Finally a Hero. Pamela Tracy

to be hungry. For that matter, so did Jesse.

      “Hey,” Patti said, “you only got a bun.”

      By the time Eva came back with actual meat on her bun, Patti had left to close down the front desk, and her father had moved over to join her.

      “They’re usually four o’clock eaters,” he explained, referring to the couple renting in Rawhide. “Now they want to go relax. Imagine having time to relax.”

      Eva knew what her father’s day typically looked like; relaxation wasn’t on his schedule.

      “So, Dad, why isn’t the new hire here?”

      “He called and said the little one was sound asleep and they’d be taking it easy tonight.”

      Eva leaned in. “Dad, did you get the whole story from him? About how he came to have Timmy?”

      “Jesse said his mother showed up at the prison to pick him up. She had the little boy in the backseat. He claims he didn’t even know he had a son, and apparently Jesse’s mother wanted nothing to do with her grandson.”

      “He’s telling the truth. I was at the Miner’s Lamp when they pulled into the parking lot. I overheard the introduction.” Eva wasn’t sure where she was going with this conversation. She felt bad for Jesse, of course, and all that he’d gone through so unexpectedly. But what she really wanted was to express to her father was that right now, they couldn’t afford another hand, especially one that came with a second mouth to feed.

      “Hard to imagine having a kid and not knowing he existed.” Her dad frowned and looked around the dining room. In the back area, a mother had joined her two children, and together they worked on a puzzle. Near the restroom, a young mother rocked a baby. On the wall above the entrance hung a portrait of all the Hubrechts. Jacob, Naomi, Eva, Elise and Emily. Smiling. Happier days.

      “Everyone deserves a second chance,” Jacob said. “You need to be a little more understanding. Mike Hamm says that of all the men he’s studied with this past year, Jesse is the most receptive. When Mike was working with him, talking about career choices, Jesse kept referring back to his two summers working with horses. Kid had a rough childhood and made some mistakes. Maybe being here will keep him from making more. He needs someone to take his side.”

      “Kid? How old is he?”

      “A year younger than you.”

      “What kind of mistakes? Why was he in prison?”

      “You don’t need to worry about it. I will tell you he was more an accomplice than outright criminal, and there’s no record of violence.”

      Eva could only shake her head. “He worries me, Dad.”

      “Everything worries you.”

      “That’s not true,” she protested.

      “Think of this,” her dad said, waving a potato chip at her. “Jesse offered to work for free, just have to room and board. Now, really, who should be worrying? You or him?”

      “Him,” she said, humbled.

      Her father nodded. “He kinda made me think of how the apostles must have felt, entering towns with no provisions, no bread, no money, no extra shirt. I didn’t want to watch Jesse shake the dust off his feet because I didn’t try to welcome him.”

      “That’s a stretch, Dad.”

      “Is it?”

      To Eva’s chagrin, she didn’t have an answer. Playing it safe and selfish didn’t seem much of an argument.

      Probably because she’d been using it too long.

      * * *

      Jesse sat slumped in the easy chair, watching his son sleep, and wondering how his first day of freedom could have gone so wrong.