The Mommy Quest

by Lori Handeland

  Her heart stuttered again. She hadn’t thought past keeping her secret. She should have realized that the lack of information would only lead Dean to believe the worst.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said.

  “Then you’ll tell me?”

  “Yes. But not now.”

  “No. Right now I need your help.”

  “Help?” Her brain wasn’t working so well. First she’d been terrified, then relieved, then aroused, then touched. Her mind was mush.

  “Help me find Tim.”

  “Oh.” She yanked her hand away and shoved the still tingling appendage behind her back. “Of course.”

  “He isn’t here,” Dean said.

  “You’re sure.”

  “No. But if he is, he’s safe, at least. Let’s look in places where he wouldn’t be safe if we left him there too long.”

  “Like where?”

  Dean sighed. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re sure he’s still in town?”

  “Not really. I’d like to wring that social worker’s neck for scaring him.”

  “She never even got near Tim. He’s awfully nervous for an eight-year-old.”

  “He has good reason to be.”

  “True.” And she’d visited the same glass house far too often to throw any stones.

  Dean’s pocket started ringing, making both of them jump. He yanked the cell phone out and barked “Yeah” into the receiver.

  Stella smiled as the memories flowed. Dean had always answered the phone with a similar lack of charm, but she’d always found his James Dean behavior amazingly charming.

  “Kim? What?” Dean’s face was stark in the half light. He appeared older. Had he aged that much today, or had she just not noticed he’d aged at all until now?

  “Calm down,” he ordered.

  Stella frowned. What could have upset Kim that much?

  STELLA’S STRICKEN FACE made Dean realize he was scaring her. He shook his head, and when she collapsed onto the floor, he dropped the phone altogether and went to the ground with her.

  “Stella!”

  “Is Tim—”

  “No!” She’d interpreted his negative shake as very bad news. “I mean, I don’t know. He hasn’t been found. Kim thinks Zsa-Zsa might know something.”

  “Isn’t she a little young?”

  He shrugged. “Kids know stuff.”

  “Dean? Dean!” Kim’s voice came through the dropped cell phone, muffled, both scared and furious.

  “Double donkey dung,” Dean snapped, and crawled across the floor on his hands and knees to retrieve it. “Sorry.”

  “What are you playing at?” Kim snapped. “I think we might be onto something here.”

  “Just tell me what Zsa-Zsa said.”

  “Did I hear you say Stella?”

  “Sheesh, Kim, focus,” Dean muttered. “I’m at the school. Stella’s here, but my son isn’t.”

  “Okay. Relax.” Kim followed her own advice and took a deep breath. “Zsa-Zsa was jibber-jabbering. You know how she does?”

  Dean ground his teeth together and said nothing. Stella inched closer, and the scent of her shampoo washed over him. Apples—both tangy and sweet— she smelled exactly the same today as she had all those years ago.

  Stella set her hand on his shoulder, and her touch calmed him. It always had.

  “We went for a walk,” his sister continued. “Through the back field to the trees near the creek. There’s a hill where something made a den—fox, coyote, maybe. Zsa-Zsa crawled right in there shouting, ‘Timmy, play.’ I dragged her out by her ankles and took a look, but it’s empty and no one’s been there that I can see.”

  “And this helps me how?”

  “I was thinking that the water winds through the pasture where dad keeps Herby.”

  Dean’s blood seemed to curdle. Herby was the meanest Black Angus bull east of the Mississippi. Not that any of them were exactly huggable.

  Tim had nearly gotten stomped by Herby the first day he’d come to the farm. Dean had saved him, earning Tim’s everlasting love. As a result, Tim knew better than to go anywhere near Herby. Then again, Tim knew better than to run away.

  Dean got to his feet, absently tugging Stella to hers along with him.

  “When we were kids there was a similar den dug into the creek bank near there,” Kim said. “Bobby was always crawling inside. I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone, but I think it’s safe to say Bobby couldn’t fit inside anymore.”

  “But Tim could.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “You want me to call Dad?”

  “No. The less commotion, the better.”

  Herby hated commotion.

  Dean hit the off button and headed for the front door.

  “Wait!” Stella hurried after him. “What did Kim say?”

  “Tim might be in an old animal den near the creek.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No!” Dean swung around, fear making him speak more loudly than he had since Tim had come into his life.

  Stella took a step back, and he cursed beneath his breath—not the funny, fake words he’d been trying so hard to get used to, but the real curse words that weren’t at all funny.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I’m not scared.” She lifted her chin. “Not of you.”

  He was glad, but he didn’t have time to get all warm and fuzzy about it. “Our bull’s in that field. I don’t want you near him.”

  “But Tim can be?”

  “No. Which is why I need to get there.”

  He started for the door; she was right on his heels. “Stella!” he shouted, and stopped.

  She stopped, too. “You sound like Marlon Brando.”

  “Thanks. Stay here. I’ll call you as soon as I check this out.”

  “I’ll only follow in my car.”

  Dean muttered another very real curse word. He was going to have to start all over again with the quitting.

  “I’ll stay in the truck,” she promised, “but I have to go, Dean. I’m too worried not to.”

  “Fine,” he ground out. They didn’t have any more time.

  The trip to the farm was quiet. Dean was too upset to talk. Stella appeared in the same boat. He wheeled his pickup onto a gravel road that led to the backfield. As they bumped along, he gritted his teeth so he wouldn’t bite his tongue when he hit a particularly bad rut.

  Reaching the gate, he put the vehicle into Park and shut off the engine. “I’ll be right back.”

  The key for the gate was on his key ring. He unlocked it, went through and pulled the wooden structure shut behind him, flicking the catch but not reattaching the padlock. If he had to exit in a hurry, he’d rather not be fiddling with a key, or climbing the fence with a bull on his tail.

  The field was illuminated by a three-quarter moon, enabling Dean to cross without benefit of a flashlight. He detected no bull-shaped shadows, heard not a tinkle of the bell on Herby’s collar, which had been placed there to warn the unwary of his approach.

  In no time at all, Dean reached the creek, splashed across the thigh-deep water, crouched in front of a five-foot-wide hole and murmured, “Tim?”

  A shadow moved. Nothing growled, or snarled or hissed; nothing spoke, either.

  “Tim? Answer me!”

  Silence settled over the field. All Dean could hear was the rasp of his own panicked breathing. Then into the stillness fell the sound of a tinkling bell, and a soft voice drifted out of the hole.

  “Uh-oh.”

  STELLA SAW THE PLODDING shadow before she heard the ring-a-ding-ding. At first she thought a train was coming, and somewhere in the distance, a crossing signal was clanging. Then she realized the sound was closer, softer, much more deadly.

  The bell was on the bull, and it was headed straight for the trees where Dean had disappeared.

  Stella wanted to call 911 but Dean had taken the
cell phone, and she’d left hers in the office along with her purse. Really, what could emergency services do, anyway? By the time they got here—

  She didn’t want to think about it.

  Stella got out of the truck. The chill of the night pressed against her skin, making her shiver—or maybe it was just the terror.

  Should she shout for Dean? Or would that only make the bull mad, or perhaps madder. From what she could recall of bulls, they were pretty much mad all the time for no reason at all.

  Stella approached the gate, bit her lip, wrung her hands.

  “Oh, that’s helping,” she muttered.

  The bull stopped its progress toward the water and slowly swung its head toward her. Something huge and unwieldy hung from his nose—and not a great big bull-size booger, either. More like a two-by-four.

  “What’s up with that?”

  At the sound of her voice, the bull turned and took a few steps in Stella’s direction, so she began to talk about anything she could think of. Her job, both in Gainsville and L.A. Her apartments in the same places. Kids she’d known. Troubles she’d solved and those she hadn’t.

  How long could she keep this up? Did she expect Dean to slink around the edge of the field while she kept the bull distracted? He could, if he knew what she was doing.

  Maybe she should take his truck and go for help, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave him.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t chatter any longer, Tim’s voice erupted from the trees. Joy filled Stella, until the bull began to plod in that direction.

  “Hey!” she exclaimed, but he was bored with her and didn’t even pause.

  Panic gripped Stella. Dean had to know the bull was coming—the bell around his neck tinkled in a syncopated rhythm with the animal’s steps. The bull had moved so close to the trees he now blended into them.

  She racked her mind for a way to make him turn away from the man and the boy. She could only think of one.

  Stepping forward, Stella rattled the fence. Nothing happened.

  She lifted the latch and shut it again. Same reaction. This side of beef was a lot smarter than she’d thought.

  Stella squinted against the night, but she couldn’t see even a hint of the bull amid the hazier outlines of the trees. Taking a deep breath, Stella lifted the latch and slid the gate wide open.

  Ting-ting, ting-ting, ting-ting.

  The bell was swinging, but which way was it moving? The moon had gone beneath a stray cloud, dousing the field in even deeper shadow. Moving forward, Stella tried to catch a glimpse of something.

  The bull burst out of the darkness, two-by-four swaying wildly, the bell clanging violently. He was much closer than Stella ever would have imagined, and she stumbled backward, dragging at the gate, which suddenly refused to budge.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TIM WAS SO GLAD HIS DAD had shown up, he almost jumped out of the hidey-hole and into his arms, then he heard Herby’s bell. Usually the bull stayed on the other side of the field, and when he came to the creek for a drink, Tim always heard him long before he got there so he could skedaddle back into the hole. But now his dad stood out in the wide open for any old bull to see.

  “We gotta get out of here,” Tim said.

  “Damn straight. Come on.”

  “You aren’t mad, are ya?”

  “Tim.”

  “’Cause I can explain.”

  “You always can. Let’s do this when we aren’t running for our lives, okay?”

  “’Kay!” Tim announced, and jumped into Dean’s arms.

  Tim must have talked a little too loud since Dad winced and glanced over his shoulder. His whole body tensed. “Get back in there.”

  “No!” Tim clung to his dad like a monkey, wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and his legs around Dean’s waist.

  “Tim, you’ll be safe in the hole.”

  “And you’ll be dead out here.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You will.”

  In the distance, Tim heard a woman’s shout. “Who’s that?”

  His dad said a really bad word. Tim didn’t even bother to ask for a quarter. There were times when only a curse would do, and he kind of thought this was one of ’em.

  “Ms. O’Connell.” His dad tilted his head. “She’s talking to Herby, and he’s listening.” He set Tim on the ground. “Now’s our chance, kid. Let’s skirt the fence. Keep near me and keep quiet.”

  “You wanna walk through the field?” Tim asked, shocked.

  “How else do we get out of here?”

  “The shortcut.”

  His dad’s eyes narrowed. “What shortcut?”

  “You think I walked through Herby’s field? I’d never. I ain’t that dumb.”

  “But I am,” Dad muttered.

  “You’re not dumb!”

  “Keep it down!” Dean said in a voice Tim couldn’t quite figure. He sounded like he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

  “Show me the shortcut, kid.” He glanced behind him as the bell started ringing again. “And hurry.”

  THE SHORTCUT turned out to be a sprung section of the barbwire fence that kept Herby out of a neighbor’s alfalfa field. Although it was big enough for an eight-year-old, Dean scraped his back good when he squeezed through. Luckily, there was no way Herby could manage it.

  “This is trespassing,” Dean pointed out. “Better that than cutting through Herby’s field. Sheesh, Dad, what were you thinking?”

  “I wouldn’t be worrying about me if I were you.”

  Tim hunched his shoulders as they skirted the safe side of the fence.

  Dean opened his mouth to read his son the riot act, but Herby’s bell began to ring like wind chimes in a tornado. He glanced up and saw the bull charging toward the fence. Herby only charged liked that at a person, and the only other person here was—

  Dean began to run. He slid around the corner fence post and saw Stella tugging on the gate.

  “Stay back!” he ordered Tim, sensing rather than seeing his son stop.

  Time slowed. Dean ran through air as thick as potato soup. His lungs ached with the effort of every single breath.

  Stella yanked so hard on the gate, her high heels skidded in the mud, and she fell on one knee, but she scrambled up and kept trying.

  “Get in the car!” he shouted.

  She shook her head and kept yanking.

  Herby’s bell dinged in merry contrast to the thunder of his hooves, which jarred the ground. Dean launched his body across the few remaining feet.

  There was no time to shove Stella out of the way. Instead, Dean grabbed the gate and tugged. The gate swung shut so fast, Stella’s feet came off the ground.

  Dean slammed the latch home, just as Herby slammed into the other side. The entire fence shook, and Stella fell with a thud and a grunt.

  A litany of curses streamed from Dean’s lips as he secured the lock. Herby continued to pound his stupid head against the gate, his two-by-four smashing against it, as well, creating quite a racket.

  Stella continued to sit on the ground, legs straight out, her skirt hiked to mid-thigh. If Dean wasn’t so scared, he might admire that. As it was, he could barely breathe, and he wanted to punch something. He was getting too old for this.

  “What were you doing?” Dean shouted. “Saving you!” she shouted back, scrambling to her feet, smearing mud all over her suit, her panty hose and her hands in the process.

  “I wasn’t even in there anymore.”

  “I didn’t know that,” she said. “I thought you were dead.”

  “So did I.”

  “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “No problem.”

  As they shouted at each other, they’d gotten closer and closer until they were nose to nose. So he kissed her.

  Amazingly, the kiss made Dean feel a whole lot calmer, and then again it didn’t.

  Stella clung to him, fingers clutching his shoulders as her mouth opened beneath his. The world fe
ll away, and it became only the two of them, the way it used to be.

  Her lips were soft; she tasted exactly the same. Youth, energy, passion—a lifetime ago, yet he remembered everything as if he’d kissed her only yesterday.

  Their tongues brushed; his fingers tightened on her arms as hers tightened on his shoulders. Their bodies aligned. He wanted to touch her everywhere—skin to skin—just one last time.

  Thunder rumbled; the first trace of a storm arrived in the brush of rain against his cheeks. There was a reason he couldn’t lay her down in the grass and relearn every inch of her as she relearned every inch of him.

  “Dad?”

  And there it was.

  Dean yanked his mouth from Stella’s. Her eyes were still closed, her expression dreamy, her lips still wet from his. Thank God he hadn’t followed his instincts and run his hands up her incredible legs, beneath her skirt and—

  Dean took a giant step back.

  Stella’s eyes snapped open, and the dreamy expression fled. She glanced at Tim and groaned, putting her hand to her forehead, leaving a trail of mud behind.

  Dean turned to his son, his mind scrambling for an explanation as to why he was French-kissing the principal. But all speech stopped at the grin on Tim’s face.

  “What?” Dean asked.

  “I didn’t say nothin’.” Tim ran to the pickup and climbed inside.

  “I’m sorry,” Stella murmured. “The bull was headed for you. I tried everything I could think of to entice him in my direction, but the only thing that worked was opening the gate, then it wouldn’t shut.”

  Dean sighed. Stella wasn’t a farm girl, and she never would be. She’d done the best she could.

  “Everything worked out okay,” he said.

  “So we’ll just forget it ever happened?”

  He met her gaze. “I doubt that.”

  WAS HE TALKING ABOUT the bull or the kiss? Stella was afraid to ask.

  Why had he kissed her? Heat of the moment? But that hadn’t felt like a heat-of-the-moment kiss. It had felt like a promise of things to come. Dean’s kisses always had.

  Stella followed him to the truck, climbed in on the passenger side as he climbed behind the wheel. Tim bounced between them, kept from hitting the ceiling by the seat belt across his skinny chest.

  “I’m in big trouble, aren’t I?” He turned doleful blue eyes in her direction.