Protected (Jacobs Family Series Book 2) Read online

Most of the night before was a complete blank.

  But he did remember Tara and that squalling baby.

  That was it.

  Shrugging, he returned to the driver’s seat, started the car, and drove down the logging road. He had no idea if he was going the right direction, but it had to lead somewhere. Find civilization—he couldn’t see any further than the need for a sandwich and coffee.

  It was when he’d made a left off the road—he always turned left when he was lost and that strategy hadn’t failed him yet—that he remembered chasing her through the woods.

  Find civilization and then find Tara.

  She had some explaining to do.

  Three

  Travis Williams sank into his office chair late Tuesday afternoon, spied the note on his desk, and grimaced.

  He liked his new boss well enough. Tabitha Moring acted tough but fair and seemed to be leading the department in the right direction. No, that wasn’t the problem.

  He took one more gulp of the bitter coffee leftover from breakfast—cold, stale, but still caffeinated—and walked toward her office.

  The problem was he’d been with The Department of Family and Protective Services long enough to know a call into the boss’s office could only mean one more case added to his already bulging work bag. And not just any case, or she’d have left it on his desk.

  Knocking, he rolled his eyes when James walked by and slid his finger across his throat, mimicking a quick and merciful beheading.

  “Enter,” Tabitha barked.

  Travis stepped cautiously into the director’s office for Polk County, Texas. It never failed to surprise him how she had tamed the previous clutter. Every social worker he knew, himself included, stacked folders on any flat surface. Not Moring.

  She was an imposing figure at five foot eleven, nearly reaching Travis’s height. His mother had seen her at a city function and declared if there was one tall woman in Texas, there were more. Laughing at his expense, she said perhaps it wasn’t hopeless and Travis would one day find a wife. She’d playfully suggested it was the reason he remained single—that he didn’t like looking down from his six-foot-one vantage point.

  Travis wished the explanation was so simple.

  He never would have guessed Moring’s age, but the department had celebrated her fiftieth birthday last summer. As he entered her office, she stood like a professor, preparing to address a class. She looked ageless—perfect posture, ebony skin, rail thin. Everything about her affirmed she tolerated no nonsense. Even her straight black hair, cut at the jaw line, proclaimed as much.

  “Travis, thank you for coming in so promptly.” Her composed expression gave away nothing. “Have a seat. I wanted you to start on this right away.”

  Two chairs were arranged in front of her desk. Travis chose the closest and resisted the urge to sigh. Four thirty in the afternoon, and he had started work before seven that morning.

  “As you know, my caseload stands at 120 percent currently.” He offered the fact without returning her greeting. Maybe she could still catch James in the hall if she hurried.

  Director Moring had been reaching for the single file on her desk. Returning his gaze, she stopped, sat in the leather chair she had inherited, and studied him for a moment.

  “Every social worker in our office has a heavy caseload. I imagine you’re aware your coworkers are all overburdened.”

  Travis nodded, but didn’t blink. “Of course, though not every worker travels to the far side of the county.”

  Moring steepled her fingers and seemed to consider his comment seriously. He suddenly remembered James’s beheading antic in the hall and felt his palms begin to sweat. Something in her eyes told him she was merely deciding how to vanquish him.

  Instead, she sat up straighter and tossed him the folder. “You’re going to want this one.”

  “That’s what you always say.”

  “And I’m always right.”

  Travis checked the name on the folder: Baby Joshua. It wasn’t unheard of to list no last name, but it was unusual.

  “I could stop by tomorrow morning,” he muttered.

  “That is a Baby Moses case. I want you to go out there tonight.”

  Intrigued, he opened the file and scanned the single page.

  “Jacobs is listed as a vet tech, not your usual emergency infant care provider.” Travis continued to stare at the single page. “I’m not convinced this qualifies under the Safe Haven Code.”

  “Which is why I want you out there within the hour.” A finality in her tone caused Travis to shift uncomfortably in his chair. He allowed his gaze to wander past the plate glass windows a moment, then finally settle on his boss.

  “Who took the preliminary notes on this? What’s so special about—” he glanced back down, “Erin Jacobs? Why didn’t we assume custody of this child early this morning?”

  “Good questions.” Moring leaned back in her chair, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I knew I could count on you to ask good questions.”

  Travis tapped the folder against his leg and waited.

  “I took the prelim notes when I received a call today from Commissioner Ray. You may not realize it, but Ray is responsible for pushing through the budget requests for this department last month. He was a foster child himself. In the four months I’ve been here, I’ve developed an abiding respect for Commissioner Ray, even if I don’t always agree with his political stands.”

  Travis waited and watched, resisting the urge to comment.

  “I saved Baby Joshua for you, Travis. I wanted my most experienced caseworker on this one.” Moring picked up a pen, turned it end over end, then laid it down perpendicular to her calendar. “Ray had an early morning visit from a Dr. England. Apparently, they are old buddies. Dr. England runs a local veterinary clinic.”

  “I know him,” Travis said. “Not well, but I know him.”

  “Dr. England is the supervising vet for Erin Jacobs, who runs Noah’s ARK—an animal rescue facility. You can get the full story from her tonight on your site visit. The abbreviated version is England vouches for the woman, and Ray vouches for England.”

  Heat flooded Travis’s face. “Since we owe Ray—”

  “We don’t owe anyone.” Moring placed both palms flat against her desk, fingers splayed. “What we do, we do by the standards set in this department before I arrived, upheld since I’ve been here, and laid out in the Texas Family Code. I expect nothing less in this situation.”

  Her expression softened as she waved at the folder. “Take it. Go out there and get the specifics from Jacobs. She was the one who found the child. See what makes her different while you’re at it. I trust Ray’s intuition, but I told him I back my people. Your decision is final.”

  “Police report?”

  “I’m sending it to your e-mail now.”

  Travis nodded, stood, and walked toward the door. Moring immediately turned her attention to her computer and was tapping on her keyboard before he left the office.

  As he carried the file toward his cubicle, it seemed to gain weight. Stuffing it into his leather shoulder bag, he wondered how he could manage the responsibility for one more child.

  “What did she give you?” James asked. He was three inches shorter, with what would have been black hair if he ever let his crew cut grow out, which he didn’t. They’d been friends since baseball days in high school.

  “Baby Joshua.” Travis pulled the file back out and tossed it to him as he checked his e-mail and hit the PRINT button. Then he repacked his bag and grabbed his keys from his desk.

  James studied the one page, shook his head, and handed the folder back. “Haven’t had an abandoned baby case this year. This one will make the news. Who named the kid? And is Moring going to allow Jacobs to serve as an EMS provider?” He asked his questions while frowning as he sailed the Nerf ball into the basketball hoop positioned over their two cubicles.

  “I’ve no idea. On top of it all, what makes this Jacobs woman
think she should care for him until he can be properly placed?”

  “You told me once that you chose Child Welfare because you enjoy solving puzzles.” James leaned back in his chair until it groaned. “This has all the markings of a good one.”

  In spite of his long day, Travis felt his energy level return as he hiked to his Chevy Blazer. Baby Joshua did have the markings of a good puzzle, and the police report he’d printed had raised more questions than it had answered.

  Checking the address, he turned left onto the loop and accelerated. He could be at Noah’s ARK in twenty minutes.

  Noah’s ARK. He hoped the woman had a better knack for running a business than she did for picking names. Otherwise, she wouldn’t make enough money to support herself, let alone Baby Joshua.

  —

  Thirty minutes later he pulled up in front of what looked like an old ranch on the outskirts of Livingston. From the road he could barely make out the main house, some stock buildings, and a pond. It had taken him ten minutes longer than expected because it wasn’t exactly located in the business part of town.

  How did Miss Jacobs hope to attract customers when she was so far down a county road?

  He shifted the Blazer into park, hopped out, and opened what he hoped was the final cattle gate, then maneuvered the Chevy through it. After closing the gate, he continued up the hill toward the ranch house.

  The place appeared clean and orderly enough, but it also looked dated. A main house sat to the east of the property, while the corral and barn buildings were located to the west. Everything looked as if it needed a new coat of paint.

  He parked in front of the sign proclaiming he’d arrived at Noah’s ARK parking, which basically consisted of a fence in front of the buildings. It separated the house and barns from the grass parking area. At one time gravel had been spread there, but that had apparently been done long ago and needed replenishing.

  Stepping out of his car, he was met by familiar farm smells—hay, manure, and livestock. He did a slow three-sixty and noted with surprise how close the main county road actually was. The route to Jacobs’s place had circled back around it. The ARK sat in an alcove—tucked back quietly by itself.

  A screen door banged shut and the sound of work boots clomping across the back porch indicated which way he needed to go. Grabbing his site evaluation tablet and case folder, he took off in that direction.

  He hurried through the small gate encircling the house’s yard, which did not squeak, up the three steps of the wraparound porch, and hesitated at the front door. Plainly, he’d heard someone at the back. Knocking at the front would be useless, and already it was nearing six. Probably she was out back with her husband settling the animals for the evening.

  Turning, he nearly smacked his head on a planter of yellow, purple, and pink flowers. Why couldn’t women leave plants in the ground? Pushing his irritation down, he continued around the porch, his rubber-soled dress shoes silent on the wooden floor.

  It never occurred to him to call out.

  Rounding the first corner he was surprised to see old wicker furniture—a couch, chair, and table. Again it was clean, but in need of paint. The scene was homey—cozy in a way he couldn’t have defined—and it stirred something inside of him. Raised a bittersweet feeling he thought he’d buried long ago. He ignored the emotion and gave the woman points for trying.

  Winding through the furniture, he gained speed as he rounded the last corner, hoping to catch the Jacobs family before they took off to the barns.

  He didn’t actually see Erin Jacobs or the baby before he practically knocked them off the porch.

  He did look down into auburn hair—curly, thick, and smelling of something floral. She’d cut it about two inches all over, so the curls swirled like the icing on his mother’s red-velvet cakes, tapering off at the base of her neck. He didn’t have time to think about anything else as he attempted to stop his forward momentum, tried to keep from lobbing her and the infant she carried in a front baby pouch off the porch and into the yard.

  Travis’s heart rate shot up as he dropped everything in his hands and grasped her shoulders, desperately trying to steady them. A gasp escaped from her lips, but she never looked up, didn’t even spare him a glance.

  They tottered, locked in some asynchronous dance, and then the world seemed to right itself—teeter back from the brink.

  “I am so sorry.” He didn’t let go, worried she would still fall over, terrified he had trampled her like some tackle crossing the twenty-yard line headed into the end zone. Sweat trickled down his back as adrenaline pumped through his system.

  Jacobs stepped back, barely looking at him, and focused on the baby in her pouch. Concern masked her features as she bent her head over the child.

  “Are you all right, sweetie?”

  The infant had started to cry, so she turned and without even a backward glance fled around the corner and into the house.

  Four

  Travis made his way into the yard, retrieved his materials, then climbed the steps leading to the back porch. He hesitated, hand raised, before knocking at the door. Baby Joshua’s cries had subsided from outright yowls to occasional whimpers. The kid sounded healthy enough. Whatever Jacobs had done to calm him seemed to work.

  Perhaps he should proceed to the barn and introduce himself to Mr. Jacobs. Either way he’d have to interview both adults. He could knock or he could give the woman time to cool off. The one glance she’d given him had been none too welcoming.

  Then again, he was here, and he would need to question her.

  He raised his hand to knock when Erin pushed the screen door open and walked out.

  “Perhaps we should try this again.” Having discarded the baby pouch, she now cradled Baby Joshua in the crook of her left arm. Based on size, the child looked under two months. A doctor’s opinion would be required to confirm approximate age. At the moment he had his face pressed into her blouse, rooting around.

  Jacobs extended her right hand. “Erin Jacobs.”

  Belatedly, Travis realized he needed to juggle the pad into his left hand in order to shake hands with her. The entire process took longer than it should have. He could feel her watching him curiously.

  “Williams. Travis Williams.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She shifted the baby to a more comfortable position.

  He noted she seemed a bit awkward with the child, as if she couldn’t find the exact way to hold a two-month-old infant. Finally, she slung Joshua to her shoulder like a small feed sack.

  “I assume you’re here with Child Welfare.” She studied him in the waning light.

  “Correct. Director Moring asked me to come out tonight. Actually, we’re required, in cases of child abandonment, to assume care of the child by the close of the first business day.”

  Jacobs stepped closer, and Travis stepped back.

  “I don’t want you to assume care of the child, who has a name by the way.” She turned and started away from him, then turned back. “His name is Joshua—Josh. I call him Josh sometimes, but his name—it’s Joshua.”

  She drew her bottom lip in, worried it with her teeth, and he wondered what she was trying not to say.

  With a start, it occurred to him she made him nervous. As a social worker he’d grown used to having that effect on other people, but this made no sense at all. He was here to interview her.

  Everything about Erin Jacobs had caught him off guard. For one thing she seemed incredibly young. What was the minimum age to marry these days? Had she even graduated from high school? For another, she was small—barely reaching his chest.

  He eyed her carefully, checking to see if he’d broken her in some way. “We started off badly. Are you sure you’re all right? I’m sorry about before.”

  Jacobs took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, then smiled up at him, brown eyes narrowing as if she hadn’t decided whether to trust him. “You don’t always bowl over your clients?”

  He shook his head,
feeling the heat rise up his neck, and continued to stare. She wore work boots, old jeans, and an oversized, men’s flannel shirt. She reminded him of a sparrow wrapped in a crow’s outfit. Her face was exquisite—slightly pronounced cheek bones, a button nose with slightly more character, remarkable lips the lightest shade of pink—the color of the flowers he’d nearly creamed near her front door. It was her eyes he wanted more of though—round, expressive, and the same brown as his morning coffee. They seemed to hold nothing back.

  Mr. Jacobs was one lucky man, and no doubt he relished the fact every morning.

  Travis finally found his tongue. “I need to do an intake interview, and no, I don’t normally knock my clients off their feet. I thought I heard you headed to the barns, and I was trying to catch you.”

  She cocked her head to the side, considered him, and accepted his explanation, then shrugged. “No harm done. Why don’t we sit on the side porch?”

  “Sure. I’ll need to ask a thousand questions.” Travis followed her around to the wicker furniture, aware he towered like a redwood tree beside her. She had to be under five and a half feet tall.

  Tossing a look at him as she sat in the chair, she refocused on the baby, gently lowered him to her lap, and murmured, “Best get started then.”

  Baby Joshua appeared to be under eight weeks old, with the beginnings of blond, curly hair. His color was good as far as Travis could tell. He seemed a little on the thin side, but otherwise healthy—at least from three feet away.

  “It might save some time if Mr. Jacobs could be here from the beginning.” Travis sat carefully on the wicker couch, hoping it would hold his weight. “Then I wouldn’t have to ask the same questions twice.”

  Erin shook her head and repositioned the baby with his head on her knees and his feet pressed against her flat abdomen. He bet she didn’t weigh a buck fifteen—though there was no blank for weight on his report. She did seem obviously healthy, which he’d need to check once she filled out the health form questions—if she insisted on petitioning for custody. A piece of the puzzle which still made no sense to him.