Letting Go (Triple Eight Ranch) - By Mary Beth Lee Page 0,27
spending time with her mother, and, frankly, that scared her. The potential for pain was too great.
In the end, she agreed to her mother’s request because opening herself up to pain was far better than risking her heart with the Dillons. Though, truth be told, Clarissa thought maybe it was a little too late to worry about her heart.
Chapter Seven
The next afternoon Clarissa wondered if spending time in Stearns was even going to be an option.
“It could have happened to anyone,” one of the volunteer firefighters said as his partner finished bandaging up Trevor Rains’ forehead.
Clarissa wondered how she’d ever let herself think this was a good idea.
“Head wounds bleed a lot,” he said sensing her distress. “It looks worse than it is.”
Mackenzie took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, then she turned to Trevor.
“This ain’t nothing compared to when Jimmy Don barreled into the door handle, remember Trevor?”
The little boy sniffled as he nodded in agreement. “He had to get stitches and everything.”
Just then Trevor’s mother burst in through the church activity center doors, panic clearly written on her face. “Oh my, oh Trevor, honey,” she said running to his side and pulling him into her arms.
Trevor’s family had lost everything in the storm, and now they had this to deal with.
Trevor hugged his mother tight then pushed back ready to go play more.
One of the firefighters asked if he wanted to check out the truck, and soon all the kids were in the parking lot asking the rescue workers to turn on the sirens.
Clarissa urged the other two shelter volunteers on duty to go outside with the children while she stayed back to talk to Trevor’s mother.
“What on earth happened?”
Clarissa wasn’t exactly sure, which made this even worse.
“He was playing and he fell. It happened so fast...”
“These are children, you’ve got to...” Trevor’s mother trailed off shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. When Joan called, I was so worried.”
Joan Anderson. Clarissa’s heart hurt while she waited for what would come next. The judgment, the ugliness. She didn’t belong in Stearns.
“When he was three, Trevor fell off his training wheels and broke his arm. He had the worst black eye after falling out of bed. He slipped on a slick spot in the grocery store parking lot and had to get stitches in his knee. I guess I should be thanking my lucky stars this wasn’t worse.” She wiped a hand over her brow and pushed the pink bandana she was wearing over her deep red hair back then held out her hand.
“Tess Rains. Trevor’s Mom, obviously,” she laughed.
Shock warred with relief as Clarissa introduced herself.
“Clarissa Dye, and I am so sorry about this.” She started to explain more, but Tess brushed away the words with a wave of her hand.
“Not your fault. I’ve been there often enough to know. I’m just so thankful you’re working with the kids. Trev’s a handful. I’m not sure we’d be able to get anything done without the church’s help. I can’t begin to thank you enough.”
Clarissa didn’t know what to say.
“You’re welcome, I guess,” she said, and Tess laughed again, the sound full and real and judgment free.
“So I hear you’re staying out at the Triple Eight with Jed Dillon and his family.”
This was so not the conversation she’d expected. The subject change had her head spinning.
“Well, yes, for now. I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying out there.”
Tess laughed, sizing her up in a way that left Clarissa uncomfortable.
“You’ve got Jed Dillon in your court, honey, you’d be silly to leave before the fight really got started.”
Okay. Boundaries much.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Joan Anderson called me. And she didn’t just tell me about Trevor gettin’ hurt. She’s looking to stir up a hornet’s nest where you’re concerned. But I like the looks of you, and you’re great with these kids. I figure you need a heads up. The town’s recovering from the tornado right now, but that won’t last forever.”
Clarissa didn’t know if she should say thank you, or if she should leave now before things got ugly.
Somehow Tess Rains saw that indecision.
“I’m figuring you know something about fighting, Clarissa Dye. And if what Joan’s saying is true, it doesn’t matter where you go, you will always be that girl until you write the next chapter of your story. Stearns is your chance.”
Clarissa bit her lip, aching at the truth and the knowledge that somehow Joan Anderson had uncovered her past. That her chance at belonging was gone.
She