The Last Chance Ranch (3 page)

I’ve started school, too. I’ll get my GED, then take some classes from the college instructors who volunteer out here. I’m not sure what I want to study, but it helps to pass the time, and I’m good at it. It’s something I can use to hold my head up high.

Love, Mom

T
he ranch was twelve miles from town, over rutted gravel roads. Ramón, seeming to sense Tanya’s sudden nervousness, kept up a steady narration as they drove. She was grateful.

He’d started the boys’ ranch seven years before, he told her. Using grants from several sources, he established it as a place for troubled young boys. From the beginning, his intention had been to provide an alternative to the usual reform schools and foster homes in which such children were normally placed.

“You’ll forgive me for saying so, but I don’t see how it can be much different.”

He smiled. “Ah, but it
is
different. Everything is different.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m trying to give them an old-fashioned sense of belonging, a sense of family.” He gave her a quick glance. “When I was working with these kids in Albuquerque, the thing I saw over and over was that there was no one to take care of them—give them meals on time, make sure they brushed their teeth and wore appropriate clothing. Until someone gave them that much dignity, a probation officer couldn’t do much.”

Tanya nodded slowly. “So who gets to live at the Last Chance?” The name made her smile.

“Only the worst ones.”

“Doesn’t that mean you lose a lot of them?”

His answer was unflinching and unsentimental.

“Yes.”

Tanya frowned. “Isn’t that painful?”

He looked at her. “Every time.” The muscle on his jaw drew tight and he cleared his throat. “We lost one last week when he went home on a weekend furlough. Tried to rob a convenience store and was shot while fleeing. Such a waste.”

Tanya could tell by the roughness in his voice that he hadn’t yet recovered from the loss. She wondered how he could stand to care so much, over and over again.

As if to gird himself, Ramón changed the subject. “They work hard, these kids. They plant and harvest our gardens, take care of the animals, clean the barns and rake the corrals. It makes them strong, gives them something to believe in.”

“What kind of animals do you have?”

Ramón touched his chin, and Tanya picked up the faintest touch of embarrassment in the gesture. Puzzled, she waited for the answer.

“A lot of them,” he said. “Goats, sheep, horses, cows, dogs, cats, rabbits, chickens. You name it, we’ve probably got it.”

“Isn’t it hard to feed all those animals?”

“Naw. We eventually butcher the chickens and rabbits, pigs and cows. Some of the boys don’t like that duty, but most of them get around to appreciating the way food comes to the table after a while.” He gave her a quick, amused glance. “Ever wrung a chicken’s neck?”

Horrified, Tanya shook her head. “No!”

“Don’t worry. Desmary will do it until you get used to the idea.”

He said it as if she just naturally would get used to it. “All the food comes from the ranch?”

“As much as possible. It’s part of teaching self-sufficiency.” He turned onto a narrow dirt road and drove through a gate. “There’s great dignity in providing for yourself.”

“What about all the dogs and cats?”

He smiled. “Just for love. Nothing like a dog or a cat to love you when it seems like the whole world is against you.”

Tanya looked at him. Against the cloudy sky, his profile was sharp, his expression certain and strong. “How did you make it happen?” she asked.

He glanced at her, then back to the road. On a rise, the buildings of the ranch appeared—a huge barn, a white farmhouse sitting in a copse of cottonwoods, three long wooden buildings with porches. “I worked with the probation system for six years, then my grandfather left me this land.” He shrugged. “It seemed like it might be good for those boys to be closer to the land, so I wrote the proposals and got a bunch of grants.”

He made it sound simple, but Tanya had a feeling the path had been far from easy.

They drew closer to the buildings, and anxiety sharp as talons clawed at Tanya. She could see figures moving in the corrals and around the house. Was Antonio among them? “I’m so scared,” she blurted out. “Do you think he’ll recognize me?”

“No,” he replied quietly. “He was only three, Tanya.”

“I just don’t want him to feel he has to like me or forgive me. I just want to see him.” She swallowed. “So much.”

“I know.” He slowed a little, as if to give her time to collect herself. “This is best, his not knowing who you are right away. He doesn’t understand the court orders, so he thinks you didn’t want him.”

A bitterness twisted her lips. She had been vulnerable after the trial, too weary to fight Victor’s family any longer, and desperate to see that Antonio had a good home with someone she trusted. To make sure it was Ramón and not one of Victor’s sisters, who hated her, Tanya had agreed to sever contact with Antonio as long as she was in jail. With her lawyer’s help, she had managed to have the restriction lifted upon her release from prison, but that didn’t make up for the lost eleven years. If she were Antonio, she’d feel betrayed, too.

She lifted her chin, feeling suddenly stronger. This was what she had waited for—to see her son again. Whether he knew she was his mother or not was beside the point. Thanks to Ramón’s kindness, she would have the chance to know her child.

“Thank you, Ramón,” she said. “You didn’t have to give me this chance, and I am very grateful.”

“De nada.”
He gave her a lazy wink. “I needed a cook.”

Then they were pulling into the driveway, beneath the gold leaves on the branches of the cottonwood trees. A swarm of boys lifted their heads to watch. Tanya gathered her purse and put her hand on the door, scanning the faces eagerly. Would she even know him after so long?

Her gaze caught on a youth on the porch, eating an apple. Unlike Ramón, he wore his straight black hair short, combed back from his high forehead. The style showed off a dramatically carved and beautiful face—those heavy dark eyebrows, the distinctive and beautiful Quezada nose, his father’s high cheekbones—and Tanya’s blue eyes, striking in the dark face.

She had been afraid she might cry, that even all those years of training herself to hide her emotions couldn’t help her at this moment. Instead, as she stared at the face of her son after more than four thousand days of waiting, she smiled.

* * *

Ramón watched Tanya step out of the truck. There was shyness in the angle of her head, a certain hesitancy as she glanced at the pack of boys who milled toward her, but she didn’t cower. He pursed his lips, watching them take her measure, and was pleased when her chin lifted, when she met their eyes without flinching.

Good, he thought. After the way she had reacted to him in the bus station, he had been afraid she wouldn’t be able to stand up to this inspection, that her abusive relationship had ruined her permanently.

Standing there, her expression carefully neutral, she met the gaze of these rough boys with a roughness of her own. She knew where they came from. She’d been there. They saw it, too, and their predatory instincts were appeased, at least for the moment.

Ramón smiled. “Gentlemen,” he said, in spite of the covert glances some of them swept over Tanya’s shapely form, “this is our new cook, Ms. Bishop.”

There were murmurs and nods. The newer boys looked to the ones who’d been residents longer for clues to the right behavior. “You’ll meet everyone sooner or later,” Ramén said, rounding the truck to stand near her. He pointed out and named a few of the closest faces, knowing the only one she would remember was the last. “The one on the porch is Tonio Quezada, my son.”

Tanya nodded at all of them, smiling at the younger ones. Ramón was impressed when she managed the same polite nod toward her son as she had toward the others.

Then she looked up at Ramón with a smile of singular sweetness. Joy spilled from the wide blue eyes, eyes that somehow still carried a touching innocence. High color lit her cheeks. Her expression was meant to convey to him what she could not say in front of all these witnesses—the most heartfelt gratitude he’d ever received. Her face made him think of the statue of the Madonna in the church where he’d grown up—sweet and purely carved.

“Let me show you your room,” he said briskly. “Tonio! Grab the bag.” He barked out other orders and the boys scurried to obey.

All except Zach, an eight-year-old with a bristly blond flattop and a smattering of freckles across his sullen face.

“What’s up, Zach?” Ramón asked.

The boy tucked his thumbs into his jeans and stared at Tanya. “Nothin’,” he said.

“Have you done your chores?” Tonio asked, coming up behind the adults.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Zach snarled. Ramón frowned. The child was fairly new—he’d only been there for a little more than two weeks—and had come to the ranch only after his sixteenth arrest, when no foster homes would take him. A hard case, but he was so young, Ramón intended to keep him awhile if he could. “Zach, is there something on your mind?”

His flat, hostile gaze flickered over Tanya, then to Tonio. “He’s always telling me what to do. Damn Goody Two-shoes.”

Ramón gave Tanya an apologetic lift of the brows. To Tonio, he said, “Son, show Ms. Bishop to her room, please.”

“Sure.” The long-legged teenager opened the door. “Right this way.”

Tanya gave Ramón a single, terrified glance, then took a breath and followed her son.

Ramón waited until they had gone inside, then remained silent a moment longer, watching Zach carefully. The boy was very upset about something. He was fighting tears even as they stood there. “Are you having some problem, Zach? You want to tell me about it?”

Zach wavered a moment, then lifted his head and uttered an obscenity that more or less told Ramón to get lost.

Ramón sighed. “I hope you had a good lunch, son—”

“I’m not your son! I’m not anybody’s son! Leave me alone!”

When he would have bolted from the porch, Ramón grabbed him firmly by the arm. Holding on just above the elbow, he headed for the dorms, Zach cursing and tugging all the way. “You know the rules, Zach. If you swear, you’ll go to bed with no supper. I hate to do it, but you leave me no choice.”

A dark, burly man met them at the door of the dorms. “Zach will not be dining with us tonight,” Ramón said. “Will you see him to his room, Mr. Mahaney?”

“I’m real sorry to hear that, Zach.”

The boy, out of control now, swore again. The two men exchanged grips. “Mozart tonight, I think,” Ramón said, smiling.

“Good choice,” David Mahaney said.

* * *

Tanya followed Tonio into the house. Her heart raced with a sick speed, making her feel almost faint. When the edges of her vision grew dark, she stopped abruptly, forcing herself to breathe in slow, steady breaths. It would not make a nice impression to hyperventilate and faint in the hall.

Tonio stopped and turned around. “You okay?”

Tanya nodded, breathing slowly, her hand on a carved wooden post. “It’s just been a long day,” she said.

He smiled, and it wasn’t phony or falsely patient. “I’ll have Desmary bring you some coffee or something.”

“No, that’s all right,” she said, straightening. “I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

Oh, Ramón, you’ve done a fine, fine job!
Tanya smiled. “Very.”

By the time he’d led the way up a wide, sweeping staircase to the third floor of the old farmhouse, Tanya had calmed considerably. He showed her into a gracious, turn-of-the-century room with wide windows overlooking the semiarid land. Sea-foam green wallpaper graced the angles made by the dormers, and a handmade quilt in green and white covered the bed. For a single moment, Tanya could not quite believe this would be her room.

With a surprising lack of self-consciousness, Tonio pointed out the bathroom down the hall, the linen closet and various other amenities. She drank in the resonant tenor of his voice and found hints of the three-year-old she’d left behind.

But she could not study him the way she wished to, not now. She couldn’t seem too curious or strange, so it would have to be done in bits. His voice, his easy movements—those were enough for now.

“Thanks,” she said, finally, knowing she should let him go. “I’ll be fine.”

“See you at dinner,” Tonio said amiably, and left, shutting the door behind him.

Tanya sank down on the bed, alone in the quiet for the first time since she could remember. Even at the halfway house, there had been constant noise—the sound of a radio or a telephone or people talking, and the rooms had been only one step above the cells at the prison. Here, the quilt was soft with many washings and smelled faintly of dusting powder. With a sense of sybaritic freedom, Tanya closed her eyes and pulled the quilt around her, drowning in the deliciousness.

This was what she had missed, more than anything. Pure solitude, and silence. For several long moments, she reveled in it, drowned in it, and then was startled by a knock at the door. “Just a minute!” she called.

It was Antonio, back again, a stack of magazines in his hands. “Don’t tell my dad I forgot these,” he said, sheepishly. “I was supposed to put them in here before you got here and I forgot.”

Tanya smiled and accepted the stack. “The
New Yorker?”
she said in a puzzled voice. “Interesting.”

Tonio inclined his head, putting his hands on his hips. “Yeah, well, Dad’s got this thing about magazines. Everybody has magazines in their rooms—weird stuff, all of it, like that.”

Tanya sensed he wasn’t in a hurry to go, and held the magazines loosely against her chest. As if she were only lazily making conversation, she flipped the top magazine against her and asked, “Where do they come from?”

“In the mail. We get like twenty magazines and newspapers a week. The postman has to make a special trip.”

Tanya lifted her head and smiled. “He has an unusual approach to things, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Yeah, he’s a good guy once you get through all his weirdness.”