Tears trickled down Sara’s cheeks as she absorbed Marisol’s words, and J.P. wished he could smooth them away, gather Sara into his arms and hold her until all the sorrow, all the fear, was gone.

  “Is Eric awake?” Sara asked after a long painful silence that encompassed all of them. “Can I see him?”

  The conversation was punctuated by the distinctive sound of an approaching helicopter.

  J.P. was all too familiar with the noise; he caught himself on the dark precipice of a flashback and mentally stepped away, back into the light.

  “I’m sorry, Sara,” Marisol answered quietly, lifting her eyes toward the ceiling. “That’ll be Dr. Reynolds coming in for a landing. Eric will be taken into the operating theater within the next few minutes. We’ll let you know as soon as he’s in recovery.”

  Just then, the doors of the emergency room burst open, and Carly rushed in, flanked by Cord and Shallie.

  The girl was frantic.

  Marisol said she’d keep them up to date on Eric’s progress and took her leave.

  Carly rushed into the center of the group.

  Cord caught up to his daughter and gripped her shoulders from behind, much as J.P. had done with Sara out in the parking lot.

  Sara started to rise from her chair, wobbled and sank back into it. “Carly,” she blurted. “What happened? Eric told me the two of you were going to the movies!”

  Carly’s pretty face was tear-swollen. “We had a fight,” she half sobbed in response. “We went for coffee before the movie was supposed to start, since we had some time to kill, and he was going on and on about what a great guy his bio-dad is, and how everybody misunderstood him.”

  “And?” Eli prompted.

  Fresh tears filled Carly’s eyes. “I was fed up, really tired of hearing about his loser of a father,” she said with a mixture of spirit and regret, “and I told him he was being delusional. I said if Zachary Worth was so terrific, he would have stayed around and raised his kids. Eric got mad and left.” She stopped to draw in a long shaky breath and exhaled in a huff. “That was the last I saw of him. He just took off!” The girl’s gaze held Sara’s. “This is all my fault!” she cried. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about his dad!”

  Sara attempted to stand again, and this time she succeeded. She put her arms around Carly and hugged her tightly.

  “This isn’t your fault, Carly,” she assured the girl. “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

  “What did happen?” Carly cried once Sara let her go and sat down again, clearly still weak in the knees. “All I know is that Eric is badly hurt, and he was brought here by ambulance!”

  Nobody asked how she’d known even that much. This was the Creek.

  Enough said.

  It was Brynne who explained.

  Eli caught J.P.’s eye, then Cord’s.

  By tacit agreement, all three of them went outside, where they could talk in relative privacy.

  Eli looked, as the old-timers used to say, like death warmed over.

  “How can we help?” Cord asked, breaking the silence.

  “By standing by Sara and Hayley,” the sheriff replied grimly. “The warrants came through, so I’ll be meeting up with my deputies and a couple of Melba’s people in a few minutes. We’ll be making some arrests, and it might get ugly.”

  “Did you get a chance to talk to Eric when you went inside?” J.P. asked Eli.

  “No,” Eli answered.

  “How did he get out there?” Cord asked.

  Eli sighed. “He rode his bike. We found it nearby.”

  “Somebody lured him out there,” J.P. mused.

  “Possibly,” Eli agreed.

  “Why?” J.P. wanted to know.

  “Could be somebody was trying to tell me something, and they used my nephew as the messenger,” Eli answered. “An indirect way of saying back off? I’m not sure whether the trap was placed there deliberately or if Eric simply had the bad luck to stumble across it. Which is why I don’t want Sara and Hayley—or my wife and children—left alone until we’ve rounded up these assholes.”

  “Sara will want to stay here, wait for news about the boy,” J.P. said. “I’ll stick around. Make damn sure nothing happens to her or Hayley.”

  “Shallie and I will take Brynne and the twins home to our place,” Cord put in. “Hold them hostage there until you give the word that the danger is past.”

  “Thanks,” Eli said, trying for a smile and not quite getting there. “Follow Brynne over to Bailey’s—the twins are there, with their grandparents, Mike and Alice, and she’ll head there first to pick them up. Don’t let her out of your sight, Cord,” he reiterated. “Not until you hear from me.”

  “You’ve got it,” Cord affirmed, resting one hand briefly on Eli’s shoulder. “We’ll gather up Mike and Alice, too, if they’re amenable.”

  “What about you?” J.P. asked Eli, frowning. “You don’t look so good, old buddy, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “I have a job to do,” Eli said flatly. “And I mean to do it.”

  With that, he nodded farewell and headed for his SUV.

  J.P. and Cord went back into the hospital.

  Over the next couple of hours, as the ER filled with people seeking medical treatment, mostly for simple illnesses and injuries, the place got crowded.

  No word came down from on high.

  The OR.

  Eventually, Brynne and the Hollister gang trailed out.

  Carly—with some help from Sara—had persuaded Hayley to go back to Cord and Shallie’s place as well and spend the night there.

  The girl was reluctant but she was also exhausted, so she agreed.

  J.P., who had been pacing in order to stretch his legs, sat down beside Sara, reached for her hand.

  She didn’t look at him, but she didn’t pull away, either.

  “You don’t have to stay, J.P.,” she said after a long time.

  “Oh, yeah,” he replied. “I do.”

  “Did you see him?” Sara asked. “Eric, I mean? Before they brought him in?”

  “Only from a distance,” J.P. answered. “When they were loading him into the ambulance.”

  “I suppose I should call Zachary,” she mused, staring straight ahead, still in a daze. “But I can’t bring myself to do it.”

  J.P. figured Sara’s ex would be less than useless, but he was Eric’s father, so he supposed the man had a right to know his son had been hurt.

  “You have the number?” he asked.

  Sara groped for her handbag, which was on the floor under her chair, then rooted around inside until she found her phone. She fumbled with the thing, scrolled until she found the pertinent information.

  J.P. pressed the appropriate buttons and waited.

  After three rings, a woman answered. She sounded high—or drunk.

  “I’m looking for Zachary Worth,” J.P. said. No matter what ended up being said here, he promised himself he wasn’t going to lose his cool.

  “And who would you be?” the woman asked in a distinctly flirtatious way.

  “My name is J.P. McCall,” J.P. answered, without inflection, “and I need to talk to Zachary. It’s about one of his children.”

  He heard her set the phone down with a thud and call out in a wheedling, sickly sweet voice, “Zachary! Zachary, honey, there’s a call for you.”

  A silence followed.

  Then the syrupy voice was back. “He’s in the shower.”

  “Well, tell him to get out,” J.P. snapped.

  So much for keeping his cool.

  “You don’t need to go all grumpy on me, J.P. McCall,” Zachary’s wife/girlfriend whined. “You and I can just visit until he gets here, can’t we? You sound kind of—hot.”

  And you sound kind of—stupid.

  “Get him,” J.P. ordered. “Now.”

  “Well, for pity’s sake,” the woman complained.

  Two minutes later, Zachary was on the line.

  J.P. told him, in the fewest possible words, what had happened to Eric and where the boy was now—i.e., in emergency surgery at the local hospital.

  “All right,” Zachary said when J.P. was finished.

  “‘All right’?” J.P. repeated. “Are you coming over here or not?”

  They might have been discussing a golf date, going by Zachary’s tone.

  “I’ll stop by tomorrow,” Zachary answered. “It’s not as if the kid’s going anywhere, is it?” He was silent for a beat. Then he asked, “Are you the guy who kept Sara out all night?”

  J.P. ended the call without another word.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ERIC REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS at 6:17 p.m.

  He was definitely in pain, but he was alive and he still had both his legs.

  Win-win, as far as Sara was concerned.

  Standing beside his bed in the recovery room, she brushed his dark hair back from his pale face.

  “Hey,” she said, the word catching in her throat.

  “Hey,” Eric croaked in response.

  Sara leaned over, kissed her son’s forehead. His flesh felt cool and a little clammy against her lips. “Welcome back.”

  Eric tried to lift his head, failed and let it fall back to his pillow. “Do I still have both my legs?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Sara said, blinking to ease the burning sensation in her eyes. This was not the time to cry.

  Eric needed her to be strong.

  His next question broke her heart.

  “Is Dad here?”

  Sara closed her eyes briefly, gathering her scattered resources. She was exhausted, relieved, frightened and, yes, angry.

  “No, sweetheart.” Her throat felt like dry knotted rope pulled tight, and that made her sound gruff. “I’m sure he’ll come to see you tomorrow, though.” She swallowed, tried for a lighter tone. “You’re still in recovery, and that means you can’t have a lot of company.”

  “He isn’t a lot of company, Mom. He’s my dad.”

  Sara felt helpless in the face of her son’s disappointment. There was nothing she could do about the situation, at least for the moment, and that hurt.

  She considered telling Eric that even though Zachary hadn’t troubled himself to show up, J.P. had been present throughout the vigil she’d kept in the hospital waiting room, but decided against it.

  Clearly, the circumstances weren’t right. Besides, she wouldn’t have been able to explain her bond with J.P. to herself, let alone her son. J.P. had, after all, lost livestock when Eric, Freddie Lansing and the others were running wild.

  During the brief silence that fell between Sara and Eric, tears brimmed in his eyes, and his face contorted slightly, as though he were trying to brace himself against inevitable suffering.

  She would gladly have borne Eric’s pain for him, if that had been possible. But, alas, it wasn’t.

  Sara put a small cylinder device, dangling from a tube connected to a pump, into his palm, placed his thumb on the button. “Press this,” she said gently. “It will help with the pain.”

  Eric swallowed visibly. Pressed the button so hard that the muscles in his forearm corded.

  After a few moments, he seemed to breathe more easily. He even relaxed a little. “What happened to me, Mom?” he asked hoarsely, after visibly gathering the momentum to speak. “I don’t remember anything after Carly and I got into a fight at the coffee shop. We were supposed to go to a movie—”

  Sara explained as best she could, though her own knowledge was limited.

  By the time she’d finished, Eric was drifting. Going under.

  He was better off asleep, she thought, praying that his memories of the ordeal would not haunt the rest he needed so desperately.

  She kissed his forehead lightly, blinked back another rush of tears and turned to leave the room.

  Marisol and Dr. Reynolds, a tall, studious-looking man with an early receding hairline, were waiting in the hall, talking quietly.

  Sara joined them, limp with fatigue and gratitude and a myriad of other emotions that were not so easy to identify.

  “He’s sleeping,” she told the two doctors.

  Marisol reached out a hand, lightly squeezed Sara’s shoulder. “You need to go home,” she said. “Have something to eat. Get a good night’s sleep.”

  Sara knew her friend and personal physician was right, but she wasn’t sure she could make it to the parking lot under her own power, never mind get back to the house.

  She longed for a shower, though, and a soft place to lie down.

  And strong arms to hold her.

  “Shouldn’t I be here?” she fretted. “In case—in case something happens?”

  “You live five minutes from the hospital,” Marisol reminded her kindly. “Eric is stable, but if that were to change, you would be notified immediately. Right now, Sara, the best possible thing for both of you is rest.”

  “You’ll need all your stamina,” Dr. Reynolds interjected, “to help your son get through the next few months. You must take care of yourself.”

  Sara nodded. She knew the doctors were right, but the instinct to protect her wounded son ran deep like some invisible river, wild and primitive, full of whirlpools and swift eddies. If she didn’t let her better judgment prevail and go home, she wouldn’t leave Eric’s bedside until he was completely healed.

  And even though he was the focal point in this particular equation, she needed to think about Hayley as well. Though they bickered almost constantly, her children were close.

  Hayley was shaken at best, and traumatized at worst.

  For tonight, thankfully, she was safe in Cord and Shallie’s care, with Carly lending extra support.

  Tomorrow would be a new and very demanding day, on all fronts.

  “Do you need to call someone to pick you up?” Marisol asked, gently steering her away from Dr. Reynolds—and Eric—toward the elevator bank.

  Sara shook her head as Marisol pressed a button and elevator doors swished open right away. “J.P. is downstairs. He’ll drive me home.”

  He was waiting for her in that easy, no-pressure way of his. Giving her space and, at the same time, solidly present.

  Now he would take her home.

  Make sure she was settled and safe.

  Beneath the tangle of weariness, sorrow and residual fear, Sara felt her personal equivalent of Camus’s invincible summer.

  Had it always been there?

  Yes.

  It had sustained her when her and Eli’s parents died, and when Zachary shattered her heart, and in all the ups and downs in between.

  It would sustain her always, no matter what, if only she remembered to tap into it.

  She stepped into the elevator and watched numbly as the doors closed between her and Marisol and the room where her son lay, sore but mending.

  It would, as the doctors had warned, be a long and difficult process, but it was there to do, as the old-timers liked to say.

  Sara would push up her figurative sleeves and do whatever it took to aid in Eric’s full recovery, both physically and emotionally.

  When she reached the first floor and the large waiting area outside the emergency room, J.P. was there, standing before one of the windows, his hands braced against steel dividers, his head lowered.

  Sara felt a pang of something sweet and terribly tender as she looked at him.

  Was it love?

  Probably not. But whatever it was, it was far more complicated than ordinary affection for another human being.

  He turned, as though sensing her presence, and she saw that, strong as he was, J.P. was tired, too.

  He came to her, caught her hands in his very gently.

  “How is he?” he asked, his voice husky.

  “The doctors say he’ll recover completely.” She smiled, and it was an effort. “They also informed me, in so many words, that if I don’t take care of myself, I won’t be much good to anybody.”

  “I agree,” J.P. said with a weary smile of his own. “Let’s get you home.”

  She nodded.

  “My place or yours?” he asked, after he’d helped her into the passenger seat of his truck and slipped behind the wheel.

  “Mine,” Sara replied. “It’s going to sound crazy, but I need to be where Eric’s things are—his room, his clothes, his books and the like. And I want to be around if Hayley needs to come home tonight for some reason.”

  J.P. made no protest. “Okay,” he said, “but unless you tell me to get lost, I’m going to stick around and make sure you’re all right. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “Eli and the others haven’t made the arrests?” she asked, wondering what kind of monster a person had to be to set steel traps for animals and other human beings. If she hadn’t been so worn out, she would have exploded in the kind of fury only a mother can feel.

  “They’ve gotten them all,” J.P. informed her. “Eli called while you were upstairs with Eric. The arrests were made, and the feds are pressing charges of their own, in addition to those of the sheriff’s department. There are five people involved, so far—four men and a woman.”

  Sara put a hand to her mouth. Muttered something unintelligible.

  J.P., already pulling out of the hospital parking lot, reached over to touch her arm. “They’re being held without bail, Sara. They can’t hurt anybody else—for the time being, anyway. And the National Guard is sweeping practically the whole county for more traps. In a week or so, things should be pretty much back to normal.”