And then a familiar, high-pitched scream.
Logan. The voice sounded like Logan.
Flint was running before the sound died out, running toward the other side of the barn. As he came around the corner, horror struck him.
One of the open-air tractors was rolling down a slope with Logan at the wheel.
Dimly aware of Cowboy loping beside him, barking, Flint ran faster, his eyes on the drama still half a football field’s distance away from him. Panic hammered at his chest.
Logan’s mouth was open, and he was screaming. He held on to the wheel, but clearly more to keep from being thrown out of the tractor than because he could control its direction. And now Flint realized that Robby Gonzalez ran beside him, yelling something about the brake.
Could Logan even reach the brake? Flint forced his arms and legs to pump faster, at the same time trying to calculate what had happened. Logan must have knocked the tractor out of gear. And the vehicle was headed toward a metal gate. If the tractor hit it, Logan would go flying. Might be badly hurt, even—
Robby took a flying leap, trying to grab on and climb into the driver’s seat with Logan, but his foot slipped, and he fell backward with a yell. Cowboy raced ahead and reached Robby’s side.
“Get help!” Flint roared at Ben Turner as he passed the boy, his heart and lungs burning, running faster than he’d ever run in his life.
The tractor was picking up speed, and if Logan tried to jump...
“Stay there, Logan!” he yelled, jumping over sagebrush and dodging clumps of grass. “Just stay! I’m coming!”
Behind him he heard shouting, a commotion, but his focus remained on one thing: Logan. Flint was gaining on the tractor now. He couldn’t let it hit that gate.
All thought left him, and he was just a body, running as he’d run in wartime, even faster, because it wasn’t just any life at stake, it was his son’s.
A prayer sprang from deep inside him: Help us, Lord!
Somehow, he found his timing and took a flying leap into the tractor. He grabbed Logan in one arm and the steering wheel in the other, slid his feet into place and hit the brake.
The tractor jolted to a halt, jerking both of them hard.
And then everything was still.
Gasping for air, his heart pounding like a posthole digger, Flint pulled Logan onto his lap. Reached down and put the tractor back in gear. Set the brake. And then brushed Logan’s hair back and studied him, checking for damage.
Logan seemed to catch his breath again then, and he started to cry. A normal, scared-kid cry. Not an “I might get killed” cry.
Praise the Lord.
Blessed. Just for this one moment, he and Logan had been blessed.
“I was scared, Daddy!”
Flint held his son in his arms and sent up a prayer of thanks. His son was safe. He had a second chance.
His heart still pounded so hard it felt like his chest would explode. Delayed reaction nerves had his hands shaking.
He pulled Logan close against his chest. “Never scare me like that again, buddy.”
Logan rubbed his face on Flint’s shirt. “I’m sorry.”
Ben and several of the other boys from the ranch arrived at the tractor, with Marnie and Lana Alvarez close behind them.
“What happened?” Lana asked. “Is Logan okay?”
“He’s fine.” Flint didn’t even have it in him to feel ashamed that the teacher had seen his son in danger. He was still too shaken, too thankful that Logan was alive.
But not too shaken to check for other casualties. “Is Robby all right?” he thought to ask. “He did his best to try to help. Took quite a fall.”
“I’m fine,” the boy said, stepping out from the little crowd. “Sorry I couldn’t stop the tractor.”
“Mr. Rawlings flew!” said one of the other boys.
“Come on,” Marnie said, taking charge. “Let’s get Logan inside. I’ve got a plate of cookies with his name on it. Homemade by me,” she added, with a dark look in Avery Culpepper’s direction.
Flint realized then that Avery hadn’t joined the crowd around them. She was disappearing over the hill, in the direction of the parking lot. Weird.
So they all walked back toward the ranch house together. For the teenage boys, the situation had evolved into something cool, and they traded stories about what they’d seen, how Robby had tried to jump on the tractor, how Ben had run race-pace to get help.
Marnie was still muttering about Avery. “I wouldn’t doubt if that woman had something to do with this,” she said.
Flint was holding Logan, focusing on him, but he had to correct that unfair accusation. “She wasn’t anywhere near, Marnie. I’m pretty sure Logan brought this on himself, playing with the gears on the tractor.” He eyeballed his son. “Right?’
“She didn’t touch the tractor...”
“What?” Flint snapped to attention.
“Miss Culpepper didn’t touch it,” Logan repeated. “She just told me if I climbed up she’d take my picture.”
“I knew it!” Marnie’s hand went to her hip. “I’m going to have a word with that girl.”
“Get in line,” Flint said.
Lana put a hand on both of their arms. “I’m sure she didn’t mean for all of that to happen. And we need to keep the focus on what’s most important.” She nodded toward Logan.
“Am I in trouble?” Logan asked, sniffling.
How did you discipline a kid when his whole life had just flashed before your eyes? Flint schooled his features into firmness. “One thing’s for sure, tractors are going to be off-limits for a long time.”
Logan just buried his head in Flint’s shoulder.
As they all started walking again, Flint felt that delicate hand on his arm once more.
“You doing okay?” Lana Alvarez asked.
He shook his head. “I just got a few more gray hairs. I should’ve been watching him better.”
“Maybe so,” Marnie said. “But you can’t, not with all the work you have at the ranch. So I think we can all agree—you need a babysitter for Logan.” She stepped in front of Lana and Flint, causing them both to stop. “And the right person to do it is here. Miss Lana Alvarez.”
“Oh, Flint doesn’t want—”
“You’ve got time after school. And a Christmas vacation coming up.” Marnie crossed her arms, looking determined. “Logan already loves you. You could help to keep him safe and happy.”
Flint’s desire to keep Lana at a distance tried to raise its head, but his worry about his son, his gratitude about Logan’s safety, and the sheer terror he’d just been through, put his own concerns into perspective.
Logan took priority. And if Lana would agree to be Logan’s nanny on a temporary basis, that would be best for Logan.
And Flint would tolerate her nearness. Somehow.
“Can she, Daddy?” Logan asked, his face eager.
He turned to Lana, who looked like she was facing a firing squad. “Can you?” he asked her.
“Please, Miss Alvarez?” Logan chimed in.
Lana drew in a breath and studied them both, and Flint could almost see the wheels turning in her brain.