, but would it hurt to go ahead and return home early?

“Carolyne, did you hear me?”

“Yes, Margaret, I did. Let me call the airlines, talk to my daughter and see what I can get done, all right?”

“Oh good,” Mary said breathlessly. “I’m so glad you’re coming back. We’ve missed sitting out on the porch with you in the evenings.”

“Never you mind that, sister,” Margaret admonished. “Her son is under attack and she needs to be here to restore his reputation. Now, get off the phone so I can hang up. Carolyne needs to make plans.”

Carolyne heard a click and then Margaret added, “We’ll be watching for you.”

“I need to make plans first,” Carolyne argued.

“No, Carolyne. You need to be here for your son,” Margaret’s uncharacteristically soft voice touched Carolyne. “Please, hurry home.”

Carolyne heard a click and shook her head.

She hung up the phone and then sat staring at it, unsure what was going on at her house. Dakota had been so busy that he rarely had time to call; and when he did, his reports were always filled with what he had to do the next day.

She hadn’t pushed talking about how he was doing because he was just so busy.

Maybe she should have.

Could he know the woman who was lounging on their front steps?

Surely not.

If the sisters had described the woman right…unless she was one of Dakota’s charity cases, he wouldn’t have anything to do with that type of female. Would he?

“Is everything all right, ma’am?”

For the first time, Carolyne noticed Cokie standing there next to her.

“I’m not sure, Cokie. But it looks like I need to go home and find out.”

“Ma’am?” Cokie asked.

“I need help packing. It sounds like my son needs me.”

Carolyne stood.

Cokie hurried off down the hall and Carolyne picked up the phone to call Susan at work, deciding to call Susan first.

If she planned it right, she could be back home in Texas by dinner.

Dakota Ryder sat in the seat next to his friend, Chase Sandoval. “I appreciate the ride home, Chase. Seems my car won’t be ready until tomorrow.”

“No problem, bud,” Chase replied, his familiar brown eyes glancing toward Dakota as he turned down the tree-lined street. “I can’t believe you still live out in this area, man. I remember the years we spent picking leaves up every fall, swearing when we grew up we were going to move where there were no trees.” He shook his head. “So, are you gonna hire someone to rake up all the leaves in your yard this fall?”

“You think it’s that bad?” Dakota chuckled.

“We spent too many years out there doing it to be forced into doing it anymore.”

Dakota laughed outright remembering their childhood adventures together.

“Maybe I’ll hire some kids from church. They’re getting ready for a winter trip they’re planning to take Christmas break, and Jeff has them offering to do jobs for everyone so they can earn money for their expenses.”

“Sounds like that new youth pastor of yours is working out.”

“He’s doing great. A year ago I couldn’t have imagined having this many young people attending church.”

“Ah, but when you step out on faith and do what God tells you to do…”

Dakota grinned and knew his own brown eyes reflected the humor of Chase quoting back what he’d told him so many times. “It’s my job to say that.” It sure was good to have his old friend back in town. “Yeah, we don’t know what God has planned for our future. The church has doubled in size, and we’re even looking into doing something special for families around town this Christmas.”

Chase turned onto Chippewa where Dakota lived. Dakota tried to look at his neighborhood from his friend’s point of view. It was an older area of Shenandoah, a town that wasn’t much younger than Fort Worth itself. The streets were laid out in straight lines from north to south and from east to west. Sidewalks graced each side of the street and huge old maple and elm trees filled the front yards. Leaves covered everything, including the streets. The breeze caught a few and they swirled up, dancing across the road in a flurry of movement and color, looking like one of the small twisters that so often invaded their land in the springtime.

The houses themselves were tall and square, mostly made of brick or whitewash, but smaller than the houses in the center of town, and not on such evenly divided lots. By the time a person reached the edge of town, it seemed like wilderness—nothing for miles except the many cattle ranches and a few farmers who grew wheat or cotton.

Dakota had grown up in the house he lived in now. A two-story whitewash, it had a front porch and a swing. Two huge maples stood in the front and a weeping willow and a vegetable garden graced the backyard. The garden had always been his mom’s favorite; she loved digging in it, but right now, as autumn deepened its hold, the garden was barren.

“Speaking of the church, it’s actually doing very well,” Dakota returned to the conversation. “With you back in town you might consider coming there if you don’t find another church.”

Chase hesitated. “Let me get moved in first.”

Because his car had broken down, Dakota had been forced to break his luncheon appointment. But as luck would have it, he’d seen Chase and they’d ended up having lunch together.

His friend wasn’t the joking, laughing person he’d remembered. His letters hadn’t revealed just how much Chase had suffered since his wife’s death. Dakota wondered if he’d backed off from God spiritually as well.

“Shenandoah sure has grown since I’ve been gone.”

Dakota nodded. “I guess twenty years ago everyone thought moving to Fort Worth was the way to go. Now everyone’s escaping back out to the small towns within a few hours of the big cities.”

“Too much corruption and pollution in the big cities.”

“Just why did you move back, Chase?”

Chase had been one of Dakota’s best friends growing up. In tenth grade he’d had to move away, but they’d kept in touch over the years through regular mail and e-mail. Last year Chase’s wife had died, and Chase had been left to raise their daughter alone.

“You mean besides the job as deputy sheriff?”

Dakota nodded as Chase pulled up at his house. “It looks just the same…except for the two old ladies standing in your yard.” Chase nodded toward the house.

Dakota followed his gesture and groaned.

Chase grinned. “What’s up with them?”

“That’s the Mulgrew sisters. Mary and Margaret. They live next door. Don’t you remember them?”

Chase’s eyes widened. “Wait a minute…you mean they’re still alive?”

Dakota nodded. “Alive and well and out to take care of me now that my mom is visiting Susan and helping take care of the twins.”

Chase unsnapped his seat belt and jumped from the sedan. Dakota followed suit. Reaching into the back of the car, he grabbed one of the two boxes he’d put in his car, intending to bring them home before his transmission had given out.

“I’ll help you with those,” Chase offered.

“You just want to see what the Mulgrew sisters have to say.”

Chase chuckled, the first real laugh he’d heard from his friend since meeting up with him again. “They were a pair back then.”

They started up the leaf-covered sidewalk toward the house. Mary and Margaret both wasted no time in hurrying toward them.

The shorter of the two, Mary, her light blue hair distinguishing her from her older (by only a few minutes) sister, who had silver hair, started forward. “It’s awful. I told her she shouldn’t be up there, but she just laughed in my face, didn’t she, sister?”

Margaret nodded. “And rather rudely. She’s had a nip.” Margaret motioned with her hand, as if tipping a bottle up, and then dropped it into her other hand, clasping them, worrying the white hankie that was in her other hand. “Bless your mother’s heart. If she saw that she’d turn white with shock.”

“Not sister and me though,” Mary added. “I do say, it is shocking, but then, we grew up in poverty and saw worse back then, though you didn’t flaunt it.”

“Well, you did if you were one of them,” Margaret lifted an eyebrow to match her superior tone.

“Margaret,” Mary admonished.

Dakota raised a hand. “Um, excuse me.”

Both women turned from each other to look at him expectantly. Before he could say a word, however, Margaret launched back into her speech. “We thought about calling the police but then, you are a pastor and are supposed to have mercy and we decided you’d probably seek out a homeless shelter—”

“Or something,” Mary added, not to be left out.

“I’m not sure…that is…” Dakota began trying to decide what to address first in all they had just said. These women had a way of turning his dark brown hair a bit grayer with every meeting. He was certain those first few gray hairs he’d found the other day were attributable to conversations like this.

“Have we met?” Margaret interrupted, staring oddly at Chase. “You look familiar.”

Chase cleared his throat. “I’m Chase Sandoval, ma’am.”

“Oh, yes!” Mary nodded suddenly. “You were that boy that liked to ride his bike through our yard.”

Chase actually blushed to the roots of his hair. “Oh, yeah, I’d, um…forgotten.” He cast a look at Dakota, hoping for help.

Dakota was still trying to figure out why he’d want to contact a homeless shelter.

“We certainly didn’t forget,” Margaret told him. “I always worried you were going to grow up to be a hoodlum. Looks like you turned out good—unless you’re here for counseling from Pastor Cody.”

“Pastor—”

“Cody…” Dakota acknowledged. “They’re the only ones who still call me that name.” He smiled patiently. “But he’s not. Here for counseling, that is. Which brings us around full court. Can you tell me, ladies, why I might want to call a homeless shelter?”

The sound of his swing creaking brought his head around to his porch—and his jaw dropped.

A woman, no more than five and a half feet tall, stood up. It wasn’t just a woman though, it was…he glanced at her outfit and saw why Margaret and Mary had worried about who was on his porch.

Moving past the two women, he headed toward the steps and slowly climbed to the porch. Father, guide me, he prayed silently, wondering how this woman had found his address.

Her black skirt hung at an odd angle and stopped just above her knees—it might have once been a possible accessory to a business suit. However, one boot was missing a heel, and her sweater hung off one shoulder, nearly exposing areas that Dakota had no business seeing. Her hair was ratted, big enough a bird’s nest could hide in it, and the smeared and caked-on makeup on her face easily added a pound to her weight—her very light weight. Her high cheekbones were gaunt, and her bleary eyes stared out at him from under mascara-smeared lids.

He didn’t miss the bottle of booze in her hand. Nor could he miss the smell. “Hello, I’m Dakota Ryder. Can I help you?”

Compassion filled him at the empty look in her eyes. Compassion and concern as she teetered on her feet. Taking a step forward, she waved the bottle. “How ya doing, Cody? We said we’d be best friends forever.” She giggled and took another swig of the bottle before tossing it over the porch rail and into the flower bed. “I’m here to be your sister.” With that, she threw out her arms, promptly lost her balance and fell headlong into the stunned arms of Dakota Ryder.