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Allen cocked his head. “Like strep throat?”
“No. Something that never got better. But you were very lucky because you had me and your aunt Beverly.”
“Why didn’t my dad ever invite me to come here?” Allen was sharp.
“He didn’t want you to see him feeling bad. And he didn’t tell Mac and Trent that you were his little boy. But now that they know, Mac wants you to visit as often as we can.”
“Can we live here?”
Bryn groaned inwardly. “We already have a place to live…you know? And Aunt Beverly would miss us if we were gone.”
Allen grinned. “Yeah. I guess.” Then as usual, his focus shifted. “Can we go back to the house now? I’m hungry.”
She ruffled his hair. “You’re always hungry.”
They took off at a trot, and Allen pretended to race her, giggling when she panted and bent to put her hands on her knees. She took a deep breath and made one last sprint.
Two steps later, she cried out in shock when she stepped in a hole and her body kept going. There was a sickening crack, dreadful pain shot up her leg and she catapulted forward to meet the ground with a thud.
The first thing she remembered was her son’s little hand patting her cheek. When she opened her eyes, she realized he was crying. “I’m okay,” she said automatically.
He wasn’t stupid. Fear painted his face. “Mommy, your phone’s not in your pocket.”
Oh, God. “I left it at the house.” Throbbing pain made it difficult to enunciate.
“I’ll go get help,” he said, looking sober and not at all childlike.
“No. You’ll get lost.” She blurted it out, terrified at the possibility of letting her baby boy wander alone.
Allen took her face between his hands, his expression earnest. “Mommy, I can see the house. It’s over there.”
He was right. The roof was visible through the trees. Her brain spun. What choice did she have? If she passed out—and it was a good possibility given the way she felt—she’d be leaving Allen unattended anyway. Was there any difference in the two scenarios? The pain made nausea rise in her throat as sweat beaded her forehead.
Desperately, she gazed at her small, brave son. “You must stay on the trail. And if you get confused, stop and come back. Be careful. Promise me.”
He stood up. “I’ll bring Trent, Mommy. He’ll know what to do.”
Trent was in the corral, examining the left rear shoe on his stallion, when a small figure out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was little Allen. Alone. Trent ran to meet him, his heart in his throat. “What happened? Where’s your mother?” He dropped down on his knees, so the two of them were at eye level. Allen was wheezing a little bit, but his color was good. He was scared and trying hard not to show it.
He laid his head on Trent’s shoulder in an innocent gesture of trust. “She stepped in a hole. Her ankle might be broken. I can show you where she is. It’s not far.”
Trent’s brain buzzed. He scooped the little boy into his arms and tucked him up on the horse. “Hold on to the saddle horn. We’re going to ride fast.” Allen’s eyes were huge, but he nodded. Trent put a foot in the stirrup and vaulted up behind him. “Let’s go. I’m counting on you to show me the way….”
One arm wrapped around Allen’s waist, Trent rode hell for leather. Thinking about Bryn, hurt and alone, made him crazy, so he did his best to concentrate on getting to her as quickly as he could.
Thankfully, the kid was right. It was less than a quarter of a mile. But when they reached Bryn, she was unconscious. Trent felt his world wobble and blur. She had to be okay. She had to be okay. She had to.
He jumped down and set the boy on his feet. While Allen hovered anxiously, Trent took a handkerchief from his pocket and wet it with water from the canteen on the ground beside Bryn. He wiped her face gently. “Wake up, Bryn. I’m here. Wake up, sweetheart.”
It was a full minute before Bryn responded. She was ghostly white, and her lips were pale. “You came.”
The words were so low he had to bend his head to hear them. He reached out his hand for Allen, pulling him close. “Your son is a hero,” he said softly. “I’d never have known where you were without him.”
