Page 64 of The Banker and the Blue Collar Man

“No,” he agreed. Then he rallied himself, straightening his shoulders. Looking at me as though I’d just announced the direction from which the enemy was approaching. “We’ll pick him up and go to Dairy Queen. Get treats for the road.”

“You hate Dairy Queen.” I stood and pulled him to his feet.

“Yes, but you love it.”

We might have had a quarrel, then, our first, but he said, “Let’s let the kid decide.”

“Yes.” That’s when I gave in to my impulse to pull him into my arms. Push the hair from his face and kiss him good and solid. Followed by a whisper-breath of a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll help you.” I kissed his ear, talking low and soft. “Let me help you.” Even though I had no idea what a man did after losing his job.

“I will.” His hands were on my chest, and he nuzzled my jaw. “You’re like gravity. Good gravity.”

I mulled over what that might mean as Dalton grabbed a small leather satchel, threw some envelopes and papers into it, and led me back to his car. He drove us to the Center, a nondescript building just north of downtown.

Was the social services building where the last mother dropped me off that final morning near here? I didn’t want to know. That was the past. Dalton pulling into a small circular drive was more important now.

An older man stood on the curb under a concrete awning. Next to him was a young man with a shock of ill-kempt dark hair. He was as pale as fresh snow, and he had a lip ring that glinted in the sun. A black eye. Bruises on the left side of his face. The black backpack on his shoulder looked empty, a deflated balloon.

“He needs rescuing,” Dalton said as he pulled up to the pair, sounding grateful to have something to focus on other than his own woes.

I agreed with him. The young man had a dazed expression, wide-eyed, his gaze constantly shifting, like he was watching for danger. And oh, how that reminded me of myself in those bad old days of long ago. Never sure if there was going to be yelling or a hot meal. A swift blow to the back of the head or clean sheets.

“Is this what it was like?” Dalton asked.

It took me a moment. I didn’t want to lay my heavy memories on his sweet shoulders. But at the same time, Dalton wanted to know.

“It was a lot like this,” I said. I’d been younger, in my mind’s eye. The weather colder. Me all alone, waiting on the lip of a sidewalk, with the social services worker standing inside, watching from a distance. I looked at Dalton. “Only it was raining.”

It had been raining every time. Or snowing. Or windy. Though that couldn’t possibly be true. Surely the sun had shone a time or two. Hadn’t it?

Any more details would have been too much for Dalton. He was already under enough stress. He reached out to touch my thigh, and that meant more to me than I’d thought possible.

When he got out of the car, I got out as well. Being familiar with handoffs like this, I knew that the man would want to know who he was sending young Xander Brooks off with. Not like those interchangeable, impersonal social workers of years gone by.

Both the older man and Xander looked at me like I’d appeared from nowhere and might be brandishing a weapon.

It took everything I had to not dismiss their concerns. Not to simply open the back door and usher Xander into the back seat so we could be on our way.

Right then, my feeling was a desperate desire to not revisit those first moments of having come from a bad situation and into a new one, a potentially good one. Because that leap of trust? Was bigger and bolder and braver than any kid should be expected to make.

“I’m Dalton Gayle.” Dalton offered the older man his hand. “Lucas sent me from the ranch to pick Xander up. Hi, Xander.” He waved.

The older man looked at me, his eyes narrowing.

“I work at the ranch,” I said. “Came along today to keep Dalton company. Jake Colter.” I held out my hand as well. He could make a quick phone call to check us out, and he seemed so protective that for a moment, that’s what I thought he was going to do.

Finally, he shook my hand and nudged Xander to do the same. “I’m Buster Finch. Sorry about the less-than-warm welcome. Mr. Brooks, Xander’s father, has friends. But you’ve got calluses none of those idiots would have.”

I caught Xander’s gaze. There was emptiness in his eyes. A thinness to those shoulders. Defiance in the lift of his chin. It was like looking in a mirror at my younger self.

The ranch would do him good, and all at once I understood what Lucas’ main goal was. Of course he meant to help these kids that the city spat out. Threw aside. Was prepared to ignore and forget. But the ranch wouldn’t just give them help, it would give them hope. There was no way Xander could spend even an hour on the ranch and not feel better about his life.

“Dairy Queen,” I said to Xander. “Or iced lattes, your pick.”

Xander looked surprised, his expression shifting between confusion and I-don’t-give-a-fuck. He tried to hang on to thelatter. I could see it, the way I might watch a deer attempting to cross an empty road. Was it safe now? Or now?

“Iced lattes, bro,” he said. It sounded like a test. I just hoped we wouldn’t fail.

“You got it,” Dalton said. He turned to Mr. Finch. “We’ll call you when we get there. You can call Lucas now, if you like. Let him know we’re hitting the road.”