by The Hero
“Maybe if I could just kiss her good-night...”
He chuckled. “Just down the hall.”
She walked toward the bedroom—it was Jenny’s room, where the girls napped together. But there were only the two of them there and she circled back to Scott, a little panicked. “Scott, Will isn’t there!”
“He’s not?” Scott joined her in the hall, then looked in his own bedroom. He laughed. “He’s already migrated to my room. Happens all the time.”
“Um, this is the first night since Mercy was born that I haven’t slept beside her.”
She could see he was shocked silent for a moment. Then his voice came gently. “Would you like to take her home, Devon?”
“She’d be so disappointed,” she said. “She’s been so excited. I’ll just kiss her good-night. We both have to grow up sometime....”
“Lay down beside her for a while, if that helps.”
“But you’re going to bed...”
“Not for an hour or so. It’s okay. I’ll be out here, reading for a while.”
“Thanks.” And she went into the bedroom. The little girls were curled around each other, like sisters. She moved them over just enough to lay on the edge of the bed, an arm draping over them, pulling Mercy close, smelling her sweet little-girl smell.
Why couldn’t she be tempted by Scott? Maybe because it was obvious he wasn’t tempted by her? But Devon didn’t want a man at all! Since birth, they’d let her down, every one. After all, her mother had been alone, reaching out to a neighbor to step in when Devon was orphaned. The last man to be kind to her had betrayed her. Men had never proved to be a good idea for her....
Yet she was interested in this one, this Spencer, who was clumsy in his impetuousness, yet he made her feel all soft and gooey inside.
She closed her eyes for a moment. All she really needed in life was to be with Mercy, to be able to take care of her, make sure she was safe, strong and smart. She could do that, given the right circumstances.
And then those deep brown eyes under expressive brows came to mind again and she allowed herself the luxury of remembering their time together that night. Dancing with him and being held close in his arms felt so good. For just a little while, she indulged in that fantasy again—that there was someone for her, someone real and normal and true.
* * *
Scott finished the chapter he’d been reading, closed the book and finally decided enough time had passed to go into the girls’ bedroom to check not on them, but on Devon. He found what he expected—she was sound asleep, curled around them. He laughed softly to himself. Her sundress was riding up a little, laying bare her strong, shapely legs. Her arm was holding both girls protectively against her.
He grabbed a throw from the living room sofa and covered her, tucking it in around her and she didn’t even stir.
This is what he wanted, what he’d been looking for—a pretty young woman with a sharp mind who was completely devoted to the children. Someone dependable and smart; someone fun and energetic. He was ready; he’d been ready for a while. He’d been grieving his wife for almost four years, wondering if he’d ever have another. But he was starting to believe he was ready for someone like her. And he’d been looking, trying to find a woman who could slide into the place Serena left.
He found himself wondering—Does Devon make chocolate chip pancakes? Does she knit or make soup or bread? Did she like being pregnant? The joke on him was that his wife had loved being pregnant, yet died of an aneurism postpartum. He’d been in love with his darling Serena since high school; they’d waited a long time to start their family, given the complications of med school and residency. Was Devon the kind of woman who could endure the demands of a doctor’s life?
He decided he’d find out. Dinner—they could have dinner together. Let things evolve as they naturally should.
* * *
Reese Brolin was prepared to leave The Fellowship with her seven-year-old son, Mark, but in the end she couldn’t leave without Mariah, the pregnant twenty-year-old who felt as much like a daughter to her as a sister. Reese was the one who got them all through labor and delivery and she wasn’t sure what would happen to Mariah if she was left to the other well-meaning but untrained women. None of them were nurses or doulas.
Sister Laine had offered her this chance. She told her about the secret opening in the fence, the backpack with a change of clothes, the bottled water and apples.
“Did you also help Devon to leave?” Reese asked.
“No,” Laine said. “I had planned to follow her, but things didn’t work out for me. You should take this chance while you have it. I know you want to go.”
“What makes you say that? I have a pregnant girl to deliver. I can’t go!”
“You should go, Reese. Take Mark out of here before something happens. I think Jacob is breaking down. It’s time to get the children out. Trust me.”
“How do you know this?”
“We all know. He’s not the same as he was when I first got here. The level of anxiety around here is growing by the hour. Something’s going on. I think there might be trouble coming and you know Jacob will fight back. He’ll never give up this acreage, his herb farm. You have a chance. You’re strong enough and can keep Mark safe. Go south.”
And it was then that Reese knew. “You’re not who you pretend to be,” she said to Laine.
“Don’t worry about who you think I am, just take this one chance. And, please, don’t talk to anyone about this or it will be very bad for me. Deadly bad. Do you understand, Reese?”
Reese said she did. She had suspected that Laine wasn’t one of them. She could sense she was trying to fit in but there was something just a little off. Reese knew because The Fellowship wasn’t her first experience in a commune or religious sect. She had been born in Africa to white missionary parents—this was hardly her first tribe.
Laine was a spy and Reese knew it.
In the end, she whispered to Mariah late at night when everyone had gone to bed, “Shh, come with me. I’ll explain...”
Mark didn’t utter a word, because Reese had told him to be completely silent. She had told him this was important and he mustn’t make a sound. She carried what supplies she could and guided her son and her friend to the secret opening in the fence.
“What are we doing?” Mariah whispered as they climbed through the fence.
“Shh,” she said. “I’ll tell you in a second. Put these things on. Come with me.”
They walked out to the road, difficult for Mariah—the baby was a month away and she was big and ungainly, and the brush was thick.
As a child, Reese had been in the thick of African tribal uprisings. Her family had escaped death, and she had seen too much unrest and was no stranger to it. Her instincts were very good; a tribal leader in the Sudan once told her she had the intuition of a hawk and would always know what to do. So, when she saw the road curve where Laine had promised a truck would be waiting, she grabbed young Mariah’s upper arms and said, “Jacob is in trouble. There’s no doubt the police are coming and he’ll fight to keep his possessions. People will be hurt, they will be taken away. If you come with me now, we might escape. If you don’t, your baby will be born in jail. I can almost guarantee that.”
“No!” Mariah said in a sudden panic.
“Mama?” Mark was suddenly frightened.
Reese crouched down to Mark’s level, peering into his eyes. “We have to leave, Mark. We have to leave now or face danger. You have to do as I say.”
Then she rose to Mariah. “You can refuse to come with me, but if you do, we are all in danger. You most of all, I think. See that truck? I was told it would be waiting for us. Let him take us to a safe place before it’s too late.”
“And you’ll stay with me?”
Reese brushed her hair back a little. “I’ll never leave you, I promise. Never.” Reese took Mark’s hand, then Mariah’s. “Say nothing and trust me,” she said, leading them down the road where a dark
truck waited.
Reese opened the door and looked inside. The man wore a ball cap, but the hair on his head was short. There was a rifle in his gun rack. He turned his head to look at her and then immediately he started the engine. “Hurry up,” he said.
She lifted Mariah into the truck first then Mark, then she squeezed in.
The man pulled away, using only fog lights until he’d gone quite a distance. When he turned on the headlights, she said, “Take us to the police.”
“Police it is,” he said.
* * *
It was barely dawn when Laine was putting plates and flatware around the long table—enough for fourteen people, and a high chair for a two-year-old. They were six women and four men, including Jacob who sat at the head, and five children including little Liam. The women were busy preparing the meal and rounding up the children. Lorna was making toast and bacon, Pilly was scrambling eggs and Charlotte was spooning oatmeal into bowls for the children. And then Jacob arrived.
“There’s a hole in the fence!” he boomed. “Who knows about this?”
The women all looked fearfully at each other. Laine knew, without a doubt, she would be the most suspect, given the fact that she was the newest to this clan.
“Who’s missing?” he thundered. He looked around the kitchen. “Where are Reese and Mariah?”
The women exchanged even more troubled glances. Finally it was Lorna who said, “Gathering eggs, I think. That’s where they should be.”
“There’s no one in the henhouse!”
Charlotte stepped toward Jacob. “But they would never leave,” she said. “Not Reese—this is her home. This has been her home for eight years! And Mariah is close to having her baby—where would they go?”
Laine braved his wrath. “Jacob, are there any vehicles missing? Mariah’s too pregnant to get far on foot. Shall we go looking for them?”
“I’ll take care of this,” he blustered, stomping around the room. “Get the children downstairs right now!”
And four women scrambled to do as he ordered.
Laine knew exactly who would be missing, but their lives depended on her ability to be convincing and helpful.
Tears ran down Laine’s cheeks and she twisted her hands. “Jacob, Reese and Mark and Mariah aren’t here.”
He let out a roar, picked up a plate from the table and threw it against the wall. Little Liam in the high chair began to cry and Laine rushed to pick him up. This broke Laine’s heart; he was the baby of the house and she desperately wanted to get him on the other side of that fence. She just cried harder as she thought about this.
“Did you betray us, Laine?”
“Me?” she asked on a choked sob. “Why would I do that? If I wanted to leave and knew the way, wouldn’t I go? Jacob, they can’t have gone far—let’s look for them. I’ll help. We’ll all help.”
“There’s a conspiracy here,” he thundered. “And when I find it, you’ll be sorry!”
Laine just held the toddler against her, weeping.
But when he turned to leave, she sent daggers at him through the narrow slits of her eyes. If she’d had a weapon at that moment, he might be dead.
A half hour later the men—all four of them, armed—left the compound in three big dark SUVs. Suddenly they were all gone, leaving the women and children behind.
It had taken Laine nine months to be picked up by Jacob. Her assignment was to infiltrate the commune and learn the extent of his fraudulent activities. As well, she was to look for evidence of kidnapping, human trafficking, antigovernment activities and custodial interference. What they hadn’t known, going in, was that Jacob had developed a large and sophisticated marijuana grow-op. Once Laine had learned the extent of this operation the commune was placed under constant surveillance. At that point her job shifted from investigation to rescue. She had to find a way to get the women and children out before a warrant was served. Crazy Jacob, who said he’d die before facing off with the government, might just kill all of them rather than surrender to authority. This could become another Waco or Ruby Ridge if it wasn’t handled with finesse and intelligence.
Laine was FBI. Deep cover. And in grave danger.
* * *
Devon felt tickling on her face and opened one eye. Mercy grinned at her. “Mama, you spended the night.”
She opened the other eye. Jenny was sitting next to Mercy, both little girls on their knees, giggling at her.
Oh, my, she thought. This is embarrassing. “I just wanted to kiss you good-night and I must have fallen asleep right here,” she said, trying to get her bearings. She sat up. Someone had covered her with a blanket and she still wore last night’s dress. Beautiful. “Where’s your daddy, Jenny?”
“He told us to wake you up. He’s making clown pancakes.”
“Wonderful,” she said. She pulled herself up, visited the bathroom, rinsed her mouth and headed to the kitchen. Will was standing on a stool, stirring the pancake batter. The girls were already sitting at the table eating their breakfasts. Scott, still wearing those plaid pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, was flipping pancakes.
“Well, good morning,” he said with a smile.
“I’m very embarrassed,” she said.
“No need. You were out like a light so I just went to bed.” He lifted a handsome brow. “I trust you slept well?”
She chuckled to herself. “Oh, yeah. Just like old times. Wrapped around a couple of little girls.”
“Can I interest you in a couple of pancakes?” he asked.
“Sure. That’s awfully nice of you, after I disrupted your sleep in the middle of the night.”
“Nah, not that serious. I was just reading.”
“Where’s Gabriella?”
“Sleeping in. I have no idea when Charlie brought her home, but it must have been very late. Sunday is her day off unless I have something going on. I’m on call for Bandon E.R. today and if they call, I’ll need her. She usually spends Sundays studying or with Charlie.”
“You could just call me,” she said.
He leaned toward her. “How’m I gonna do that, Devon?” he asked.
“Right. No phone. I’m going to have to take care of that. Maybe I should take the kids down to the beach, let them see the flower arch, play in the water a little bit. I’d be happy to do that. In fact, it’s the least I can do.”
He flipped a clown pancake onto her plate and she thought, This is so normal. I’ve longed for normal for five years. A few kids, a nice guy in the kitchen, a regular house, work, family...the usual kind of family. She laughed and said, “So, you call this a clown, huh?”
“My best effort,” he said.
“It kind of looks like a...squirrel.” She cut off what appeared to be the tail, popping it in her mouth. “Now it looks more like a clown...or a hamster.”
When breakfast was over, Devon took care of the cleanup and loaded the dishes in the dishwasher. Then she drove home with Mercy and they changed into clothes for the beach before heading to the marina to meet Scott and his kids. Will and Jenny were toting a mesh bag full of beach toys. “You sure you’re up to this?” he asked. “I was called to Bandon. I could be a couple of hours.”
“I can handle the three of them, no problem. But I can’t get them all home. I just have the one booster seat.”
“We can trade cars,” he suggested. “Just put Mercy’s seat in my car. I’ll take your truck.”
“Perfect. Now be gentle with her—she belongs to Rawley and he restored her.”
The transfer was made and Scott said, “Gabriella is at home, standing by, in case I get stuck at the E.R.”
But Devon was leaning into his beautiful new vehicle. She was smelling the car. “Wow. I might just take this baby out for a little spin. Is this new?”
“Pretty new, yeah. You’re going to have to drum up some business for me at the clinic so I can pay for it.”
“What a great car. I’ve never in my life had a new car....” She removed the key to the truck off
her key ring and handed it to Scott.
“Someday, Devon,” he said. “Probably not while you’re working for the tightwad doctor, but someday.” He took the truck key from her. “This seems to be working out well. Kids and all.”
“Kids and all,” she said.
With three little kids in tow, she grabbed up the towels, the sunscreen and toys. They went about halfway down the beach before they stopped. Devon spread out their towels and slathered their wiggly, excited little bodies with sunscreen. She laughed at their excitement and told them, “Water’s edge, only. No farther than your knees!”
This was Devon’s comfort zone—she loved children, especially at this age. She found them precious, hilarious, brilliant, trusting. They could also be very bad, but she’d never wondered what to do—Aunt Mary had had the patience of Job and had taught her well.
They had all played in the water and the sand for about an hour when someone plunked down beside her and she turned to see Spencer sitting next to her.
“Good morning,” he said.
“What are you doing here?”
He pointed to the dock. “Austin wants to take out one of the boards and if someone isn’t close by to watch him, he gets out too far. He wants to be like Landon—taking that board all the way out to the mouth of the bay. And he’s fighting us on the life jacket issue.” He nodded toward the littler kids. “The doctor’s kids?”
“Yes, he’s on call and I volunteered to babysit,” she said.
“Listen, about last night...”
She laughed in spite of herself. “Regrets, Spencer?”
“If I offended you, I’m sorry. If I didn’t offend you, when can we get together?”
A huff of laughter escaped her. “While I’m flattered beyond reason, maybe we should talk....”
“About?”
“About how it might be way too soon for you to think about relationships. Your wife has been gone how long?”
“Not long and yet, a long, long time. And I think you should be aware—I seem to have a drinking problem.”
She tilted her head. He hadn’t seemed the least bit drunk last night. “Oh?”
“Yes.” He circled his knees with his arms. “Apparently if I drink three beers I’ll do any damn thing I please. Whether or not it’s a good idea.”