note on her pad before looking up at Jon. “I’m not satisfied, but I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt since you have help. I am going to need four or five collateral references, Mr. Rider. People who can vouch for your character and fitness as a father.”
Jon shook his head in disbelief. “It’s bad enough you’re nosing around here. Now you’re wanting to spread this nonsense all over the community? Embarrass my children? Start some ugly rumor you can’t prove? I don’t think so.”
Kaycee gathered the children around her. Michele kept a tight grip on her hand. Wendy watched her warily, but the twin boys fought to grab her other hand. Mrs. Hawthorne took a business card from her notebook and handed it to Jon. “You really don’t have a choice. It could be a close relative. Dr. Calloway can be a reference. I’m not closing this case yet. I want to meet with you next week. Call to give me those references and make an appointment.”
One of the boys tugged on Kaycee’s hand. “We’re hungry. Come on.”
As they crossed the barnyard to the large ranch house, Wendy ran ahead and disappeared inside. Michele looked up at Kaycee and said, “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome. But what we did wasn’t exactly honest, was it?”
Michele shrugged, tears in her eyes. “We don’t want to leave Daddy. Daddy loves us. Why would that woman take us away?”
“I don’t know,” Kaycee said.
Behind them, an engine started and the social worker’s compact car eased down the road. Jon caught up to them.
“Michele,” he said, taking the child by the arm and pulling her aside. “You didn’t have any business dragging Dr. Calloway into our family problems.”
“I didn’t want that lady to take us, Daddy. I couldn’t think what else to do.”
“I’ll handle things next time. Go on in with the boys. I want to talk to Dr. Calloway alone.”
“But, Daddy,” one of the twins whined, refusing to relinquish Kaycee’s hand. “She just said she’d make us something to eat and I’m starvin’. Rachel’s been too busy to feed us since breakfast.”
“I’ll feed you in a minute.”
The look of disappointment on the boy’s face was more than Kaycee could take. “How about we all go fix a sandwich together?”
“Yeah, Daddy, please!”
Jon gave Kaycee a lingering look. “You don’t have to. I know you’re busy.”
“No problem, I need lunch, too. Y’all lead the way. I’m right behind.”
The children’s faces brightened.
“What’s ‘y’ all’ mean?” the boy asked.
“That’s the way we say ‘you’ or ‘you all’ where I come from. You’ve never heard that before, huh?”
The kids shook their heads.
“Southern girl,” Jon commented, bringing up the rear.
“South Carolina, born and bred.”
“You’re pretty far from home. Like it out here?”
“It’s cold. But yes, I like it. I suppose you’ve always lived here.”
“Yep, grew up in this house. Went away to college because my dad insisted, did some bull riding on the rodeo circuit. He passed away fifteen years ago and most of the ranch came to me.”
Kaycee followed the brood through the back door into a utility area. Coats, caps and all sizes of shoes and boots were piled up in the corner nearest the entryway on the tile floor, scuffed and tracked with mud. Soiled clothes formed mountains on the washing machine and dryer. A rustic wooden bench stretched along one wall and floor-to-ceiling cabinets occupied another.
A doorway on the opposite wall opened into a great room. Action figures, toy animals, game pieces, coloring books and crayons, dolls and miniature clothing carpeted the floor of the sitting area. Broad windows across one wall framed snow-topped mountains and greening bottomland in pristine, orderly contrast to the shambles inside. Over the stone and wood mantel hung a large oil painting of the family. In a flower-strewn meadow, a youthful blond woman sat on the ground next to Jon, surrounded by the kids. As she gathered her brood close around her, her natural beauty and loving expression made her face radiant. Kaycee studied the picture for a long moment before moving on.
Wendy was already clearing the center island of plastic cups, plates crusted with dried food and a baby’s sipper cup. An only child, Kaycee grew up in a serene, immaculate home, but she felt sure seven kids could easily make this big a mess in a day.
“Excuse me a minute,” Jon said to Kaycee. “I need to wash up and make a phone call.”
He disappeared down a hallway. The twins scrambled to claim their stools from the assortment scattered around the large island. A copper hood encased in a brick wall covered a gourmet cooktop. Two ovens were set into the adjacent wall, with a microwave built in nearby. Michele opened what looked like a double-doored pantry, but turned out to be a restaurant-quality refrigerator with doors custom-made to match the kitchen cabinetry.
This kitchen was designed for somebody who loved to cook, but from the few items in the refrigerator, it hadn’t been overused lately. Kaycee looked around the island at the faces staring at her. Were these children being ignored, like the house? She hoped she’d done right by helping send off the social worker. If they were being neglected, she’d never forgive herself.
“Are you really going to be our mom now?” one of the twins asked eagerly.
Kaycee hesitated. “I think you’d better ask your dad about that.”
“Okay, I will,” he said with a decisive nod then tilted his head. “Can you bake cookies?”
“I can,” Kaycee assured him. “Why?”
“Just wondering,” he said innocently enough, but the look he gave his brother made Kaycee smile.
“I’m at a disadvantage here,” Kaycee said to the two boys as she worked. “Y’ all know my name, but I don’t know yours. You look so much alike, I’m not sure I’ll be able to tell you apart.”
“I’m Zach,” the talkative one piped up. “This is my brother Tyler. We’re twins. But I’ve got a scar right here where I fell when I was learning to walk.” He pointed to a tiny blemish on his chin.
They were robust, cheerful, with curling dark hair and their father’s deep blue eyes. And identical other than Zach’s inconspicuous scar.
“We’re five years old,” Tyler offered. “Both of us. ’ Cept Zach’s three minutes older than me. My daddy said so.”
“And you’re Wendy.” Kaycee spoke to the quiet girl with straight blondish hair and somber brown eyes who nodded once then ducked her head.
“She’s shy,” Michele explained. “She doesn’t like to talk. She likes to
