Page 2 of Wrangled Love

“I just found out I have a five-year-old son,” I blurt out.

“Come again?” He shifts gears to lawyer mode. “Who’s claiming this, and what’s she after?”

I wedge my phone between my shoulder and cheek, freeing my hands to pack my laptop.

“Her name’s Amelia. Her lawyer just contacted me to say she passed away and named me guardian of her son, Caleb, and listed me as his father in her will.”

“Fuck,” Dawson mutters. “Is it possible?”

I look at the photo on my computer screen again. “He’s mine,” I state.

Dawson lets out a dry laugh. “You won’t know for sure without a DNA test. Say the word and I’ll get one set up.”

“That’s not necessary.” I pause to add a stack of papers to the briefcase I’m filling to take with me. “I just saw a photo of him,and he’s the spitting image of me as a kid. He’s mine,” I repeat with conviction.

I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.

Dawson lets out a whistle. “Well, shit. What can I do?”

I exhale deeply. “Amelia lived in Chicago. Caleb’s in temporary foster care, and I want to bring him back to New York as soon as possible. I’m headed there to get him now.”

“Send me the law firm’s details, and I’ll call them within the hour. By the time you land, it’ll be taken care of.”

I sigh in relief. “Thanks, man.”

“I’ll send you the bill.”

I chuckle. “Nice to talk to you too, Dawson.”

It’s always business first with him. Then again, I’m no different, but I have a feeling that’s about to change.

As someone who treats research like a competitive sport, I spent the past two hours on the plane taking a crash course in child development online.

It started with a simple search: How to take care of a grieving child. That opened the floodgates to articles about night terrors, regression, and emotional outbursts—none of which I’m remotely prepared to handle. I found myself reading through forum posts from relatives stepping in after tragedy, most of them overwhelmed and heartbroken. I also came across several therapist-recommended guides for helping kids through loss, and I bookmarked all of them.

I’ve been alone my entire adult life. I left my hometown, Bluebell, Montana, when I was eighteen and haven’t looked back since.

The one bright spot in my childhood was the Halstead family. They own a ranch near town, and I practically lived at theirplace thanks to my friendship with their oldest son, Heath. We’ve stayed in touch over the years, and I still consider them the closest thing I ever had to a real family, which is why I send Heath a message before landing in Chicago.

Jensen: Hey.

Heath: Long time, city boy.

I roll my eyes at his nickname for me. It’s only been a few weeks since we talked last, but Heath always loves an excuse to give me shit.

Heath: Wall Street kick you out yet?

Jensen: Just missed your charming personality.

Heath: Everything alright?

Jensen: Got some unexpected news today, and I could use the help of you and your mom.

Heath: Whatever you need.

Jensen: Thanks. I’ll call you tonight and explain everything.

Heath: We’ll be here.

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