CHAPTER ONE

AMBER ROWE WOKE up to the sound of a child crying and pushed herself to a seated position on the couch. “Hannah?”

Heart pounding, she looked around the living room of her little beach cottage and then checked her phone. Just 11:15 p.m.

Outside, a dog barked, and something, maybe a cat, yowled over the rattling November wind. Amber shoved her fingers through her hair, reflexively pressed at the scars on her abdomen and sucked in a deep breath, let it out. She’d been sleeping so heavily, dreaming.

It hadn’t been her daughter crying. Hannah wasn’t a small child anymore, but a thriving college freshman two states away.

She heard the dog bark again, closer, and the same howling sound. It couldn’t be a child, could it? Had to be a cat, or… She cocked her head, listening.

Was that a cat or a child?

Shoving her blanket and travel books aside, she crossed the living room, flipped on the porch light and opened the door. “Hello?”

Silence for a moment, and then one deep, baying bark, shockingly close, made her jump. She peered into the darkness just beyond the porch light’s circle and saw a big, dark dog.

Then the wail of a child pierced her heart, and she rushed onto the porch. She made out a small form hugging the dog’s neck.

“Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?” She kept her voice warm and soft, knelt to make herself smaller and less frightening. “Do you want to come in?” She held out a hand, too concerned about the child to be afraid of the large dog.

The child—a little boy in superhero pajamas—buried his face in the dog’s neck and continued sobbing, flinching as a gust of cold wind ruffled his hair.

This wouldn’t do. “I have hot chocolate,” she said, leaning forward enough to touch the child’s arm.

The dog growled.

She pulled her hand back. “Don’t worry, big boy, I have a biscuit for you, too.” She kept a canister of them for Ziggy, her sister’s goofy goldendoodle, and King, her brother-in-law’s German shepherd.

“His name’s Sarge,” the boy mumbled, turning his head sideways on the dog’s neck to look at her.

That rang a bell, but she couldn’t stop to think about why. “Come inside and we’ll find your parents.” She held the door open and gestured, and the boy came in slowly, the dog beside him. Both of them had muddy feet. The boy, who looked to be four or five, politely wiped his Spider-Man slippers on the mat before following her across the room.

They reached the kitchen and she was glad to note that his sobs were slowing down. “You have a seat and I’ll start some hot chocolate. And we’ll get Sarge a biscuit.” She filled a cup with water and stuck it in the microwave, then shook her tin of dog treats.

Sarge, who appeared to be a bloodhound, lifted his head and sniffed the air, but didn’t leave the boy’s side.

She extracted a large dog biscuit and held it out to the dog, and he took it delicately despite the strings of drool hanging from his saggy jowls. He flopped down on the floor and started to crunch. Apparently, he’d decided she wasn’t a danger to his charge.

“I’m Miss Amber,” she said, smiling at the child. “What’s your name?”

“Davey.” He studied her with big teary eyes. “I’m cold.”

“Of course you are.” She stepped into the living room, grabbed an afghan off the couch and wrapped it around his shoulders. Then she fumbled in the cupboard and found instant hot chocolate and some stale marshmallows, and pulled almond milk from the fridge. The microwave dinged and she fixed a steaming, chocolaty mug for the boy, cooling it down with the milk.

She sat down catty-corner from him, the dog between them, and slid the mug close. She’d made it too full—it had been a while since she’d had a little one—but he knew to lean forward and slurp rather than picking the mug up. He’d stopped crying, though his face was still wet with tears.

“Where are Mom and Dad?” she asked.

He pointed to the sky.

Oh, no. “In heaven?”

“Mommy is,” he said, and slurped again.

“Where’s Daddy?”

His lower lip trembled. “Daddy was scary.”

Her hands tightened into fists. “Did Daddy hurt you?”

He shook his head vigorously.

Amber blew out a breath and tried to think. Even if the child’s father hadn’t hurt him, a father being scary was cause for concern. And the boy was obviously lost. Calling 911 made the most sense, unless a junior officer who liked to use lights and sirens responded, waking the neighborhood and scaring the child all over again. She pulled her phone from her back pocket, scrolled and tapped her brother-in-law’s name.

He answered immediately, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Amber? You okay?”

“I’m fine, but I have a…situation.” She explained what had happened, keeping her voice calm and quiet, aware that the little boy was listening.

“I’ll be over,” he said, and ended the call.

Suddenly, footsteps pounded up her front steps. “Davey! Davey, are you in there?” came a man’s frantic yell.

“Daddy!” Davey ran to the door and Amber hastened after him. Scary Daddy wasn’t coming in here without an explanation.

Davey tried to open the door, but she put a hand on his shoulder. “Step over there a minute,” she ordered firmly, and opened the door a crack.

There was a wiry man, barefoot, flannel jacket open over a thermal, dark hair disheveled.

He cleared his throat. “I’m trying to find my son.” He looked past her, scanning the room.

“What makes you think he’s here?” She tried to keep her voice steady.

“Yours is the only light on in the neighborhood. If he went outside, he’d go toward somewhere that was lit up.”

The bloodhound brushed against her leg on its way to the door, tail wagging.

“Daddy!” Davey pushed past her, too, and reached for the storm door handle.

She stilled his hand. “Davey said you were being scary.”

The man let out a big breath, his tense face and shoulders relaxing, and she realized she knew him. She tilted her head to one side. “Are you…” She frowned, trying to remember his name.

“Paul Thompson. You interviewed my wife a while back.”

“That’s it.” The husband of her interview subject had seemed like a nice guy. And she remembered…yeah. She knew way too much about his personal life, but right now, that wasn’t relevant. “Come on in.” She held open the door.

He walked in and swept his son up into his arms. “Davey, Davey, Davey. You know you’re not allowed to go outside after dark.” He rested his cheek on the top of the boy’s head. “You scared your old dad.”

“Sorry, Daddy.” The boy looked totally relaxed in Paul’s arms.

“Come on into the kitchen,” she said, leading the way. Somehow, she didn’t want little Davey to go off into the darkness with the man who’d been scary, even if Paul seemed like a perfectly decent guy. She gestured them both to the table. “Davey was having some hot chocolate. Want some?”

“Uh, sure.” His eyes skimmed over her and then he quickly looked away, leaning down to scratch the bloodhound behind his big, droopy ears.

At that point, Amber realized she was wearing a skimpy crop top and leggings. Nothing to hide her bony, boyish form. She started another cup of hot chocolate and then ran out to the coat closet, grabbed a hoodie and pulled it on. As she walked back into the kitchen, she heard father and son murmuring together.

“You were yelling loud,” Davey said. “You said, ‘Get down, get down, get help!’”

“I did?” Paul pressed his lips together.

“I’m sorry I watched a shooting show. But you were ’sleep on the couch and it came on and I—I just wanted to see the soldiers.” Davey started to cry again.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Paul said, grabbing a napkin and using it to wipe Davey’s tears, cuddling him close. “I wasn’t mad. I was having a bad dream.”

“Some dream,” Amber commented as she pulled boiling water out of the microwave and stirred hot chocolate mix into it. No marshmallows for Dad; she’d put them all into Davey’s cup.

She was pretty sure Paul was telling the truth. There was no guile in the rugged face, and his body language was open. He was obviously able to be affectionate with his son, who seemed to adore him. There was no way to fake that.

Davey picked up his half-empty mug and guzzled hot chocolate.

Amber met Paul’s eyes over the boy’s head.

“Thank you for taking him in,” he said. “I panicked when I woke up and he wasn’t there. We just moved in today, and he doesn’t know his way around at all.”

“He had a good escape buddy in Sarge,” she said lightly, smiling at the dog who’d flopped down onto his side. It looked like he’d decided the humans could take over for now.

A car pulled into the driveway beside the house, spewing gravel, and then she heard heavy footsteps, this time coming up the back steps.

Paul leaped to his feet and pushed Davey behind him. In his hand was a gun she hadn’t known he was carrying, and her heart gave a great thump.

“Put the gun down,” she forced out through a dry throat.

Davey knelt on the floor behind Paul, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I don’t like this,” he fretted, rocking back and forth.

Sarge stood, the hair on his back bristling as he watched the door.

“Amber? You okay?” Trey’s voice outside the door sounded loud, concerned. He must have seen her and Paul through the window.

Heart pounding, Amber stepped in front of the door. She was facing Paul and directly in his line of fire, but she was praying he wouldn’t shoot a woman. “Everything’s fine,” she said to the rigid man whose eyes were glued on the door behind her. “It’s my brother-in-law. I called him when Davey came over. He’s a cop,” she clarified when Paul showed no sign of relaxing his fighting stance.

Davey was sobbing quietly.

“Everything’s fine,” she repeated.

“Amber! Open up!” Trey pounded on the door again.

“Just a minute,” she called over her shoulder and then she frowned at Paul. “I’d appreciate it if you’d put your gun away.”

His eyes narrowed. He slid his weapon into a holster inside his jacket but kept his hand on it.

“Why don’t you just sit down,” she said quietly. “You’re scaring your son.” For whatever reason, she didn’t want Trey to come in and find this man an utter basket case, someone who should have his kid taken away from him.

Paul’s head drooped for a minute and pain crossed his face. “Sorry,” he said. He looked back at Davey and it was as if a switch flipped; he knelt and picked the boy up and held him close. “It’s okay, buddy. Everything’s okay.”

Curiosity licked at her. She waited until he’d sat down, Davey on his lap, before opening the door to her very tense, angry brother-in-law.

* * *

THE FEEL OF HIS SON in his lap—safe, warm, alive—helped Paul get his heartbeat back to something resembling normal.

He tried to make his face look normal, too, to stop sweating, but the big guy at the door was a cop and clearly on high alert. He’d almost certainly seen Paul’s weapon, because he was watching Paul with narrowed eyes. So was Amber.

Of course they’re watching you. You acted like a madman.

Just as he’d done on the job, leading him to be here in a little shore town in a program designed to help him heal.

At least Davey was calming down. Paul focused on his son, used a napkin to wipe his tears and held it to his nose. “Blow. Real hard. There you go.” He wiped Davey’s nose. “You’re fine. We’re all fine. Okay?”

Davey looked up at him and nodded, and Paul’s heart seemed to warm and grow. He didn’t deserve the trust in his son’s eyes, but he’d try to live up to it. He stroked Davey’s hair.

“Everything okay here?” the guy asked Amber.

“Yeah. I think so.” She backed away from the door and beckoned the guy to come farther in. Her hand was shaking. “Sorry to call you out so late, but Davey, here, came to visit me, and then his dad showed up a few minutes later.”

“Hey, buddy.” The cop walked slowly in their direction, smiling at Davey. He stopped a good eight feet away and knelt down, hand subtly near his waist where, almost certainly, a weapon was concealed. “My name’s Trey. I’m a police officer, just making sure everything’s okay.”

Davey looked up at Paul, his face solemn, and then back at Trey. “It’s okay. My daddy’s a cop, too.”

Paul blew out a breath and tried to smile at the officer. He shifted slowly, held out a hand. “Paul Thompson. Just moved into the cottage next door, and Davey took a notion to come outside while I was dozing on the couch.”

“Trey Harrison.” The officer stood, stepped closer and shook his hand, looking directly into Paul’s eyes. Then he refocused his attention on Davey. “It’s late to be outside by yourself. You’re, what, five?”

“Four.” Davey held up four fingers. “I have a birthday coming. Then I’ll be five.” He held up five fingers now, to illustrate.

“Wow,” Amber said, moving over to the counter and leaning against it. “Five is big.”

“Sure is,” the cop, Trey, agreed.

Davey nodded, his face solemn. “Daddy said I can have a party.”

Now that the immediate danger was past, shame licked at Paul’s insides. He was a poor excuse for a father, scaring his son like that, but he was all Davey had. And Davey couldn’t take another loss, not after losing his mother two years ago.

Paul’s whole life centered, now, around protecting his son.

“Daddy, you’re squeezing me,” Davey said.

Paul loosened his grip. “Sorry, kiddo. You had me scared.” He let Davey slide to the ground and watched him as he cuddled against Sarge. Thank heavens for his loyal former K-9 dog. How terrifying might Davey’s late-night excursion have been without the big bloodhound for company?

“Sit down, Trey. Want some coffee?” Without waiting for an answer, Amber turned and reached high for a cup, her sweatshirt rising to reveal a thin slice of skin above those skimpy leggings. Women shouldn’t wear them, Wendy had always said; she’d thought them too tight and revealing. Paul had agreed, just to keep the peace. He hadn’t been the best husband in the universe, but he’d known enough not to defend other women’s revealing clothing choices to his wife.

He looked away and realized that Trey had seen him checking her out. He hadn’t been, not really. He’d just noticed what any guy would notice, probably including her brother-in-law. Still, his face heated. He didn’t need to add “creepy old guy” to the list Trey was no doubt making in his head.

Not that he was that much older than Amber. Ten years, at the most.

But ten years could be a lifetime.

Amber put coffee in front of Trey and then looked at Paul. “Want a refill of hot chocolate? Or some coffee?” She glanced down at Davey. “I’m thinking he won’t need a refill.”

Indeed, Davey was resting his head on Sarge now, his eyelids fluttering like he could barely keep them open.

“Thanks, I’ll just finish this off.” He wrapped a hand around the still-warm mug.

Trey pulled out his phone and started texting. Apparently, he’d decided Paul wasn’t an immediate threat. “Letting Erica know everything’s settled down,” he said to Amber. “She’s worried.”

“Take a pic so she knows I’m okay,” Amber said, and struck a pose, her own coffee cup lifted in a toast, pasting on a big smile. “And then I’ll fix you some eggs because I know you’re always hungry. It’s the least I can do, calling you out in the middle of the night.”

That last was directed at Trey, and again, Paul felt shame. “Sorry to get you up, man,” he said.

Trey shrugged. “Goes with the territory.” He snapped a photo and went back to his phone, and Paul once again had to tear his eyes away from Amber. She was a character, all right: hair frizzing out wildly behind a colorful headband, tattoos up one arm and rings on most of her fingers. And those bright flowered tights that fit her so well.

It wasn’t just her clothes or hair, though. He remembered thinking her a little eccentric, in a good way, when she’d come to interview Wendy. Then, she’d worn a dress and some kind of jacket and boots, all professional.

But she’d gotten Wendy laughing more than he’d heard her laugh in months, and when he’d looked in on them, he’d seen that Amber had pulled off her wig of long hair and was showing it to Wendy. Her head had been completely bald, just as Wendy’s was.

Amber had beckoned him in and showed them both pictures of her variously styled wigs in all different colors, suggesting which would best suit Wendy.

Now Amber’s hair was chin length, and he had to assume that it was natural, since she was wearing it home alone in the middle of the night.

She pulled eggs and a loaf of bread out of the refrigerator and turned as if to ask them something. Then her eyes fell on Davey, now asleep. “Want me to put him to bed on the couch for a little bit?”

Paul didn’t want his son out of his sight. “He’s just as comfortable sleeping on Sarge. Do you have a blanket, though?”

She nodded and reached around him for an afghan lying across a kitchen chair. Before Paul could take it from her, she’d knelt and tucked it around Davey, as tenderly as any mother would.

Paul swallowed. Davey needed a mom. Maybe after Paul pulled himself together—if he ever did pull himself together—he’d try to meet someone. Another Wendy, sweet and steady and pure.

Amber rose gracefully to her feet and kind of danced over to the counter, set a frying pan heating with a chunk of butter in it and then broke eggs into a bowl with one hand.

“So, you two know each other?” Trey’s voice was friendly, but Paul could hear the wariness underneath. Trey was still evaluating whether Paul was a risk to his son.

And the man was well within his rights. It was Paul who’d done something wrong. “Not well,” he said. “Amber interviewed my wife for her book.”

Amber beat the eggs to a froth with a big silver utensil, poured them into the pan and pulled a small bundle of something green out of the fridge. She snipped pieces into the eggs, then turned to face them. “Davey said she’s in heaven,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” He flashed back on Wendy, fixing eggs for breakfast. Not like these eggs—just plain ones—but it had been sweet to have someone cooking for him.

“Sorry, man,” Trey said. “How’s Davey handling it?”

“He’s resilient, like all kids.” Paul looked down at his son. “But it’s taken its toll.”

“On both of you, I imagine.” Amber turned back to the counter and sliced thick pieces of brown bread.

What could he say to that? “How’d the book do?” he asked Amber. “What with all that’s been going on, I haven’t had time to look for it.”

“It did great,” Trey chimed in, sounding proud. “In fact, she has an offer to do another one. You going to go for it?”

Amber stirred the eggs and turned off the burner. “Pretty sure I am.”

“This next book project seems kind of risky to me,” Trey said. He reached across the table and started reading the spines of a stack of books. “Nepal, Tibet, the Himalayas…”

“Well, mostly Delhi and Calcutta,” Amber said, smiling, “but I do hope to squeeze in some side trips. They want me to do a book on cancer patients in South Asia,” she clarified to Paul. “How they do with non-Western medicine.”

“Wow. So you’re going to, what, live there?” Paul couldn’t fathom it. He’d wanted to travel, a lifetime ago.

“More like a couple of long trips,” she said. “I’m excited.”

“Cool.” Amber was way far from his comfort zone and his type. The odd little flutter of heat he’d felt was just one of those opposites-attract things.

Amber scooped eggs onto two plates, added slices of bread to each and brought them over to the table.

“You’re not eating?” Paul asked.

“She never eats.” Trey took a big bite. “Even though she’s a great cook.”

“I do so eat,” she said in a play-whining tone that told Paul she and Trey were close. “Just not in the middle of the night.”

Paul dug into the eggs, flecked with spices and rich with cheese, and realized he hadn’t had dinner. Had he fixed something for Davey? Geez, what kind of…yes. He’d cut up a hot dog, stirred it into some mac and cheese. Not exactly healthy, but at least he wasn’t starving his kid.

Amber sat down at the table with them and pulled out a big map. “See, I want to start in Delhi. That’s where my publishers have some contacts. But I’d like to get out into the countryside, too, see how people manage disease when they don’t have access to modern medical centers.” She was running a red-painted fingernail over the map as she talked. “And then I’ll be so close to Nepal, I have to make a side trip there.” Her eyes sparkled.

“I don’t like the idea of you traveling alone,” Trey said. “Neither does Erica.”

“I’ll start out alone,” Amber said, “but I doubt I’ll be alone for long. There’s a big expat community in most of these places, so it’s easy to find friends to travel with.”

Trey shook his head.

Paul kind of admired that loose attitude toward planning a trip, especially to the other side of the world. “I don’t think I could do that,” he admitted.

“Well, you couldn’t. You have responsibilities here.” She nodded down at Davey. “But my nest is empty, and except for helping out with the Healing Heroes cottage, I’m free to pick up and go anytime.” Something flashed across her face and then was gone.

Maybe some of her enthusiasm could be bravado. Maybe she was traveling alone because she didn’t have anyone to go with.

For just a minute, that wide world of adventure beckoned. He’d never even left the country.

But no. His job was to be safe and keep his son safe, not go globe-trotting.

“So you’re staying in the cottage?” Trey asked, and Paul realized the man was still observing him in the guise of making conversation. Probably deciding whether to call child protective services.

Paul couldn’t blame him. What had happened tonight hadn’t just scared Amber; it had scared Paul as well, badly. It made him wonder whether he was, in fact, fit to parent a child.

Paul couldn’t let something like that happen again. And he also couldn’t jump up and pull his weapon every time someone knocked on the door.

He looked directly at Trey. “I had a nightmare, and that’s what scared Davey. I’m getting counseling for PTSD and I’m to do volunteer work here in town. That’s the deal with the cottage. My old boss set me up for it.” He hated revealing even that much, but his symptoms were too obvious to ignore. He couldn’t act like he didn’t know he had a problem. He cleared his throat. “I’m thinking maybe I should give up my weapon for now.” He pulled it out, slowly, and laid it on the table.

Trey had tensed, but as soon as Paul’s hands were away from the gun, he nodded and scraped the last of the eggs off his plate. “I can hold on to it if you’d like.”

Paul didn’t like it, not one bit. But he couldn’t risk carrying when he was so obviously out of control. “Thanks.”

“Think you’re okay to take care of him now?” Trey asked, nodding down at Davey.

Paul rubbed a hand over his face. “I have to be. I’m all he’s got.” His own words made him straighten his spine. He had to buck up because he could lose everything. Worse, Davey could.

He needed help, and he had to get it here, or else.

Copyright © 2020 by Lee Tobin McClain