Page 37 of The Cowboy's Miracle Baby

“We think so. She wouldn’t share that with us. I think she knew he would be in trouble if the authorities found out he was having sex with a seventeen-year-old. We did our best to help her, but in the end, she wanted to go her own way. She turned eighteen. There was nothing we could do.”

Not all foster care situations end in adoption, even if the birth parents were out of the picture. But many did. Cami wondered how many foster families Tara had been through in her short life and how alone she must have felt. Cami didn’t mention the baby to Mrs. Simon because apparently Tara hadn’t. Maybe she hadn’t wanted her to know, and it wasn’t Cami’s place to tell her now. But as she listened to Tara’s foster mom talk about her in the past tense, it seemed clear she wasn’t ever going to be a part of that family. Not in a real way. Whatever their relationship, it was always meant to be temporary.

“I’m not sure why you’re looking for her now,” Mrs. Simon said, “but if she’s in some kind of trouble, I hope you can help her. She’s a good girl. I wish we could have helped her more.”

As Cami drove home that afternoon, shaken by her conversation with Mrs. Simon, she couldn’t stop thinking about Tara and her situation and wonder what had become of her. Who was the older boy she’d been seeing? Was he Lolly’s father? Where was he and why wasn’t he in the picture?

And when she recalled the problems she’d once thought were overwhelming in her own childhood, they seemed now relatively small. Every family had issues, but to have no family at all… it seemed to put whatever small struggles she’d had in her life into perspective.

And now, Lolly found herself in the very same boat. But Cami was determined not to allow what had happened to Tara happen to her daughter. Cami would fight for Lolly if she had to. There had to be a reason she’d been dropped into her life. Maybe even a reason bigger even than Tara’s belief in her. Maybe it was fate, or kismet or the universe intervening. Maybe it was none of those things… or all of them.

*

Gus picked herup for their date Wednesday afternoon, since wherever he was taking her would be closing at dinnertime. She’d spent more than a few spare moments in the last few days wondering what she should wear, mentally considering and discarding wardrobe from teaching and deciding on a sweater dress in navy blue she’d had for a while and some neutral ankle boots that she loved. She took extra care with her makeup, then felt ridiculous for trying too hard. It was a simple thank-you dinner. Unnecessary at that. But she was glad to have the chance to get to know him better.

When he met her at her door, he had cleaned up from a long day of vet work and had a soft, brown leather jacket with its collar turned up and jeans on that made her imagine him on the pages of some magazine instead of mucking around in barns all day.

“You… look amazing,” he said, as she opened the door to him, his gaze taking her in.

She gave a breathy laugh and wildly blushed. “Admit it. You’re just overwhelmed at the sight of me in an actual dress.”

He chuckled. “Overwhelmed?” He looked her up and down with an appreciative smile. “Yeah. You could’ve worn ripped jeans and it wouldn’t have made it less so. In fact, I think I might need to go home and up my game.”

She snatched her purse off the side table and threw on a coat. “You absolutely do not. Because I was thinking the same about you in your”—she drew a little circle in the air in the direction of his chest—“hot leather jacket and vet-zone-free denims.”

He laughed. “This is it. My only manure-stain-free pair of jeans and boots. I don’t get out much.”

“I feel a little the same about teaching third graders,” she said, closing the door behind her. “With all the chalk and fingerpaint and permanent marker stains.”

“Look at us. Bonding over the detritus of our work. But really. You do look real pretty.”

“Thank you, sir.” She swallowed hard. “Now. Are you going to tell me about this mystery gift you’re wanting me to help you pick out?”

He sent her a look that sent her stomach flutters into disarray. “I think I should just show you.”

Ten minutes later, they were at the newest local animal rescue called Edna’s Dog Rescue that was run by a woman named Edna Braedenwise and her team of volunteers. Edna was in her sixties, with graying hair and a smile as big as the Montana sky. She’d been doing rescue upstate for years, but now had opened one in Marietta and had a kennel full of dogs like Pippa and Poppy who’d been abandoned on local roads or just given up on. Gus told Cami he volunteered to treat many of the dogs that had come into her facility, and he knew they’d gotten the best care from her.

“Aww! You’re getting a dog? For Ella?” Cami said, staring through the door’s window at the array of dogs penned up in their kennels in the clean, warm facility.

“She’s asked for one every year. I think maybe that’s what she whispered in Santa’s ear last week. But I need a second opinion.”

“Do you have one in mind?”

“He has one on hold,” Edna said, opening the door to the kennels for them. “She’s waiting for you.”

They walked toward that last kennel, passing an array of lovely dogs, both big and small, until they stopped at the pen of a mini-doodle-type mixed breed puppy. She wasn’t more than four months old, blonde and curly haired, and she was pressing herself up against the bars of her kennel to reach them. “I was actually called in to consult on another dog’s case when she came into the rescue. But I kind of fell for her the minute I saw her.”

Cami melted in front of her kennel. “Ohh. She’s adorable. What’s her name?”

“No name. No tags. No chip.”

“Well, that’s just awful. Can we take her out?” Cami curled her fingers around the dog’s paw through the slender bars.

“Let’s.”

They took her to the inside run that was carpeted with artificial turf, used during the cold, Marietta winters so people could interact with the dogs in a comfortable environment. The dog’s personality began to shine as she got more comfortable with them. She was a wiggly lovebug and was more interested in cuddling than running. Her eyes—when she stared up at Gus with the sort of lovestruck awe as only a dog could—were a golden color that matched her coat.

“She’s the color of butterscotch,” Cami mused, running her fingers through the dog’s hair. “Or taffy.”

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