As Traci’s face started to crumple, Chelsea clasped the young woman’s hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay here every second and talk to her, sing to her, just as if I were her mother. She won’t be alone. I swear it. Will you let me do this favor for you, Traci? I want to do it.”
Max gritted his teeth. Why do you want to do this, Chelsea Markum?
The other woman bit her lip, then nodded.
Chelsea embraced her. “Quick! Go with Max.”
“Betsy? It’s Mommy!” Traci cried. “Chelsea’s going to stay with you for a little while, but I’ll be right next door, honey. I love you, baby!”
When the child made a whimpering noise, Max felt exquisite relief. The sirens were getting louder. He pulled Chelsea aside.
“You and I are going to have to tell the same story. When you’re questioned, just say that we were both leaving the Lord ranch when you discovered you were having car problems. I offered to give you a lift to a garage, and en route to Reiser we came across Traci.”
“That sounds perfect. But what shall I call the baby? I can’t use her real name without giving everything away.”
“I’m not worried,” he muttered. “The Chelsea Markum I know has always landed on her feet.” Turning to Traci, he held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s make a run for it while we can.”
CHAPTER THREE
IF MAX hadn’t referred to Chelsea as the black widow of television earlier, she might have taken those words as a backhanded compliment.
Forcing herself not to watch his hard-muscled frame as he pulled Traci toward the house, she reached for the cup of coffee he’d brought her. The liquid had cooled enough to drink the contents in a few swallows.
By the time the siren had stopped and she could hear doors opening and closing behind her, she’d arranged the tarp around her head and shoulders to provide a little more warmth. With night coming on, she could tell the temperature had already dropped a degree or two.
She hated to think of Traci’s little girl down there in the dark. She was only fourteen months old. What if she’d broken an arm or leg in the fall? Maybe she was bleeding. Chelsea felt sick in the pit of her stomach.
When footsteps sounded, she whirled. Four uniformed policemen and a similar number of firefighters in full gear approached her at a vigorous pace.
“Thank goodness you’ve arrived! Over two hours ago a toddler fell down in the excavation right below me. She’s trapped in a pipe. You’ve got to get her out!”
Chelsea didn’t recognize any of the men staring at her, but the malignant glance the police captain flashed her sent a message that needed no translation.
“Ms. Markum. How is it you arrived here first? Where’s Max Jamison? The dispatcher told us he called it in.”
Don’t let this man’s rudeness get to you, Chelsea.
She pulled the edges of the tarp a little tighter, as if to cloak herself with an invisible shield. “He’s next door with the mother and needs two policemen over there right away. I was asked to wait here so I could show you where to start looking for her daughter.
“Mr. Jamison and I were both leaving the Lord ranch when my car wouldn’t start. He offered to give me a lift into Reiser for help. When we turned down this road, the mother ran out to us. Look, Captain, he’s already been down there and says everything’s ready to collapse. If the little girl has crawled somewhere else, she could be killed by falling debris!”
There was no change of expression. “What’s the tot’s name?”
Some men possessed a surly manner by nature. Chelsea didn’t know if the captain fell in that category or if she was the one who brought out this boorish behavior in him.
“I don’t know. The mother was so hysterical, he couldn’t coax more than a sentence or two out of her.”
“Did he actually see the child?”
“No.” Chelsea struggled to keep her voice level. “But when he climbed down in there, he heard her through the pipe. She cries on and off.”
Petrified because Betsy hadn’t made any sounds for the last couple of minutes, Chelsea moved closer to the edge. “Sweetheart? It’s Chelsea and Mommy! We love you! Do you want me to sing another song? Would you like that? Sweetheart?” she cried louder.
While she listened for a response from the child, she heard the captain give orders to start the rescue operation. Relieved that two of the officers were told to head for the house, she concentrated on maintaining a connection with Betsy.
“Can you say mama? Come on, honey! Say mama for me so the nice men will know where to find you!”
By now the firefighters had been to their truck for equipment. A couple of them had climbed inside the framework with heavy-duty flashlights. Their progress must have disturbed some kind of roost because several free-tailed bats flew out, startling her.
Chelsea had forgotten how prevalent they were in this area. Though the creatures played a role in insect control, she couldn’t abide them, and prayed there weren’t any near Betsy.
“Sweetheart? Come on and talk to Chelsea! Come on! I know you can do it! Say mama! Mama!”
In a minute she heard whimpering, then another round of infant tears, which were enough to break her heart all over again.
The last firefighter to descend saluted Chelsea before he followed his partner into what at this point was a black hole.
Swallowing hard, she listened as the men talked baby talk to Betsy. Their voices sounded kind and loving. No doubt some, if not all of them, were married with families.
Her eyes smarted when she thought how brave they were to risk their lives for someone else’s little girl. Any one of them could easily be at home with a nice, safe day job.
In the background she could hear the captain on the patrol car radio. He was too far away for her to make out actual conversation. The other officer was busy setting up road flares near the vehicles and fire truck.
It wouldn’t be long before every radio and television reporter would be out here, seizing on any angle for a story that would boost their ratings. Without help, Traci and her child couldn’t hope to withstand the media.
For the first time since Chelsea had come to Austin to take the job at Tattle Today, she was seeing this situation from the victim’s perspective. She wasn’t sure she liked what she saw.
COME ON, Michael. Pick up.
On the sixth ring Max was ready to click off when he heard his friend’s voice answer with a rather terse hello.
“Michael?”
“At last! Where are you, Max? I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“My cell phone died on me. I didn’t have a moment to call you until just now. How’s Garrett?” Michael’s brother, Garrett, had been shot the previous night at the remote cabin on his ranch where Vince Eckart had tried to kill his ex-wife, Camille.
“I just talked to him on the phone. He feels like the devil, but he’s going to be okay. Thank God the bullet got him in the shoulder instead of the heart. It’s because of me he was hurt at all. I should never have let him leave the cabin. He’s a rancher, not a former cop.”
Max inhaled sharply. “Don’t do that to yourself, Michael. Everyone’s lives were at stake last night. Any one of us could have taken a bullet. No one is to blame. Do you hear me? Let’s just be glad Eckart died before he could kill anyone else.”
“You’re right. It could have been worse.”
“It could have turned into a bloodbath,