The instant she says it, my tired memory fires, filling the pit of my stomach with dread. It was months ago. I attended the Fall Film Fest in support of my son Jesse and his latest short about a local paraplegic skier. After intermission, I returned to the wrong seat thanks to misplacing my glasses. An attractive woman showed up, and like an idiot I argued with her about the stupid seat, which thankfully turned into us laughing about it. Her name is something unique, and pretty—Kaya? Coco? Somehow, I worked up the guts to ask for her number.
Then I proceeded to talk myself out of calling her.
Fuck. Could this day get any more challenging?
I rub the back of my neck, gripping the damp strands in my knuckles for an instant to ground myself. “I’ve been busy. Tracking down a poacher, and—” I bite back the rest. It’s pointless, and I sound like a jerk.
The woman’s brows knit together.
My chest aches a little bit. I don’t relish her contempt, but it’s better this way. Nothing would have come from me calling her except a goodbye. My job and my family come first.
“Anyways.” She crosses her arms. “I thought it was a bear because the oats are gone and the fridge has been ransacked, and there was an…odor. But then I heard something moving up there, and I went to look.”
Unease slithers down my spine as I follow her gaze to the loft. I rest my hand on the butt of my Glock. “Okay.”
“He’s a runaway, or at least that’s what I think. I want to help him, but…he looks so scared.” She rubs her forehead, her eyes tensing with worry.
“What has he told you?” This isn’t the first youngster to turn up out of the blue, scared and needing help. Though I usually hear about them from my son-in-law Zach or his firefighter brother William. They call them Lost Boys. Sons of Eden kicks out most of the young male members before they get old enough to marry. Lesscompetition for the elders who think they’re entitled to as many child brides as they want.
“He begged me not to call the police.”
The floorboards creak above us, and a pale face pops into view. The kid is probably thirteen or fourteen, with deep brown eyes and straight hair that falls over his eyes. “Who’re you?”
His slight backwoods drawl strengthens my hunch that he’s on the run from Sons of Eden.
“My name’s Rowdy.”
He eyes my gun holstered at my hip. “You a cop?”
I shake my head. “I’m a conservation officer for the Fish and Wildlife service. I’m here to help, if it suits you.”
His nostrils flare. “I ain’t goin’ back.”
I need him to confirm it to be sure. “To Sons of Eden?”
His shoulders stiffen.
“You never have to go back.” I wish I had more than words to reassure him. “But you need a plan.”
He gives the loft space a scan. “What if I stay here…help out Miss Keo.”
Keo. Just like I remembered—interesting, and pretty.
Keo releases a frustrated sigh. “In exchange, I let you sleep in my barn? That won’t work forever.”
“Just until spring.” His quick reply tells me he’s been thinking this over.
“I’m going to call my son-in-law, Zach.” I slip my phone from my pocket, slowly, so I don’t spook the boy. “He’s helped other kids like you. I think you should hear him out.”
Keo smiles up at the boy. “I can make you something to eat while we wait for him.”
A look of yearning flickers in the boy’s eyes at the mention of food, but he hugs himself, and his mask of toughness is back. “We’ll just talk?”
I give him a nod. “Just talk.”
Chapter Four
While dashing around my kitchen,grabbing sandwich fixings, I try to process having Rowdy Whittaker in my barn. The night we met at the film festival, I thought we were onto something. After we stopped arguing, anyways. Why did he ask for my number if he never meant to call me?