My Three Girls
Can Deputy Brady Moore, a man desperate to protect his brother's children, convince Dana Ritchie, a woman desperate to protect herself, to be his wife?Brady's only asking Dana to be a temporary wife. After all, he can hardly expect a woman he's just met to spend the rest of her life with him and his three nieces. If there was any other way to keep the little girls from entering "the system," he wouldn't even ask.Dana's more than reluctant to accept. She once loved a little boy who wasn't hers and lived to regret it. If she gives her heart to the children and then has to watch them walk away, she might never recover. But how is she ever going to resist these three girls?
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âAre you going to take us?â
Karen asked the question with such hope, and Dana was glad she didnât have to disappoint the little girl.
âYes. Your uncle Brady and I are going to get married on Friday, so you can stay here.â
Karenâs eyes went wide and then filled with tears. In an attempt to soothe her Dana said, âI know this is all happening very fast. But weâre not going to try to be your mom and dad.â
Karen shook her head. âI used to pray that youâd be our mother. You were always so nice to us. I loved my momma, but she didnât love us back.â
Dana didnât know what to say. This sweet girl was giving so much of herself, but Dana couldnât do the same. Brady kept telling her this was only temporary. If she gave her love to the children and then had to watch them walk away, she might never recover. How was she ever going to resist these three girls?
Dear Reader,
This book started with a newspaper article my late father had saved for me about a one-room schoolhouse. âHey, look at this, Sus,â he said with a grin. âWouldnât this be a great story?â Unfortunately, my father isnât here to witness his kernel of an idea come to fruition, but I still like to thank him for his inspiration, which led to this story.
Now take three abandoned children starving for love, a schoolteacher reluctant to ever become attached to any of her students again and a deputy sheriff racked with guilt because he believes the childrenâs plight is the result of actions he took several years before. Mix them all together, stir in generous amounts of chaos, unresolved feelings and long-kept secrets and bake with a marriage of convenience. Season with healing and forgiveness. Is this the recipe to make a family?
Join Dana Ritchie and Brady Moore as they wade through this crazy thing we call life and together discover that two are stronger than one. Youâmy readersâmean everything to me, and I love to hear from you. You can write to me at P.O. Box 2883, Los Banos, CA 93635 or by e-mail at [email protected].
Sincerely,
Susan Floyd
This book took the work of several people from San Benito,
Monterey and Merced Counties.
Heartfelt thanks to:
Monterey County deputy sheriffs Greg Liskey, Mike Richards, Larry Robinson and Jeff Stiarwalt (for the adventurous âride alongâ).
Merced County deputy sheriffs
Tomas Cavallero and Richard St. Marie (for brainstorming at the Los Banos Campus Career Fair).
Panoche Elementary School District, San Benito County
Ginger Gardner, Teacher and Principal Elsa Rodriguez, Teacherâs Aide, Cook, Janitor and Groundskeeper
Mario Bencomo, 5>th grade Aaron Blanco, 7>th grade Ian Blanco, 5>th grade Dustin Borba, 1>st grade Alyssa Cabral, 4>th grade Chantelle Lippert, 7>th grade Jacob Lippert, 6>th grade Zoa Lopez, 6>th grade Tristan Redondo, 2>nd grade
This is dedicated to all my students at Merced College,
Los Banos Campus, who have brainstormed titles, offered plotting advice and understood the value of a âredo.â
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
DANA TUGGED at the collar of her sleeveless cotton dress, feeling a damp film of sweat on her sternum. Indian summer in Californiaâs Panoche Valley was just more of the sameâdry and brittle, the victim of a scorching summer. Cattle on the rolling hills searched for shade and found it at the chain-link border of a one-room schoolhouse, a green oasis of non-native shade trees nestled in a valley of brown.
Dana glanced at the large clock on the wall. It was nearly six on a Friday, but it wasnât strange that she was still at work. When she was twenty-four, Dana had taken on the role of principal and teacher at one of the smallest schools in Californiaâs Central Valley, a job that took someone who was either a loner or a certified workaholic.
Dana was both.
For the past five years, sheâd embraced the isolation, hoping that work and the dark, still nights could wrap her in a protective blanket. It hadnât always been that way. There was a time, new teaching credentials in hand, she had taught in an urban school filled with low-income children even more thirsty for the safety school offered than for the subsidized cartons of milk. Sheâd had colleagues then, a few she might call friends, but those faces were a blur now. The only face she saw with heartbreaking regularity was the one she tried not to see, the one permanently imprinted in her vision like a sunspot. Round cheeks, clear brown eyes, a shock of black hair.
Dana reached over and jerked down the shade. The temperature of her west-facing office dropped ten degrees. Now wasnât the time to be thinking about him, what heâd be like as a teenager. With brisk movements, she began to sort through the forms on her desk, prioritizing the nightâs work. Even though she only had twelve students, she needed to fill out the same reports that the larger schools did. Fire safety, student evacuation plans, building and lighting requirements.
