by Angel Smits
Morgan stumbled, pain shooting through his skull as the darkness slid over him. “Brooke,” he whispered as he hit the floor, then cursed, thinking briefly how Tara was going to be pissed if she had to take him to urgent care again.
* * *
“WHAT THE HELL do you think you’re doing?” Jack rounded the front bumper of Morgan’s truck, then stopped dead in his tracks. “You look like hell.”
“Thanks, little brother. You’re looking particularly lovely yourself.” Morgan pulled the ice pack away from his right eye, stared at it for an instant as if that could make it work better, then put it back over his eye. He was seated on the edge of the truck’s running board.
“I lost her,” Morgan whispered. He shot to his feet, palming the ice bag as if strangling it would relieve the desire to do something similar to someone else.
“What exactly do you mean, you lost her?”
“I had her. Sylvie.” Morgan turned on him, and Jack barely resisted the urge to back away. The man was one scary dude when he was riled. “She was at the fight last night, and I grabbed her. I brought her here. I had her.”
“Yeah, we saw her.”
“We?”
“Tara and her staff were all here this morning when you drove off.” Jack relaxed, realizing that the pain—both physical and internal—Morgan felt right now wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.
Morgan cursed and sank onto the running board. He put the ice pack back on his eye again and cursed with a wince.
“What happened?” Jack spoke softly. Morgan needed to talk, but he’d fight against it. Dad had hit him too hard, too many times, for him to easily let go.
“She left Brooke with a sitter and doesn’t even know where the hell the woman lives.” A long silence. “I made her go to her job where she said the woman would bring Brooke back.”
“And did she?”
“I don’t know.”
Jack waited. Dad had beat that silence into him, as well.
“Her boyfriend gave me this,” Morgan pulled the ice pack away from his eye. Looking closer, Jack realized it wasn’t a fist print on his brother’s face.
“With what?”
“The butt end of his shotgun.”
“What?”
“Idiot apparently doesn’t keep it loaded,” Morgan mumbled. “Thank God, or Brooke wouldn’t have any parents left.”
“Damn, Morgan.” Jack sat next to his brother. “This has gone too far. You need to call in the authorities.”
“I know.” The defeat was thick in Morgan’s voice. The pain just as strong. “I called Mitch again.” Their old friend, now a detective on the Dallas police force, had already offered to help Morgan. Guess stubborn had finally been beat out of Morgan, and Jack mourned the loss. It was one of Morgan’s most irritating, yet admirable, traits.
As if just noticing where they were and that Jack was here, Morgan asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Spent the night helping Tara. That creek’s rising so we sandbagged the alley.”
Morgan cursed again. He stood and walked around the front of the truck. He stared at the building. Jack ignored the hurt in his brother’s eyes. “How ticked is she?”
“I don’t know. Her brothers took her home to get some sleep.”
“This is her dream. She’s worked too damned hard for it. It’s not fair she might lose it.”
“Who keeps telling me life isn’t fair?”
“Shut up, Jack.” There wasn’t much venom in Morgan’s voice. Jack laughed and clapped Morgan on the shoulder.
“Get some sleep. You’re going to need to be clearheaded pretty damn soon.” Jack walked away, heading to the diner.
“Where you going?” Morgan asked. Wendy stepped away from the shadows and waved. “Forget I asked.”
Jack climbed into the passenger seat of a car, Wendy behind the wheel. Morgan watched them disappear into the sun’s glare.
His eye ached, but the real pain was deep in his chest as he stood there. Alone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TWO DAYS LATER—a day and a half of which it rained—the sandbags were still in place. And holding. Tara breathed a sigh of relief. The rain hadn’t let up, but the creek stayed in its banks. Barely. Upstream, according to the weatherman, was getting a break from the downpour, and as a result, so were they.
Tara sat at the old-fashioned counter, where scattered papers and her laptop covered the surface. Customers were few and far between this late in the evening, and with the flood alerts that kept going out, people were staying closer to home.
Tara was trying to multitask—help in the dining room and get the taxes done. Apparently, Uncle Sam didn’t care much about flood warnings.
With a heavy sigh, she sat back and took several meant-to-be-relaxing stretches. She’d been at this too long, and looking at all of it, she wasn’t sure she’d accomplished a blessed thing.
She needed to take a break. Standing, she walked to the French doors. Outside, the world was soggy. Fat raindrops fell on the flagstones. A small river slipped over those same stones and tumbled over the edge, down into the shadowed bed of the creek.
She could see the top of the water. Normally, the creek was little more than a trickle at the bottom of the pathway. Tonight the water reached nearly to the top. How deep was the creek bed? She couldn’t remember. Would it overflow again? Would the sandbags hold?
Was it supposed to stop raining anytime soon? She’d been so busy, she hadn’t had time to watch the news or do more than listen to the sound bites on the radio. Now she wished she’d taken more time. Deciding to get online and check, she half turned when a movement outside caught her eye. Was someone out there in this awful rain?
She leaned closer to the glass, trying to see out. She could see movement but couldn’t make out the person or even if it was man or a woman. Just a figure moving slowly down the hill toward the parking lot.
Hastily, she moved to the other door, following the person’s movement down the incline. They leaped over the puddled water, a splash shooting into the air around them as they landed. Then they disappeared into the shadows beneath the trees. She couldn’t see them anymore.
In the relative quiet of the near-empty restaurant, Tara heard her phone blare. Not her ringtone, not a call coming in. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and looked at the glowing screen. A weather alert.
Like a wave across the room, phones in various diners’ purses or pockets made a similar noise.
“Hey, what’s that?” Wade stuck his face in the opening of the pass-through.
“Weather alert.” Tara walked into the prep area and thumbed the screen. Her face reflected his frown. “Flood warning actually.”
“Where?” Wendy came into the kitchen, her hands full of dirty dishes, her phone in her pocket glowing through the thin fabric. Most likely the same warning.
“Let me see.” Tara read the message, trying to concentrate at the same time she tried to hit the right key to stop the obnoxious noise of the warning. “East of town.”
Wade cursed and scooted into the kitchen.
“Don’t you live out that way, Wade?” Wendy asked. There was no answer from the kitchen.
Tara walked around to the door. The cook was at the grill, but she could tell he was worried. His shoulders were tight as he worked.
“Do you need to go?” She could handle the grill.
“Nope.” He flipped half a dozen burgers onto the grill. “My place is up on the hillside. It’s safe.”
North, south, east, west, didn’t matter. What did was up and downstream at this point. East of here was the hill country. Uphill country. She stood watching him work, her mind focusing on something else. The town had been built in the valley. They sat frighteningly close to the creek.
/> Tara went out the back door and looked across the alley. Rain still fell in sheets, the wind strong, raking through the thick cottonwood branches, bending the big trees nearly in half. She stared at the creek.
The tiny meandering creek reached the top of its meager banks. The grasses that normally grew tall, that Ricky Raccoon and Tabby Cat—as they’d been dubbed by her staff—usually hid in, slipping through the tall blades to sneak up on each other, were flattened to the ground. Battered by the rain that hadn’t stopped for long.
Where had the animals gone? She hadn’t seen Ricky in days, hadn’t had any critters getting into the trash since Wyatt’s crew had put up the sandbags.
What happened to raccoons when it rained? Where did stray cats hide? She looked around, wondering, hoping that she might see them lurking somewhere where she could get them. Save them if she needed to.
Maybe they were smarter than she was. Should she close up? Should she—
“Everyone’s leaving,” Wendy announced, coming through the door. “It’s gonna be dead now.”
Tara turned and went inside. She had other things to worry about right now. Still, she looked over her shoulder one last time, wishing she knew if the animals were safe and sound.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” she announced to Wade and Wendy once she’d closed the door. Time to make the right, adult decision.
“We’re closing. This is crazy. Wendy, hustle everyone else along and don’t seat anyone else. Wade, finish up those meals and start shutting down.” She headed toward where she’d left her paperwork. She’d take it with her and do it at her place. Was there anything else in the office she couldn’t afford to get wet?
“Great.” Wade stared at the fresh burgers he’d thrown on the grill with a scowl. “What am I supposed to do with these?”
Tara turned around, letting herself smile. “Put them out back just in case Tabby and Ricky show up.”
“Should I put them on a plate?” He was being sarcastic, but she saw him and Wendy exchange a smile. They cared about the little guys, too.
In less than half an hour, they had what they could pack up. Wendy had already left, and Wade was finishing putting supplies from the storeroom in his truck. Tara had all the paperwork in her car, ready to go.
A sound at the front door made her turn around. “I’m sorry, we’re—”
Tara stared at the little girl standing in the doorway, almost afraid to move, afraid Brooke would vanish. “Hello.”
“Hi.” The girl stepped inside, and Tara saw Brooke shiver. She pulled the wet, purple dragon close, almost as if the fluffy thing could keep her warm. The yellow T-shirt and soaked blue jeans weren’t doing much good in that department.
Tara wasn’t sure what to do. She didn’t want to scare Brooke and didn’t want to chase her away. It was too wet and dangerous outside, and Tara didn’t want the girl going back to where she’d come from. The adults in her world certainly weren’t paying attention.
“What can I do for you?” Tara cautiously asked.
“Um.” The girl stepped closer. “Lanara—” she held up the toy “—is hungry.”
Tara followed the girl’s lead. “She is? Well, that’s not good.” Tara pretended to ponder the problem. “I don’t know much about dragons. Can you help me figure out what to feed her?”
Brooke nodded, a smile beginning on the corner of her lips.
“What do dragons like?” Tara moved carefully behind the counter. “Do you two want to sit at the counter?”
Again, Brooke nodded, struggling to climb up on the stool where her father so frequently sat. Tara wanted to call Morgan but needed to get the girl settled first. “Is Lanara cold?” Tara asked. “I have a couple sweaters that you guys could borrow.”
Brooke frowned as if thinking about it. “I don’t know.” She shivered. “I guess that’d be okay.”
Tara didn’t want to leave the girl, afraid she’d disappear before she got back. She needed the sweaters, though, or the girl would catch pneumonia. As she hustled past the phone, she grabbed the handset. Trying to hurry and focus on the numbers flashing on the screen as she reviewed the previous calls list, she nearly stumbled. Which one was Morgan’s?
Forcing herself to focus, she put the phone in her pocket and grabbed the sweaters she and Wendy kept by the back door. She hustled back, breathing a huge sigh of relief to find the girl and her trusty dragon still seated at the counter.
“Here you go. Lanara and Brooke, right?”
“Yep. I’m Brooke.” She smiled and let Tara wrap the too-big, blue sweater around her—after she tucked the other around the stuffed toy.
“What a pretty name.” Tara moved behind the counter and pulled out two bowls. “Do dragons like stew?” There was still plenty in the pot.
Brooke wrinkled her nose. “No. They like samiches.”
“Ah.” Tara put the bowls back. At this point, she’d do anything for this kid, to keep her here and safe. She might still be upset with Morgan, but this girl needed to be taken care of by someone. “What kind of sandwiches?”
“All kinds.”
“Peanut butter ones?”
“Those are okay.” She wasn’t very enthusiastic.
“What about grilled cheese?”
“Yes. Those are Lanara’s favorite. With extra cheese.”
“I see she has very good taste.” Tara hated to move away to make the food for the girl but didn’t know what else to do. “You know...” She frowned as if she were thinking hard. “It’s a lot warmer in the kitchen, where I’ll make Lanara’s sandwiches. Would you two like to come back there with me?”
“Yes, please.” Brooke shivered and glanced at the door as the wind suddenly howled and rattled the glass.
“Okay, then come with me.” Tara held the big swinging door open for Brooke. The girl hopped down from the stool and grabbed Lanara as she passed.
The kitchen was much warmer, but Brooke still shivered every few minutes. “Let me get you a special chair.” Tara pulled her mom’s wooden chair from the office and set it at the pastry table. “This is one of my favorite chairs. And Lanara can sit here, what do you think?” Tara dragged the stepladder that Wade used in the storeroom over beside the chair. Brooke nodded and smiled.
Tara pulled out all the ingredients for the sandwiches and warmed up the griddle.
“Can you make Lanara two samiches? If she can’t eat them both, I’ll help her,” Brooke offered.
“That’s a great idea.” Tara quickly prepared the sandwiches. Finally, the sandwiches ready, she put them on separate plates.
“Do you...or does Lanara like chips?”
“Yes. Lots.”
“What kind?” She lifted up several of the small bags she served with her sandwiches.
“Reglar.” Brooke mispronounced the word, not seeming to notice.
Tara put down the plates, one in front of the stuffed animal and the other on the side toward Brooke. “So you can help her.”
“I don’t think she can eat both of them,” Brooke very solemnly said. “I’ll help her.”
“Okay.” Tara leaned on the pastry table, resting her chin on her fists as she watched the girl gobble up the food.
“You make good stuff,” Brooke said around a bite of food.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Tara said. “And thank you.” She smiled.
When the sandwich was half-done, and Brooke showed no signs of slowing down, Tara ventured to ask her a couple questions. “So, Brooke. Where’s your mom?” The last thing she needed was Sylvie coming in here accusing her of something, especially if she couldn’t get in touch with Morgan.
The girl shrugged and focused more on her sandwich, slowing only slightly in her chewing. “I think she’s out with Jimmy.”
“Who’s Ji
mmy?”
“Her boss. We stay at his house.”
“Oh.” That didn’t sound good. “Where were you before you came here tonight?”
“Can I have more chips?”
“Of course.”
“Lanara wants them.” Brooke had already eaten hers and was halfway through the portion Tara had put on the plate for the dragon. She put more on Brooke’s plate.
“Lanara is awfully hungry,” Tara observed.
“She didn’t get anything to eat all day, ’cept an icky granola bar that Mandy—that’s the babysitter—had in her purse this morning.”
Tara managed not to yell or groan. She had to call Morgan. She might be mad at him, and she might not be happy about some of the recent events between them, but this little girl couldn’t go without any more. She was already too thin and soaked through from the rain. Rain she had no business being out in alone.
Tara tried hard not to start asking a million questions about Sylvie and what life was like with her. Right now, that wasn’t her responsibility. Keeping this girl safe was.
She pulled out the phone and the girl hastily looked up. “Are...are you calling my mom?” Why didn’t that sound like something the girl wanted?
“I wasn’t going to. Do you want me to?”
Brooke’s tiny baby teeth bit into her lip as if she were thinking. “Can I stay here with you?”
Tara swallowed the hurt that came with the sound of the girl’s voice growing softer. “Of course, but don’t you think she’s missing you?”
Brooke shook her head slowly, staring down at the rest of her uneaten sandwich. “I—me and Lanara—we got a secret.”
Tara shivered, and she wasn’t cold in the big warm kitchen. “You do?”
Slowly, Brooke climbed off the wooden chair and reached for the stuffed dragon. She pulled it close. “My daddy gave Lanara to me for my birthday,” Brooke whispered.
Tara remembered Brooke telling her that before. Tara watched as the little girl turned the dragon around.
There were three safety pins on the dragon’s back, as if she’d been torn and someone had tried to fix the tear. What if one of those pins popped? Brooke could be poked or hurt. But her little fingers easily opened the pins, as if she’d done it dozens of times before.
