Texas Heroes: Volume 1

by Jean Brashear

  Her steps slowed as she reached the small clearing.

  Davey darted here and there, all the energy of the two days before exploding from his small frame after being released from the cabin’s boundaries. “Look, Mom, I see tracks over there!”

  Perrie couldn’t answer. Before her stood the grandfather spruce Grandpa Cy had called the Old Man of the Mountain.

  I spread his ashes around the grandfather spruce.

  Perrie’s hands clasped between her breasts, her vision blurred by her tears.

  “Mom, come—” Davey’s voice turned worried. “What’s wrong?”

  She could barely hear him, lost in a thousand memories of the gruff old man who’d been her foundation. Over all the years her mother had dragged her from place to place, boyfriend to boyfriend, the only anchor in Perrie’s world had been Cy Buchanan.

  You didn’t care enough…too bad you broke his heart.

  She dropped to her knees, doubled over by the pain.

  I’m so sorry, Grandpa. I should have been here. If only I’d known—

  “Mom?” Davey was close now, close enough to touch. “What’s the matter?”

  She shook her head and opened her arms, enfolding him in her embrace and rocking him from side to side while tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Davey hugged her once, tightly, then pulled back. “You’re sad?”

  She nodded, sliding first one palm and then the other across her damp skin. “I’ll be all right.”

  “Is it Grandpa Cy? Is that why you’re sad?”

  Perrie tried for a smile, then pulled him down on her lap, mindless of the snow under her knees. “He would have loved you so much.”

  “That’s what Mitch said.”

  She blinked at that, surprised at Mitch’s generosity. He would never forgive her, but she would never forgive herself, either. She should have been in touch the first instant she was away from Simon. She should have sensed, somehow, that Grandpa needed her. Should have felt in her bones that something was wrong with the most important man in her life.

  Not for the first time, Perrie felt the sick rage of shame for what she’d gotten herself into, for being a blind, naïve fool, for letting Simon dominate her for so long.

  “Maybe you could talk to Grandpa Cy like Mitch told me I could still thank my fish. It might not be too late.”

  From the mouths of babes. Feeling an odd spurt of hope, she set Davey on his feet, then rose herself and held out her hand. “I think you’re right. Let’s give it a try.”

  Hand in hand, they crossed the white powder. The wind blew through the trees, keening a faint moan that could be a dirge. “Grandpa Cy loved these mountains,” she told Davey. “He never tired of their changing seasons, of the different faces they showed, day to day, and year to year. He called this big tree the Old Man of the Mountains. He said that if I would listen closely, I’d hear the stories this tree could tell.”

  “Did you ever listen?”

  Perrie had to smile. “I tried, but I was never very good at sitting still.”

  Davey giggled at that. “Wiggle worm. Just like you call me.”

  She squeezed his hand and nodded, then looked out toward the eastern sky. “Old Man of the Mountain, please tell my grandfather that I love him. And that I’m sorry, so sorry. I miss him so much.” When Davey’s small hand squeezed hers and he leaned against her, the tears came again. “Here’s my son Davey, Grandpa. You’d be so proud of him.” Her throat clogged.

  But Davey took over for her. “Mitch is taking good care of us, Grandpa Cy. He made me this bear.” Holding his hand out toward the tree, Davey displayed the wooden friend who hadn’t left his side once today. His voice dropped a little. “I think Mitch misses you a lot.”

  Perrie sank to the ground and crossed her arms over her stomach, doubling over and rocking her body, trying to find comfort. Desperately, she grasped for steady ground. She shouldn’t have come here with Davey. Her grief hurt too much, was too raw for a child.

  With the last vestiges of her will, Perrie clenched her fists and pulled herself together, forcing herself to sit up straight, thinking of what Grandpa had once said. You’re the strong one, Perrie. You have no father, and your mother, well, she’s one of the lost souls. But you, you’re a little speck of flesh but there’s strength in you same as these rugged old mountains. Nothing life can hand you that you can’t take. I wish I could keep you here with me, but you need more of a life than an old hermit can give you. You’ll do fine, just come back to see me. I’ll always be here.

  Are you, Grandpa? Are you here?

  Perrie tilted her head and looked up the rugged trunk of the Old Man, looked up through the branches that time had not conquered.

  And for a moment, she thought she saw her grandfather’s wink in a ray of sunlight arcing down, warming her shoulders.

  She drew in a deep breath and bowed her head, pulling Davey close. “Grandpa, I love you.”

  Davey whispered beside her, “I love you, too, Grandpa Cy.”

  Perrie bit her lip against another rush of tears. But as she lifted her head, she saw an eagle glide just past the other side of the aged spruce. “Look, Davey. I think Grandpa sent us a messenger.” She pointed to the magnificent bird, and together they watched him glide.

  “I feel him here, Davey. I think he heard us.”

  “I’m sorry you’re sad.”

  “It’s all right, sweetie. Sometimes love hurts, but there’s nothing better in this world than knowing love.”

  “Let’s go tell Mitch we found him, Mom, okay?” Restless again, Davey darted off toward the trees. “Let’s go see if he’s back at the cabin yet.”

  “Davey, we—” But she felt too raw to discuss the temporary nature of Mitch’s presence. She sighed, feeling the cold wind beginning to cut through the layers of her clothes. “All right,” she conceded. “Let’s go make something hot to drink.”

  He was off like a shot, disappearing into the trees.

  “Don’t run, Davey. The ground is too slick.”

  But Davey was already out of sight.

  “Davey, come back!” she cried out louder. “Don’t run—”

  And then she heard the panicked scream.

  Too cold to stay away from the cabin forever, Mitch neared the clearing, frowning at the footprints he could see in the snow, leading away from the cabin. Two sets, and not that fresh—what was Perrie thinking? They had no business out in this cold, even if the sun was shining.

  Though he could understand cabin fever. He never minded being alone, but with the two of them…the cabin’s walls seemed to shrink by the day. He’d been gone for hours, simply to avoid being in there with them.

  To avoid wishing for what he would never have.

  He frowned as he ascended the stairs, kicking the snow off his boots before he entered.

  A fire still blazed merrily in the hearth. Perrie must have built it up before she left. The scent of something cooking perfumed the air. He glanced toward the stove, seeing the big pot simmering on the back of it.

  What would it feel like to come home to this all the time, having Davey run to greet him, Perrie turning to him with a smile?

  For a moment, he savored the image. Hopes he’d never let himself contemplate rose to taunt him. Perrie in his arms. In his bed, those delicate hands stroking across his body. Burying himself in her deep…losing themselves in each other.

  And raising that boy, teaching him all the things Mitch had learned. Never, ever, turning his back on Davey, no matter what he did.

  He slammed one hand against the mantel. Stop thinking about things that can’t happen.

  After all these years, why would he let old, buried longings surface, let them slice deep into a heart that should remain carefully cold, relentlessly neutral?

  Love was not his lot in life. He didn’t want it. Losing it hurt too much. The only way to be sure was to bury feelings—all feelings—so deep they would never surface.

  Don’t let your anger win,
Mitch. He could still hear his mother’s voice…still feel the blood too warm on fingers clutching her desperately against him.

  Mitch cursed violently against the old pain that could tear his heart from his chest.

  I will not care. Never again.

  Shaking his head to dislodge thoughts that could only bring harm, Mitch turned away from the fire and glanced around the room, wondering how long they’d been gone.

  But only because they were under his roof. Only for Cy’s sake.

  Not for his.

  And then he spied the scrap of paper leaning against the salt and pepper shakers on the scarred wooden table.

  We’ve gone to Grandpa, it said, in a delicate, very feminine script. Back soon.

  To Grandpa? And then he knew. They were at the grandfather spruce. But those tracks were hours old, and the spruce was only fifteen minutes away, even in this snow.

  Something shivered down Mitch’s spine, and he fought it. She was a grown woman—but her strength wasn’t up to full speed yet. She knew this area—but not in winter. And it was going to be dark in a couple of hours.

  He jerked his down jacket back on, muttering beneath his breath. Damn troublesome woman—so like her not to think of anyone but herself.

  But even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. He couldn’t explain why she hadn’t come when Cy needed her, but he’d seen a gentle soul where he’d expected one hard as brass.

  Whatever was going on with her, however little idea he had of what to do with the mother, he had to make sure the boy was safe. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t.

  Mitch stalked to the door, donned his boots, gloves and cap, and headed out, grabbing a few supplies and stuffing them in a pack, hoping that he was worrying about nothing.

  Perrie pressed against the stitch in her side as she ran through the trees, screaming Davey’s name. “Where are you? Talk to me!” she called out.

  No answer, and her heart almost burst from her chest.

  Oh please…please don’t take him from me. Please don’t let him be hurt. Please—not my baby—

  Her gaze darted wildly around her. In her panic, she ran this way and that, trying to figure out where the sound had come from.

  Though it slammed against every instinct she had, Perrie forced herself to stop and draw a deep breath, trying to stem the panic that overran rational thought.

  She closed her eyes for a second, then reopened them. All right. Stop. Look around you. Think.

  Tracks. Of course, dummy. Follow his tracks. Pulling in another draft of frigid air, she forced herself to calm and slowly scan the landscape. Nothing.

  She turned back toward where she’d been, walking several paces, heart sinking to her feet before she saw them.

  Small footprints, heading off to the left.

  Steeling herself not to give in to fear, Perrie clasped her hands together, her every sense intent upon her son.

  “Davey!” she called out. “Where are you?”

  Still no answer. Oh, God—please don’t let him be hurt or—

  Mitch. She’d sell her soul to have Mitch here to help her, but she didn’t dare go back to find him. He’d been gone for hours to who knew where.

  No, it was up to her. She had to find Davey. And if he— Her mind balked at the thought. He would be all right. He had to be. He just couldn’t hear her. She’d find him, and those blue eyes would be dancing with mischief. He’d just hidden from her, that was it.

  He’d been cooped up too long for an active boy. He would be all right—he was only on an adventure.

  She would put him in timeout for disobeying the rules. He was never to wander away in a strange place.

  Except that all she wanted was to hold him, to cuddle him close and never, ever let him out of her sight again.

  “Davey!” she called out again. “Please, baby, let me know where you are—”

  Suddenly she heard it, the faint sound of a voice.

  A child’s voice. Please, God— Her heart was thumping so hard she couldn’t hear.

  “Davey, where are you?” She stood very still, every sense alert.

  Finally, she heard it again. Faint. Strained. But her beloved child’s voice.

  Perrie took off running toward the sound. Beyond a clump of trees, she skidded to a stop, her breath kicking up in her chest.

  The edge of a cliff lay in front of her, a pocket gouged out in the snow.

  As if someone had fallen.

  “Davey?”

  “Mom—” The voice was faint, cracking with strain, but it was him. It was Davey.

  She had to hold herself back from rushing to the edge.

  “I’m here, sweetheart. Are you hurt?”

  “Mom, I fell—” His voice was thready and filled with tears.

  “Hold on, sweetie. I’m almost there.” With careful steps, she felt her way ahead of her, unsure where the weak spot began.

  Finally she neared the edge and lay down in the snow, easing forward.

  Oh, no. Oh, please— She couldn’t reach him from here.

  “Mom?” He lay sprawled on his back, but at the sight of her, he struggled to rise.

  “No, Davey, don’t!” He lay on a small ledge, about ten feet below her. Only about four feet wide—and past him lay only thin air. “Don’t move, sweetie.” She could hear her voice shaking as she scanned frantically for a way to get down to him.

  But she could see nothing that would work.

  “I’m scared.” He didn’t sound right.

  “Tell me what hurts.”

  “My chest—it kinda hurts to breathe.” Again he struggled to rise. “Come get me, Mom.”

  She closed her eyes for a second and swallowed against the terror. “I will, just as soon as I can. You have to lie still and don’t move.” She didn’t know if he was aware of how close he was to unthinkable disaster. But she was, and it turned her voice sharp. “No matter what, don’t you move an inch, Davey. Not one inch, do you hear me?”

  Every cell in her body cried out to be down there with him. She needed a rope, needed—

  Help. Needed Mitch. But she had no idea where he was. She’d never tackled anything like this before, but it couldn’t wait for Mitch.

  “Davey, sweetheart—” Could she do this? Could she leave him to go get the supplies she’d need to save him? All she could see in her mind’s eye was him moving, rolling over, losing his balance and tumbling to his death. She couldn’t possibly leave him—but he would die in the cold if she didn’t. Night would be here soon, and he would not survive a night out in this frigid air.

  She felt panic rising, its steel claws climbing up her throat, pushing a helpless despair through her body.

  “Davey?” With every ounce of control she possessed, she forced her voice steady. “Sweetheart, I need you to make me a promise. Are you listening?”

  “Yes.” But his voice sounded so small. So helpless.

  She couldn’t think about that now. “I have to go back to the cabin to get a rope. You have to lie there very still and not move. Not an inch, do you hear me?”

  “Don’t leave me, Mom. I’m scared. It’s cold.”

  Perrie clasped her hands on her head so tightly it felt like it might crack. The war within her threatened to split her apart.

  He will die if you don’t get him up from there.

  But he might roll over and—

  A thousand mights raced through her head. Every maternal instinct she possessed kept her immobilized against leaving him alone for a second.

  Her stomach heaved with terror. But she had to stay calm. Had to convince him. Had to force herself to leave.

  “Sweetie, I know you’re scared. And cold. But I have to get you up from there. I can’t reach you where you are. It won’t take me very long to get to the cabin and back, and then I’ll get you up.” How, she didn’t know yet, but she’d do it. No matter how hard it was.

  “Get Mitch. Mitch can save me.”

  Oh, honey, if only you knew how
badly I wish he were here. “Maybe Mitch will be back when I get there, but even if he’s not, I’ll get you up. Don’t worry, all right? Just be very, very still, Davey. Do you hear me? You can’t move from where you are.”

  “I wish you could stay here and tell me a story until Mitch comes.”

  Her throat felt like someone had stuffed it with rags. Around the mass of terror and anguish, she forced her words. “Mitch doesn’t know where we are right now, but I’ll leave him a note, okay? And I’ll be back in just a very few minutes.”

  “Mom?” His voice reached out to hold her, fear threaded with need. “Can you tell me a little bit of a story first?”

  Perrie pressed her hand over her lips to keep from crying out. Swallowing hard, she grasped for control. “Okay—just a little bit. Then I really have to go, sweetie.”

  “Okay.” His voice seemed fainter.

  For a second, Perrie wanted to scream. How could she possibly think of a story at a time like this? But she had to. It might be the last story she ever told—

  No. It would not be. She would make her point to Davey with this story, and then she would race to the cabin and back.

  “Okay.” She sucked in a draft of frigid air. “Remember Ermengilda and her friend Henry?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Well, one day they and another fish named Gloria were swimming around too close to a boat. She and Gloria got caught and pulled from the water, but Henry swam away. Ermengilda felt like she couldn’t breathe and she knew they had to get back in the water soon or they would die. She couldn’t panic; instead, she had to think. Gloria wasn’t doing so well, though. She was screaming and thrashing around where they’d been set down, not too far from the water.

  “Ermengilda knew that their goose was cooked if they didn’t figure out a solution—quick. ‘Gloria, be quiet,’ she whispered. ‘Be still. Play dead. Then when they’re not looking, we’ll get away.’

  “But Gloria wouldn’t listen. She kept thrashing around so much that Ermengilda was afraid she’d draw their attention. The next thing Ermengilda knew, Gloria was being yanked up and put in some kind of bucket. But while they were looking away, Ermengilda managed to get back in the water where Henry was waiting, and they swam away, back to their mothers.”