The Toddler's Tale. Rebecca Winters

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СКАЧАТЬ hair, dark as rich loam, stayed in place. Like James Bond, he managed to look quite splendid no matter how harrowing the moment.

      “Spare me the lie that you were going to call nine-one-one.” His voice grated.

      She stood her ground. “With your links to the police department, I planned to leave that up to you. I only intended to take a few seconds to let my office know where I am.”

      Lines darkened his face before he let go with a string of colorful swear words. “It’s shot!” The phone landed on the seat between them. “I’ll have to find another one. While I’m gone, you’re going to do something unselfish for once in your life and offer support to Traci until help arrives.”

      So many stab wounds in one day had cut Chelsea wide open.

      Using her superior tone she said, “When there’s a breaking story right here, why would I want to go with you?”

      His head reared. “Why, indeed.”

      She enjoyed shutting the door in his good-looking face. But when she came around from the back of the truck, she received a surprise. He shoved a folded camper-green tarp into her arms.

      “There! That should give you some protection while you’re both waiting.”

      “How thoughtful! Thank you.”

      Though she almost staggered from the weight of it, she refused to let him witness her struggle as she crossed the road.

      MAX PUT his truck in gear and barreled down the road in search of a house or a business of some kind. Whatever came first. With a tiny child’s life at stake, there was no time to lose.

      Haunted by Betsy’s cries, which still resounded in his head, he increased his speed on the isolated road. To his relief the rain had turned to drizzle. The idea of a frightened little girl caught and possibly lying injured in cold water plus who knew what else left a pit the size of a boulder in his gut.

      Was it asking too much to come across a road crew with a phone? Maybe plane radar would pick him up and put a patrol car on his tail.

      Tears smarted in his eyes as he remembered the little boy who’d died inside a laundry chute last year. Neither Max nor his partner, who’d been on duty with him, had been able to save the toddler. Since then, the joy had gone out of his life.

      The media had sensationalized the tragedy. As usual, Chelsea Markum had been one of many TV reporters who’d criticized the police department’s response time in getting to the scene of the accident.

      Though he and his partner had been cleared of any wrongdoing, the horrific incident had caused a blackness to creep into Max’s existence until he’d doubted his ability to be a good cop. Once his confidence had deserted him, he’d felt immobilized and took a leave of absence from his job.

      During the time off, he’d gone for professional counseling to deal with his grief. Though it was pointed out to him there was nothing he could have done to prevent the boy’s death, Max didn’t believe it. A little child had died under his watch. He couldn’t handle it.

      After a month, he’d still been too shaken by the experience to go back on active duty. Despite the urgings from his superiors to remain with the department and take a desk job for a while, he couldn’t see himself sitting at a computer eight hours a day. Not when it was his nature to live life on the edge.

      Eventually he resigned from the force and went to work as a PI. It meant he could handpick cases in which children weren’t involved. Or so he’d thought.

      He pressed on the gas, realizing he might have to drive all the way to Reiser to find a phone. The unincorporated hamlet of less than two hundred people had a German pub. On more than one occasion, he and his best friend, Michael Lord, had driven out here for a beer on their off-duty time as police officers—before Michael had gone to work for Maitland Maternity Clinic. It had been a great place to kick back, shoot a little pool.

      At moments like that they’d shared a few laughs and talked shop. The subject of women was taboo. Michael was a confirmed bachelor. As for Max, the high school sweetheart he’d planned to marry had been killed in a car accident.

      That painful period eventually passed, but it had left him changed. Though he enjoyed women as much as the next man, he had no desire to settle down. After working so hard to save the little boy who’d died despite all efforts to save him, Max had been running on automatic pilot.

      As the memory of that failed rescue attempt assailed him once more, he broke out in a cold sweat. He still suffered nightmares because he’d reached the child too late.

      Evidence of civilization ahead jerked his torturous thoughts to the present. A tiny general store with one lone gas pump materialized on his right, and he pulled in.

      With the motor still running, he leaped from the cab. God willing, he wasn’t about to lose Betsy!

      “TWINKLE, TWINKLE, Little Star,” was a tune Chelsea hadn’t heard for years. “Do you like the song Mommy just sang to you? I’m right here, Betsy, honey, and I’m not going to go away. You’re being such a brave girl, Mommy’s going to sing you another song. Would you like to hear ‘Jumbo Elephant?’”

      Huddled with Traci beneath the dry side of the tarp, Chelsea listened to the young woman’s tireless efforts to comfort her baby. As long as she sang, the little girl didn’t cry as much. The connection between the two of them was strong and touched Chelsea deeply. She’d never experienced that kind of bonding with her own mother. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to ward off more painful memories.

      It seemed as if Max had been gone forever. Though the rain had stopped, it was cold enough that the tarp created much-needed warmth. Chelsea was grateful Max had provided them with this much protection against the elements, even if she had been furious with him at the time.

      And hurt.

      But she refused to think about the pain he’d inflicted. Right now both the mother and child were frightened. Hunkered down as they were directly above the place where they heard Betsy crying, Chelsea could observe Traci Beal at close range. What she saw disturbed her.

      The extreme pallor of the young mother’s skin, stretched tautly over sharp cheekbones, and the heavy circles beneath her lusterless blue eyes convinced Chelsea she had been suffering long before the accident had happened. She looked exhausted and ill-nourished.

      Chelsea shuddered to think of Traci’s innocent, helpless little child caught down there beneath all that old lumber. Some of the boards had creaked and settled more during the worst of the downpour, making her realize how unstable everything was. No wonder Max had gone for help before he attempted any kind of a rescue.

      Wanting to be useful, Chelsea took off her jacket and placed it around Traci’s thin shoulders, hoping to infuse her with some of her own warmth and strength. If only the other woman would stop shivering.

      At first Traci stiffened, then relaxed a little. Encouraged because she didn’t try to pull away, Chelsea kept an arm around her and rocked her back and forth, singing to Betsy herself. Anything she could think of.

      Since Traci had exhausted every English nursery rhyme, perhaps something different would distract Betsy for a while. Chelsea started out with “Frère Jacques,” one of a dozen little French songs she’d learned in her youth at her boarding СКАЧАТЬ