The Rancher's Secret Son
A Mother's Last HopeWhen her troubled teenage son is sent to Camp Hope, Emma Shaver is thrilled and relieved. The therapy horse ranch in Broken Bend, Louisiana, is well-known for giving at-risk teens a new lease on life. There’s just one problem—it’s owned by her old high school sweetheart, Max Ringgold, who doesn't know he's her son's father. Emma didn’t plan on facing her past to ensure her son’s future. But when old feelings for Max resurface, Emma must decide if she will reveal the truth to him and restore her family for good.
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A Mother’s Last Hope
When her troubled teenage son is sent to Camp Hope, Emma Shaver is thrilled and relieved. The therapy horse ranch in Broken Bend, Louisiana, is well-known for giving at-risk teens a new lease on life. There’s just one problem—it’s owned by her old high school sweetheart, Max Ringgold, who doesn’t know he’s her son’s father. Emma didn’t plan on facing her past to ensure her son’s future. But when old feelings for Max resurface, Emma must decide if she will reveal the truth to him and restore her family for good.
“I know you have your own life in Dallas.”
Max rested his forehead on hers, then backed away completely, as if realizing he just couldn’t get that close.
Dallas. Yes.
The fog cleared, and snatches of life—real life—pressed back to the surface. But she didn’t want real life. She wanted to stay in this pocket of stillness. Where there was only the twinkle of the stars and the love in a certain cowboy’s eyes and the whisper that life—her life—could still be different. Could be restored.
“But maybe…” Max’s voice trailed, and he tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Maybe.”
Maybe. So much potential in that word. So much hope. When was the last time she’d hoped? She wanted to hope. Wanted to feel again. To believe. To trust. Was it possible?
“Maybe.” She breathed out the word. Maybe would have to be enough for now.
Maybe would hold back real life a little while longer.
BETSY ST. AMANT
loves polka-dot shoes, chocolate and sharing the good news of God’s grace through her novels. She has a bachelor’s degree in Christian communications from Louisiana Baptist University and is actively pursuing a career in inspirational writing. Betsy resides in northern Louisiana with her husband and daughter and enjoys reading, kickboxing and spending quality time with her family.
And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose.
—Romans 8:28
To my Best Friend, Jesus Christ,
whose sustaining presence was with me during the writing of this novel in a way like never before. I can do nothing apart from you! I love you.
Contents
Chapter One
Despite its name, Camp Hope didn’t manage to lift Emma Shaver’s spirits. If anything, she just felt heavier.
She leaned over the steering wheel of her SUV as they rolled nearer the camp, ignoring the steady thump of her thirteen-year-old son Cody’s fingers pounding a rhythm on the dashboard beside her. The camp’s main structure, a two-story, log cabin–style house, held court in the middle of autumn-weary acreage, still dry from the unforgiving heat of a Louisiana summer, faded golden fields stretching as far as the eye could see. The outbuildings, a rustic, get-it-done crimson barn and an open-sided lean-to, nestled behind two rows of temporary buildings that, according to the camp’s website, served as the dorms for the teenagers.
Cody could probably weasel his way out of one of those with a toothpick.
Rat tattat.
She inhaled a tight breath. Pick her battles, was her motto. Cody was here, ready—if not willing—to get the help he needed or else. That was a battle she had to fight. Annoying drumbeats were not.
Rat tat tattat.
Camp Hope looked tired. Or maybe she was just tired.
Rat tattat.
“That’s really getting old, Cody.” So was the headache pounding at her temples that hadn’t stopped since their appearance in court. The day she got the news that would forever change her world.
Again.
Cody shrugged and flopped against the seat, the seat belt stretching across his thin chest and tangling in the cords of his iPod. At least he’d changed shirts. That was yet another battle she’d had to fight this morning before driving to Broken Bend, Louisiana. She wasn’t sure where he’d gotten that holey, rumpled excuse for a T-shirt, but she knew enough about gangs to know it was going straight into the trash.
Too bad all her psych books didn’t tell what to do when the client was your own kid. The rules blurred then, the text grew fuzzy. Nothing was black-and-white anymore like it used to be in college when she’d been working toward her degree. She might have earned her master’s and opened a successful clinic in Dallas, Texas, against all odds, but at home—she was an epic failure.
But she wouldn’t cry. Not in front of her son.
She steeled her nerves. “We’re here.” Not exactly the way she imagined her Monday going, but hey, life was full of surprises. She could write the book on that one.
Cody yanked the iPod buds from his ears, grumbling. “I still don’t see why I had to come.”
That was precisely the problem. She counted to ten before answering, even as she steered the car toward the dusty, gravel parking lot. “You heard what the judge said. It’s either Camp Hope or juvenile detention.” She pulled into a spot between a beat-up pickup and a shiny hybrid. Guess it took all types to have troubled teens. Yet the reminder didn’t make her feel better. This wasn’t anyone’s kid—it was her kid.
