He rolled off the sofa, struggling to his feet.
Though he wasn’t the least bit hungry, for Dillon’s sake, he needed to make good on nuking his mom’s meal.
His mother had been a godsend throughout the divorce. When he was on shift at the firehouse, she kept Dillon with her. His mom also saw to it that they ate pretty much three squares a day. There were times Jackson felt ashamed by how dependant upon her he’d become.
“Yo, Dillon!”
When the boy didn’t answer, Jackson assumed he was outside, playing with his friends.
Peering out the front window, he found the moon rising on twilight. A few fireflies hovered above the half-dead lawn, and across the street, Joe Parker’s legs stuck out from under his ’63 Chevy. There were not, however, three boys playing catch or Frisbee or capture the flag.
Frowning, Jackson checked the kitchen, Dillon’s room, the den where they kept the computer, the backyard where the boys staged naval battles in the six-inch-deep plastic pool. His son occupied none of his usual haunts.
Jackson was just picking up the phone to see if Dillon had gone to his folks’ place when the doorbell rang. He hightailed it that way to see the shadowy figure of a woman behind the screen.
Upon closer inspection, he recognized Ella Garvey.
“Hey,” he said, having to lift the broken-hinged door to get it to swing properly. “Come on in. I don’t suppose you’ve seen Dillon?”
“Funny…” She laughed, only the sound came out more panicked than happy. “I was hoping you’d seen Owen and Oliver.”
“I DON’T KNOW about this,” Owen said, trailing behind Oliver and Dillon. He carried his mom’s medical bag and formula and blankets while Oliver carried the baby and diapers and Dillon hauled towels and chips and pop and cupcakes.
“Quit whining,” Oliver said, ashamed of his little brother.
“You’re not the boss of me,” Owen said. “This is a bad idea.”
“I am too the boss of you,” Oliver said, “and if you don’t quit complaining, I’m not going to let you play my new Xbox game.”
“Dad’s not even gonna buy you that game,” Owen fired back. “He loves me more than you.”
“Does not.”
“Does, too.”
“Does not!”
“Zip it!” Dillon hollered. “Do you two dummies wanna wake up the baby?”
“Yeah, Owen.” Oliver shot his brother a dirty look.
Owen rolled his eyes. “How much farther?”
They’d been walking a really long time, and they’d had to cut cross-country so no grown-ups would see. The stitch in Oliver’s side hurt really bad, and though he wouldn’t tell his twin or Dillon, he was kind of scared. It was getting dark and he’d never been this far from home without being in the car with his mom and dad. Now that his dad didn’t live with them anymore, he hardly ever saw him. It used to make him sad that his father loved a new family better than him, but most times now, he was just mad.
Oliver was gonna be a way better dad to this baby than his own father was to him. Which was why when Mom said they had to call the police, and then she’d gotten on the phone, Oliver had told Owen and Dillon they had to run away.
Everyone knew when the police got you, you went straight to jail. What was a baby going to do in the slammer? They’d probably only feed her roaches and stuff and no way was he going to let his baby eat roaches. She was too cute for that.
“Please,” Owen whined, “let’s stop.”
“Not yet,” Oliver said, holding the baby tighter. “We’re almost there.”
“THEY FOUND WHAT?” Jackson liked to think he’d heard it all, but Ella’s story was a bit far-fetched.
She explained about the boys having stumbled across the abandoned infant in the park. About the note attached to her basket. Through it all, he held his breath, waiting for the joke’s punch line. Only, when Ella ended, her gray eyes pooling upon telling him all three boys and the baby were missing, he wasn’t laughing.
In his line of work, tears were the norm, yet something about the way Ella looked near crying, but somehow keeping it together, affected him more than if she’d sobbed.
His ex had never cried.
Even on the day their divorce had been finalized, she’d remained coolly professional, as if to her, their marriage had been nothing more than a losing day in court. Just once, he’d wanted Julie to acknowledge what she’d thrown away. To have maybe at least come to him, cluing him in on the fact that there’d even been a problem. It’d hurt so damned bad knowing he couldn’t save their marriage when saving was what he did. He rescued little kids and kittens and bedridden elderly. He didn’t stand by, letting their lives end, any more than he gave up on vows he’d made before God and family. Julie was the only quitter in his house.
Frustrated anew by the uncomfortable position he found himself in, Jackson’s voice was more gruff than it should’ve been when he asked, “Have you talked with Hank?”
Hank was a longtime friend and the town’s sheriff.
“No,” Ella said, looking away, then back. Wiping her eyes so he wouldn’t see how upset she truly was? “Hoping the boys were here, I wanted to check with you first.”
“Sure,” he said, already on his way to the kitchen phone.
Five minutes later, Jackson had shared all pertinent information, and Hank had set official wheels in motion.
“Three boys and a baby,” he said to Ella, who was again looking near tears. “They can’t have gone far. We’ll find them in under thirty minutes.”
“I know.” Her words were confident. Her thin voice scared.
What was it with women? Why couldn’t they just say what they felt? Why couldn’t she admit she was upset and ask for his help?
Maybe the better question was, what was it about her heartbreakingly concerned expression that made him care?
Chapter Two
Please, God, let Hank find them all safe.
Ella had said the prayer hundreds of times during the endless night, but now, with the early-morning sun filling the boys’ second-story bedroom, why did her throat ache worse than ever? Why, when Hank had told her to stay put, had she desperately wanted to help with the search?
The living room and kitchen teemed with concerned friends and family. Tables were laden with cold cuts, cookies and cake, as if food could somehow fill the gnawing emptiness that had consumed her since Jackson’s promised thirty minutes had faded into ten hours without her boys.
As a doctor, she’d trained for all sorts of emergencies. Broken arms and legs she could handle, but this not knowing just might be the end of her.
A knock sounded on the boys’ open door. “Your friend Claire said I’d find you up here.”
“Jackson.”
Hugging Owen’s favorite stuffed tiger, she glanced the man’s way. “Any sign of them?”
“A dirty diaper and a few granola-bar wrappers out by the old Hampstead place. Looks as if they may have camped there for the night, but no sign of them now.”
She nodded, willing down the bile rising in her throat. “What’s next?”
“A couple of hours ago, we called in help from Buckhorn County. About fifty National Guardsmen have also joined the search. My…um…ex has connections. She called in favors. It won’t be long till we bring them home.”
“I know,” Ella said, adding a new wish to her litany of prayers—that she wouldn’t break down now. Not in front of this virtual stranger.
“We’ve got tracking dogs. They’re good.”
I miss my boys. Please, God, bring them home safe.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…
“I’m thinking thirty more minutes is all it’s going to take. Tops.”
“Y-you said that last time.” Her eyes stung.
“Obviously, I underestimated, but this time—”
“This time, what?” she all but shrieked. “Do you have a crystal ball? Have you also called in a psych—” A sob racked her body. T
ears flowed and she looked away, but then Jackson pulled her against him, wrapping her in his strength. As if she’d known him a lifetime, because exhaustion and terror and a sense of unbearable helplessness had taken a toll, she clung to him. “I—I’m so afraid,” she cried. “W-what if you don’t find them? Or, w-worse—”
“Shh…” He held her tightly, cupping his hand to the back of her head, as if sheltering her from the harsh realities of what had become of their world. “We’ll bring them all back safe. If not in thirty minutes, then soon. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Because of the sureness of his tone, his powerful hold made her believe him. The worry gripping her insides refused to let her believe anything else.
Once her cheeks had dried and her labored breathing had returned to normal, Jackson released her with an awkward pat to her back, stepping away.
“I should rejoin the others,” he said, already edging toward the door.
She followed. “I want to go. I can’t stand just sitting here. I feel helpless.”
“Look…” He released a deep sigh. “On the off chance you’re needed, you should stay.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, gaze narrowed. “Needed? Why do I get the feeling you’re trying in a polite way to prepare me for one or more of our boys needing medical attention?”
“All I’m saying is just in case. There’s no sense in you being exhausted. Should the need for first aid—for anyone, be it the boys or the baby or one of the search party—arise.”
Despite knowing Jackson was right in his request for her to stay put, Ella wasn’t sure her heart could withstand one more moment of inactivity. “Please, Jackson, there must be something productive I can do.”
“I suppose making sandwiches is out?”
Shooting him a sarcastic smile, she said, “There are already enough sandwiches downstairs to feed every man, woman and child in the state.”
“Come on,” he said, gesturing for her to follow. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“IT STINKS IN HERE,” Owen said, looking up at the storm-drain tunnel’s cobwebbed ceiling, then clutching his backpack tighter. “I’m hungry. Let’s go home.”
“We can’t just go home,” Oliver pointed out. Truthfully, deep inside his belly where the hunger pangs were starting to hurt really bad, he kind of wanted to go home, too. Eat a big plate of his mom’s blueberry pancakes with one of those whipped cream smiley faces she drew on them. After that, he’d play video games, then crawl into his mom’s big bed. She had more pillows than him and Owen. She’d asked if he wanted more pillows, but he’d said no, seeing how having his bed covered in soft stuff wouldn’t be very manly. Since his dad had taken off and Oliver was oldest, that made him man of the house and in charge. He had to set a good example for his little brother, for Dillon and the baby. “If we go home, we’re gonna get grounded and Daffodil’s gonna get sent to jail.”
“I still think that’s a stupid name for a baby,” Owen said, “and they won’t take her to jail, but juvie.”
“You’re both wrong.” Dillon hugged the sleeping infant.
“She’ll go to the big house. I saw it on TV. It’s way worse than just jail or juvie. She’ll probably have to be in a gang and stuff.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “She’s a baby. How’s she gonna be in a gang?”
“Gangs are smart.” Dillon kissed the top of the baby’s head. “My teacher, Mrs. Henseford, says gang leaders like to get their new members young.”
“Please,” Owen whined, “let’s go home.”
“No.” Oliver pitched a rock at a tin can. “We have to get jobs—and a car.”
“Yeah,” Dillon said with a heavy sigh. “But before that, you guys ever come up with what we want to name her?”
“I already told you, Rapunzel,” Owen said.
“That’d be fine,” Dillon said, “only she doesn’t have any hair.”
“How ’bout Baldy?”
Dillon wrinkled his nose. “That’s not very pretty. We have to give her a girly name.”
“Fluffy? Kimmy? Cassie?”
“Nah,” Dillon said. “I’m not feeling any of those.”
“Okay, well if you don’t like Daffodil, what about calling her Rose? Roses are pretty, and they smell nice.”
“Yeah,” Dillon said, “but most times, this baby smells bad.”
“That’s just because she poops a lot,” Owen pointed out.
“But she’ll stop that when she’s old.”
“So you want to call her Rose?” Oliver asked.
Dillon gazed down at the baby girl and smiled. “Yeah. Rose…I think that sounds really pretty.”
“THANK YOU,” Ella said. The sincerity in her tone and warmth behind her eyes told Jackson he’d done the right thing in getting her a job manning the phone lines. “This has been good for me.” She sighed. “You know—getting my mind off things for a while.”
“Sure.” Given the gravity of their shared things, he wasn’t sure what else to say.
The police station’s dingy beige lobby hummed with activity.
Phones ringing.
Teletype grunting.
Hank barking orders.
Not since grizzled old Digger Mason had been found dead under the Forked River bridge had Jackson seen such a commotion. Deputies had been called in from three additional counties. Bullock County had just suffered major tornado damage from a sudden spring storm and couldn’t spare the manpower. With all available National Guard members also helping, using the station parking lot as a home base, Jackson had had to park half a block down the street.
A lot of the guys from the fire station had also come down to help with the search. Hank had mentioned that Jackson’s best bud, Vince Calivaris, currently led a crew at the abandoned rock quarry. While Jackson thought it was good of Calivaris to lend a hand, the thought of him finding the boys floating facedown in icy, deep-blue water filled his stomach with cold lead.
“Coffee, Mrs. Garvey?” Deputy Heidi Wesson offered Ella a steaming cup. “Fresh-brewed. Can I get you some cream or sugar?”
“No. But, thank you,” Ella said, accepting the cup, cautiously sipping, then groaning with apparent pleasure. Jackson had never seen a woman take her coffee black. He supposed, what with her being a pediatrician and all, that she’d probably never had time for frivolities like doctoring a cup of joe. He found himself liking that fact about her. Her no-nonsense attitude.
You despise that quality in your all-business ex.
Did he? Or was it the fact that she’d valued efficiency over love?
“How about you?” Heidi asked, offering Jackson a cup, as well.
He murmured his thanks.
“If you’re hungry, the PTA set up an amazing snack table in the break room. I heard it’s being manned by parents from the boys’ school, and that—”
“I—I have to go,” Ella said, her voice faint. “Th-thanks again for the—” She gestured to the cup she’d set on a battered metal folding chair.
“Sure. No problem…” Heidi murmured while Ella ran for the building’s double front doors. She pushed them open as if desperate for air. Hope.
“Want me to check on her?” Heidi asked Jackson. They’d been friends for a while. She’d started with the sheriff’s office the same year he’d taken a full-time position with Firehouse Number 3. The town actually only had two fully manned stations. Number 1 was an honorary title given to the historic red barn holding dive gear for rare underwater rescues.
Shoulders squared, chest aching at the sight of Ella out on the station’s concrete surround, hunched over, bracing her hands on her knees, Jackson said, “Thanks, but let me.”
“Sure? I’m thinking this situation calls for a bit more finesse than your usual growling self.”
“Give me a break,” he said, setting his already emptied cup alongside Ella’s.
“I’m just saying…” His friend held up her hands, flashing a wry smile.
He shook his head.
&
nbsp; Outside, the day was fine. Bright and sunny. Not a cloud in the sky. Not at all the kind of day that suited his mood.
He aimed for Ella, but some GI Joe decked out in full-on camo gear beat him to the punch. He’d slipped his arm around Ella’s quaking shoulders, giving her sympathetic pats.
Why, Jackson couldn’t have said, but even from where he stood a good twenty feet away, possessiveness tore through him. He and Ella were going through this godawful ordeal together. He’d be the one to comfort her. See her through it. Guarantee all three of their boys and this baby they’d carted off were safely returned.
Marching to Ella’s side, he cleared his throat and said to the guy still rubbing her back, “I’ll take it from here.”
“I’m good,” the National Guardsman said.
Lowering his voice to the universal back-off tone, Jackson said, “Seriously. She’s with me.”
“Oh.” The guy eyed Ella, then him, then backed away. “I was just trying to help.”
“I know. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Once the Guardsman had left, Jackson shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. He wanted to comfort Ella—damn bad—but something inside him felt broken. As if Julie had taken a chunk of him with her when she’d taken off.
“Look at me,” Ella said with a messy sniffle. “I’m a bona fide wreck.”
“I’d say you have a right to be.”
“You’re not. A mess, that is.”
Wanna bet?
“Here we’ve both been trained to deal with all manner of emergencies, yet I’m falling apart.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, “but they probably didn’t teach you much in med school about what to do in the event your twins go missing.”
She laughed through more tears, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “You’ve got that right.”
“Come on,” he said, reaching for her hand. His movements were awkward, landing his knuckles against her thigh before fumbling for the tear-dampened fingers of her left hand. But once he had hold of her, he held on for all he was worth. “I’m meeting up with my ex in a little while, but for the moment, it looks like we’re just in the way here. There’s somewhere I think you should go.”
Three Boys And A Baby (American Romance) Page 2