“I’m here. I’m fine, but there’s been an accident. I have to call 911.” Without waiting to hear her aunt’s response, she ended the call and hit the emergency button. She stepped out of her car and jogged along the shoulder of the road, her heels clicking across the asphalt. Breath held tight, she approached the flipped vehicle. When she heard crying, relief eased her muscles a small bit, proof of life.
She knelt to look in the cab, her heart pounding at the thought of what she might see. A young girl hung upside down by her seat belt in the backseat.
A sob muffled her words. “Rachel! Rachel!”
Her weeping broke Lorrie’s heart. “Sweetheart, my name’s Lorrie Ann. I called the ambulance.”
The voice on the line demanded her attention, asking for details. “There has been a car accident at Second Crossing. Oh, I’m Lorrie Ann Ortega. There’s a girl about five or six in the backseat. She is awake and suspended by her seat belt.”
Lorrie scanned the cab, noticing two more girls up front. Broken glass covered the roof, but the roll bars had done their job and created a pocket for them.
The passenger in the front seat appeared to be around ten or twelve. “There are two girls in the front, both strapped in their seats. The driver has blood on her face. She looks unconscious.” A deep sigh of relief escaped. “But breathing.”
The young girl in front started twisting against her shoulder strap. “Celeste? Celeste, where are you?” A frantic tone edged her voice.
“Rachel! I’m...I’m scared.” The smaller one in the backseat reached forward.
“Don’t be scared. Stop crying! It won’t help.” Her voice sounded more mature than her age.
Lorrie Ann couldn’t help being impressed. “Girls, help is on the way. Are you sisters?” Their matching ponytails bobbed as they nodded their heads. “It’s Rachel and Celeste, right?”
“Yes.” The older girl in the front spoke, moving both hands to rub at her face. “Amy’s our babysitter. Oh, Daddy’s going to be so mad.”
“I’m sure your father just wants you safe.”
“Oh! My leg is stuck. I can’t move it.” Rachel sounded calm, though her voice pitched higher at the last word.
Lorrie Ann narrowed her gaze on Rachel’s right leg surrounded by metal. It looked as if a piece of the engine had pushed through.
The driver groaned.
“Amy, Amy, wake up!” Rachel reached across and touched her shoulder.
“What happened?” Amy pushed back her hair. “Oh, no!” She sucked in deep breaths, and her eyes went wide. “Rachel? Celeste? Please, please tell me you’re all right!” She cried out in pain, hugging herself and moaning.
“Easy. Don’t hurt yourself.” Lorrie Ann pressed a hand to the older girl’s shoulder. “I hear the sirens. Help’s almost here. Just hang on, girls, and try to stay still.”
Lorrie Ann turned from the crumbled metal and watched as an ambulance arrived.
A state trooper pulled in from the other direction. He quickly stepped from his car and made his way to the wreckage. Lorrie Ann squinted against the sun to get a better look at him and then hung her head.
He hunched next to her, scanning the inside of the car. “Hang tight, Amy. Girls, we’ll have you out soon.” He turned until she saw her reflection in his aviators. “Lorrie Ann Ortega? What in the world are you doing here?”
She stared into the face of another ghost from her past. Even with the dark shades masking most of his face, she knew who hovered over her.
“Jake Torres, I’m trying to help three scared girls here.”
He nodded. Bracing a hand on the door as he peered back inside, he spoke again, his voice softened. “We’re here to help you girls. So breathe and stay calm.”
He glanced back at Lorrie Ann over his shoulder. “Girl, you sure know how to make an entrance back to town.”
* * *
Making his way to the post office, John could not stop the urge to whistle a sweet tune as he waved to the cars slowly passing by. The plans for his day had fallen apart when Dub called, needing help with a renegade horse.
He smiled, remembering his frustration when the church secretary, JoAnn, called right after with a problem at the construction site. Both unscheduled events put Maggie’s niece right in his path.
It had been a long time since he allowed himself to enjoy the company of a female. He should have fully introduced himself, but he suspected the easy camaraderie would have ended. As soon as someone found out he was a pastor, they started acting differently around him. Ordinarily the attitude didn’t bother him, but today, he just wanted to be a normal man getting to know another person. Another person who happened to be a woman.
That thought gave him pause. He tilted his face toward the sky, trying to recall how long it had been. Time had a way of slipping past unnoticed.
The tiny, dark-haired female had boldly gotten his attention. He grinned. Knee-high boots were not his style, but something about her had radiated past her appearance. He shook his head and started walking again. He needed to get back to the task at hand. Guilt roared at him. He had no right to flirt with anyone.
With a quick flip of his wrist, he checked the time. In order to make his lunch date, he had to get in and out of the post office undetected by any well-meaning parishioners.
With a slow pull on the glass door to ensure the bells remained silent, John slipped into the small post office and held his breath. With a swift glance to his left, he found the room clear.
Today he would not break his promise to the girls. He would be home by noon. A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth as he thought of all the whispering and giggling involved in planning a surprise picnic for him. He never seemed to spend enough time with them.
Small-town life had become much more complicated than he’d imagined when he’d accepted the job as senior pastor four years ago.
He pulled the envelopes from the square compartment and gently closed the long brass door to box 1, feeling like a CIA spy behind enemy lines...almost free.
“Oh, Pastor John, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you into the post office so early?”
Caught. For a split second, his shoulders sagged, and he closed his eyes.
“Pastor John? Is everything okay? I have the cranberry-oatmeal cookies you love so much.” Postmistress for the past thirty years, Emily Martin spoke around her daily chicken-salad sandwich. “They’re in the back.”
Relaxing tight muscles, John put on his welcoming smile and glanced down at the tiny woman who made him feel taller than his six-foot frame.
“No, thanks. The girls are waiting for me.” He glanced at his escape route. Fondness for the sweet lady won over. “How are you today, Miss Emily?”
“Oh, those babies—that oldest looks just like her momma, poor thing. Well, my sister is pestering me again about Momma’s house and my knee is bothering me, which I hope means we’ll be getting some rain—the ground’s so dry—but other than that, I can’t complain.” She swallowed her last bite. “It’s all in God’s hands, right, Pastor John?”
“Yes, it is.” John glanced behind Emily again, to the door only five feet away. So close yet so far. “Well, I’ve got to be going. You have a nice day.”
Behind his smile, John gritted his back teeth. Utter defeat consumed