Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume III, Books 7-9 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 3)

by Jennifer Bramseth

  She had packed snacks, toys, and extra clothes for her little monster, unable to deny him the simple treat of spending a morning playing in the countryside. She called her mother and asked whether she’d like to join them. Her mother declined the invitation and exhorted Cara to return as soon as possible.

  “It’s supposed to be another record high today,” her mother warned. “Don’t stay out too long.”

  “I’ll stay out long enough to tire him out for a good nap. And then perhaps I can get one too.”

  The morning was humid and foggy, the day presenting a deceptively mild façade and giving no hints to presage the later scorching temperatures. There was little traffic leaving Bourbon Springs so early on a Saturday, and they were at the nature preserve in less than ten minutes. The only thing that slowed them down a little was when they got behind a tractor on Brush Grove Pike, a development that delighted Nate but frustrated Cara as the sun rose behind them, bringing the heat.

  She expected the only other people to be at the preserve were walkers and hikers, along with a few kayakers and canoers who liked to take Brush Grove Creek into Old Crow Creek. The preserve was becoming increasingly popular with those who loved the outdoors.

  Her destination was a small playground in a meadow overlooking Old Crow Creek. Although the land gently sloped to the water, the area was flat enough to host the small playground and a great place to throw a ball around or fly a kite. She recalled her conversations with her late husband and their grand plans of bringing Nate to the preserve to fish, play baseball, and fly model airplanes. Cara had delighted in the ideas, but now she would have to be the one to execute them.

  Nate bolted for the playground as soon as she extricated him from his car seat. Even though she knew where he was headed, the sight of her child running from her always sent a shard of terror into her heart. That maternal instinct to run after him was hard to resist.

  Cara found a nearby bench where she read and snacked while keeping a close eye on Nate. He looked incredibly like Todd, his father, except he had Cara’s eyes and fair hair. It was sometimes hard for Cara to look at her son when she could see her deceased husband reflected there upon his little face. Her grief blended with anger, and Cara would have to turn away before her child became confused by Mommy’s sudden tears.

  Nate came to her for a drink of water from his canteen.

  “I wanna go to the creek.” Nate pouted after quenching his thirst.

  Nate had a favorite spot where he loved to play along the banks of Old Crow Creek near some large boulders and the remains of an old bridge. During the dry months of summer, the water formed a shallow pool perfect for wading and exploring. Yet farther out, the current was dangerously swift according to a preserve ranger Cara had once encountered during one of their trips to the site. She had advised caution and to never get out along the rocks and the rotting pieces of the bridge. One could cross the creek farther downstream at a shallow ford except when the creek was high.

  Cara tried to coax Nate into going home and playing in his splash pool, but he was unmoved.

  Realizing there was no way to change a toddler’s mind about the attraction of a creek on a hot summer’s day, Cara relented. Toting the omnipresent bag of necessary kid stuff and holding Nate’s hand, they descended toward the stream across the broad expanse of a mown area. In the far distance through the thickening haze of the midsummer morning, the little town of Bourbon Springs shimmered in the heat, and Cara glimpsed the top of the courthouse cupola before it disappeared behind the tree line.

  Nate broke from her a few yards away from the trees, and Cara had to carefully pick through the thickening brush to keep her child in sight. Panic knifed at her gut as she saw him running toward the water, and she cried out several times to no avail to get him to stop. Dropping the bag, she quickened her pace to catch him, fearing that he would fall against a rough outcropping of limestone, or a tree, or into the creek itself. But Nate stopped once he reached the shallow pool at the edge of the water.

  After chastising Nate for running away, Cara watched as he did all the things a boy of his age should do. Nate found sticks and rocks and tossed them into the creek, squealing with abandon as the items splashed. He loved seeing the sticks get carried away on the current, saying good-bye and waving to each item as it disappeared. Nate was upset when he couldn’t find any frogs, but Cara suggested that if he were quiet they might come out since his noise likely had frightened them away.

  “But I won’t hurt them,” Nate implored her as he sat on a rock and put his head on his hands.

  Cara took the brief respite as an opportunity to turn back to retrieve the bag she had dropped. After telling him where Mommy was going and that he needed to stay put, she clambered back up the bank, keeping an eye on him over her shoulder as best she could.

  To the boy’s credit, he sat on the rock, poking at the soft earth and mud with a stick. Cara reached the bag at last and began to descend, but within the next second Nate was on his feet, pointing and yelling.

  “Look! Deer!”

  A doe’s head jerked up from the water, and she bolted downstream on the opposite bank.

  Nate screamed in protest upon the deer’s departure and ran along the bank, immune to his mother’s cries. He crossed the creek at the narrow and shallow point, the water coming well up his chest, then scrambled up the opposite bank.

  Cara splashed into the creek in pursuit, crying, sweating, and yelling. Once across, she struggled to keep him in sight and lost her footing on some rocks, causing her to fall into the water.

  By the time she’d recovered, her boy was gone.

  “NATE!” she roared.

  She heard nothing but the rush of water over the rocks and the leaves as they were nudged by a barely discernible breeze.

  Crazed and in full panic mode, she climbed onto dry land and headed in the direction she last saw Nate. Cara patted her pockets, but her phone was gone, probably at the bottom of the creek. Continuing to call his name as she sobbed, Cara stumbled along the bank, becoming despondent and sick.

  Ahead, the stream widened and curved. The water here was deep, swift, and clear, but Cara was so desperate that she decided she had to get back into the creek just to get a good view of both banks.

  As she edged toward the water to fulfill her desperate plan, activity on the opposite bank caught her eye. A lone man toting a kayak moved toward the water.

  Drake Mercer.

  As she waved her arms wildly and called to him, he took off his sunglasses and squinted.

  “Cara? What’s wrong?”

  “Nate! He ran off chasing a deer! I can’t find him!”

  Drake pulled out his cell phone, called 911, and then got into his kayak and onto the water.

  “I’ll go on ahead and look for him on both banks,” he said. “You keep moving along that side of the creek.”

  She nodded and rambled over the bank as Drake moved downstream and out of sight. Listening and watching for any clue to Nate’s whereabouts, she was gripped by fear. Why had she brought him here, of all places? A beautiful spot but filled with danger.

  Never again.

  Assuming there was an again.

  The thought nearly paralyzed her, but then an oar splashed in the water, followed by the low murmur of voices.

  Cara’s pace quickened, and she soon saw Drake standing at the water’s edge with Nate, both of them examining the kayak.

  Nate turned and saw his mother.

  “Mommy! Mommy! Look what he has! I want one!”

  Cara ran to her son. She dropped to her knees, embraced him, and began to sob.

  Nate was stiff and immobile in her arms for several seconds but soon began to squirm, mumbling about frogs and the deer.

  Nate broke from his mother’s clutching hold and turned back for the kayak. Her stomach clenched, but Drake blocked Nate’s progress. He grabbed the boy’s right hand.

  “You need to stay with us,” Drake said firmly, immediately commanding
Nate’s attention.

  Cara stood and took Nate’s free hand. “Don’t run off again, Nate,” she said sternly before turning to Drake. “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “Glad to help.”

  Drake suggested walking back up the creek and crossing at the shallow and narrow place where Nate had spotted the deer and gone off in hot pursuit.

  “But what about you?” She glanced at the kayak on the muddy shore behind them.

  “I’ll carry it. No problem.”

  Drake did just that, much to Nate’s delight. During the walk, which was hot, sticky, and filled with multiple encounters with mosquitos, Nate chattered about the kayak, and Drake patiently answered his questions.

  “Can you take me in it?” the child asked Drake once they reached the narrow spot and prepared to cross.

  Drake shook his head. “Better let Mommy decide how you’ll get across.”

  “I’ll carry you, honey,” Cara said.

  Nate’s lower lip immediately jutted out into an intense pout. “I wanna walk across myself.”

  She was in no mood to argue and picked him up as he protested.

  But Drake had a better idea.

  “Let me tote him across. I promise he’ll be fine and he’ll love it.”

  “What about the kayak?” Cara asked.

  “I’ll come back for it.” When she hesitated, he said, “Let me do this, Cara.”

  “I’m strong enough to carry him,” she shot back.

  “Of course you are. But you ran after him and fell in the creek, from the look of you. I’m sure you’re exhausted. Let me help.”

  She couldn’t disagree with his logic.

  Cara handed Nate to Drake.

  “Ready?” Drake asked Nate, and the child nodded. “I’m going to hold you up high over my head. Don’t wiggle or we’ll both fall, and that would hurt.”

  Nate agreed, and Drake hoisted Nate above his head.

  “You’ve done that before,” Cara said as she watched them cross.

  “Plenty of times.” Drake reached the opposite bank and dropped Nate. “Gotta keep your gear out of the water. Now it’s your turn.”

  She traversed the creek, with Drake offering his hand to her as she climbed the bank. After she was across, he made the return trip for his kayak.

  They trudged up the hill to find an ambulance and a sheriff’s cruiser in the parking lot. Kyle Sammons already was out of his vehicle and standing at the edge of the lot, watching as the trio drew closer.

  “You found him?” Kyle asked as the EMTs appeared behind him.

  “Drake actually found my escapee,” Cara said, turning to Drake and gesturing.

  “Escapee?”

  “Nate has a tendency to bolt, to run off,” Cara explained as Nate made for the playground. “I guess Jamie’s too young to do that yet,” she said, referring to the sheriff’s son, who was not yet a year old.

  “Knowing him—and his mother—I’m sure he’ll do just that as soon as he’s walking. But why don’t we get both of you checked out?” The sheriff walked toward Cara and relieved her of the bag.

  Cara called to Nate, asking whether he’d like to meet the “men in the ambulance.” The youngster immediately dropped from the monkey bars and ran to his mother’s side.

  Not counting a multitude of scrapes, the boy was fine. One of the EMTs cleaned him up and entertained him while the other examined her. It turned out she had a nasty cut on her left arm. She hadn’t even noticed her injury, which she suspected she sustained when falling into the creek.

  After getting patched up, she gave Kyle a grateful hug and he departed with the EMTs. Looking around, she spied Drake sitting on a bench near the playground, keeping an eye on her boy.

  She walked to the bench, kicked off her waterlogged shoes, and sat next to him.

  “Why are you still here? Don’t you want to get out on the water?”

  “A bit too hot for my taste now,” he said. “Besides, I wanted to make sure the two of you are all right. Do you need anything?”

  “Yeah, two or three full-time nannies. I cannot keep up with that child.”

  “I don’t know how you do it,” Drake said, shaking his head. “It can’t be easy.”

  “It isn’t. And today you saw how I didn’t do such a great job. I shouldn’t have let him anywhere near that creek.”

  “He’s a kid, Cara. He needs to feel the mud between his toes and get scraped knees.”

  She’d heard the same argument from her mother in regard to her overprotectiveness of her child. But since Todd’s death, she lived for Nate. She knew it wasn’t healthy—her therapist continued to tell her that, to no avail—but Cara couldn’t stop herself from perpetual worrying.

  “Are you just a big kid?” She gestured to the kayak.

  “I suppose I am,” he admitted. “At least on weekends, when I can goof off. I’m even hoping that I can buy some property along Brush Grove Creek.” He pointed behind them and to the west. “There’s a place I’ve had my eye on for a while that might be available soon. Then the weekends will be no further than outside my back door.”

  Cara leaned back on the bench and put her arms out along the back. Tilting her face up to the sun, now high in the sky and blazing down, she tried to ignore the intense midsummer heat.

  “Must be nice,” she said, eyes closed. “I’m not so sure I remember what weekends are anymore.”

  She felt his hand on hers atop back of the bench and opened her eyes to see him reaching for her. She was surprised at his move but didn’t reject it, happy for the simple human contact of a hand without sticky little fingers.

  Nonetheless, he mistook her mild surprise because Drake withdrew his hand just as quickly as he had touched it.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t resist.”

  “Neither can I.” She claimed his hand, her own still trembling. “I really need a hand to hold right now.”

  “Mine’s available anytime.”

  She closed her eyes, and the feelings and images of a few months earlier popped into her head.

  They were in Drake’s hot and stuffy Jeep, parked on a remote side street in Littleham, exchanging hurried and passionate kisses. Drake’s intense gaze—those icy-blue eyes—had not left her mind for one day since that encounter.

  “Do you have to do it all?” Drake asked and nodded in Nate’s direction on the playground. Nate had a stick and was repeatedly striking it against the slide, delighting in the thunder-like noise the action produced.

  “Almost,” she said. “I live a few doors down from my mother. She’s my backup.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does she watch Nate a lot?”

  “Yes,” Cara confirmed. “She keeps him during the day.”

  “And if you go out otherwise?”

  “Sure. If I have a conference out of town or something like that, she’s the one.”

  “What about if you go out on a date?”

  “That doesn’t happen.”

  “Really? I heard you went out a few times with that Dr. Byrd character.”

  “You certainly know a lot of my business.” She removed her hand from his and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “So did she babysit when you went out those times?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Would she do it again?”

  “I suppose, but her services aren’t likely to be needed.”

  “Even if I asked you out tonight?”

  Incredulous, she gaped at him.

  “Are you actually asking me out after the kind of morning I’ve gone through?”

  “I’d say you need a night out. You need some time away from your reality, if only a few hours.”

  “I don’t disagree with you there, but why should I spend those hours with you?” she taunted with a smile.

  “Because I’m a nice guy you like to kiss,” he said, grinning.

  She looked out vacantly across the open space, a small smile on her lips. �
��You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

  “Do you want to?”

  “No. But I probably should.”

  “Why?”

  “We’ve been through this. It wouldn’t work out. I’m not in a good place.”

  “Maybe I can take you to one.”

  She turned to look at him. “Why bother?”

  “Do you really think that little of yourself?”

  “Not at all,” she said, head held high. “But I’m a realist.”

  “Why not be a dreamer?”

  “I can’t afford to be a dreamer.”

  As Cara stood and began to walk toward the playground to collect her child, Drake rose and gently took her by the elbow.

  “Can’t you dream for just a few hours? Long enough for dinner or a walk?”

  She squinted at him, baffled by his continued attentions. “Why am I so interesting to you? Why aren’t you breaking down some other woman’s door?”

  “Because I’m only knocking on yours.”

  Drake was so close that she could see a small nick on his chin where he’d cut himself shaving and noticed a small, thin strip of golden whiskers along his jawline his razor had missed. His sweat mingled with the aroma of freshly cut grass and the faint whiff of mash from the distillery; the cocktail of scent was powerfully unique and arresting.

  How he had captured her so quickly she knew not, and she was frozen to the spot.

  His head dipped, and he managed to plant a light kiss on her lips before she moved away.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered before heading for her now-sleeping son, curled up on the bottom of the slide.

  Cara scooped Nate into her arms and returned to the bench where she grabbed at the bag without success.

  “I’ll get that.” Drake picked up the bag as Cara gave him an uncomfortable look.

  After securing Nate in his car seat and throwing the bag in the trunk, Cara went to the driver’s side door of her vehicle with Drake following. “Thank you again.”

  “Glad to help,” he said as she got into her vehicle and put the window down. “And let me know whenever you get tired of hearing me knocking on your door. I plan to keep it up until you tell me to stop.”