Dance Away with Me - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,121

it back here? And where was he?

Every possibility was worse than the last. All the accidents that could befall a child carrying a newborn through the forest at night hammered through his brain. Where would he go if he were a kid in the biggest trouble of his life?

To the basement storage area of his condo. That’s where he’d hidden from his father, but Eli didn’t have that option.

Ian veered off the main trail onto a smaller, barely accessible path. He barely noticed the scratches on his arm or the stinging in his injured hand as he imagined Eli taking Wren by the creek. He’d seen what rainfall could do to that water. He ran faster.

The abandoned still squatted in the distance, shards of moonlight spattering the rusted ruins. He heard the gush of the swollen creek water . . . and the animal sound of an infant’s inconsolable cries.

His heart exploded in his chest. She was alive.

Ian raced across the clearing, dropping the flashlight and whipping off his T-shirt as he ran. Eli crouched against the rusted oil drum with Wren screaming and squirming precariously on his skinny knees. Her blanket was gone, leaving her in nothing but a thin cotton one-piece.

Ian picked her up, wrapping her clumsily as he curled her quaking body against him.

Her ear-piercing animal wail filled the clearing. He willed his body’s heat into her, murmured to her, silly words, comfort words. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “You’re all right. . . . I have you. . . . I have you. You’re all right. Shh . . .”

Eli came to his feet sobbing. “I was gonna take her back! I was! She got heavy! I’m sorry!”

Ian snatched up the flashlight, not trusting himself to look at him. “Go home!”

Cradling his precious cargo, he strode toward the trail, ignoring the throbbing in his bloody hand, focusing only on warming her. Eli was still crying behind him. Let Paul deal with him.

As if it had happened yesterday, he felt his father’s fist . . . “You worthless piece of shit!”

Paul Eldridge was a hard man. What if . . . Ian slowed and did what he least wanted to do. Forced himself to turn around.

Eli crouched on the ground, his hands over his head in exactly the way Ian used to crouch to avoid his father’s blows.

Ian’s jaw tightened. “You’re coming with me.”

Eli’s head came up. “But—”

“You heard what I said. Get going.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Shut up and start walking.”

Eli regarded him fearfully but did as he was told.

Wren had finally quieted, either from the warmth of his body or the rhythm of his stride. They made their way down the ridge accompanied only by the sound of their footsteps and Eli’s snuffles.

* * *

Red lights from a police cruiser flashed over the cabin. Tess’s car was parked next to Kelly’s. He knew exactly how Tess was feeling right now, and he quickened his stride, even as Eli lagged farther behind.

Freddy Davis stood by the fireplace, scribbling something in a field notebook, Kelly sat on the couch, her head in her hands, and Tess stood in the middle of the room as if she didn’t know what else to do with herself. She was the first to see him coming through the back door. She let out a guttural howl that stunned him. Only when he looked down did he see what she did.

Wren, wrapped in a T-shirt splattered with blood.

Tess lips parted, frozen in terror.

“It’s my blood!” he exclaimed. “I cut my hand. It’s my blood.”

Tess sank to the floor. His warrior woman brought to her knees.

He rushed to her side and knelt. “Look at her. She’s not hurt, just asleep.”

He didn’t know she wasn’t hurt. He knew she wasn’t bleeding, but she’d also been exposed to the cold and jostled, maybe dropped. She could end up with pneumonia or a head injury, or—

With a sob, Tess took her from him.

Kelly had come off the couch, and Freddy Davis was using his shoulder microphone. Ian finally remembered Eli. With a last glance at Wren, he went back outside.

He thought the boy might have run off, but he was huddled against the side of the cabin. “Come inside, Eli.”

Eli raised his dirty, tear-streaked face. “My mom . . . She’s always crying, and she won’t eat anymore, and I think she might die. I thought if maybe she had a baby. . . . Or maybe if she could even hold a baby for a while