looked at Rico and he nodded. She picked up a penny and said, “This pays for the food. You can keep the rest.”
“Mickey’s hungry, too.” He glanced down at the dog. “He’s a dog, not a mouse.”
Anamarie smiled at Rico and his world felt complete when she did that. She then went to the kitchen and came back with a bowl of milk and some sausage rolls. As she placed it in front of the dog, the kid asked, “Do I owe you more money?”
“No, no,” she replied. “You’ve paid for everything.”
“’Kay.” He slipped the rest of the money back into his pocket and picked up the glass of milk, guzzling it. Some ran down his chin.
“Hey, buddy, slow down.” Rico reached for a napkin and dabbed at his chin. “Take it slow.” The little boy did as he was told and Rico stepped over to Anamarie.
“Do you recognize him?”
“He’s Wendy Miller’s grandson. He’s usually very neat. I can’t imagine what he’s doing out at this hour by himself.”
“I’m going outside to check around. Maybe Mrs. Miller is outside and sent him in to get food. It’s obvious he hasn’t eaten in a while.”
He couldn’t see much through the darkness. The roar of cars on the highway hummed loudly. A delivery van pulled up to the diner and the sun strained to peep through the clouds—signs of a town slowly waking up to a new day. Nothing out of the ordinary. He went back inside.
“After he finishes eating, I’ll talk to him,” he told Anamarie.
The little boy wiped his mouth, and said, “Thank you. I gotta go home now.” He slid from the chair, but Rico stopped him.
“Hold on, little guy.” He pulled up a chair and sat in front of the boy. “What’s your name?”
“Dustin,” was the response. “But my grandma calls me Dusty.”
“Do you know your last name?”
The boy nodded. “Dustin Miller. I can write it. Do you wanna see?”
“Maybe later. How old are you?”
Dustin held up four fingers.
“Do you go to school?”
The boy nodded again and made to walk around Rico. “I gotta go. My grandma will be mad if I’m not there when she wakes up.”
“You live with your grandma?”
“Yeah. But she’s sick and I can’t wake her up.”
That didn’t sound good and Rico feared the worst. “Where does your grandma live?”
“Over there.” The boy pointed toward the bakery’s windows.
“Did you walk here by yourself?” Rico hated to ask so many questions, but he needed answers.
Dustin shook his head. “Mickey came with me ’cause we were hungry.” The boy looked down at the dog and the dog licked his lips from the milk Anamarie had given him.
“Has your grandma been sick?”
“Yeah. She got moana.”
Rico thought about that for a minute and asked, “You mean pneumonia?”
“Yeah. She has to rest. She made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and milk and told me to be good. She didn’t wake up for supper so I made my own peanut butter jelly sandwich. Made one for Mickey, too. Grandma’s still sleeping. She won’t wake up and we don’t have any more peanut butter and jelly.”
Rico picked up the boy again and sat him in the chair. “Your grandma probably needs medical attention. I’m going to call someone to help her.”
“’Kay.” Dusty rubbed the side of his head and his eyelids fluttered. He was sleepy. He’d probably been up all night trying to wake his grandma.
There was a bench where customers could sit and wait for their orders. Rico turned to Anamarie. “Do you have any big jackets, a blanket or something?”
Rico laid Dusty on a big quilt Anamarie had provided. “Why don’t you take a nap while I find out about your grandma.”
“’Kay.” His eyelids fluttered again and in a second he was sound asleep. The dog hopped up on the bench and snuggled against the boy.
Rico stared at the boy who seemed lost and alone, and a memory from his past wedged its way into his mind. He tried forcing it away but it was right there on the edge of his memory—a little boy, about the same age as Dusty, facing loss and an undetermined future. His mother had just died from a drug overdose. The boy was half Latino and half white and neither side of the family wanted him, so he was put into foster care. Then a miracle happened. His great-grandmother on the Latino side of the family came and got him and raised him. She lived in Houston and she taught him about love, faith and God. She also taught him about respect and manners. Every day she preached right from wrong and at night when she put him to bed, she always told him she loved him. His great-grandmother had been his whole world. Then the gangs had moved into the neighborhood and his happy world had been turned upside down. He promised his grandmother he would never do drugs and he fought those outside influences every step of the way. His hand unconsciously touched the scar on his face. His life was never the same again. But that boy got a second chance. The Rebel family said that Rico had saved Egan’s life, but in truth Egan had saved Rico’s life.
Rico was going to make sure this little boy had every chance available to him. He pulled out his phone and called the sheriff.
ANAMARIE WATCHED AS Rico dealt with the boy. He was gentle, loving and caring, and the boy responded to that. Dustin didn’t even seem to notice the scar on Rico’s face, as most kids did. People in town steered clear of the mysterious man who worked on Rebel Ranch. He was often given the cold shoulder. The first time Anamarie had met him he had come into the bakery to buy kolaches for Egan’s dog. Any man who would take the time to buy kolaches for someone else’s dog had to be special, that was her thought at the time. And that thought had never changed. He came into the shop many times and they talked about nonsensical things. Her mother scolded her for talking to him, but Anamarie never listened to her.
He stood staring at the little boy. Dustin was adorable and she knew the sheriff would find out what had happened to Wendy. It would get sorted out. She had to restrain herself from gobbling up the little boy like Mickey had gobbled his food. She was good at restraining herself around children. That was one area she knew she couldn’t get involved. It would break her heart.
Her eyes rested on the man. Well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, Rico had dark brown eyes and hair and a lean muscled body. His hair was long and tied into a ponytail at his neck, giving him a roguish sort of look. His face was all angles and planes, sharp and defined. The scar across his left cheek made him appear dark and intimidating to others, but never to her. Something in her was drawn to him. He had an air of inherent strength that came from life’s lessons. He’d had a hard life and his persona spoke of that every time she saw him. When she
