Lost and Found Groom by McLinn, Patricia (most difficult books to read .TXT) 📗

stink, and Washington said Taumaturgio had to disappear.”

“Disappear? But the stories didn’t end nine months ago. Only two months ago–”

She stopped, recognizing what her words revealed–a woman who’d tracked all mentions of Santa Estella and Taumaturgio. But he took her statement matter-of-factly.

“I held out. Kept running supplies in, while I tried to get some big relief groups to put Santa Estella on their list.”

“But you had orders.”

“Call it a differing interpretation of exactly how much latitude I had.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t suppose that went over too well.”

“Not particularly. When that date to cease operations came and they realized I hadn’t closed down, they took measures to enforce their orders. But they had to find me first.”

She shook her head. Daniel Delligatti or Taumaturgio, he certainly had nerve. “And after that you still have a job?”

“Yeah. They had me in Washington for a couple weeks for debriefings that ended up being mostly telling me how many rules I’d broken how many ways, they put an official reprimand in my file, and they encouraged me to consider my future during this leave. But I’ve got a job to go back to.”

From what she’d read between the lines earlier, a job that would mean unscheduled departures to dangerous spots for unknown amounts of time. His life wasn’t his own.

“How does Matthew fit into this?”

“Whatever I do, Matthew will be part of it. As for specifics . . .” He spread his long fingers flat on the table. “During the four months of this leave, I intend to be around as much as you’ll let me, and let my son know he has a father who loves him.”

She didn’t know which part of that to respond to first, so she focused on the most practical part.

“Four months? You’re staying here four months?”

She had a sudden vision of Daniel Delligatti sitting at her kitchen table day in and day out for four months, and her trying to ignore him with about as much success as ignoring the proverbial elephant in the living room.

She’d go nuts.

“Yeah.”

For a second she was unclear if he’d answered her spoken question or agreed with her unspoken assessment. She would go nuts.

“What would you do in Far Hills for four months?”

His hesitation was more telling than any words. He’d go nuts sitting at her table day in and day out. After all, up until a couple months ago, he had been living two, three or who knew how many lives.

“I can take care of Matthew on the days you work.”

“Daniel, you haven’t considered the practicalities of this. You’re not comfortable with Matthew and–”

“That’s going to change.”

“–I have child-care arrangements. Besides, I work three days a week, so you’d still have four days a week to fill even if you took care of Matthew every minute I worked. I know the rates at the motel aren’t on a par with the Ritz, but even so, four months of staying there and eating out, and–”

“I’ll find a place.”

“Daniel–”

“I’m staying, Kendra.”

When she saw that stubborn expression on her son’s face she expected a true battle. And this time it was backed by the brawn and experience of one very determined adult male.

“You should think this through. Decide what you want to do–”

“I know what I want to do. I want to see this ranch you talked so much about during Aretha. I want to see Far Hills.”

“You can’t leap into this–”

“C’mon. You seem to be out of questions, so let’s–”

“I’m not out of questions. I have plenty of questions. I just think–”

“Fine. Ask them while you show me around.”

*

But she didn’t ask questions, and he didn’t get much of a tour.

Instead, he learned lessons.

These first lessons in being a father were coming fast and furious, and in unexpected ways.

The tour of Far Hills he’d prodded her into giving him would be abbreviated, she’d said, because she needed to pick up Matthew at Marti’s.

That was one lesson: A parent’s chauffeur duty wasn’t only the stuff of stand-up comedians’ one-liners.

He’d offered to drive his car.

Lesson number two: No car seat, no kid in the car.

His first purchase would be a car seat–and he’d install it carefully after hearing the statistics Kendra spouted about the dangers of car seats incorrectly installed. She’d done a story on it, she told him, for the network.

She’d been so immersed in the topic that he hadn’t gotten much more than general directions for getting around the ranch and a few identifiers–“That’s Ridge House, where Ellyn and her kids live.” “Turn left here to go in the back way to the barn.”–as they drove to the main house, what Kendra called the home ranch.

Home. That’s what she’d called it in those hours during Aretha when she’d thought he–or Paulo–didn’t understand. But he had understood. And he’d recognized that she’d reserved the word for the ranch, never the places she’d lived with her mother.

Seeing it now, he couldn’t imagine anywhere more different from where he’d spent most of the past five years. Far Hills and Santa Estella both had mountains, but that was the only connection.

These mountains, unlike the lush peaks of Santa Estella so covered by vegetation that they were hard to see, stood out in stark relief, seeming unintimidated by a sky that could overwhelm the senses. Leading up to the peaks were folds of earth bleached by the dry autumn until they resembled immovable sand dunes.

Ahead, a line of trees allowed glimpses of buildings. They turned and drove parallel to the trees. A scattering of sheds backed along a pasture, then a corrugated metal structure, followed by an old building–well maintained but the record of its repairs shown in varied states of the wood. A series of corrals connected it to a newer, bigger barn. If he hadn’t already guessed, this confirmed that Far Hills Ranch was no small operation.

The road passed through a loose ring of trees, and he saw the house.

He gave a soft whistle. “So that’s where you stayed when you were here as a kid?”

Two full stories,