Haley’s tears were flowing heavily now. She nodded.
“We’ll get to the car faster if I carry you.”
She nodded again, and Boone wasted no time in swooping her up into his arms. His silver eyes met hers. “Thank you, Hannah.”
“Glad to be of help.”
Haley wrapped her arms around Boone’s neck and buried her head against his chest. As Boone sloshed his way toward the riverbank, Hannah realized for the first time just how wet and cold she was.
Her fishing guide called, “McBride, I’ll get your gear.”
“Thanks.”
Hannah watched them go, her heart heavy, memories a dark cloud on her horizon. Mommy! Mommy! I forgot to swallow my taffy before I took my nap! I’m all stuck. Help me. Help me. Help me. Mommy!
Hannah had been on the scene to help Sophia that day, but not when it truly mattered. Now she heard it in her nightmares. I’m all stuck. Help me. Help me. Help me. Mommy!
“I’m sorry, my loves.” Moving like a woman three times her age, Hannah climbed from the mountain stream and hobbled toward the base of a pine tree. She sat with her back braced against the trunk and waited for her guide’s return, thinking about her girls, thinking about Haley McBride and the song her parents had written and made famous—“Wishes for My Angel.”
“Angels,” she murmured, adding the s to make it plural. Then softly, sadly, she hummed the refrain.
* * *
Boone hurried toward his Land Rover with Haley in his arms. He had experience dealing with traumatized children due to the work he’d done in Fort Worth. He’d witnessed some heartbreaking things. However, watching Haley lose it this morning had left him feeling helpless in a way he had not experienced since Mary died. He’d been unequipped to deal with the child’s distress.
Haley’s screams had intensified when he’d tried to touch her. Talking to her had made no difference whatsoever. She hadn’t heard him. Boone had stood frozen in uncertainty when Hannah Dupree ran to the rescue.
The woman didn’t look anything like Haley’s beloved, deceased nanny, but something about her had clicked with Haley. Hannah couldn’t have played it more perfectly, and Boone’s gratitude knew no bounds.
He had a towel in the back of the Land Rover, which he used to rub Haley’s head as dry as possible. Then he buckled her into her seat, turned on the vehicle, and cranked up the heat. She fell asleep almost immediately. He was grateful for that too.
As much as he hated to interrupt Jackson, who was knee-deep in wedding prep, Boone placed a call to his cousin and detailed the events of the past half hour. Jackson and his fiancée were there to meet them when Boone pulled up to the cabin at the Callahan family’s North Forty compound, where Jackson was staying before to his wedding.
After Caroline had spirited Haley off for a shower and shampoo, Boone filled Jackson in on details he had not shared during the phone call. “Where did the woman come from?”
“Her name is Hannah. She was with Bill Townsend. He’s one of Cam Murphy’s guides, and I’m sure they were fishing on a stretch of the creek around a bend from where Haley and I were. She came over the hill.”
“Is Hannah a local?”
“No.”
“Then did you get her name or where she’s staying? I’d like to thank her personally.”
“You’ll have your chance. She’s my date for your wedding. The rehearsal stuff too.”
“Wait a minute. You hit on a woman while my daughter was screaming in panic?”
“No. I hit on Hannah the day before yesterday when I met her up at Lover’s Leap.” Boone gave Jackson a brief rundown of yesterday’s events and ended by saying, “I recommended Cam’s guide service, which I suspect is why she was fishing where she was this morning.”
“Ah. Well, good timing there, Boot. I owe you.”
“Pay me back by spreading the word for everyone to make her feel extra welcome. I’d like her to hang around town for a while.”
“Oh, yeah?” Interest lit Jackson’s dark-green eyes.
“Yeah.” Boone’s emphasis on the period at the end of the word signaled he wouldn’t listen to any further prying by his cousin about Hannah Dupree. “I’m going to head home. Mom promised to make her cinnamon rolls this morning, and I imagine it’s just about time for them to be coming out of the oven.”
“Lucky you.” Jackson’s envious grin turned serious as he extended his hand. “Boone, seriously, thank you for taking care of her.”
“Hey, if not for Hannah, Haley and I might still be on that creek.”
“Either way, you did us a solid. This is information her therapist needs.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Maybe Caroline and I should delay the honeymoon. We could—”
Boone shook his cousin’s hand while saying, “Don’t do it. Her mother will take care of it. A year ago this time, I never thought I’d say this, but Coco is a good mother. And the whole McBride family will have your back when you are gone.”
Jackson nodded. The two men exchanged shoulder slaps, and Boone returned to his Land Rover. On the drive around the lake to his home, he reflected on the events of the morning. “Damned bird,” he muttered. That poor little girl. Haley had come a long way since the accident, but today’s crisis proved that healing was a process.
Thank God for Hannah. She’d known just what to do, known the exact right thing to say. Experience, probably, from being the mother of little girls.
Hope he never had to deal with lice. Good thing about being the father of a boy. Put the clippers on setting one and go to town. Shave it all off.
Wonder if Trace had been born with hair? He should have asked.
The psychological harm aside, he was glad that Haley wouldn’t need to deal with a head-shaving situation right before her father’s wedding. He could only imagine the drama that would entail.
Yep, glad he was the father of a boy. A baby boy.
Oh, holy Moses.
Boone had hit the ground running after his trip to Texas, so he hadn’t had time to dwell or brood or panic. Probably a good thing. He was good about juggling a dozen different things at once, but he couldn’t add a baby into the mix. He needed to compartmentalize his thoughts and feelings about the baby.
After the wedding, once his family left Colorado and Boone was free to return to Fort Worth, he would turn his thoughts toward Trace. “One step at a time, McBride. One step at a time.”
He pulled into the drive leading to his home and saw his twin sisters disappearing into the trees on the trail that led around the lake. Maybe he was too late for warm cinnamon rolls after all. Didn’t matter. If his mother’s cinnamon rolls were a ten right out of the oven, they were still a nine point nine after they’d cooled.
Damn if his mouth didn’t begin to water as he pulled into his parking place and switched off his Land Rover. Moments later, he strode into his kitchen, kissed his mother’s flour-specked cheek, and glanced toward his oven, where the red numerals of the timer read less than a minute. “Do I have impeccable timing or what?”
* * *
The thought echoed through his mind Friday evening when Hannah Dupree responded to his knock on the front door of Serenity Cabbage. “Wow. Hannah, you look fabulous.”