Sweet Child of Mine. Jean Brashear

kids. What makes you think the contaminated water is only at Hopechest Ranch?”

      Michael leaned closer to his microphone, praying for the right words. The air was thick with fear. A full-blown panic wasn’t far off.

      “The only people who’ve gotten sick have been either kids who live at Hopechest or townspeople who work there.”

      “Why would anybody want to poison a ranch full of kids?” someone asked.

      “Those kids are troublemakers. Even their parents don’t want them,” said a disgruntled voice.

      Finally Michael saw a spark in Suzanne’s deep violet eyes. Her long hair swung as she turned quickly to pin the speaker with a glare. “Just because it’s been forty years since you had kids around, Homer Wentworth, doesn’t mean you have no responsibility to help those less fortunate.”

      Michael tried not to gloat. Old Wentworth wanted to raise the drawbridge around his property and ignore the rest of the world—until his taxes were impacted.

      He’d picked the wrong person to spar with. Suzanne Jorgenson was passionate about one thing beyond anything else: troubled children. In the months since she’d come to Prosperino, he’d seen the raven-haired beauty standing at the podium in city council chambers many times—usually chewing him out for all the shortcomings of the city he ran, full of suggestions for ways to better the lives of Prosperino’s neglected children. She would work herself into the ground to give them the love and support she firmly believed should be every child’s God-given right.

      Michael was accustomed to the crackle in the air from her boundless well of energy, her St. George-against-the-dragon flair. He would even admit to enjoying baiting her simply to see the sparks flare from those bottomless eyes. There was very little that was restful about the social worker whose primary responsibility was the unwed mothers at Emily’s House. Hopechest Ranch had not been the same since her arrival a year ago.

      But no one was peaceful in Prosperino now—not with the threat of a contaminated water supply hanging over them. And tonight was a night for pulling together, not butting heads.

      He tapped his gavel for order and leaned toward his microphone. “Homer, I want to assure you and all the citizens of Prosperino that every possible avenue is being explored to protect the safety of the citizens. The city wells are being monitored—”

      “Some folks think it’s best to leave town, Mayor.” This from an elderly lady near the back.

      “That’s up to the individual, of course. For myself, I’ll be staying here. I have every faith that we’ll soon know how DMBE got into the well at Hopechest. In the meantime, we have experts standing by, generously paid for by Joe Colton, who are working night and day on a solution to removing the substance from the water, should it reach the town’s water supply.”

      There was a smattering of applause for the town’s leading citizen, Joe Colton, and his wife, Meredith. The dark-haired older man nodded his head in acknowledgment.

      Michael waited for the applause to fade. “Our next concern is what to do with the children at Hopechest who haven’t fallen ill. Blake, could you tell us more about what you need?”

      Blake Fallon, director of Hopechest Ranch, was standing beside Suzanne and nodded. “We’re looking for as many as thirty homes in which to place one or two of the kids. We’d prefer them to not stay at the ranch, even with water being trucked in, until we can be sure it won’t happen again.” His voice was calm as always. A less steady man would never have lasted at Hopechest.

      “Blake,” Joe Colton called as he stood up, tall and distinguished. “Meredith and I have a solution we’d like to offer. We have plenty of room on the ranch for the kids who need a place to stay. That way they wouldn’t have to be split up.”

      Suzanne stirred. “Mr. Colton, the girls at Emily’s House need special diets, along with transportation for regular doctor’s visits. Are you sure about this?”

      Joe nodded. “Hopechest Ranch is our baby.” He smiled fondly at the wife he’d almost lost. “This feels right to us. The staff at Hopechest can set up the usual routines for however long our quarters are needed. We’ll do everything possible to meet the needs of these very deserving children.”

      Michael wanted to chuckle when some of Suzanne’s normal sass revealed itself in the triumphant look she shot back at Homer Wentworth.

      That was more like it.

      Blake Fallon smiled broadly. “Thanks, Joe. We’ll do everything in our power to make this as easy on you and Meredith as possible. Won’t we, Suzanne?”

      The long fall of her straight black hair shimmered on her shoulders as Suzanne nodded vigorously. “Absolutely.”

      “All right,” Michael said. “The city secretary will be placing a daily update on the city’s Web site, and for those of you who insist on pretending the Internet doesn’t exist—” he grinned good-naturedly “—a printed memo will be posted on the bulletin board outside city offices.”

      He scanned the room and waited for total silence to fall. “My father is very ill and I have no intention of moving him out of Prosperino, nor do I plan to leave myself. That’s how sure I am that it will all work out. I want every citizen of this town to know that all possible resources are being tapped to ensure their safety, and I have every faith that we will succeed. You all know where my office is—hell, most of you wind up on my front porch at one time or another.” He grinned as laughter traveled around the room.

      “I’m not going anywhere and I’m available whenever you have a question, all right? We’re in this together, and I won’t rest until we get this puzzle solved. Now, anybody have another question?” He waited patiently, but no one spoke up.

      “All right, then. This meeting is adjourned.” He brought the gavel down and rose, pulling his battered leather jacket from the chair behind him. Within seconds, people surrounded him, all wanting answers he didn’t have, but he would do his best to soothe them, to instill confidence in the government he headed. That was his job as mayor and a duty he held sacred. This town was his responsibility, just as were his dying father and his frightened mother.

      Michael Longstreet had had one spectacular failure as a young husband and father and it had cost him the family he should have saved.

      Never again would someone in his care suffer.

      “Let’s go talk to Joe and see how soon he can take the kids,” Blake Fallon said.

      Suzanne flicked a glance toward the dais where Michael Longstreet held court. With her accursed sensitivity to the emotional temperature of her surroundings, Suzanne felt the anxiety of the crowd pummel her already battered nerves, but she could feel the lowering of the tension around her.

      Thanks to Mr. Mayor’s glib tongue.

      “Suz?” Blake broke in. “Did you hear what I asked?”

      “Oh—yes. Sure. Let’s go.”

      That was a cheap shot, calling him glib. Yes, Michael Longstreet had the devil’s own silver tongue. He could probably call the birds down from the trees. He’d certainly gotten the upper hand often enough when she’d tangled with him. She glanced back toward the dais and saw his shaggy, sun-streaked brown hair as he towered above most of his constituents. In his usual jeans and boots, no one would guess he was a graduate of Yale and Georgetown Law School, smart, rich and, yes, too good-looking. When he could have been a partner in any Wall Street firm, why had he come back to Prosperino?

      She didn’t know and couldn’t care. As she walked toward Joe and Meredith Colton, she could only be concerned about the kids of Hopechest Ranch. She had eight homeless pregnant girls at Emily’s House. Despite the doctor’s reassurances, they were still worried about the effects of DMBE on their babies.

      Then there were the forty-eight kids at Hopechest Ranch right now, some of whom were at delicate stages in their emotional development. She’d have