“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I should have told you guys the truth. We’ll talk about it later, okay? When … we’ve got him home safely. ”
“Yeah. When he’s home. ”
Disconnecting the line, he focused on the road again. He had to do that, focus on ordinary things—the road, the streetlights, the hiding places along the way—because when he did that, he kept himself together.
He cut the enormity of his fear into little pieces. Details. These he could handle.
He slowed the car speed, from eight miles per hour to five. He had gone less than a quarter of a mile from the hospital. The distance to town stretched out before him, an endless, twisting path of darkness.
Details.
He forced his gaze to the right, into the black fields along the side of the highway. Bret wouldn’t have crossed the road; he knew better than that. Liam was certain. His son wouldn’t cross the road at night alone … but would he take a ride with a stranger?
Liam suppressed a horrified shudder. Please tell me he learned that rule.
The temperature gauge indicated that, outside, it had dropped another degree.
Liam concentrated on the little things—his foot on the gas, his hands on the wheel, his gaze on the side of the road, where there were no footprints. Just a layer of newfallen snow.
Up ahead, on the right side of the road, the county fairgrounds were a cluster of big metal buildings, barns, arenas, and pavilions. The barn was awash in light; it stood out like a beacon against the blackness all around it.
The lights were on … in the middle of a winter’s night.
Liam felt an electrifying strand of hope. It was one of Mike’s favorite places, that barn. She and Jacey had spent countless summer days there for horse shows and county fairs and riding clinics. Only a few months ago, Bret had earned his first 4-H ribbon there.
At the turnoff, he slowed. Perspiration itched across his brow, turned his hands cold and slick.
Any wrong choice would hurt. He glanced at the temperature gauge again; it was holding steady at twenty-nine. He turned onto the road and floored the accelerator. The wheels screeched for a second before grabbing hold. He sped down the bumpy road, his face pressed so close to the windshield that his nose was almost touching glass. In the parking lot, he slammed on the brakes. The car fishtailed, then came to a shuddering stop.
He left the engine running and jumped out of the car, racing through the downy, ankle-deep snow. “Bret?” he yelled. His cry echoed off the unseen mountains and bounced back at him, thin as a sheet of ice.
He flung the metal doors open. The well-lit barn was cavernous, a row of empty stalls. “Bret?” he yelled.
He ran from stall to stall, peering in each one.
He found Bret in the very last stall—the one Mike had used at last summer’s Last Bend Classic horse show. Shivering and curled into a tiny ball, Bret was sucking his thumb.
Liam had never known a relief this big; it made it hard to move, to speak, to do anything except sweep down and pull his son into his arms. “Oh, Bret,” he whispered brokenly, “you scared me. ”
Bret drew back. His cheeks were bright red and streaked with tears, his eyes were bloodshot. “I knew you’d find me, Daddy. I’m—” He burst into chattering, shivering tears again.
“It’s okay, baby,” he said, stroking his son’s hair.
Bret blinked up at him. “D-D-Daddy, she didn’t even h-hug me. ”
He touched Bret’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Bret. I should have told you the truth. ”
“Sh-She’s n-not my mommy, is she?”
“Yes,” he answered softly. “She’s your mom, but the accident … it broke something in her brain and she can’t remember some really important things. ”
“L-Like me?”
“Or me. Or Jacey. ”
“She remembered Jacey!”
“No. She’d heard about Jacey, and so she was able to figure out who she was. But she doesn’t really remember. ”