Page 19 of Taken Away

She could practically see the outline of Mabel’s body on the duvet, imagine the ambulance crew leaning over the mattress, the paramedics’ shoes scuffing the same rug beneath her heels.

“It’s a room,” she whispered. “It’s a bed.”

But her feet still refused to carry her any farther in.

There were framed photographs on the dresser.

Aubrey picked one up. A little girl in a yellow sundress sat on a porch swing beside a woman with blonde hair and laughing eyes.

Mabel.

And her.

Aubrey frowned. She barely remembered that day.

She set the frame down and reached for another.

This one was older; the colors were slightly faded. It had been taken in front of the house—before the paint was fresh and the porch rails quite so straight. A man with dark hair and a wide easy grin stood in the center, his arm slung around a younger Mabel. Red Stephens was on her other side, leaner then, his hair a deeper rust, one hand hooked over the porch rail.

Mabel’s hair was twisted up in a loose knot, sunglasses pushed on top of her head, her mouth caught mid-laugh. She wore a simple summer dress and a look of fierce, uncomplicated joy.

Aubrey stared.

From this angle—from the line of her jaw, the tilt of her smile—Mabel looked alarmingly like Aubrey did now.

Same bones. Same mouth. Same stubborn lift to her chin.

It was like looking at a version of herself dropped into another decade, another life.

She huffed out a breath that wasn’t a laugh. “Apparently the genetics committee had some strong opinions,” she muttered.

She put the frame back a little too carefully and reached for the next photograph.

This one was recent.

Mabel stood in front of the black barn, one hand on her hip, sunglasses on, grinning at the camera.

Beside her stood Bennett.

His arm was around her shoulders. He was actually smiling.

Not the grim, aggravated, bourbon-soaked version she’d met. A real smile. Wide. Warm. Boyish, almost.

It transformed him. Made him look younger. Softer. Dangerous in an entirely different way—the kind of man women forgave too easily.

Aubrey set the picture down too quickly.

“Still a jerk,” she muttered.

The front door downstairs opened.

Aubrey froze.

Before she could move, something huge thundered across the hardwood below. Claws skidded. A deep woof echoed through the house.

Then a massive white dog came barreling into the bedroom.

A Great Pyrenees.