Her Christmas Guardian

by Shirlee McCoy

“Shh,” Boone said. “You’re going to scare her more than she already is.”

  She nodded, but the tears kept rolling down her face, and Lucy’s harsh, raspy coughs continued.

  He lifted the little girl, set her in Scout’s lap, his heart beating hollowly in his chest. Both were covered in soot and breathing rapidly, their respirations shallow. A few more minutes and they would have succumbed to smoke inhalation. He’d almost lost them, and he couldn’t shake the thought that he still could.

  An ATV pulled up beside them, an EMT jumping off and running to Scout’s side. Five minutes later, she and Lucy were en route to the lodge, where an ambulance was waiting to transport them to the hospital. The cabin fire had nearly been doused by a team of forest rangers, and Boone was staring at the smoldering ruin, his heart still beating too hard and fast in his chest, his mind going back to that moment when he’d realized how futile his rescue attempt was. Flames had been shooting out the bedroom window, and he’d been trying desperately to get past them.

  If Cyrus hadn’t pulled him away, he’d have probably found a way. And then what?

  Would he have made it into the bathroom?

  “You’re a mess, Anderson,” Jackson said, his tone much more solemn than usual. “Maybe Lucy and Scout aren’t the only ones who need a trip to the hospital.”

  “I’m fine,” he growled.

  “You’re angry,” Jackson retorted. “You think you could have done something different, affected a different outcome.”

  “I could have broken the bathroom window before I tried to get in another way. I could have got them both out sooner. Then maybe they wouldn’t be in such bad shape.”

  “You’re giving yourself way too much credit,” Jackson cut in.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You think that you get to decide who lives and dies. That by your actions a life is saved or not.”

  “No,” he argued. “I don’t. I think that I have a responsibility to do my best. I think that if I have an opportunity to help, I’m obligated to do it.”

  “If that’s really what you think, then why are you beating yourself up over this? Scout and Lucy are both alive, and they’re both going to be fine. What more can you ask of yourself?”

  “A lot,” he ground out. “That little girl was dead, Jackson. When I took her from Scout, she was gone.” His voice broke, and he had to swallow hard to keep tears from falling. “If I’d been there a few minutes sooner—”

  “If you’d been there a few minutes later, there wouldn’t have been any chance of resuscitating her. Much as I hate to make your big head any bigger—” Jackson ran a hand over his hair and sighed “—you did good. Don’t play the what-if game on this one, Boone. Just be thankful that things worked out the way they did.”

  “I am thankful. I just wish—”

  “Right. Wish. Hope. Want. So, here you are, standing there regretting something that didn’t even happen while Scout and Lucy are heading to the hospital without you.”

  “Was I supposed to hang off the back of the ATV?”

  “No, but you could be walking out of here instead of feeling sorry for yourself.”

  “I am not,” he growled, “feeling sorry for myself. There are things to do around here. Lamar and Rodriguez are going to want a rundown of everything Eleanor said and did on the way here.” He glanced at the burned-out shell of the cabin. The entire front was gone, the eaves of the porch caved in. “It doesn’t look like she had any chance of escaping. I didn’t much like the lady, but she didn’t deserve that.”

  “I don’t guess she did,” Jackson agreed. “Something accelerated the blaze. Makes me wonder if that was the kidnapper’s plan all along. Get rid of everyone and leave town. Go back to his family and pretend nothing had ever happened.”

  “In other words, all he wanted was the information written on the photo.”

  “Seems to me that might be the case,” Jackson responded. “Stella called in a few minutes ago. She met Christopher Schoepflin at the airport, and she asked him if he knew Gaige Thompson.”

  “Let me guess. Thompson represented his father during his divorces.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What a mess,” Boone muttered.

  “Yeah. It is, and it’s going to take a while to sort out. I’m thinking that you might want to head to the hospital before you’re dragged downtown to answer a bunch of questions.”

  “Are you telling me to leave the scene?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Get Cyrus and take off. Go to the hospital, because I can guarantee you that when Scout looks for someone who will tell her that her daughter is going to be okay, it’s you she’s going to be looking for. If you get dragged to the sheriff’s office, it’s going to be hours before you can be there for her.”

  “You’re being awfully accommodating, Jackson,” Boone said, but he grabbed his backpack, shook shards of glass off of it and put it on.

  “Aren’t I always?”

  “No.”

  Jackson shrugged. “Hey, if you’re not interested in the job, I’m sure Cyrus would be willing to hold Scout’s hand while she waits for news. Of course, you know how bad his bedside manners are.”

  Boone knew. Cyrus had sat vigil at the hospital when Boone had been recovering from his fractured skull. It hadn’t been pleasant for either of them.

  “You’ll call me when you have any news? Scout will want to be updated.”

  “I’ll call or stop by the hospital. I don’t know how much more they can do here. They won’t be able to recover Eleanor’s or Gaige’s body until what’s left of the structure is stabilized. It could be days before they know how the fire started. Like I said, there’s no sense in waiting around while they do their job. I’m going to talk to Lamar, and then I’m heading back to town. Since you’ll have good cell phone reception, why don’t you give Chance a call when you get back to town? Let him know what’s going on.”

  There it was. The reason Jackson was pushing Boone to leave. “I should have known you had ulterior motives. You don’t want to be the one to tell your brother that we were around this much chaos, so you’re passing the job on to me.”

  “I don’t mind telling him. I just prefer not to listen to his response,” Jackson said with a smile. “I’m going to find Lamar. You get Cyrus and get out of here.” He gave him a none-too-gentle shove in the right direction and walked away.

  Boone didn’t need to be told twice. Not when doing what he was told meant being near Scout.

  * * *

  Scout needed to see her daughter. She didn’t care what the doctor said about needing to rest, didn’t care what the nurses told her about being weak and unsteady on her feet, didn’t care about anything but making sure Lucy was okay.

  She struggled out of the bed they’d put her in, tossed the blanket around her shoulders and dragged her IV pole into the hall. There was an elevator sign to the left, and she headed in that direction.

  Lucy was in the pediatric ICU, and she was stable.

  That was the extent of the information Scout had received, and it didn’t touch on whether or not Lucy was awake, unconscious, crying, calm. Scout needed to know those things with a desperation that pounded through her aching head, refused to allow her to close her eyes or rest.

  She punched the elevator button, waiting impatiently for it to open. As soon as it did, she walked on, bumping into a man who was heading out.

  “Sorry,” she began, looking up into a face that made her heart melt and her legs go weak.

  “Boone,” she managed to say as he opened his arms.

  She stepped into his embrace, her arms winding around his waist, her head settling against his chest.

  He smelled like smoke and rain, and she burrowed closer, her hands fisting in his shirt. It didn�
�t matter that Cyrus was watching or that a nurse had made her way to the elevator and was loudly explaining why Scout couldn’t leave the floor.

  Boone was there, and she felt down deep in her soul that everything was going to be okay.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked, smoothing her hair back, frowning at the fresh bandage on her forehead. “Because from the look of things, you should probably be in bed.”

  “I want to see Lucy.”

  “And you will see her, Scout,” the nurse said, holding the elevator doors open. “After you’re both feeling a little better.”

  “I think,” Boone said, “that it would be difficult for any mother to feel good when her child is injured. If you want them both to heal and get better, you should have them together.”

  “We’re doing this in the best interest of both of them,” the nurse responded sincerely. “We understand the extenuating circumstances and that the two have been separated for several days, but the doctor is worried that too much excitement might contribute to respiratory distress. Especially in Lucy. The next thirty-six hours are critical.”

  “I can see the doctor’s point,” Cyrus cut in. “How about we all just be reasonable about this?”

  “What are you talking about?” Scout demanded, because she wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable.

  “Let him do his thing,” Boone whispered in her ear, his breath tickling against her skin and lodging somewhere deep in her heart.

  “What I’m talking about,” Cyrus responded, stepping off the elevator and walking a few feet away, “is all of us being where we need to be and doing what we need to do. We wouldn’t want to break any hospital rules.”

  “It’s not about rules.” The nurse turned to face him, her hand slipping from the elevator door. “It’s about doing what is best for our—”

  The door slid closed, cutting off whatever she was going to say.

  “There,” Boone said with a half smile. “Cyrus at his finest. Now, I don’t suppose you have any idea where they’re keeping Lucy?”

  “Pediatric ICU,” she responded. “But I have no idea where that is.”

  “Fortunately for you, I do. Samuel had a pretty bad infection a few months ago, and they kept him in the ICU overnight.” He punched a button, his free arm around her waist, his fingers warm through the cotton hospital gown. She could feel his palm through the fabric, feel his breath ruffling her hair, feel the heat of his body seeping through the blanket and gown, and she wanted to lean into him, close her eyes, just let herself relax against his strength.

  She shivered with emotions she hadn’t expected to feel, and he tucked the blanket closer around her, his fingers sliding along her neck, brushing against the tender skin there. “Cold?”

  “Scared,” she admitted.

  “Lucy is going to be okay.”

  “I’m worried for her, but that’s not why I’m scared.”

  “Then what?” he asked as the elevator door opened.

  “You. Us. The things you were talking about at the ski resort,” she admitted. She couldn’t hide things from Boone. Not after what he’d done for her and for Lucy. Not after she’d looked deep into his eyes, tasted his lips, spent days knowing that he was the one person who understood her grief and pain.

  “That,” he said, his hand cupping her elbow as he led her to the pediatric ICU, “is not something to be afraid of.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You haven’t made the mistakes I have.”

  “Maybe not, but I’ve made plenty of other ones. I’ve trusted and loved someone who wasn’t trustworthy. I’ve spent too much time away from people I cared about and lost my daughter because of it. I’ve failed again and again, Scout.” He stopped, turned so they were facing each other. “And every single time, God has picked me up and brushed me off and let me have another chance. This is your chance. I’m your chance. And you know what? You’re mine.”

  “Boone...” She had a dozen things she wanted to say, but none of them seemed right, because not one of them could match the pure and simple honesty of his words. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. You just have to tell me the truth. Are you going to walk away from us because you might fail again? If you are, I need to know it now rather than a year from now.”

  “I’m not,” she said. Simply. Honestly. Because he deserved it.

  A slow smile spread across his face, tension easing from his jaw and his shoulders. “You’re sure? Because I’ve got a crazy life, Scout, and I can’t give it up. I’m away for days and weeks at a time. When I’m home, I’m tired and—”

  “Hungry?” she suggested, and he chuckled.

  “I am always hungry,” he said. “But when I get back from a mission, I’m tired and worn, and sometimes, I’m a little quiet and a lot grumpy. That’s not going to be easy to deal with.”

  “But it’s going to be worth it,” she assured him. “Because you are everything I didn’t know I needed—everything I never knew I wanted. You really are my second chance, Boone. And I’m not going to turn my back on that—or you.”

  “We’ll see if you’re still saying that in twenty years,” he quipped, pushing open double-wide doors that led into the ICU reception area.

  “At the end of a lifetime, I will still be saying it,” she assured him.

  “I hope so,” he said.

  “I believe so,” she responded. “There’s a difference.”

  He shook his head, that easy smile that she loved so much curving the edges of his mouth. “You’re throwing my words back in my face. Do you plan to do that often?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed, dropping a quick kiss to her lips, a lifetime of promises in his eyes, in the gentleness of his touch.

  “Glad to hear it, Scout, because I’m planning to say a lot of really wonderful things to you in the future. Come on. Let’s go see your daughter.”

  He took her hand and they walked to Lucy’s side together.

  EIGHTEEN

  Apparently, children recovered from nearly dying much more quickly than adults did.

  The thought flitted through Scout’s mind as she watched Lucy twirl around the living room, her nightgown swirling around her legs. Nearly four weeks after the fire and she didn’t seem any worse for wear. Cheeks pink, newly cropped hair bouncing in short brown ringlets around her head, she giggled and danced and acted for all the world as if they’d never been apart.

  If it hadn’t been one in the morning, that would have been great, but it was, and Scout was exhausted.

  The past few weeks had been...challenging.

  She’d had to face Christopher and Rachel, explain the circumstances of Lucy’s birth, ask for forgiveness for the secret she’d kept. They’d been gracious and kind, but it had still been hard. She’d kept Christopher from his daughter for nearly three years, and no matter how much she’d justified it in her mind, no matter how scared she’d been, she hadn’t had the right to do it.

  Somehow, Christopher had understood. He’d listened as she’d explained Amber’s words and her warning, and he’d said that he’d have made the same decision she had.

  She wasn’t sure it was true, but she’d been grateful. When he’d asked for twice-yearly visits with Lucy, Scout had been happy to comply.

  For now, things were going the way they had before the kidnapping. Aside from a quick visit while Lucy was in the hospital, Christopher had stayed away. He and his father were dealing with a firestorm of media attention as the FBI investigated Christopher and Amber’s stepmother, Alaina.

  Special Agent Rodriguez had confirmed that the FBI had found information hidden at the crypt where Scout’s parents were buried. Rolled up and wrapped in cellophane, the three small pieces of paper had been hidden in a vase attached to the wall. Scra
wled on each was the name of a bank and the number of a safe-deposit box. Each box had been filled with photos of women, interviews with them, long pages of stories about how they’d been tricked into traveling to the United States for job opportunities, sold to the highest bidder and made to work for nearly nothing.

  If the FBI was right, Amber had been working on an exposé that would reveal her stepmother’s involvement in what amounted to a modern-day slave trade.

  It didn’t surprise Scout. As much as Amber loved to party, she also loved social justice. She always rooted for the underdog and cheered for the dark horse.

  She’d have been excited to expose Alaina’s illegal business and reroute the millions of dollars that she claimed Alaina made from it into social reform. Maybe she’d got in too deep, or maybe she’d found something even more incendiary than what had been found in the safe-deposit boxes. Whatever the case, the FBI believed she’d been worried about how deep she was digging, that she’d been afraid for her life.

  Rather than going to the authorities, she’d done what Amber always did—pushed harder, dug deeper, done everything she could to keep the party going for as long as she could. Special Agent Rodriguez speculated that Amber had told her stepmother about the hidden information in a last-ditch effort to stay alive.

  It hadn’t worked. Alaina had murdered Amber or hired someone to do it. According to Agent Rodriguez, a small storage unit that Amber had secretly rented had been auctioned off at the beginning of November, and a box of her personal belongings had been discovered and returned to the Schoepflin family. Several diaries were in the box. Most of the information in them was mundane, but there was mention of the letters and gifts Amber had sent to Scout highlighted in pink. Agent Rodriguez believed that had been enough to worry Alaina.

  Alaina wasn’t admitting to it, and with Gaige Thompson dead, they couldn’t question him, but it seemed that had been the catalyst to everything else that had happened.

  The two had been friends for years. Such close friends that they’d traveled together with their spouses, had Christmas and Thanksgiving meals together. Dale Schoepflin was cooperating fully with the investigation, and he claimed that both he and his wife had known about Gaige’s relationship with Eleanor. He said that it had begun shortly before Scout left San Jose.