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In desperation, she screeched around a turn into an alley. Headlights followed dizzyingly in her rearview mirror. She had to lose him. “Are you all right, Ethan?”
His panicked whimper was the only sound from the backseat. Oh, no. Had he been hit? She twisted around to check on him even as pain sliced across her ribs. Fighting through the agony, she scanned her son. He was in shock but looked unhurt. Unlike herself. Amanda pressed her palm hard against her side. It was warm and wet.
She stared at her hand. It was red. Very, very red.
She’d been shot.
Right through the door.
Her panting matched Ethan’s. Her fingers had gone numb with cold. She had to stop the bleeding or she’d pass out. She gripped the steering wheel tight. Think, Amanda. Think of someplace safe to stop.
A quick right, then left brought her to a dark side street. She floored it and streaked toward Main. With a quick prayer, she skidded to a halt in a parking lot full of cars and turned off the engine and lights.
“Duck, Ethan. Hide.”
He slid out of the booster seat and sank to the floorboard. Trying to ignore the pulsing pain in her side, Amanda crouched low against the cracked vinyl. With one hand she reached back and stroked Ethan’s head, buried in his arms. She tried to comfort him without words, but his body trembled, and her heart ached.
With the other hand, she searched her purse for the gun. Holding the weapon firmly, she shrank down even more and gripped the butt hard. Her fingers shook. Please, let her live. Let her keep Ethan safe.
The cold seeped into her skin. Every shallow breath turned into a visible wisp of air.
“Mommy? I’m scared.”
Ethan’s small voice pierced her heart. “We’re okay, little man.” She kept her voice calm and reassuring, while inside the panic had her heart galloping. “We just have to be very, very quiet.”
“So the bad man doesn’t find us?”
“Yes, sweetie. Hush now.”
His sniffles were the only sound as she waited. Headlights passed by, but she couldn’t chance raising her head. Her fingers cramped around the metal of the gun. She stayed still. Seconds dragged into minutes as she waited, praying no one would see or hear anything.
After what seemed an eternity, Amanda sagged against the seat. “I think it’s safe.”
At her words, Ethan scrambled into the front and dived into her arms, his face streaked with tears. She fought not to cry out in pain, but couldn’t stop a small gasp.
He leaped back. “Are you hurt? Like Uncle Vince?”
“I’m fine, honey. Just fine.”
But she wasn’t. And she knew it. She grabbed her thin scarf and used one end to pad her wound, the other she wrapped around her torso. The makeshift bandage would have to do. She had bigger problems. The gunman knew her. He’d seen Ethan. The bullet-ridden car would be easy to spot, and she couldn’t risk being found.
Vince had warned her if anything bad happened to him not to stay in Austin. No matter what. She had to get out. Amanda scanned the parking lot. Her ex’s penchant for stealing cars would come in handy. She could use the lock jimmy Ethan’s father had left under the seat to break in to and hot-wire a car.
She clutched the handle, but the simple movement nearly tore her insides. She bit her lip. If anything happened to her… She stared at Ethan, his lips trembling, his expression haunted. They needed help.
Gritting her teeth, she slipped out of the car and into the night. She had no choice. She had to go to Blake.
* * *
SHERIFF BLAKE REDMOND paced the wooden floor, nerves wound tighter than an overcinched saddle. He had a bad feeling about tonight but didn’t know why. Sleet pounded the roof, hammering the century-old ranch house with what the Weather Channel had termed the worst ice storm in decades. Four-foot-long icicles and West Texas didn’t go together.
Below-freezing temperatures and unrelenting ice made travel deadly. He’d issued an order hours ago for folks in his county to hunker down until further notice, but there were always those fools who didn’t listen.
A whine escaped the Lab mix curled on the rug next to the fire.
“I know, boy.” Blake glanced at the old police radio sitting silent on the hand-carved sofa table. He’d spent several hours tinkering with the ancient equipment. A few paper clips and pencil erasers strategically placed, and it worked like a new one. “Gonna be a long night, Leo.”
The dog rose and paced the floor, unable to settle.
“You feel it, too?”
Blake bent and ruffled the oddly shaped ears of the stray mutt. He’d wandered into his barn shortly after Blake had moved back to Carder, Texas, to take over as sheriff following his father’s sudden death. The dog had hung around until finally they’d both surrendered to the inevitable.
The animal’s unease didn’t bode well, and the sparse living room gave Blake no distraction. Despite moving into his childhood ranch home nine months ago, Blake still kept his memories stored away in boxes. Easier to avoid them that way.
The police radio cracked with static, and the dispatcher’s voice broke through the old speaker. “Sheriff?”
Blake snagged the microphone. “Donna, are you still manning the station? I ordered you home hours ago.”
“Deputy Parris just called in. Streets are clear, though he couldn’t stop complaining the storm ruined his trip to his fishing cabin.”
“No one’s supposed to be on these roads tonight but me. If Mom finds out her best friend’s working on a night like this, I’m dead. Go home.”
“You’re like your father,” Donna said.
Which meant she ignored Blake’s orders, too. Maybe that’s where his unease had originated. Donna had run the Sheriff’s Office dispatch for his father since he was a kid. He’d inherited her just like he had the job. He’d also learned from his dad exactly how to handle her. “Go home, Donna. Or I’ll put you in jail and lock away the key to be sure you’re safe.”
“Yep, just like him.” She chuckled. “Dispatch out.”
Blake glanced at the clock. He’d give her fifteen minutes. On his patrol, he’d verify she got home. He tugged on a wool sweater over his corduroys. His uniform didn’t have the warmth he’d need tonight.
A low growl rumbled from Leo. The dog rose and his ears lay back as he stared at the front door. Blake tensed, his hand automatically going to his sidearm. A movement outside the front window caught Blake’s attention. A pair of blue eyes under a thatch of reddish-brown hair peered just above the windowsill. Right at him.
“What the hell…”
Blake flung open the door. Freezing wind and needles of sleet invaded the room. A small boy huddled in a Chicago Bears coat and scarf stared up at him, his cheeks red, his lips blue, dried blood on his pants. “My mommy’s dying. She said you’d help us.”
The boy sank to his knees.
With an inward curse, Blake scooped up the shaking child, kicked the door shut and sat him down by the fire. He crouched down and slid the boy’s pant leg up to his knee. No obvious injury. “Where did this blood come from, son? Are you hurt?”
The boy shook his head and pursed his lips together. “Please. Help Mommy.”
“Where is she?”
“Our car slid. It crashed.” The boy’s eyes filled with tears. “Mommy kept falling asleep. She made me leave her.”
No one could survive for long in that storm. Blake shoved his arms into his shearling coat, yanked on his gloves and grabbed a flashlight from the top of the refrigerator. “Is it only your mom out there? No one else?”
The boy nodded. “Only Mommy.”
“Stay here. Understand?” The kid couldn’t have walked far. His mother had to be nearby. “Leo, come.”
The dog, who’d been nosing at their small visitor, bounded to Blake. The boy waited pathetically in front of the fire, shivering, yet his eyes locked on Blake. “Are you a good guy?”
Blake pulled his Stetson down over his ears. “You can trust me.”
The boy’s lips quivered in uncertainty. He was a brave little guy. A sharp pang twisted Blake’s heart. Did every boy practice that same look? In that one instant, he’d looked…just like Joey. Just like the son Blake had lost.
He shoved the pain into the hole where his heart had been. “I’ll be right back. Stay by the fire. Don’t touch anything.” He gave the kid his most stern look.
With Leo at his side, Blake yanked open the door and stepped into the frozen night. The lights from the barn were bare flickers against the onslaught of sleet and roaring wind. Ice pricked his face, making his eyes water. He scanned for any movement through the darkness. Nothing between here and the horse barn. He had only minutes or the boy’s mother was dead.
Long icicles dangled from the porch eaves and looked like something out of a horror movie. He shoved through them, breaking off several. They fell to the steps, the howl of the winter wind swallowing all sound.
Even if the woman were screaming he wouldn’t hear her until he tripped over her body. He swept his flashlight across shiny layers of ice. As he stepped past a large pine, blinking orange just at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Hazard lights. Tilted. The car must be in the ditch. He veered toward the vehicle, but Leo barked, tugged on Blake’s sleeve and shot in the opposite direction.
“You’d better be right, mutt.” Blake hurried after the animal, swinging his light toward a small gully that lined his long driveway.
Nothing was visible from the road. When he reached the edge and shined the beam into the ditch, Leo leaped toward a small, snow-covered figure, huddled out of sight of the driveway. Blake slid down the frozen dirt and turned her over. If it hadn’t been for her son and the dog, Blake may never have found her in this mess. She was soaked and freezing, but a small puff of air escaped her nose. Thank God.
He lifted her into his arms, and she moaned, squirming, pushing at him. “Ethan—”
“Your boy’s fine,” Blake said. “Now stay still or we’ll both freeze to death.”
“Blake?” She clutched at his collar feebly. “Please. Help us.”
Blake’s ears had gone numb, but he could have sworn she said his name, although with this wind he couldn’t be sure. He could barely feel his hands, even through the gloves. She must be closing in on hypothermia. He had to get her inside. Fast.
He struggled up the gully, his boots losing traction even though she didn’t weigh more than a minute. Each step was treacherous. Leo raced past Blake to the porch light as he slugged his way home. The wind and sleet slammed at him from the side. He stumbled, jostling her to maintain his balance. She whimpered in his arms.
Blake’s legs stung with cold. Each step took more and more effort. He squinted toward his house. The curtain pushed back, and a small face pressed to the front window. The ranch house looked unbelievably far away. By the time he reached the porch, the woman in his arms quivered uncontrollably.
The boy flung open the door, his face streaked with tears. “Mommy? Is she…dead?”
Blake shouldered past the kid and laid his mother on the sofa. What kind of youngster asked a question like that? Ignoring his own tingling hands and feet, he shrugged out of his coat, tossed it and his Stetson on the chair, and knelt beside the unconscious woman. “Is your name Ethan?”
Wide-eyed, the boy nodded.
“How old are you?”
He held up five fingers, and Blake nodded. “I thought so. What’s your mom’s name?”
“Mommy.”
Not much help there. Blake pulled the scarf and hat from the woman’s face. A tumble of wild, auburn curls fell to her shoulders. He rocked back on his heels in shocked recognition.
Amanda.
He couldn’t believe it was her. The woman he’d nearly lost his senses to beneath the mistletoe one very memorable Christmas Eve. The woman who’d tempted him beyond endurance. The woman he’d known he could never have because she was his best friend’s sister. And she’d almost died.
“Amanda?” What was that bastard Vince’s sister doing in the middle of an ice storm four-hundred miles from home?
Ethan scooted under Blake’s arm and laid a small hand on his mother’s cheek. “Mommy?” he whispered. “Wake up. Please. I’m scared.”
At the boy’s plaintive words, Blake nearly doubled over. Had his four-year-old son said the same thing to his mother after the accident? Blake knew from the autopsy report his ex-wife had died instantly, but Joey had lived for several minutes after their car had been blindsided. His son had been alone, frightened and dying, probably begging for his mother to wake up. Maybe calling for his father to save him. But Blake hadn’t been there.
Well, he was here now. For Amanda. He ripped off her gloves and clasped her hands. Ice-cold. No way could he warm her in these wet clothes. He unzipped her insubstantial coat. The right side of her shirt was soaked in blood.
“What the hell?”
He pushed the denim aside and stared at the injury just below and outside the soft curve of her left breast. He recognized a gunshot wound when he saw one.
Blake grabbed a clean dish towel from the kitchen and pressed it to the gash, causing Amanda to moan. “Get your coat on, kid. We’re taking your mom to the doctor.” One look out the window told him the ride would be an interesting trip. The visibility had deteriorated even more in the last few minutes. “Hopefully I’ll get us to the hospital in one piece.”
Amanda stirred restlessly on the couch.
He nabbed the microphone from the sofa table. “Parris, this is Blake.” The static from the line shattered the night. “Deputy, you there?”
Amanda tugged at his arm with a weak but desperate grip. “No hospital,” she whispered. “Hide us. Please. Or we’re dead.”
The stark words ricocheted through Blake as she struggled to sit, then collapsed in his arms. He eased her down, and pushed back the curls surrounding her face. She was hurt, and vulnerable, and she couldn’t tell him why. What had she gotten herself into that she’d risk her life to stay hidden?
He glanced at Ethan. With the gunshot wound, Blake had to give her the benefit of the doubt. If she was telling the truth, he refused to put the boy’s life in jeopardy.
“Sheriff? You heading out on patrol?” The ghost of a voice broke through the crackling radio.
“Not yet. Parris, let me know if you or Smithson see any strangers wandering the town. I’ll get back to you.”
He knelt next to the sofa and studied his unexpected visitor. Amanda had changed in the last six months. Thinner, her skin nearly translucent. Circles beneath her eyes, but still so beautiful, he had to remind himself to breathe. She’d obviously been through hell. Blake motioned to the boy whose eyes had grown wide and fear-filled. “Ethan? How did your mom get hurt?”
The boy looked at his unconscious mother and shook his head. “I promised I wouldn’t tell.”
Secrets. They burned Blake’s gut. He’d experienced too many in Austin. At the same time, he admired Amanda’s kid. Blake recognized Ethan’s terror from his trembling hands. The boy wanted to cry but bit down on his lip, fighting against the panic. Amanda’s son showed more courage in that moment than most grown men Blake had witnessed facing a gun on the streets.
He crouched so he was eye to eye with the boy. “Promises are important, but your mom came to me for help. I’m one of the good guys, remember?”
Ethan simply stared at Blake, his eyes too suspicious for a boy of five. “Mommy?” His tentative hand tugged at his mother’s sleeve.
“She’s hurt, Ethan. But she doesn’t want to go to the doctor. I need to know what happened. I want to make her well.”
The boy shifted back and forth, stared at his unconscious mother, then back at Blake. He lifted his chin and met Blake’s gaze. “A bad man tried to hurt us. Mommy saved me.”
* * *
THE BED WAS SOFT, the room dark except for a small night-light. Amanda felt warm for the first time in hours. She must be dead. There didn’t seem to be any other explanation.
She shifted. Her flesh burned like fire. This definitely wasn’t heaven.
