Page 81 of The Cowboy and the Baby

We would encourage your clients to reconsider initiating litigation that is unlikely to achieve their desired outcome and may ultimately prove disruptive to the child they claim to prioritize.

Please direct all further communication through this office.

Sincerely,

Channing Finn

Finn and Barker Law Firm

27

CADE

Snow swept along the ground in hurrying whispers as I climbed the ranch house stairs, noting a few boards that needed replacing. Inside, the warm smell of cinnamon and yeast enveloped me in a hug. Noelle popped her head around the kitchen door, smiled, and said, “Hey! How’d it go with the county?”

“Just fine. Figured out a few more things with the paperwork. It’s moving along nicely. Bank stuff is fully transferred.”

“That’s progress!”

Yes it is, I silently added, considering I will soon officially care for this wreck of a house, be personally responsible for payroll, the animals’ lives, taxes, and more. I smiled instead of punching something, and wished I had a little more capability around celebrating. The weight of it felt too heavy for excitement.

She returned my smile. “Good. You’re just in time. I need a taste tester for the cinnamon rolls.”

She disappeared as quickly as she had appeared.

Though Noelle had been nothing but understanding, and maybe a little relieved, that she hadn’t inherited this mess, part of me had still braced for her to be angry or irritated. None of that showed up. With the forthcoming deed listed in my name and Noelle’s stamp of approval, it felt like I could truly relax.

Except, I didn’t relax. Didn’t know how, really. The taking of responsibility made sense, but how could I learn to ignore the weight of it? Was it ignorance I needed, or something else? Every responsibility that slid my way, I accepted.

How did I let the ones go that weren’t mine?

The knot in my chest intensified.

My stomach growled. There was more I wanted to taste than her cinnamon rolls, and I wondered if I could tease her away from baking for a proper make-out. Before I could set to the task, my phone rang. I toed my snow boots off as I dug it out of my pocket, and looked at it with surprise.

A video call from Pastor Mike.

Sensing something amiss, I lowered onto the old recliner, braced my forearms on my thighs, and answered it. A face appeared on the screen, and it wasn’t Pastor Mike.

Mom blinked at me, a strange mixture of curious and stunned. For several seconds, I could only stare, and so could she. Words wouldn’t form in my throat. For over ten years, I’d sought her. Imagined what her voice would sound like after time, exposure, and age had weathered her away.

She whispered, “Cade?” in a searching query.

My voice cracked. She said my name. She knew me.

“Mom?”

Her eyes skated away, locking on something off-screen. Another voice, a low murmur, spoke to her. She readjusted her grip on the phone, momentarily jarring the picture, and returned her eyes to mine. She blinked, licked her lips. A surge of panic brought words to me again.

“Mom, hi. I . . . hi.”

Almost shyly, she said, “Hi.”

“How . . . how are you?”

My question tilted carefully at the end. All these years of trying to engineer this moment, and now that it had arrived, I had no idea what to do with it.

“Fine.”