children.
Instead, here he was, twenty-six years old and still trying to figure out just what his life would eventually be.
Part of the reason for his surly mood, Cole McCullough thought as he sat up and dragged his hand through his unruly, shaggy, dark blond hair, was that he was spending two nights a week with his six-foot-two body crammed into a bunk bed. Sometimes three nights. And that was because two—sometimes three—days a week, he worked at the Healing Ranch. The Healing Ranch was a horse ranch run by Jackson and Garrett White Eagle, two of his friends. Their sole focus was to take in and help troubled boys, building up their feelings of self-worth by having them take care of and work with horses.
All in all, it was a noble calling—for the White Eagle brothers. Not that he didn’t believe in it. He did. But the Healing Ranch was their calling, their mark in the world.
Just like the family ranch was really Connor’s.
Oh, they had all put in their time, he and Cody and Cassidy, but the ranch, left to all of them when their father died, was really Connor’s baby. The rest of them had worked on it to show their gratitude to Connor. When their father had died so suddenly, Connor gave up his dream of going to college and became their guardian so that he, Cody and Cassidy wouldn’t suddenly find themselves being swallowed up by the county’s social services.
He knew that going to college had meant a lot to Connor, but his big brother never hesitated to give it up. For them.
After getting dressed, Cole paused to throw some water on his face in the tiny bathroom just off the equally tiny bedroom. The area had been added onto the main bunkhouse to give him some semblance of privacy. The main bunkhouse was where the boys stayed when their families—and in some cases, social services—sent them to the ranch. The Healing Ranch was a last-ditch effort to straighten them out. Without the ranch, the next stop would have been juvie—and most likely jail.
Initially, there had been only two boys on the ranch. And then there were four. And, as word of the ranch’s success spread, there were more. A lot more. Which was why he had wound up working here part-time.
The rest of the time, he was on the ranch, helping Connor.
Always helping.
And while there was nothing wrong with helping his older brother, Cole wasn’t building something of his own. Cody and Cassidy had gone on to find their places in life—not to mention that each had someone to share that life with them. Cody was a deputy sheriff and Cassidy was working at the town’s only law office and taking classes at night. And Connor was running the family ranch, just the way he wanted to.
Cole sighed. He was the only one of the family at loose ends, not yet sure what ultimate course he wanted his life to take.
Damn it, he was going to be late getting back to the ranch, he upbraided himself. He wasn’t going to come to any lasting, earth-shattering decisions by brooding. Besides, this life he was living was a hell of a lot easier than what he and his siblings had been faced with after their father died.
With both parents gone, they’d found themselves close to destitute. Even when their father had been alive, there were times when they had barely gotten by. Mike McCullough would hire out to neighboring ranches on occasion to make sure there was always food on the table. When he was alive, they never went hungry.
Without their father, they found that they had to scramble, doing whatever they could to scrape by.
Miss Joan, the redheaded, tough-talking firecracker of a woman who ran the diner, saw to it that they always had enough to eat. Not one who believed in handouts, she’d made a point of having them work for their supper.
“Work’s hard on your hands, but good for your soul,” she’d maintained more than once.
So she gave them work. Cassidy had been her youngest waitress to date, Cody did cleanup at the diner, and as for Cole, Miss Joan had him running errands.
Looking back, he was convinced that she hadn’t really needed them to do any of those things, but Miss Joan felt that just handing them the money outright wouldn’t have done them nearly as much good as having them earn it.
She’d been right, Cole thought now with a smile. Miss Joan had instilled a work ethic in all of them, a desire to make something of themselves.
Maybe that was why he felt so restless. He was still looking for his own niche.
“Not gonna find it here, McCullough, rehashing the same old stuff and keeping Connor waiting. Move,” he ordered himself.
There’d be time enough to think about the fact that his life was stalled at the starting gate after today’s chores on the family ranch were done.
With that, Cole paused to grab his hat, turned off the light in his bedroom and opened the door. He had his own separate entrance so that he could come and go as he pleased without having to pass through the bunkhouse and all its residents. Two to three days a week he worked with the boys during regular hours and sat with them in the dining hall at mealtime. But Jackson and Garrett recognized the fact that there were times when a man just needed his privacy, even when there was nothing to be private about.
He opened the door and was ready to step out and greet whatever the day held for him.
Or so he thought.
Cole caught himself a second before his foot would have made contact with the wide wicker basket, kicking it and its contents to the side.
Stunned, Cole froze in place, realizing he had come perilously close to all but drop-kicking the two infants who were nestled in the basket, looking up at him with wide, wide blue eyes.
“What the...?”
At the last moment, despite his shock, Cole swallowed the expletive that was about to burst out of his mouth. Given that he had almost stepped on not one but two infants lying in a basket on the doorstep, it would have been understandable, but inappropriate—at least, to his way of thinking.
It took him a moment to come to grips with the situation, not exactly a run-of-the-mill one by a long shot.
“Okay,” Cole announced, looking around in the pre-dawn light. “This isn’t funny. You just can’t leave babies in a basket like this.” Getting no response, he raised his voice. “You’re not being responsible.”
Nobody answered.
Not one to lose his temper in general, he felt himself losing it now. These were babies, not toys or props to be used in a prank.
He tried again.
“Okay, you’ve had your fun, come out, come out, whoever you are. I’ve got to get going and babies shouldn’t be left outside like this in September. Or any other month of the year, either, for that matter.” Again, Cole had to bite back a few choice words meant for the knucklehead who was behind this practical joke.
Cole looked around.
Nobody came out of the shadows.
One of the babies made a sound, catching his attention.
Crouching down, Cole looked at the two infants wedged together in the basket. They appeared blissfully unaware that they were completely out of their element.
“Where’s your mama, guys? Or girls,” Cole amended. “Sorry, your blankets don’t exactly give me a clue what gender you are.”
He looked around again, but there was still no one coming out to claim the babies or own up to the rather poor joke.
This didn’t make any sense.
With a sigh, Cole picked the basket up and rose to his feet with it.
“Well, you can’t stay out here,” he said to the infants. “No telling what might come by.” Just then, he heard a coyote howling