She glanced in the rearview mirror at the red-faced baby. “I understand what you’re about to go through better than you realize, Rue. You aren’t the only one who lost a mother before you could remember anything about her.”
Carys didn’t wish death on anyone. For Rue’s sake, she hoped the driver wasn’t Stephanie Cross. The odds were most definitely against it being the case, but she could hold on to the thought until proven otherwise.
Holding on to the steering wheel for dear life as winds pushed the vehicle around, she navigated onto the farm road leading to the ranch. Gravel spewed behind her tires as she pushed the vehicle to go faster.
Branches flew in front of the windshield. Being out here was dangerous. She should have asked Blaize to meet her at her home instead. What had she been thinking?You weren’t. You were in emergency mode.
Carys repeated the mantra moments before slamming on the brakes. She careened sideways, narrowly missing a tree trunk.
Her first instinct was to hop out of the driver’s side and comfort the child. The baby’s loud cries said her lungs were still working as Carys slipped into the back seat. Rain pelted her face and torso. Her button-down shirt needed to be wrung out by the time she slammed the door shut behind her. Her second instinct was to lock the doors as the tiny hairs on the back of her neck pricked.
She glanced around, searching for signs of someone being out here. The feeling they weren’t alone nearly overwhelmed her. A second later, she could have sworn a shadow passed by on the passenger side of the car.
An involutory shiver rocked her body as icy fingers gripped her spine.I choose to be strong.
Blowing out a calming breath, she refocused on the baby. The buckles on the car seat were not the easiest to navigate. She noticed how shaky her own hands were as she tried to unclick the chest clip holding the straps in place.
“I’m sorry that I’m so bad at this, little Rue,” she said, mustering as soothing a voice as she possibly could while under duress. “It’ll be okay.”
How many times had she wished her own father would have said those words to her while growing up? Instead, he’d overprotected her to the point of stifling her. He’d becomeobsessed with keeping her safe, which meant never letting her out of the house except for school and school-related activities. She’d joined pretty much every club in high school just to have an excuse to leave the house. He’d denied sleepover requests.What if the girl has a brother who’d abuse you in the middle of the night or a father who has bad intentions?
The closer college came, the more he bore down on her, making any kind of life impossible. By her senior year of high school, she’d had it.
I’m moving to campus, she’d said.And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.It was the first time in her life that she’d stood up for herself and gone against him. Pushing back against the person who raised you—no matter how hard they’d made your life—was the hardest thing to do.
Then I’m not responsible for youhad been his comeback.
True to his words, he cut her off financially. They’d had a huge dustup over the move, not because she was mad about the money. She could—and did!—take out loans to get through her four years of school. She’d worked double shifts and crashed on a friend’s couch after the required first year of dorm living to save money.
Her father couldn’t handle her independence. He threw every name in the book at her when she dug her heels in. He’d accused her of being a harlot—the nicer-sounding word for slut—even though she’d never had sex, let alone a boyfriend.
The fight, the horrible words he’d called her, caused her to lose her father more than the decision to leave did. Because she wanted nothing to do with him after the way he talked to her.
The wall that had come up between them had become impenetrable and strong as steel. She’d contacted him before graduation, humbled herself, and asked him to be there.
He never responded to her text, never showed.
Fine. She decided not to lose sleep over it. Her stubborn streak, it turned out, came from her father.
The car seat’s chest clip finally opened.Thank the stars for small miracles.
Carys gently wrapped her hands around the little girl and lifted. The crying nearly broke Carys’s heart.
“I’m here, little one,” she soothed, bringing the baby toward her until the little girl was against Carys’s chest. She looked down at the pitiful creature who was so upset. It struck her that Rue had a binky earlier. “Do you need your binky?” She managed to find it in the seat. The second the rubber tip touched the baby’s cheek, she rooted for the comfort item.
It was then Carys realized the kid might be hungry.
At least the binky quieted the cries. A sense of satisfaction replaced the deep-seeded failure from moments ago.
Carys didn’t want kids. Barely in her mid-twenties, she hardly wanted a boyfriend. Though, after the last one, she needed a minute to regroup. Jack had too many of her father’s tendencies. After two months of dating, he wanted the password to her cell phone so he could check texts for her.
Like she needed a gatekeeper for her messages. His jealous streak turned ugly fast, and she couldn’t move on quick enough. Weeks after the breakup, if you could even call it that since they’d never had a conversation about being in a relationship, he still showed up in the parking lot with flowers.
Then there was Leonard. He’d been older, which she’d assumed meant wiser. At almost forty, he’d been surprisingly less emotionally mature than some of the teens she worked with since taking the CPS job.
Suddenly, something or someone dashed across the headlights. Panic gripped Carys as a male figure came toward her side of the vehicle, moving directly at her.
She reached for anything she could use as a weapon and double-checked that she’d locked the doors.
