in the Colorado Rockies, which had ensured that his herds were among the best in the state, if not the West. And the horses he bred were of superior quality and in demand by ranchers and riders alike.
Had Megan seen the article about him in Cowboys and Indians a couple of months ago? He’d been swamped with letters from women looking for a rich husband, and he’d tossed them all in the trash. He wasn’t interested in marrying a gold digger. He’d already been there, done that. Had no desire to repeat the experience.
For fifteen years, Luke had wondered about Megan, where she was, who she was with. Was she married? When he’d gotten the call from Judge Benson summoning him to New York, he’d gone. Even if the kid proved not to be his, he’d wanted to see Megan again with a need he couldn’t explain. Ask her why she’d left so suddenly. Why she’d never answered the letter he’d sent to Wellesley.
Now she was back, and he wanted to touch her, kiss her, hold her. Make up for fifteen years without her. Fifteen years of trying not to long for her.
If there was any doubt in Luke’s mind as to whether he had a son before he and his brother Matt walked into the judge’s chambers this morning, they’d been dispelled the moment he laid eyes on Cody Montgomery. The kid was the spitting image of him and his brothers at the same age. Only the O’Malley boys hadn’t dared wear their hair so long on one side that it covered their eyes. And on the other side…what the heck was with that buzz cut and the lightning strike shaved into it?
The O’Malley boys sure wouldn’t have sported a thing like that miniature dumbbell stuck through their lip, chewed gum or peppered their conversation liberally with four-letter words, either. Their pop, Mac, had seen to that.
Nope. He didn’t much like the look of Cody Montgomery, fourteen-year-old runaway and criminal-in-the-making. How had Megan let it come to this?
This is my so-called father? Cody thought. The guy acted like he had a pole stuck up his butt and Cody resented like the way he stared at him…especially his hair. And his lip piercing. Like he was some sort of freak. Okay, Cody wasn’t so crazy about the lip piercing, either, but you needed it to look tough. To be part of the gang. Well, they weren’t technically a gang—not yet, anyway. But the guys were checking around for one to join.
He hated the way the guy was looking at his mom, too. Like he didn’t believe her. Like he didn’t believe he was his son.
That just irritated Cody even more. How could he know who his father was? Whenever he’d tried to talk about it with his mom, she’d clammed up. Once, she’d said, “It was a mistake,” but that only made it sound like she thought Cody was a mistake. Worthless. Like trash.
What else could he think? For all he knew, his real dad could be doing time. Or maybe what he’d done was even worse, though he couldn’t think of anything much worse than having a criminal for a dad.
All the guys had fathers who were doing time, so Cody had pretended his was, too. He’d muttered something about armed robbery at a gas station when they asked about it.
Secretly, he hoped that if his father was doing time, it’d be for some minor crime, maybe some white-collar offense. That didn’t hurt anyone—not physically, anyway. He wondered how many years you got for a white-collar crime. Probably less than fourteen…
He supposed it was okay if his father turned out to be some rancher from Colorado, like this guy claimed to be—as long as the guys didn’t find out.
Cody had always liked the idea of Colorado. He wondered if the guy lived anywhere near the Rockies. He’d enjoyed reading National Geographic magazines in the school library—when he was a kid. The pictures of the Rocky Mountains were spectacular and somewhere he’d always wanted to go. Not that he’d ever admit it. Now he didn’t have time for that. Now he hung out with the guys….
And now the judge was talkin’ again! Sheesh! Couldn’t she just mind her own business for a change? He was doing fine. He was surviving.
“…I therefore believe, Mr. O’Malley,” she said, “that it would be in Cody’s best interests if he could be removed from the environment he’s living in at present—”
THE FRONT LEGS of Cody’s chair hit the floor with a thud as his feet came off the desk, and he spewed forth a stream of invective that turned the air blue and had Megan cringing in her seat. What must Luke think of his son? What must he think of her for letting things get this bad?
Judge Gloria Benson, as usual, was unperturbed. She’d assured Megan at an earlier meeting that she’d dealt with her share of juvenile offenders, plenty of them a lot more hardened than Cody. A bit of bad language didn’t faze her. She’d told Megan that most of those children—due to having families who didn’t give a damn—were beyond rescue, but she felt Cody had the option of leading a better life.
The judge believed that with his father’s intervention, Cody had a good chance of making it to his next birthday—unlike so many kids who came through her court and didn’t live past their teens.
That bald admission had been sobering for Megan. The thought that her precious son might die before he reached adulthood… She’d wanted to pack them both up and catch a train or bus to anywhere that wasn’t the Bronx or even New York City. Judge Benson had said, “I hope Mr. O’Malley has the courage to accept the challenge and follow through. Because right now, Cody’s future is very precarious.”
Considering the expression on Luke’s face, he’d rather be anywhere than here with his son.
“Your honor,” Megan said. “If you’d just give me another chance, I know I can put his life together and get him back into school.”
“Ms. Montgomery…Megan…” Gloria sighed. Then she seemed to gather herself and said, “I can’t tell you how many mothers have begged me for just one more chance before I send their child to juvenile detention. How many I’ve yielded to, and then weeks later heard their child had died in a gang fight, or from an overdose of whatever drug was on the streets that day. I’m determined that’s not going to happen to Cody. You’re a good mom and I know you love your son. But unless you can afford to move out of your neighborhood to a better part of town, where Cody stands a chance of living a healthier—and longer—life, or we can find a solution here today, then I have no alternative but to send him to juvenile detention.”
She turned her attention to Luke. “Cody’s been in my court three times in as many weeks. His behavior is worsening. He’s no longer attending school regularly. He’s run away from home more than once, been caught joyriding in a stolen vehicle and I’m concerned he’s on the brink of becoming part of the street gang culture of this city. Once that happens, he’ll be lost to us.”
Megan felt she had to explain, so Luke wouldn’t see her as a complete deadbeat. “I’m working two jobs and in my final year of studying to be an accountant. I can’t be there to watch him all the time,” she said. But even as the words left Megan’s mouth, she guessed the judge had heard that excuse far too often. In Megan’s case, it was true.
“I understand all of that and your intentions are honorable,” Judge Benson said. “But I’m afraid continuing the way things are will result in losing your son to crime and I know you don’t want that.”
Megan’s tiny shake of her head was her only concession to her bald statement. She fought the tears that threatened and then lost the battle as they spilled down her cheeks and dropped onto her blouse.
The judge
