“To keep you busy. To keep you out of trouble.”
“Mo-om, how many times do I hafta tell you? I’m not going to get into trouble.”
And yet, he’d broken his wrist yesterday.
“I have four words for you, Finn. Those boys in Bozeman.”
“Well, I’m not there anymore. I can’t hang out with them again, can I?”
Determined to check out the scene of his accident, Sara turned off Main and drove by the parking lot where his wrist had done battle with asphalt and had lost.
Her foot hit the brakes. Makeshift skateboarding ramps littered the asphalt. Obviously, kids had cobbled together whatever materials they could find. Oh, dear Lord, one of the ramps looked like an old rec room door. Finn could have killed himself. “That’s where you were skateboarding?” Fear sharpened her tone. “Oh, Finn, you’re lucky you didn’t die.”
“God, Mom, don’t exaggerate.” Finn crossed his arms and curled his shoulders in on himself, his lower lip jutting even more than normal these days.
“I’m happy to see you out doing something other than lying around listening to music and doodling in your sketchbook,” she said. “Skateboarding is fine, but doing it on wooden ramps over concrete is nuts. What were you thinking?”
“I was having fun,” he shouted, then lapsed back into his “I’m too cool to care” attitude.
Foolish boy.
She shot out of town, driving faster than she should, but for Pete’s sake, how was she supposed to survive motherhood?
“Thank goodness you were wearing your helmet.”
“Of course I was. I’m not stupid, Mom.” Why did the word sound like an insult when he used it?
Where have you gone, Finn? What have the aliens done with my sweet little boy and why did they leave this hostile stranger in his place?
He turned his back on her, as far as his seat belt would allow, and stared out the window.
Sara reached out to touch that bit of his neck peeking out from his too-long hair, but he flinched away from her. If she could, she’d encase him in bubble wrap for protection.
His twelfth birthday was less than two weeks away. His feet were getting big, almost man-size. That vulnerable neck, though? That was still little boy.
She’d thought she’d taught him how to be careful, but his streak of—of sheer recklessness worried her. What if he was like his father?
That left a bad taste in her mouth.
Adolescence barreled down on Finn, heedless and full of dangerous potential.
She glanced at his profile and saw his eyes widen.
“Mom, look,” he shouted.
Farther down the road at the entrance to the Caldwell ranch, a car sent plumes of smoke into the air. Rem’s place!
Sara pushed the accelerator to the floor and the car surged forward.
“Wow, looks bad, Mom. Unbelievable! Check out all that smoke.”
“Get my cell phone and dial 9-1-1. Tell them we need the fire department.”
As she drew closer, she noticed two people in the road, one lying down.
“Tell them we need an ambulance, too.”
The other person was running toward the burning car. Rem! What was he doing? Going in? Was he nuts?
She came to a gravel-spewing stop across from the accident, just shy of a large buck on the shoulder.
“Stay here,” she ordered Finn, and jumped out of the car.
The first thing that struck her was the noise of the deer lowing pitifully, in pain, of the woman groaning, also in pain, and of the fire crackling, eating up the car that Rem was about to jump into.
She grabbed her first aid kit from the trunk and yelled, “Rem, what are you doing? Don’t.”
REM’S BODY HAD GONE COLD. Geez, there was a kid trapped in that inferno.
The driver’s door stood ajar and he wrenched it open all the way.
Weirdly, he thought he heard Sara Franck’s voice.
The child screamed again.
“Melody!” the woman lying in the road screamed, lucid and hysterical now.
Afraid she would run to the car, Rem whipped around to tell her to stay put.
Sara knelt beside the woman, restraining her. Where had she come from?
“Rem,” she called, “don’t be stupid! Don’t go in there.”
“Can’t wait.” He coughed on smoke. “She’ll die.”
Turning back to the smoke swathed car, he cried, “Where are you?” even while he leaned toward the burning passenger seat.
“Here.” The terrified young voice came from the backseat. Thank God. He slammed the driver’s seat forward into the steering wheel and climbed into the car, the heat intense.
The scent of burning skin and hair choked him. The fumes from melting fabric and metal stung his eyes. The child cried out again, her screams terrible.
Rem barely made out a small form huddled beside the window in the only corner of the car not engulfed in flames. She beat her fist against the glass.
Reaching blindly, he grasped a leg.
“Gotcha!” Rem pulled hard. A small body crashed into his chest sending him backward against the door.
With a jerk, he dragged her out with him. He batted at her burning hair with his bare hands, then checked her over. Fire had touched only her hair.
He blinked hard. His eyes watered from the smoke.
As he carried her away from the burning vehicle, putting distance between them in case it blew up, Rem stared into her wide eyes. “You were lucky you were in the only corner of the car that wasn’t burning.”
“Was on…other side,” she gasped.
Hacking coughs wracked her thin body.
“When I woke up, there was fire everywhere. I undid my seat belt and moved over.” She lifted her shaking hands to show him her burnt palms.
“I couldn’t get Mom’s seat out of the way.” Her lower lip trembled. “I couldn’t get out.”
“Shh. You’re safe now,” Rem crooned, the same way he would to a balky horse. He wanted to rest his head on hers to soothe her, but he feared hurting her damaged scalp. Or maybe he wanted to soothe himself.
“Who are you? Where’s my mom?” She should be crying more, he thought. Her scalp had to hurt like crazy. She was probably going into shock.
“I’m Rem. Your mom’s okay. She got out of the car.” No sense mentioning her mother had been injured. Or that she’d stumbled out of the car on her own, likely forgetting about her daughter because of shock and a head injury.
Rem laid the girl on the grass, but hesitated to let her go. Maybe if he held on tightly enough, he could keep her safe.
The child looked older than her tiny body would indicate—about eight or nine, at a guess.
This close he could smell her burned skin and it gripped him with the talons of a familiar helplessness.
Sara was a nurse. She’d know what to do for the child. He searched for her.
“Sara?” She still knelt beside the injured woman wrapping her arm against her chest with