5

Bo skidded to a halt behind a trio of girls huddled near the pond. The Marshall girls, by the looks of them. All blonde, wearing matching red coats. All hunkered at the edge of the bank. The oldest was down on her knees, reaching toward the pond, the other two on either side of her.

“Come on, Naomi! Grab hold,” Millicent cried before turning to her big sister. “Please, Margaret, you gotta pull her up. You gotta!”

Naomi? Bo’s heart stuttered. Ruth’s Naomi? Was she in the water? God help her!

Bo surged forward. “What happened?”

The girls startled at the boom of his voice. Millie took one look at him and started bawling. Her sister, Madeline, the one closest to him, just stared wide-eyed. They would be no help. Bo steered the gaping one aside and dropped to his knees beside Margaret, the eldest. Looking down toward the water, he saw a familiar pair of doe-brown eyes peering up at him in panic instead of their customary cheer.

“M-M-Mr. Azlin. Help m-m-me.”

Bo’s stomach sank. Naomi. She stood chest-deep in frigid water, mud streaking her arms and face as she clung with one hand to a three-foot stick the oldest Marshall girl had lowered.

“She fell in,” Margaret said, “and the bank is too steep for her to climb out. I tried to reach her with this branch, but her feet are stuck in the mud, and her wet clothes make her too heavy for me to pull out.”

Bo turned and pointed at the wide-eyed moppet who wasn’t bawling. “You. Go to the café and fetch Mrs. Fulbright. Now.”

Madeline launched to her feet and sprinted toward town.

He turned back to Naomi, the girl who’d warmed his heart the last few weeks with her smiles and playful antics. “I’ll get you out,” he vowed. “Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m n-n-not,” she insisted between chattering teeth.

She might not be afraid, but he was. Terrified. Her eyelids drooped. She seemed to be having a hard time keeping them open. How long had she been in the water?

Bo rolled onto his stomach, dead prairie grass crunching and jabbing at his belly as he stretched his good arm down to Naomi. She released the branch and grabbed for his hand. Their fingers touched, but the distance was too great for him to get a good grip. Her arms splashed back down into the water, then immediately clawed at the muddy bank as she lost her balance.

“I c-can’t reach!” Her gaze met his, pleading with him to save her.

Never had he imagined such capacity for protectiveness lurked inside his callused heart. Yet in that moment, it sprang forth like a lion ready to do battle with any foe that threatened his cub. “I’m coming in.”

She nodded and seemed to calm at his words. A brave little thing for only seven years old. Most girls her age would be sobbing or screaming.

After yanking his shoes from his feet and shucking his coat, Bo used his good arm to balance against the pond’s bank and dropped over the side into the water beside Naomi. Cold slammed into him as the water covered his belly. He sucked in a breath. Lord, have mercy.

Bo bent down, wrapped his left arm around Naomi’s waist, and heaved her upward. The mud, however, did not want to relinquish its prize. Naomi groaned. Bo wiggled closer and pressed his stockinged feet as close to the girl’s boots as possible, shifting around her heel until the mud took on his larger feet and loosened around her smaller ones.

With a prayer for strength, he hefted again, and this time her boots pulled free. She twisted into him, latching her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. She laid her face against his chest and clung to him like a barnacle to a ship’s hull.

Bo’s heart swelled with something oddly paternal. Her small arms felt good around his neck. Her cheek pressed against his shirtfront in complete faith, as if she had no doubt that he would rescue her.

Unfortunately, childlike faith wouldn’t get them out of this pond. Not together, anyhow. With only one good arm, there was no way he could safely climb out of this mire carrying a passenger. His spirit was more than willing, but his flesh was frustratingly weak. Never had he hated his injury more than at this moment.

The bank was more like a cliff than a slope at this end, and stood nearly the height of his head. Getting himself out was going to be challenge enough. He’d have to slog down to a shallower exit point. He could take Naomi with him, but the faster he got her out of the water, the better. Already her hold on him was loosening, her strength waning.

He glanced up at Margaret. The sensible girl had regained her feet and stood on the bank, awaiting instructions. Her sister, Millicent, watched and hiccupped fading sobs from behind Margaret’s skirt.

“I’m going to hand her up to you,” he said. “Can you manage?”

Margaret nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Bo turned his face toward the little girl curled against his chest. “Naomi?” He nudged her head with his chin.

“Uh-huh?” She sounded only half awake. He jostled her a bit with his arm, his pulse thumping in his veins. He needed to get her out of here and warmed up as quickly as possible.

“Naomi.” He sharpened his voice, demanding her attention. “Listen to me.”

She roused a bit and pulled her head back to look him fully in the face.

“I’m going to push you up to my shoulder, but I need you to help me. When I lift you, grab my head and scoot onto my shoulder. Got it?”

Her eyes focused. “Got it.”

“One . . . two . . . three!” Clasping a fistful of her coat near her waist, he grunted and lifted her as high as he could.

Her hands tore free from his neck and grabbed at his head, pulling his hair. Water from her soaked clothing ran down his front. The mud shifted beneath his feet. He compensated, doing all he could to keep his stance secure while Naomi sought purchase. Finally, she found her way onto his shoulder and wrapped her right arm around his skull like a turban.

He kept his hand at her waist to ensure her safety, then called up to Margaret. “Ready?”

The girl moved her younger sister away from her, then nodded.

Bo craned his neck to peer up at Naomi. “I need you to let go of me and reach for Margaret.”

“But w-w-what if I f-fall?” Her grip tightened on his head as her small body shivered uncontrollably.

“I won’t let you fall. I promise.” Even if he had to toss her onto the bank, he’d make sure she didn’t go back into the water.

Margaret held her arms out, shortening the distance. “You can do it, Naomi. You’re the bravest girl I know.”

“I am?”

Bless that Marshall girl’s hide. Years of getting younger sisters to do her bidding was paying dividends now. Naomi’s grip eased. Her left hand let go of his shirt to reach tentatively toward the fifteen-year-old girl on the bank.

Margaret bent down and clasped Naomi’s hand. “Give me your other arm too,” Margaret urged.

Bo twisted slightly, aiming his left side closer to the shore as silent encouragement. As Naomi reached, Bo moved his hand from her waist to her seat to give her a boost. Margaret latched on with both arms and dragged Naomi up the side of the bank and onto dry ground.

The instant she was out of danger, Bo turned and charged through the water toward the oak tree about twenty yards away. Its roots would offer hand- and footholds. He managed to scramble out with only a few slips and ungainly lurches along the way, and hurried back to the girls.

Running footsteps and a glimpse of a familiar dark blue skirt with a great deal more exposed petticoat than usual informed Bo of Ruth’s arrival, but he didn’t allow that to sway him from his purpose. He scooped Naomi into his good arm and marched for home.

The girl needed to get warm, and he owned the fastest means of doing so.

“Naomi!” Ruth rushed to his side and reached for her daughter. “Mama’s here, sweetie.” She stroked the back of the girl’s head. Bo marched on.

Naomi lifted her head slightly, her movements alarmingly sluggish. “I fell in the pond, Mama, and c-couldn’t get out.” Tears laced her words, the trauma finally catching up with her. “Mr. Azlin s-saved me.”

Ruth jogged slightly to keep up with Bo’s lengthy stride. “Yes, I saw him. He’s quite the hero, isn’t he?” Her voice carried a false lightness, hiding her own worry from the child she sought to comfort.

“Mm-hmm.” Naomi’s head lolled back down to Bo’s chest as if she were too weary to hold it aloft.

“Naomi?” Fear cracked into Ruth’s tone. She grabbed at Bo’s arm. “Give her to me.”

Bo clenched his jaw. “No.” The girl would be heavy for her mother, her sodden clothing adding to her weight. They’d make better time if he carried her.

He kept moving, sticks and stones stabbing the tender bottoms of his feet, since he hadn’t taken the time to put his boots back on. A gust of wind blew down from the north, sending a shiver over his wet skin. He twisted slightly to shelter Naomi from the chill, but that same movement pulled her away from Ruth.

He turned to her, a look of apology in his eyes. “She’s chilled to the bone and is having a hard time staying conscious. We need to get her warm, and the fastest way to do that is at my house.”

Margaret ran up behind them and handed something to Ruth. Bo didn’t see what it was, nor did he care. Not when Naomi’s little arms were loosening about him again.

He jostled her. “Stay awake, kitten. You hear me?”

“Kitty?” she mumbled, lifting her head a little, thank God.

A loud meow echoed directly behind Bo. That infernal cat was back, but at least it wasn’t tangling itself in Bo’s feet. And if the creature managed to keep the girl alert, he just might find himself beholden to the mangy thing.

At least Ruth had ceased trying to pull her daughter from his arms. Not that he blamed her. He felt like an ogre, keeping her child from her, even if it was the most expedient course. If Naomi was his and out of reach, he’d likely be going mad about now.

An acorn shell stabbed his left arch. Bo winced but didn’t slow. His house was in sight. The two-story colonial-style home was small compared to his parents’ Chicago estate, but its stalwart brick walls and sturdy columns promised stability and protection from the elements, exactly what Naomi needed.

He hurried up the path only to halt as he reached the front steps. He couldn’t fetch his key while holding the girl. He turned to Ruth, surprised to find her carrying his coat and boots.

“Drop those,” he ordered impatiently with a glance down to the porch, “and take her.”

Ruth did as bid, though she took an extra second or two to hang his coat neatly over the railing before opening her arms to her daughter. “Come here, sweetie,” she crooned as Bo assisted with the transfer.

Her gaze met his and nearly stopped his heart. Fear. Gratitude. Determination. Love. They all bombarded him. Her walls had been demolished by her concern for her daughter, leaving nothing to stem the flow of raw emotion streaming through her. But it was the trust and hope shining above the rest that stole his breath, because those were for him.

He shoved his hand into his trouser pocket, the wet fabric combating his efforts. His fingers closed around the brass key, and he pulled, turning his pocket inside out in the process. A few coins pinged onto the ground. He ignored them, fitting the key into the lock. It clicked, and he swung the door inward.

“Follow me to the bathing chamber.” Usually a gentleman would insist on the lady entering first, but Ruth didn’t know where to go, and time was critical.

The accursed cat dashed inside too and ran circles around Bo’s feet. “Shoo! Little miscreant.”

But as Ruth crossed the threshold, Naomi beckoned to the infuriating creature. “Come, kitty.”

Bo didn’t have the heart to argue, though he did glare a warning at the beast not to get in his way. Thankfully, the tabby kept to the walls as Bo strode down the hallway to the bathing chamber. He and that cat might not like each other, but one thing was clear. They both adored the little girl shivering in her mama’s arms.