Texas Heroes_ Volume 1(105)

“Let’s go tell Mitch we found him, Mom, okay?” Restless again, Davey darted off toward the trees. “Let’s go see if he’s back at the cabin yet.”

“Davey, we—” But she felt too raw to discuss the temporary nature of Mitch’s presence. She sighed, feeling the cold wind beginning to cut through the layers of her clothes. “All right,” she conceded. “Let’s go make something hot to drink.”

He was off like a shot, disappearing into the trees.

“Don’t run, Davey. The ground is too slick.”

But Davey was already out of sight.

“Davey, come back!” she cried out louder. “Don’t run—”

And then she heard the panicked scream.



Too cold to stay away from the cabin forever, Mitch neared the clearing, frowning at the footprints he could see in the snow, leading away from the cabin. Two sets, and not that fresh—what was Perrie thinking? They had no business out in this cold, even if the sun was shining.

Though he could understand cabin fever. He never minded being alone, but with the two of them…the cabin’s walls seemed to shrink by the day. He’d been gone for hours, simply to avoid being in there with them.

To avoid wishing for what he would never have.

He frowned as he ascended the stairs, kicking the snow off his boots before he entered.

A fire still blazed merrily in the hearth. Perrie must have built it up before she left. The scent of something cooking perfumed the air. He glanced toward the stove, seeing the big pot simmering on the back of it.

What would it feel like to come home to this all the time, having Davey run to greet him, Perrie turning to him with a smile?

For a moment, he savored the image. Hopes he’d never let himself contemplate rose to taunt him. Perrie in his arms. In his bed, those delicate hands stroking across his body. Burying himself in her deep…losing themselves in each other.

And raising that boy, teaching him all the things Mitch had learned. Never, ever, turning his back on Davey, no matter what he did.

He slammed one hand against the mantel. Stop thinking about things that can’t happen.

After all these years, why would he let old, buried longings surface, let them slice deep into a heart that should remain carefully cold, relentlessly neutral?

Love was not his lot in life. He didn’t want it. Losing it hurt too much. The only way to be sure was to bury feelings—all feelings—so deep they would never surface.

Don’t let your anger win, Mitch. He could still hear his mother’s voice…still feel the blood too warm on fingers clutching her desperately against him.

Mitch cursed violently against the old pain that could tear his heart from his chest.

I will not care. Never again.

Shaking his head to dislodge thoughts that could only bring harm, Mitch turned away from the fire and glanced around the room, wondering how long they’d been gone.

But only because they were under his roof. Only for Cy’s sake.

Not for his.

And then he spied the scrap of paper leaning against the salt and pepper shakers on the scarred wooden table.

We’ve gone to Grandpa, it said, in a delicate, very feminine script. Back soon.

To Grandpa? And then he knew. They were at the grandfather spruce. But those tracks were hours old, and the spruce was only fifteen minutes away, even in this snow.

Something shivered down Mitch’s spine, and he fought it. She was a grown woman—but her strength wasn’t up to full speed yet. She knew this area—but not in winter. And it was going to be dark in a couple of hours.

He jerked his down jacket back on, muttering beneath his breath. Damn troublesome woman—so like her not to think of anyone but herself.

But even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. He couldn’t explain why she hadn’t come when Cy needed her, but he’d seen a gentle soul where he’d expected one hard as brass.

Whatever was going on with her, however little idea he had of what to do with the mother, he had to make sure the boy was safe. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t.

Mitch stalked to the door, donned his boots, gloves and cap, and headed out, grabbing a few supplies and stuffing them in a pack, hoping that he was worrying about nothing.



Perrie pressed against the stitch in her side as she ran through the trees, screaming Davey’s name. “Where are you? Talk to me!” she called out.

No answer, and her heart almost burst from her chest.

Oh please…please don’t take him from me. Please don’t let him be hurt. Please—not my baby—

Her gaze darted wildly around her. In her panic, she ran this way and that, trying to figure out where the sound had come from.

Though it slammed against every instinct she had, Perrie forced herself to stop and draw a deep breath, trying to stem the panic that overran rational thought.