Christmas at Cade Ranch Page 6

  Javi climbed on Jared’s lap and patted his cheeks. “Can you teach me?”

  “Sure.”

  “After you eat your ten grapes,” James said, feeling a growing sense of duty to this child who might be a Cade.

  “Ugh. Always the lecturer,” Jewel groaned.

  “A man honors his word,” James insisted.

  “As does a woman,” Sofia added. They exchanged a quick searching glance and the morning’s easy rapport returned to him, followed by her inconsistencies about her wallet.

  A car revved outside and backfired. The sound cracked through the air like a gunshot. Javi jumped, spilling the bowl of grapes. He bolted around the back of the couch and started crying.

  The family swapped concerned glances as Sofia crouched by the small space. “It’s just a car, honey.”

  “Justin’s hunk-a-junk,” Jewel said over Sofia’s shoulder. “He’ll show it to you before he goes to the demolition derby.”

  “No,” Javi sobbed. “Shooting.”

  “Honey. You’re safe,” soothed Sofia.

  “No,” he choked out, hyperventilating, by the sound of it.

  It amazed James how quickly Javi had gone from rambunctious to fearful. Spirited to terrified. What had happened in his life to make him react this way? No one should ever feel afraid on Cade Ranch, especially not a child.

  He leaned over and spoke firmly, steadily. “Javi. I want you to take a deep breath in through your nose, then push it out through your mouth. Can you do that ten times, bud?”

  “Yes.”

  Sofia gripped the back of the sofa and the sides of their hands touched. The urge to thread his fingers in hers, to reassure her, seized him.

  Javi’s breathing slowed.

  “Okay. Now. When I say a body part, I want you to squeeze it hard, then relax it.”

  “With my hands?”

  “No. Just use your muscles.”

  He guided Javi through the relaxation technique he’d learned while on his first tour of duty in Afghanistan. It’d helped him get through those dangerous months, and sometimes, it even helped him sleep...or doze...at least.

  “Your head...” he concluded, after having Javi work his way up from his toes, tensing, then releasing the muscle groups. He felt rather than saw Sofia’s eyes on him.

  “I can’t squeeze my head,” Javi said with a giggle. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sofia’s relieved smile and returned it.

  “That must mean you’re a knucklehead,” he joked, and to his relief, Javi emerged from behind the couch.

  He shook his finger at James. “I heard that.”

  “Well. At least that means you don’t have cotton between your ears.”

  Javi giggled again and wriggled free of his mother’s embrace.

  “Do you want to check out Justin’s hunk-a-junk with me?” he asked, an urge to connect with Javi taking hold.

  “Okay.”

  A small hand slipped into his and a feeling of protectiveness surged. Such a trusting gesture. Tender. Vulnerable. A child’s faith could slay the most stalwart dragon, he marveled, and he felt the walls he’d built up about the boy begin to crumble.

  He led Javi out on the porch and Sofia followed.

  “Thank you,” she said to him softly, a heartbreaking smile on her face. A sliver of pink gum showed above her top teeth.

  Justin leaned out of the driver’s-side window of a rust-brown, banged-up Chevy Impala, the number 212 spray painted on its side. The engine rumbled in the night air. James’s nostrils stung from the spewing exhaust.

  “Ma! You coming? I need to get moving if I’m going to take out Daryl Loveland in the first round.”

  Joy’s hand fluttered to her hair, her necklace. “Actually, I don’t think I’ll go out after all.”

  James exchanged concerned glances with his siblings behind his mother’s back. She’d seemed so animated before.

  “Suit yourself. Hey, kid.” Justin beckoned Javi. “Want a ride before I head to the demolition derby?”

  His teeth flashed stark white against his dark beard, his grin more pirate than rancher. Justin’s many speeding tickets, accident reports and wrecks came to mind.

  “No,” James insisted. He met his family’s surprised stares, chin raised. Heedless Justin was the last person he trusted to drive Javi. “I’ll take him.”

  “Do you want to go, honey? You don’t have to.” Sofia brushed back Javi’s hair. James’s heart somersaulted at the tender gesture.

  Javi nodded, his eyes on the muscle car.

  “Want me to go with you?”

  Javi peered down at his hand clasped in James’s and shook his head. “Can I ride up front?”

  “Yes. But only because I’m going to go very slow, and you’re wearing a seat belt.” He met Sofia’s eye. “Okay, Mom?”

  She smiled tightly. “Just don’t go far.”

  “We won’t. Let’s go, Javi.”

  And a moment later, he guided the Impala down one of the dirt roads that separated pastures. The sports coupe growled and whined, bouncing over potholes, kicking up clouds of white snow, dust and pebbles. His thoughts and feelings swirled around his head like quicksilver, unpredictable and reluctant to coalesce. As he drove alongside barbed wire fences and stared at the white-crusted land illuminated by his headlights, he allowed himself to think about Jesse. Was Javi really Jesse’s son? And if so, had he disavowed the child? Why?

  Although he didn’t imagine he’d ever have children, he knew he’d never turn his back on his own. He’d always take responsibility and protect what was his.

  He shut down the traitorous thought of his brother. Believing Javi was Jesse’s son meant accepting his sibling had acted worse than he’d imagined, hurting not just his family, but inflicting pain on an innocent child. On Sofia.

  He cast a sideways glance down at the wide-eyed boy beside him. Javi huddled in the passenger seat, fidgeting with the large seat belt that crossed his lap. Cool air streamed in through the open window and he breathed in the bovine scent that mingled with the hay they’d tossed out to the livestock earlier.

  Javi was quiet. Too quiet. Concern rose. “Want me to turn around?”

  “No.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  Another moment of silence. Then, “Home.”

  “You miss your family.” It was more statement than question.

  Javi shook his head. “I don’t have any.”

  “No grandparents?” Was Sofia an orphan? If so, then who’d raised her? Curiosity rose, swift and urgent.

  “Joy. I mean, Grandma’s my first one besides Mama. Do you think she likes me?”

  “Yes,” he said, his voice gruff. Encouraging Javi to feel a part of the family was wrong until he had proof he was truly a Cade. Yet his convictions dwindled in the face of this child’s wish to belong.

  “No one ever likes me except Mama.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.” James turned down a left loop that would carry them back to the house. A row of wind turbines rotated slowly on a distant hill.

  “A lady behind a desk once called me a waste of space.”

  James’s fingers tightened around the cracked leather steering wheel. “That was a bad thing to say.”

  “Mama said her panty hose were too tight.”

  That pulled a laugh right out of him.

  “What’s panty hose?”

  Before James could think of how to explain, Javi asked, “Was Daddy bad?”

  James’s throat swelled. “Jesse tried his best. He was a good man, but he sometimes did wrong things.”

  “Mama says he went up.”

  James pressed on the brake when a ginger cat broke from some brush and scuttled across the road. “That’s tr
ue.”

  “You only get to go up if you’re good,” Javi said to his clasped hands.

  James flipped off his lights as they neared the glowing ranch house. “That’s why it’s important to be on our best behavior.”

  “But it’s hard,” moaned Javi.

  He grinned and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Yes, it is.”

  They pulled up to the front porch and there stood Sofia, just where they’d left her, as if she’d been frozen in place.

  She yanked open the door the moment they rolled to a stop.

  “Javi!” She swung him up into her arms. “I missed you.”

  James joined them as she set Javi on his feet.

  “Look what just got delivered!” Joy strode down the steps with a wallet held out toward Sofia.

  “Who?” Sofia grasped the small clutch bag that served as her wallet then opened it and peered inside.

  “A neighbor. He was having coffee at the diner when they found it wedged between the booth and the wall. He dropped it off on his way home.”

  If Sofia had her wallet, did she have drugs inside—her reason for not going to the police?

  “May I see that?”

  Everyone’s heads snapped up, and Jewel’s glare stung like a slap.

  “Back off, bro,” snarled Justin.

  James ignored his brother and arched an eyebrow at Sofia, waiting.

  “Mama?” Javi quavered, backing up and pressing his head against his mother’s legs.

  “It’s okay, babe.” She handed over the wallet without looking at James, her mouth in a tight line. “See?”

  Feeling like a jerk, but knowing someone had to be the bad guy to protect the family, he opened it. He ran his fingers along every seam, looking for secret compartments the way Jesse’s addiction had taught him. Then he pulled out money, Sofia’s driver’s license, a benefits card and a birth certificate.

  “Well, I’ll be,” his mother exclaimed as she moved close and peered down at the document. “That’s...that’s Jesse’s signature.”

  James stared at a birth certificate for one Javi Andrew Cade, father: Jesse Andrew Cade.

  His eyes rose and met Sofia’s.

  Jesse had signed Javi’s birth certificate.

  For a long while, James lingered on the porch once the others had gone inside, marveling.

  He had a nephew.

  Jesse had a son.

  The Cades hadn’t completely lost Jesse.

  The realization burned through James, turning his insides to ash. He would guard his brother’s child with his life. Javi was a Cade, and family looked out for each other.

  Sofia’s past addiction, her secrecy, placed his nephew in jeopardy. Traveling to Portland with only a job lead and neither family nor connections for support made her and Javi’s situation even more precarious.

  He had to find a way to help.

  There was still plenty to doubt about Sofia Gallardo. Given his unwelcome feelings for her, having her close would be a challenge.

  But he was glad she’d be sticking around after all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “WHAT’S THIS?”

  Sofia glowered down at the yellow notepad sheet James handed her a few days later. The kitchen window beside her glowed with the dawning sun. On the stove, yellow-orange flames curled beneath a teakettle.

  “A schedule.” He shoved first one arm, then the other into his flannel-lined jean jacket.

  “A schedule...”

  “Your To Do list.” He grabbed a rancher’s hat from a peg by the door, donned it and pulled the brim low over his deep brown eyes. His long eyelashes curled thick and dark.

  A small stream of white began pulsing from the kettle. “Duties?”

  “Tasks. You’ve had a job before...”

  “I’ve had several,” she snapped, her temper rising at the insinuation along with the whistling kettle.

  Deeper still, she stung at the remembered shame of being laid off from low-level positions when businesses no longer needed seasonal workers, closed their operations or downsized and kept only their most qualified help. High school dropouts with felony records were always expendable. Plus, “sketchy” workers like her seemed to require an extra layer of oversight since her supervisors always breathed down her neck, eager to jump on the first mistake. They made it clear she couldn’t be trusted on her own...shouldn’t be given any real responsibility.

  When no one had faith in you, how could you have faith in yourself? You heard something often enough, you started believing it was true.

  She whisked the kettle off the stove and poured the steaming liquid into two mugs set on the countertop.

  “Glad to hear it,” he murmured after buttoning his coat and scooping up his keys. His piercing stare made her squirm as though he saw straight through to every one of her failings. “The tasks are ordered and the start and finish times will keep you on track.”

  “Is this a bathroom break?” she asked faintly, scanning the list. She dunked the tea bags, squeezed them then tossed them out.

  “Ten twenty and three forty-five.” His chest puffed a bit.

  “And Javi and I are supposed to have tuna fish for lunch with mini carrots and a banana?” she forced out, choking. Javi hated carrots and tuna fish.

  Recalling how Joy took her tea, she measured a bit of sugar and milk into one of the mugs and stirred it, leaving the other black for herself.

  “Substitute the fruit for an apple if you like, but carrots are important for Javi’s eyesight. And omega-3 is good for his immune system.”

  “Thank you, but I believe I know best when it comes to my son.” She wanted better nutrition for Javi, but she didn’t need a parenting lesson from King James along with it. Sheesh.

  Talk about micromanaging. She tossed the spoon in the sink, where it clattered, making James wince. His controlling nature was worse than she’d thought, and now it extended to Javi.

  He rinsed the spoon and placed it in the dishwasher. “He’s my nephew.”

  “Yeah, for two seconds. I’ve been managing him just fine on my own for six years.”

  “And now you have help.”

  “If I need some, I’ll ask,” she huffed, his interference feeling like judgment, accessing her deepest, darkest fear—that she wasn’t the best parent for Javi.

  Joy’s light steps sounded on the stairs, then stopped.

  “Oh. Dear. James. What have you done?”

  She appeared paler than usual, Sofia noticed, and her concern for Joy cooled her temper. Dressed in a dark brown sweater that accentuated her silver hair and a pair of tan slacks, she looked as muted as her expression.

  James advanced. “Do you have everything, Ma?”

  “Never mind that. Why does Sofia look fit to be tied?”

  “Not at all, Joy.” Sofia used as normal a tone as she could manage. With Joy’s wrist operation looming in a couple of hours, the woman didn’t need to be stressed. “Here’s your tea.”

  James stepped between them, frowning. “She can’t have tea. No food or water after midnight.”

  Sofia flushed. “Right.”

  “It was on the instructions.” He pointed to the pre-op orders held to the fridge with a magnet. “Did you read them?”

  Heat rose in her cheeks. Reading had never been a strength of hers. Or instructions. They hemmed her in, giving her no autonomy. Her muscles clenched. At least here, where drugs weren’t so accessible, she could resist this building tension.

  “James, stop. Sofia. My apologies for my protective son. Believe it or not, it’s coming from a good place.”

  “Beats me where that is, though,” Jared drawled, suddenly appearing. With his dark hair slicked back, his jaw smooth-shaved, his plaid shirt contrasting with his gol
den-brown eyes, he looked like some movie-star impression of a cowboy. Way too put together for first thing in the morning. Not roughrider and scruffy the way she liked.

  Her eyes flew to James’s shadowed jaw, then dropped.

  “Overcontrolling is more like. Morning, everyone.” Jewel hugged her scowling brother, then bussed her mother on the cheek. She had her dark hair back in a single French braid and a denim shirt tucked into worn jeans. “I’ll have that tea if no one else is.”

  “Oh, sure.”

  The porch door wrenched open. It emitted a gust of cold air and a bedraggled Justin, wearing the clothes he’d had on yesterday...and pretty much every day: a wrinkled black shirt, dark jeans and scuffed black boots.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” Jared drawled. “Nice bruise.”

  Justin slouched across the room, lanky, wiry as an apostrophe mark, his square-shouldered, loose-limbed gait oddly graceful, his dark beard a little menacing. At least it took away from his disconcerting resemblance to his twin. While Jesse had always been cheerful and exuberant, dark, silent Justin...well...Justin brooded. “You should see the other guy.”

  “Was it Daryl Loveland?” Jewel asked, sounding eager. Bloodthirsty, even...

  “Yep.” Justin’s grunt held a load of deep satisfaction.

  “Did you win?” Jared slipped on a curved brown cowboy hat that looked like it’d just come out of its wrapper. In fact, every shiny inch of him seemed like it was wrapped in cellophane, Sofia mused, wondering if he just naturally repelled all stains, wrinkling or fading. Maybe life didn’t want to muss all that perfection.

  Justin let out a breath. “Almost.”

  Joy fiddled with the cross at her neck. “I don’t like those fights.”

  “Fights?” Sofia asked.

  “Barn-boxing,” Jewel contributed, grabbing a blueberry muffin from the plate Sofia set out. “Every weekend the local boys get together for matchups. No gloves. No rules. Cage fighting, country-style.”

  “It’s dangerous,” Joy worried. Her brow furrowed.

  “And irresponsible,” James grumbled, drumming his fingers on the table.

  “Don’t know why you kids need to keep fussing over those Lovelands.” Joy shook her head at Jared.