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She heard his switch from past to present tense. “But—”
The door to the kitchen burst open and a beaming Analissa sailed through, carrying a tray laden with ice cream in paper cups.
“Dessert,” she called, and, taking small, heel-to-toe steps, made her careful progress to Mack.
He looked at her as if surprised she’d returned, as if the little girl, all by herself, was a miracle on this ranch in the middle of nowhere.
He gave one of those half lifts of his lips. The little girl nodded solemnly. “You’re here,” she said. The smile that followed her words could have lit the entire city of Carlsbad.
Mack cleared his throat. “I’m here.”
Little Analissa turned her beaming face to Corrie. “Just like he promised.”
From her place beside Mack, Corrie saw a muscle twitch in his jaw, not as if he were laughing, but as if he were biting back some emotion too bitter to swallow. “Just like,” she said.
“And you’re gonna stay here with us, right?” Analissa asked, leaning forward, tipping the tray dangerously.
Mack caught the tray before the ice cream in the Dixie cups slid to the floor. “I’m here,” he agreed.
Analissa launched herself at him, her baby arms thin and spindly against his broad, rock-hard shoulder. The tray teetered dangerously, but not half as much as Corrie suspected Mack’s emotions might be tipping. “To stay?”
Corrie rescued him. “To stay, sweetie. He’s here to stay,” she said, reaching out to stroke Analissa’s silky hair.
Mack didn’t say anything. He set the tray on the table and gently dislodged Analissa from his arm as he pushed to his feet.
The rest of the children poured through the open doorway, treats in store, and raced around the table, making sure everyone had at least two of the prized biscochitos.
“You’re not leaving, Señor Mack?” Juan Carlos asked.
“Really, you must try one of Rita’s biscochitos. She makes the best anywhere on earth,” Leeza said.
“He’s got to go,” Analissa said, all six of her years showing, and twenty-five more to boot. “But he’s staying here now. Corrie says. He’s going to stay with us.”
A cheer went around the table, with a few I-told-you-so’s from Juan Carlos and nods from Jorge.
Corrie thought Mack’s face would have paled had his scarred skin allowed it to do so. Instead, he only stood above them all, seemingly carved in granite, and as acutely uncomfortable as a man could possibly be.
“I’ll walk you out,” she said.
“It’s not necessary,” he answered. “Thank you all for the wonderful dinner.”
“Food will be here tomorrow morning and again at lunchtime and then again at supper,” Jeannie said. “It’s the Rancho Milagro way.”
“And we’ll talk about classes in the morning,” Leeza said.
“And I’ll show you my new saddle for Dancer,” Juan Carlos said. “I can ride again next week. I’m grounded now.” He made a face that was more grin than grimace. “Because I rode Dancer without permission.”
“And I’ll draw you a picture,” Analissa said, curling her hand into his pant leg and dragging on it. “It will have you in it, and Corrie, and Dancer the horse, and Jeannie, and Chance, and Dulce, and—” she looked around the table, her dark eyes questing “—and Clovis, and Pablo, and Rita and everybody.”
“Thanks,” Mack said, but Corrie thought he looked as if the whole lot of them had stretched a hot bed of coals for him to walk across. He turned to the living room as if made of wood—stiff and resistant. If she hadn’t witnessed for herself his reactions to each of the children, she might have wondered how he might act as a teacher. But she’d seen his smile at Juan Carlos’s joking prayer and his tumbling for Analissa.
“Sleep tight,” Jeannie called gently.
Corrie saw Mack hesitate in his walk. He raised a hand as if in farewell.
Juan Carlos called out, “Be careful, Señor Mack. And watch out for La Dolorosa.”
Mack stopped and half turned back to the group at the table.
“What, you afraid of ghosts, Juan Carlos?” Dulce sneered.
“No way! But Rita said people in Carlsbad have seen her lately. And Jorge said—”
“That’s enough, Juan Carlos,” Jeannie interrupted gently but firmly. “Those are only stories. There are no such things as ghosts.” She looked at Analissa with meaning in her gaze.
“But—”
“No buts. Good night, Mack. I’m glad you’re joining us.”
Mack raised his hand again, not in a wave, but more in a gesture of frustration. He nodded and made for the front door.
“See you tomorrow, Señor Mack,” Analissa called out.
The door slammed behind him before the little girl could hear an answer.
“He’ll be here,” Jeannie assured her, drawing the child to her lap. She ran her hand over the little girl’s hair.
“I think he wants us,” Analissa said, pressing her face into Jeannie’s chest. “I think he needs to be here.”
Corrie thought so, too.
Chapter 3
Mack was grateful for the icy chill of the night. He gulped at the air like a drowning man. He could hear the laughter filtering through the French windows of the veranda and could still feel the impression Analissa’s little hand left behind. He listened as the heavy door opened and closed. And knew without looking around that it was Corrie Stratton who’d followed him outside.
She was the last person on earth he wanted to see at that moment. She made him want to tell her things, hard things, raw things he’d rather keep locked inside.
“It takes some getting used to,” Corrie’s sultry voice said from behind him.
He thought about all the times he’d listened to her voice pouring out of the radio into the dark hospital burn unit during his long recuperation. She’d been a friend telling a late-night bedtime story, a woman who talked with kings and soldiers far away and relayed their stories back to those waiting to hear her voice again.
“Overwhelmed?” she asked, stepping up to join him at the railing surrounding the broad veranda.
For some reason, he didn’t want to lie to her, and he wanted to hear that beautiful voice, so he didn’t answer her directly. “How long have the children been here?”
“Let’s see. José and Dulce were the first and they came the same week about a year ago. I think Jason came next, then Tony, Jenny and Juan Carlos. Then Analissa. She’s been here about three weeks. She’s a doll.”
“Tell me about them,” he said.
Corrie leaned against the railing. “No one knows where José came from. He just showed up here one day when Jeannie was first finishing renovations on the place. We’ve searched and searched, but no luck, and if José knows, he’s not saying. Jeannie and Chance have moved five or six mountains to try to unravel the paperwork involved in adopting a child who has seemingly sprung from nowhere. They’re not through the wringer yet, but with the status here for long-term foster care, we all hold high hopes. Dulce was orphaned as a child and was shuffled from one foster home to another until she was so filled with attitude and distrust that she could hardly say her name without spitting at you.”
Mack wondered if Corrie knew her cadence had slipped into a storyteller’s rhythm, graceful and filled with hints of magic. He leaned against one of the large, round viga-pole supports and said, “She’ll be a beauty, that one.”
Corrie agreed and continued, “Tony has parents, but his father is in prison and his mother placed him in the foster-care system because she couldn’t handle things. He’s been in the system now for three years.”
“A lifetime to a kid his age.”
“One third of it, anyway. And Jenny’s father took off shortly after she was born and her mother’s in the hospital having her fifth child. Five children, five different fathers. Not one of them involved with their contributions to the world.”
“What about her brothers and sisters?”
“The grandmother can manage them, she says, but claims Jenny wouldn’t do anything she was told.” A sharp note edged Corrie’s normally soft tones.
“That’s the little girl who never said a word tonight, right?”
“That’s our Jenny. She’s eleven and behind three grade levels, though there’s nothing wrong with her mind.”
“And Juan Carlos?”
Corrie gave a soft chuckle. “That child is a handful. He came to us from a group home in Portales. That’s a town about a hundred and thirty miles north and east of here.”
Mack knew where it was. He’d finished his student teaching there on an exchange with Texas Tech. “What brought him to you?”
“Firecrackers in the toilets,” she said matter-of-factly, with a strange little smile. “I guess the system figured that we were so remote, we probably didn’t have plumbing, so he couldn’t hurt anything.”
“And has he?”
She looked up at him and smiled. Again, he felt that fever. “He hasn’t blown anything up, if that’s what you’re asking. Has he gotten in trouble? That’s his middle name.”
“And what about the other boy, the one with the crush on Dulce?”
“Jason? Does he have one?” Corrie asked. “I should have guessed. He’s always really quiet around her. He’s here for just a few weeks. His mother took off when he was three. His dad’s a fireman and was called up to go to one of the fires in the Northwest.”
“No relatives?”
“Not a one. Poor guy.”
Mack didn’t know if she meant the father or the son. “And Analissa?”
“She’s our resident ray of sunshine. Her parents skipped out on her years ago and her aunt’s just gone into drug rehab for the umpteenth time. The authorities found Analissa when they busted the aunt for dealing. The poor baby was literally wearing her own waste and so hungry she couldn’t keep anything down for the first three days.”
“Jeez,” Mack said. “Did they bring her straight to you?”
“After the hospital, yes. You can see why she wants promises.”
“Everyone wants promises,” Mack said roughly.
“Do you?” she asked.
Her question jackknifed through him. He felt the heat of the fire that changed his life. He heard the screams of children calling for help. He smelled the putrid-sweet scent of burning flesh.
“No,” he said too harshly, then realized his quick exclamation sounded like a denial.
“And why is that?” she asked almost lazily. Dreamily.
“Are you doing a story?”
“No. Are you ducking the question?”
He couldn’t help but chuckle. He could see why she’d managed to interview the amazing personalities she had over the years. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I just don’t believe in promises anymore.”
“Miracles, but not promises?”
“If you like,” he said.
“That’s rather sad, Mack Dorsey.”
“Realistic.”
“Is there a difference?” she asked, and pushed herself away from the railing. “It’s been my experience that reality and sorrow seem to travel hand in hand.”
“That’s life,” he said, still refusing to look directly into her eyes.
“Has it always been like that for you or did something happen that made you feel that way about life?”
He didn’t dare answer her, although just being with her almost made him want to.
“Not everything is sad,” she said quietly.
“But some things are too sad to bear.” He thought of the parents waiting outside the schoolhouse that day, the way they held on to each other, as if the weight of their tragedy was pulling them down to the ground.
“That’s what Jeannie used to believe, after her first husband and baby died. We thought for a while we were going to lose her, too. When she cried, it came from her very soul, not just her heart.”
“I didn’t know,” he said. He felt as if he were choking.
“Then she moved here and found her miracle.”
“Chance?”
“And Dulce and José. This place. All of the children.”
“And you?” he asked. “Have you found your miracle?”
She turned away from him a bit. “It’s a miracle enough just being here,” she said in a muffled tone, and he knew she was avoiding his question. She had a look of such longing on her face he wanted to put his arms around her and tell her that she deserved more than just being here, that a miracle was waiting for her just around the corner. But she, who had been trained to listen for the truth, would hear the lack of faith in his voice. He kept silent, watching her tuck her hands into her loose sleeves and hunch forward, giving herself the hug he hadn’t dared give her.
“It’s cold out here,” she said.
In other circumstances, he’d have agreed, but with her standing too near him, it felt anything but cold.
