Take My Breath Away

by Christie Ridgway

  “That’s the woman you left behind,” Ryan told him. “I hope you regret it for the rest of your sorry life.”

  Then he glanced at Poppy, who was already running back into the woods, Linus at her side. “Mason!” she was yelling again as she gained the trees. “Mason, Mommy needs you.” The yellow ribbon at the end of her braid fluttered in the breeze before she was lost in the shadows.

  “I think I’ve underestimated her badly. She can be mean,” Brett said, then started after his sister. He threw a look over his shoulder. “You coming?”

  Ryan’s gaze was focused on the last place he’d seen Poppy before she disappeared. In his mind’s eye, he saw that rippling yellow ribbon. Then it morphed into a yellow marker line on a sheet of paper that was covered with green trees, a blue lake, tall mountains.

  Yellow escape routes, Ryan thought. Red X’s marking the hiding places.

  Spinning toward the house, he called back to the other man. “I’ve got an idea. Keep going, I’ll be in touch.”

  * * *

  RYAN EMERGED FROM the house in mere minutes, a sheaf of papers in hand. Grant stood on the lawn, his head close to Anabelle’s. “Any luck?” he asked his best friend’s wife as he approached.

  “No.” She grimaced. “Not yet.”

  Ryan glanced around. “Denny take off?”

  “If you call limping away with his hands cuddling his dick ‘taking off,’” Grant said. “I figured you’d be okay with that.”

  Ryan nodded. “Lawyer will do the rest, cops if that doesn’t work.” Then another thought struck. “What about the paps?”

  “I’m keeping them happy,” Anabelle said, as she struck a pose, then relaxed. “They’re still working the front of the estate in exchange for a few shots of my newlywedded self.”

  “Thanks,” Ryan said, and passed some of the sheets he’d carried to his friends. “Can you guys get these to the others?”

  Grant turned the ones he held this way and that as if trying to make sense of them.

  “Maps,” Ryan explained. “Mason makes them for me all the time. Those yellow lines are escape routes. A red X designates a hiding place. Maybe one of them will lead us to him.”

  Grant glanced up. “You’ve saved all these?”

  “Of course.”

  Shaking his head, Grant exchanged a look with Anabelle. “Huh. Weird.”

  “You talk to me when there’s some little Granabelles running around. You’ll be saving artwork, too.”

  “Huh,” Grant said again, and he shot his wife another look.

  “Let’s get going,” Ryan said, deciding to ignore their unspoken communication. Every second that Mason remained lost was torture for those who loved him. “I’ll head out after Poppy and Brett, you find the others.”

  They split up, moving fast. Ryan gripped a few of the sheets, including the last ones Mason drew. The presence of a big blue blob made it easy enough to get oriented to the mapmaker’s perspective. Keeping the lake to his left, Ryan studied one of maps even as he strode through the trees.

  The kid drew well for five years old. Excellent motor skills for a child not yet in kindergarten. And he could write his letters, too, even if he’d only copied the happy-birthday message on the card he’d made. Poppy had a precocious little dude on her hands. At nearly six, Tate would rather play catch than sit down and take pen to paper. Ryan’s steps slowed as he thought of his son, smiling as he remembered a small baseball mitt, a child-size Dodgers cap, a father-son outing to the ballpark, where Tate had displayed his mischievous side by managing to find an empty cupboard in their luxury box and folding himself inside.

  Ryan’s smile died. Had Mason done something similar?

  The pool house was looming ahead. According to Linus, Brett had checked the door—locked—and peered through the windows. Thank God, no small figure was found at the bottom of the pool. In any case, Ryan tested the door himself now, finding it still secure. His gaze fell to the map again, it showed where he was standing as a brown square covered in black bubbles—representing stones, he supposed. Something in the small dark circles caught his eye. Squinting in the shadows, he thought he saw a red X beneath the black orbs.

  His pulse leaped. In a nearby patch of sunshine, he looked again. Yes, definitely an X.

  But the door was locked. Of course, the key was secreted behind one of the stones near the door, but Mason wouldn’t have a way of knowing that...

  Unless he’d watched Linus retrieve it on the day he’d gone swimming with Ryan’s brother and Charlie.

  Heart pumping hard now, he ran to the door then pried at one of the rocks beside the jamb. It fell to the ground, revealing an empty niche.

  He pounded on the door. “Mason!” he shouted. When there was no response, he moved to the nearest window, peered inside. It looked empty. He rapped on the glass. “Mason!”

  Back at the entrance, he rattled the locked doorknob. “Mason!” Could his brother have pocketed the key instead of remembering to return it to its rightful place? Was he just wasting his time? But his gut said no, and still shouting Mason’s name, he set his shoulder against the door.

  The first ram didn’t work.

  The second time he put a little more desperation into it, by thinking of Poppy’s big gray eyes and Mason’s silky towhead. Wood splintered and he was inside, sucking hard to bring warm and humid air into his lungs. The first thing he did was inspect the pool once again, his heartbeat calming a little more when he saw it still empty.

  “Mason!” he called out, and the syllables echoed back to him.

  Hell. The kid must not be here.

  Or, Ryan thought, he might be afraid to show himself. The attempted kidnapping would seem like that nightmare he’d had, the one with scary monsters and snowmen on wheels. “Mason,” he repeated, trying for loud but not threatening. “It’s Duke.”

  He prowled around the room, looking under chairs and behind the stack of chaises. There was no sign of a small body, but he thought the quality of the silence had changed. “Mason?”

  At the back corner of the pool house was a narrow closet. His gaze on it, Ryan approached swiftly, then tried the knob. Locked. “Mason? Are you in there? It’s Duke.”

  He thought he heard a scurrying sound behind the wooden door and hoped like hell it wasn’t rats or spiders. “Mace? It’s me. It’s Duke. I’m on the job now. Here to keep you safe.”

  Sudden, loud noises erupted from behind the door. The sound of small fists on wood. “Duke! Duke!”

  At the boy’s voice, Ryan’s heart shuddered once, then expanded with relief, painfully filling his chest that had been empty for so long. He swiped at his damp forehead, his pulse skittering. “Are you all right, kid? Tell me you’re all right.”

  “I’m okay,” Mason said, then started to cry. “But it’s dark in here and I can’t get out.”

  “Try the knob.” Did the closet lock from the inside? It didn’t seem likely, but Ryan had no idea.

  “I d-did. I think it’s stuck.” The sobs turned heavier.

  “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Ryan said hastily, looking around for a tool. “Remember I’m great with escapes.”

  “Yeah,” the boy said. “I know. G-great with escapes.”

  Ryan considered using his cell to call for reinforcements and a crowbar, but from the sound of the renewed crying behind the door, the boy had reached the end of his tether. But he couldn’t work the same ramming magic as he had on the front door—this one swung out, not in.

  “Duke. Please...p-please get me out!”

  The little boy’s sobs would soften stone. “I’m going to, I promise. And remember, Walkers are tough.” He looked around for door-breaking inspiration. “Can you sing something for me, Mace?” he asked, hoping to distract the crying child.

  “S-sing?”
<
br />   “My son, my Tate, he liked to sing when he was scared.” At the doctor’s office, on the way to preschool the first day, the time he’d broken a window at Grandma’s and Ryan made him apologize. It was why Ryan had crooned himself hoarse at his boy’s hospital bedside.

  “Tate would sing?”

  “Yeah. You know a song?”

  A silence. Then a hiccup. Then... “Y-yes.”

  “I could really use a song while I work on this escape.”

  So as Mason started in singing, Ryan did a frenzied search of the drawers of the wicker bar that was angled in a nearby corner, matching bar stools before it. He found shrink-wrapped packages of paper cocktail napkins. The top half of a bikini. A moment of triumph when he uncovered a wine opener, but the corkscrew was broken and probably wouldn’t have been long enough to do any good if intact, anyway.

  Then his fingertips landed on a rusty screwdriver. It was old, the handle mangled, but the shaft was thick and long and was going to get Mason free if Ryan had to use his teeth, too. As he ran back to the door, he heard the kid still singing, and the words sank in.

  “B-A-N-G-O,” Mason sang. “B-A-N-G-O. B-A-N-G-O and Bingo was his name-O.”

  Okay, Ryan thought with a grin. Maybe not so precocious. But who couldn’t love a kid who could sing his heart out like that?

  The prying was the work of minutes. Then Mason flew through the damaged door and into Ryan’s arms. It was like that night of the boy’s bad dream. He sank to the floor, his back to the wall and let the boy hang onto him. The kid’s hair was damp, but soft under his palm. Ryan didn’t cringe when Mason wiped his wet cheeks and running nose against his shirt.

  Such was fatherhood.

  Ryan froze.

  Who couldn’t love a kid—

  Shaking himself, Ryan fished for his phone. “We need to call your mom, pal. Tell her you’re okay.” He pulled up his contacts, got Linus on the line. “Hey, put Poppy on, will you?”

  Then he handed his cell to Mason. “Mommy?” The boy’s face glowed with the light of angels. “Mommy.”

  Who couldn’t love this kid?

  “I’m okay,” Mason was saying. “Duke found me in the pool house. I was hiding from the bad guy.” He listened for a moment, then glanced up at Ryan. “Yes, we’ll wait for you right here.”

  His big blue eyes stayed trained on Ryan’s face while he listened again. “Yes, I’m good, honest. I don’t know about Duke, though, Mommy. I think he’s crying.”

  The kid was right, Ryan thought, trying to blink away the tears as the phone was returned to him. He swiped at his face with his hand as more fell. Jesus. He hadn’t cried since he was Mason’s age.

  The kid continued to look at him curiously. “Are those cuz of your little boy that got deaded?”

  Adults definitely forget that children have ears.

  Ryan looked into the small face. The boy had Poppy’s nose and her mouth. Probably her optimistic attitude, too, which wasn’t a bad thing at all, when it came down to it. He cleared his throat, again drying his face with his palm. “Some, maybe,” Ryan admitted. Tate, I loved you with all my heart and soul. I will miss you every day for the rest of my life.

  Then he cleared his throat again. “But I think they’re about you, too, Mace. I’m pretty darn relieved to find you.”

  Who couldn’t love this kid?

  Then Linus, Brett and Poppy came rushing through the door and Mason raced into his mom’s arms. She swept him up, squeezing him tight, her eyes closing as if savoring the goodness of having her boy with her.

  Ryan slowly rose to his feet, staring at the assembled group that got larger as the rest of the Walkers and Granabelle arrived. The air in the pool house had made his clothes damp and he shivered as a cool spring breeze blew through the broken door. His approach went unnoticed as everyone was exclaiming over Mason, who appeared to be recovering more from his ordeal as each second passed.

  Who couldn’t love these people?

  Then Poppy looked up. For an instant their gazes met, then she leaned down to kiss Mason on the top of his head while at the same time she curled her fingers into the fur of the dog leaning against her legs.

  Who couldn’t love this woman?

  And that’s when Ryan knew that he did. The love inside him hadn’t died, after all. It was there, for all of them, his friends, his family.

  For Mason and Poppy.

  And then he knew something else.

  He wouldn’t really, truly get to love them if he didn’t forgive himself for not being a hero when faced with impossible odds. He wouldn’t really, truly get to love them if he didn’t let go of all the bad March stuff and replace it with happy March memories so his boy could finally rest in peace.

  So while the Walkers et al continued rejoicing in Mason’s return, Ryan made himself recall the day of Tate’s birth, the miracle of that, the elation he’d felt when his baby had been put in his arms. Next he remembered all the birthdays after, and how much he’d loved his son through each and every one. And every day, every year.

  Standing in the humid pool house, with a cool spring breeze ruffling his hair, Ryan rejoiced over his son’s life...because everybody should have a celebration on their day.

  Then he thought of how that love for Tate had prepared him to be a good dad to another little boy who needed him. How that fathering was going to open his soul and allow him to love that other boy’s mom as she was supposed to be loved. With all the depth and breadth she deserved.

  And that, he was certain, was going to be the very best part of the rest of his life.

  * * *

  POPPY LEARNED THAT the Hamilton brothers had a secret language. A silent language. One minute she’d been standing in the pool house, surrounded by her siblings, her cousin, Linus and Granabelle, with her hands on Mason’s shoulders. The next she’d glanced up and Ryan and his sorcerer eyes were staring back at her. They’d flicked toward his brother. Instantly Linus began rounding up the troops. “I need another burger. And more cake. Who’s with me?” he said.

  There was cheering. Anabelle made a reflexive comment about watching her figure. Grant said that was his job now and swatted her bottom. Brett offered to be his backup, Charlie giggled and then Shay and Mackenzie were drawing Mason from Poppy, each of them with one of his hands. “Oh,” she said, automatically reaching to take him back.

  “We won’t let him out of our sight,” Shay assured her.

  “Let us help, little sister,” Mac said.

  “I don’t need help,” Poppy said, in automatic protest.

  “This time, accept the offer,” Ryan said in her ear. He’d come up behind her and she gave him a quick glance, then looked away. His blue gaze was more intense than usual, and it made her nerves do another of their jittery dances. Had he really been crying?

  “Thanks, ladies,” he said to her sisters.

  Did they share a secret language with Ryan, too?

  “Duke...” Mason began, craning his neck to look at his savior as he was being urged out the pool house door.

  “Be there soon, Mace. Just need a couple of private moments with your mother.”

  Then they were all gone and there was no one between her and the man who had found her missing son. So number one, she must properly express her gratitude. She whirled to face him. “Thank you. Thank you so much—” Her lungs lost all air as the events of the afternoon caught up with her. Then her knees lost their starch and she found herself on the damp pool deck, her face in her hands.

  “Sweetheart...” Ryan crouched beside her.

  “He was only missing for less than an hour,” she said, still hiding her eyes, “and it crushed me. You...your loss is forever.”

  “Poppy—”

  “I understand better now.” She looked up. “Not completely, of course, but
I was mad at you before and now...now I’m not.”

  He ran a knuckle over her cheek, his expression bemused. “You were mad at me?”

  “And me. I thought there was something I could say. I thought there was something you should feel because I...”

  “Because you...”

  “Feel so much myself.” She looked up. “For you. But I get why it’s just too hard for you to care for me, for anyone.”

  “Hmm...” Ryan said, smiling a little. “What if this pretty woman with big gray eyes came into my life and she had this not-scary dog and this cute kid and this can-do attitude that in the end filled me up? That in the end reminded me of what it was—how good it can be—to love?”

  Poppy stilled.

  Ryan cupped her face with his big hand. “You said about Mason, ‘He’s my everything. My only.’”

  “Yes.” Her face heated under his touch, as always.

  “Let me be that, as well. Let me be your other everything. Your other only.”

  She blinked. “I can have two?”

  “You can have it all. Just let me love you, Poppy.” His gaze was tender, his thumb soft as it stroked her cheek. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so in love with you.”

  Her mouth dropped. She stared at him. Could she believe her ears? Could this be real? And then the cock-eyed optimist in her asserted itself and she flung herself at him. He wrapped his arms around her and murmured words against her temple.

  “You saved me, Poppy,” he said. “For that you’ll always be my hero.”

  March 31

  POPPY WATCHED THE man she loved from the pillow beside his. “It’s the 31st...are you okay?”

  “Very okay,” he said, brushing her hair from her brow. “Having you makes it that way.”

  “You’re not upset the paparazzi got those pictures of us yesterday?”

  He shrugged. “They helped search for Mason. I consider it their reward.” Cupping her chin, he directed her gaze to his. “What about you? They’ll call us RyPop or something ridiculous like that.”

  “Because you told them I was your fiancée.” She was ridiculously happy about it. Ridiculously.