Pole Position (Country Roads 2)

“There you go again, calling me kid. I think ‘kid’ suits you and me. What do you think?”

“I think you’re right, kid.”

They walked outside. “I hope you don’t mind,” Brant began. “I can’t bear to think of her out there by herself cold and—”

“You know as well as I do we can’t leave her here when the Jingle Bell Ride ends. That little girl needs a loving home. We have to help her.”

“How?”

“When our weekend is over, she’ll be riding in that truck with us. She has nowhere else to go. We can’t leave her here and that’s all I know. What we do with her is the question. I’ll make some phone calls and see if we can’t find a family for her. Somebody out there wants a child. Someone will love her as their own.”

“We can’t just kidnap her!”

“It’s not kidnapping, Brant. Apparently, no one even knows she exists.”

* * * *

They retrieved Ralph then headed back to their cabin. By the time they returned, it was bitter cold. The chill of the night set in, and the little one had chattering teeth and blue lips. Brant wondered what kind of mom or dad let their child fend for themselves at the tender age of nine?

After Colt loaned Princess his heavy coat and insisted she wear gloves regardless of whether or not her fingers would “get lost” in what she called “finger sleeves,” they made their way to the campfire. Bales of hay were scattered about and Princess made herself right at home, smiling at another little girl straight across the fire.

“What’s your name?” she called out.

“Beca,” the girl replied. “How about yours?”

She shot Brant a grin and replied, “Everyone calls me kid. Just kid.”

Beca wrinkled her nose. Apparently, she didn’t know how to respond. She whispered something to the woman sitting beside her. A few minutes later, they disappeared, but Princess didn’t seem to mind one way or the other.

Colt poked the end of a stick with one marshmallow after he secured the first. He loaded the stem with another few more and motioned for Princess. “Here you go,” he said, taking his time to show her the best way to roast marshmallows without getting them extra-crispy.

After the first round was charred, Colt removed one from the switch and crammed it in his mouth. “Not bad,” he said, “or at least it isn’t too bad for a scorched marshmallow.”

She giggled.

“Ah, you think that’s funny do you?”

“Yes,” she said, cackling.

“Well let’s see what our little campfire chef thinks about her own cooking,” Colt said, stuffing the sweet treat between her cheeks.

Her eyes practically danced with her smile. “That’s super good, huh?”

Brant watched her. “If you say so, kid. I like ’em better with s’mores.”

“What are s’mores?”

“You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten a s’more,” Brant told her, grabbing another nearby twig and loading the pointed tip with white fluff. Handing Princess the stake, he stepped back and watched her eyes sparkle from the fire’s reflection. He wondered what kind of life such a darling child had endured, how much she’d suffered when no one was around to care or know.

He took a deep breath and defied the tears one second away from filling his eyes. At that moment, he thought of Colt’s words. He’d said when their weekend ended, she’d be in the truck with them, but what did he mean exactly?

He looked up and caught Colt’s gaze. Undoubtedly, they were thinking the same thoughts, concerned over similar issues.

If they took that little girl home, they were making a commitment to raise her if no one else would. And what did he think about that?

“I’m having the best time of my life!” the kid exclaimed.

Well, at the moment, Brant couldn’t think of anything he wanted more. He wanted to be part of Princess’s life. He needed to make sure she had the best opportunities a child needed in order to thrive.