It was 2:00 a.m. on a mild March night when Buck Armstrong saw his dead wife walking toward the town of Rescue River, Ohio, carrying their baby on one hip.
He swerved, hit the brakes and skidded onto the gravel berm. On the seat beside him, Crater—his chosen companion for the night—let out a yip.
Buck passed his hand over his eyes. It wasn’t real—couldn’t be. He’d made similar mistakes before, when he was tired, when the war memories came back too strong. Tonight, driving home from assisting in an emergency surgery out at the dog rescue, he wanted nothing more than to keep driving past the turnoff to the liquor store, lock himself in his room and shut it all off until morning.
He looked again, squinting through the moonlit fog.
They were still there. But they were running away from him, or rather, his wife was. Baby Mia was gone.
Where was the baby? He scrambled out of the truck, leaving the door ajar. “Stay!” he ordered the dog automatically as he took off toward his wife. “Ivana! Wait!”
She ran faster, but Buck had gotten back into military shape since he’d quit drinking, and he caught up easily. Was relieved to see that the baby was now in front of her, in some sort of sling.
His hand brushed against her soft hair.
She screamed, spun away from him, and he saw her face.
It wasn’t his wife, but someone else. A complete stranger.
He stopped, his heart pounding triple time. Sweat formed on his forehead as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m sorry. I thought you were—”
“Leave us alone,” she ordered, stepping away, one arm cradled protectively at the back of the baby’s head, the other going to her oversize bag. “I have a gun.”
“Whoa.” He took a couple of steps back, hands lifting to shoulder height, palms out. A giant stone of disappointment pressed down on him. “I don’t mean you any harm. I thought you were... Never mind.”
A breeze rattled the leaves of a tall oak tree beside the road. He caught the rich scent of newly turned earth, plowed dirt, fields ready for planting. Up ahead, a spotlight illuminated the town’s well-known sign, kept up and repainted yearly since Civil War days: Rescue River, Ohio. All Are Welcome, All Are Safe.
Ivana had been so proud of their hometown’s history as a station on the Underground Railroad, its reputation for embracing outsiders of all types, races and creeds.
The good people of Rescue River had even put up with the damaged man he’d been when he’d returned from war, until he’d repeatedly broken their trust.
“Go back to your truck,” the woman ordered, hand still in her bag. Now that he could see her better, he realized she was sturdier than Ivana had been, with square shoulders and a determined set to her chin. Same long tawny hair, but fuller lips and big gray-blue eyes that were now glaring at him. “Do it. Back in the truck, now.”
He should do what she said, should turn around right now and get on home before the memories that were chasing him caught up.
Should, but when had he ever done what he should? “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night, ma’am? Can I give you a ride somewhere?”
She laughed without humor, shaking her head. “No way, buddy. Just drive away. We’ll all be better off.”
He had to admire her courage if not her common sense. There was no good reason for a woman with a baby to be wandering the countryside, but she was acting as if she owned the whole state.
“Sure you don’t want me to call someone?” Truth was, he felt relieved. He could go home and crash and try to forget that, just for a minute, he’d gotten the crazy hope that Ivana and the baby were still alive, that he’d get a second chance to love them the way they deserved.
“We’re fine.” She ran a hand through her hair and patted the baby who, somehow, still slept against her chest. He caught sight of wispy hair, heard that sweet, nestling-in sigh of a contented little one.
Pain stabbed his heart.
She did seem fine, perfectly able to defend herself, he argued against the faint whisper of chivalry that said he shouldn’t let a woman and child stay out here in the middle of the night. After all, he wasn’t much of a protector. He’d lost as many people as he’d saved in Afghanistan. And as for Ivana and Mia...
The sound of a mournful howl silenced his thoughts. Crater. “It’s okay, buddy,” he called, and the scarred rottweiler bounded out of the truck’s cab. As Crater jumped up on him, Buck rubbed the dog’s sides and let him lick his face and, for the first time since seeing the woman, he felt his heart rate settle.
“Let’s go home,” he said to the dog. But Crater had different ideas, and he lunged playfully toward the woman and baby. Buck snapped his fingers and the dog sank into a sitting position, looking back toward him. The deep scar on the dog’s back, for which they’d named him out at the rescue, shone pale in the moonlight.
“That’s a well-trained dog.” The woman cocked her head to one side.
“He’s a sweetheart. Come on, boy.”
The dog trotted to his side, and as they started back to his truck, Buck felt his heart rate calm a little more. Yeah, his shrink was right: he was a prime candidate for a service dog. Except he couldn’t make the commitment. As soon as he’d paid off his debts and made amends where he could, he was out of here, and who knew whether he’d end up in a dog-friendly place?
“Hey, hold on a minute.” The woman’s voice was the slightest bit husky.
He turned but didn’t walk back toward her. Didn’t look at her. It hurt too much. She was still a reminder of Ivana and all he’d lost. “What?”
“Maybe you could give us a hand. Or a ride.”
Buck drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “Okay, sure,” he said, trying not to show his reluctance to be in her company a moment longer. After all, he’d made the offer, so courtesy dictated he should follow through. “Where are you headed?”
“That’s a good question,” she said, lifting the baby a little to take the weight off her chest.
He remembered Ivana doing that very same thing with Mia. He swallowed.
“What kind of a town is Rescue River?”
“It’s a real nice town.” It was, too. He’d consider staying on there himself if he hadn’t burned so many bridges.
“Think I could find a cheap room? Like, really cheap?”
He cocked his head to one side. “The only motel had no vacancy, last I saw. My sister’s renovating what’s going to be a guesthouse, but it’s not open for another few months...”
“Does she have a room that’s done, or mostly done? We don’t need much.”