Isabella used a tiny drop of dish detergent to rub out the cinnamon smudge below Becca’s collarbone. “Sure I do. What’s she going to do with a closet full of size sixes?”
“She’d be crazy to give up anything.” Becca guessed most of it was designer stuff. “She’ll lose the pregnancy weight.”
“No, she won’t. And now she’s pregnant again.”
“Well, you must be thrilled. Another grandchild for you to spoil.”
Isabella snorted but couldn’t help looking pleased. “There you go, good as new,” she said, stepping back and inspecting her handiwork. “Don’t worry if you have to stay late. Just call and I’ll feed him his dinner.”
“Thank you. I’ll try not to be past five thirty, and I can always call Amy to come over...” Becca trailed off as she looked into Isabella’s kind, knowing eyes. Amy was about as reliable as a broken watch.
“I pray for her,” Isabella said, lowering her voice and glancing at Noah. “Maybe one day she’ll surprise you.”
Becca nodded. No prayers had helped so far, just like no amount of Becca’s determination had managed to bring Amy to her senses. First, it had been Derek who’d gotten his hooks into her, and later, so had the drugs. But Isabella was a devout, churchgoing woman, and who knew, maybe her prayers carried more weight.
Noah slammed down his empty cup. “More milk.”
Becca gave him a warning look. “Is that how you ask?”
“Please.”
“And no more slamming your cup,” Becca said, turning toward the fridge.
Isabella had already opened the door. “Go. Don’t miss your bus. I’ll take care of Mr. Cranky Pants,” she said, the last of it loud enough for Noah to hear. It always made him laugh.
“What would I do without you?” Becca asked, giving the woman a quick hug.
“You’d do just fine.” She smiled and patted Becca’s cheek. “That little boy is very lucky he has you.”
Becca was the lucky one, she thought as she stepped back to let Isabella pour his milk. Isabella had been a social worker and was at the hospital the day Noah was born, had been there when Amy had asked Becca to take care of him. Isabella was the only other person who knew about their complicated situation, but even she didn’t know everything.
With his dark hair and blue eyes, Noah didn’t resemble Amy or Derek, and sometimes it was very easy for Becca to forget that he didn’t belong to her. She had no parental rights whatsoever, but Noah was hers in every other sense.
It hadn’t been Amy who’d changed his first diaper or stayed up all night with him when he was sick. It had been Becca. From day one, she’d bought his crib and bottles and pretty much everything else he’d needed. Not easy on a waitress’s tips. But she’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.
As for Derek, he hadn’t once acknowledged the child, which was a true blessing. The guy was scum. An abuser. And every time Becca pictured her beautiful, bright-eyed friend the day she and Amy had left Montana for the neon lights of LA, Becca wanted to cry.
Amy was a mere shell of the person she used to be. Her skin was sallow, her green eyes dull and lifeless, and it seemed she could only muster a smile for Noah these days. Every time he asked Amy about the bruises and she made up a different excuse, it broke Becca’s heart.
Ironic, really, that Amy had fled Blackfoot Falls to escape her abusers and then run straight into the arms of an even more sadistic man. Actually, it wasn’t ironic. Becca knew better because of all the reading she’d done and the pamphlets she’d collected. It was a vicious cycle—one only Amy could break, if and when she was ready.
The knowledge didn’t make Becca feel any less responsible. After all, she’d helped Amy get to LA.
She hurried to the bathroom for a tissue and to check her makeup. Getting emotional wouldn’t do her any good. This promotion was a big break for her. The money, the hours, everything was finally falling into place. In a year, two tops, she hoped to have saved enough to get them out of this crappy neighborhood.
After grabbing her purse off the dresser, she stuck her head into the kitchen. Isabella was standing at the sink, humming, looking like a ray of sunshine in one of her flowery handmade dresses. Noah was still eating, his head bent over his bowl, as he intermittently hummed a few bars along with Isabella.
He looked happy.
Seeing him like that was all it took to brighten her day. She couldn’t possibly love him more if he were her own child. But he wasn’t, and she hoped with all her heart the day never came that she’d be forced to give him up.
Which could happen if Amy ever got clean... Though of course that was what Becca wanted for her friend. She did. Anyway, Amy would never keep them apart.
* * *
RYDER MITCHELL SAT in the dirt in the middle of the corral, waving the dust away from his face, ignoring the hooting and hollering of the three troublemakers who’d convinced him to show Toby the finer points of breaking a horse—one that was supposed to be used to a saddle.
“Hey, boss, let me give you a hand.”
Ryder ignored that, too...until he heard the applause and realized Lance was being a smartass. The other two hired men, Toby and Bear, were leaning against the corral railing with him, still laughing.
“Yeah, that’s right, keep it up. Better hope some other sucker springs for your beer.”
That wiped the smirks off their faces.
“Oh, come on now, we’re just having some fun,” Lance grumbled.
“Not all of us,” Ryder muttered and pushed to his feet.
Shaking his head, Wiley snatched Ryder’s dusty Stetson off the ground and handed it to him. “You ain’t hurt, are you?” the foreman asked in a quiet voice.
Ryder shook his head. “Just my pride.”
“Sure you didn’t break your check-writing hand with that stupid stunt?” Wiley asked, loud enough for the horses in the pasture to hear him.
Wiley ignored the kid as he glanced toward the house. “Does Gail have their paychecks? I can go get them from her. Unless they’re still in your office.”
The bunkhouse door slammed, giving Ryder a few moments to think it over. Otis, who did the cooking for the men, hobbled outside, using his arm to block the late-afternoon sun as he joined the other men at the railing.
Ryder looked back at Wiley. The poor guy had developed a thing for Ryder’s mother. Gail didn’t have a clue, and he doubted Wiley would ever act on his feelings. The man had been a friend to Ryder’s father until he’d died three years ago, and Wiley had started working for the family long before that.
In his mid-fifties now, he had some gray at his temples and in his sideburns. But he was as lean and muscled as any of the younger men who worked under him. He was also honest and hardworking. Gail could do a lot worse...once she finished
