“He made it himself,” Nate said, appearing at the child’s side. “I just found an envelope.”
“It was too big,” Connor said.
Ginger flipped over the envelope and slid her finger under the sealed flap. “It’s just perfect.” She grinned at him again and took out the card. Clearly, Connor had done this, and she couldn’t quite tell what the brown and black lines were meant to be. “Show me,” she said.
“That’s Ursula,” he said. “See her purple collar?” He pointed to it, and pure happiness flowed through Ginger.
“Oh, she’s beautiful,” she said. The dog came over and licked Ginger’s arm, and she showed her the card. “Look, Ursula. It’s you.”
The dog didn’t much care about the card, but she did take a step toward Connor. He threw both arms around the dog’s head and hugged her.
“Not too tight, bud,” Nate said, but Ursula didn’t seem to care. Ginger straightened, because her knees couldn’t take the crouching for much longer, and opened the card. She could make out a couple of the letters—a T, an A or two, and some O’s. A lot of O’s.
“What does this say?” she whispered to Nate, tilting the card toward him.
“He wanted to tell you thank you for letting us come live with Ursula.” He smiled, and Ginger’s heart grew and grew and grew. Emotion gathered in her throat, and she couldn’t believe it, but tears burned behind her eyes.
She’d had no idea that having Nate and Connor at the ranch would affect her so much. She felt like someone had tied her to the end of a yo-yo, and she was being thrown down and then lifted back up, over and over again.
Reaching down, she lifted Connor into her arms and said, “Thank you for coming to the ranch so Ursula would have a new friend.” He hugged her back, and Ginger had never known pure love as strongly as she did in that moment.
“All right,” Emma said. “We’re ready to eat. Everyone gather over here.”
Ginger took Connor with her, moving the child to her hip, and joined the others gathered around the kitchen island. Nate followed her, easing into the perfect place just behind and to the side of her. His hand slid along her back, and her blood popped as if someone had poured fizzing candy into her veins.
She wanted this to be her reality every day. She wanted him solidly in her life, and while she still couldn’t quite believe that she did, she also couldn’t keep denying it.
The days and weeks passed. May blurred into June, and Ginger had started meeting with Nate on a weekly basis instead of a daily one. They’d gone to town several times for groceries and errands, and Nate was always proper and polite.
He’d eaten dinner at the West Wing a few times now, but they had not gone anywhere alone. With so many people at Hope Eternal, catching a moment alone wasn’t that easy. They’d gone to lunch when they came to town, and Ginger didn’t mind the slow pace of the relationship.
If anything, it actually helped her undo another sticky point with each day that passed. Nate never got angry. He never lashed out. He barely spoke in a voice louder than normal. He worked amazingly well with children, and he seemed to have a great rapport with Connor.
He was almost a little too perfect, if Ginger were being honest.
His one real flaw was how little he spoke. She didn’t get a whole lot of time to ask him about his personal life, and the once or twice she had, his answers had been short and clipped. She liked him. She liked his work ethic. But she felt like she didn’t know him.
The second Monday of June found her waiting in the house for his parole officer to show up. Martin Landy had called last week, and Ginger had been on the phone with him for an hour. They’d arranged this visit, of course, but Nate didn’t know it was happening. He’d never been hard to find on the ranch, as he seemed to stay fairly close to the epicenter.
The appointed time for Martin to arrive came and went, and frustration built in Ginger’s chest. She had work to do, and she hated it when people showed up late. Of course, everyone ran late sometimes, but Martin had her phone number. He could’ve called her.
Finally, almost thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang. Ginger looked up from her phone, where she’d been playing a card game, as Ursula filled the house with a few barks.
“Hush,” Ginger said. She answered the door to find a tall, silver-haired man standing on the stoop.
“Ginger Talbot?” he asked, already smiling.
“That’s me.” She extended her hand for him to shake, which he did. “You must be Martin.”
“That I am.”
“Come in.” She stepped back, keeping one leg in front of Ursula. “Are you dog-adverse?”
“Absolutely not,” he said, stepping inside. “I have four dogs.”
“Oh, wow,” Ginger said. “Ursula will love you.” The dog moved around her to make her initial sniff of Martin. He smiled and patted her, and they took their business into the kitchen.
“How’s he doing?”
“He’s been the best inmate I’ve ever gotten from River Bay,” Ginger said.
“That’s what I like to hear.” Martin put his briefcase on the kitchen table and opened it. “Says here he’s got his brother’s son?”
“Yes,” Ginger said. “He’s doing great with him. At least he seems to be. They both seem to be eating and sleeping. Connor isn’t in school yet, so we have a rotation of cowboys and cowgirls that watch him out here.”
“Good, good.” Martin pulled out a paper. “We talked a lot last week, so if you’re comfortable with that, and you don’t have any other questions, I just need you to sign this.”
“I’m good,” Ginger said. She knew the drill. This wasn’t the first time she’d had a parole officer out to the ranch. She signed her name and added, “Should I call Nate and get him here?”
“If you would, please,” Martin said, taking a seat at the table. “If he’s as good as you say he is, this shouldn’t take long.”
Ginger nodded and stepped back to pull out her phone. She dialed Nate, and the line started ringing. And ringing. And ringing. He didn’t answer, and she got sent to voicemail. She frowned. “Strange,” she said, already dialing again. She’d only had to call him once in the past few weeks. Texting was much easier, and much less immediate, and anything she needed to talk with him about certainly wasn’t urgent.
He didn’t answer for a second time, and Ginger’s nerves heaved. “He’s not answering.”
Martin looked up from a stack of paperwork he’d pulled from his briefcase. “Should we go find him?”
“Sure,” she said, pocketing her phone. “He works in the stables. It’s not far.” She led him out of the house, trying to find something they could talk about on the ten-minute walk from the house to the stables. But her mind raced in so many different directions, she couldn’t land on any one topic.
They finally reached the stable that took her entire crew a week to paint and Ginger went down row F, where Nate usually worked. He wasn’t there. Everything was still and calm, and all the evidence pointed to the fact that he had been there. The horses had been fed; Domino’s leg had been re-bandaged. The tack was neat and polished and ready for use.