“Son, look at me.” Mitch kept his voice pitched softly, the way he would with a wounded animal.
The boy watched him with suspicion too old for his tender years.
“We’re going to find your mother. Don’t worry. I can track anything that moves, but it’s going to be dark soon. I could use your help.”
“Me?” The blue eyes widened. “I’m too little.”
“No, you’re not. Tell me which direction you came from.”
“Over there,” the boy pointed. “My grandpa’s cabin was supposed to be this way.” His lower lip quivered. “My mom said it wasn’t far, right before she fell down.” Tears filled his eyes again. “She won’t talk to me. Is she dead?” He rushed on without an answer, his words tumbling over one another. “Where’s Grandpa Cy? He was gonna help us.”
Grandpa Cy? Dear God, it couldn’t be— Mitch clasped the boy’s shoulders. “What’s your mom’s name, son?” Surely she wouldn’t— Mitch almost missed the name in the confusion of his thoughts.
“What?”
“Perrie. Perrie Matheson, that’s my mom’s name.”
It was her—Cy’s granddaughter from Boston. The callous socialite who had broken his only friend’s heart. Who hadn’t cared enough to visit or write, wouldn’t even take Mitch’s call when he’d left Cy’s side for the three-hour trip to a phone, scared to his bones that Cy would die while he was gone. He’d been prepared to beg, and she’d been too busy to answer a damn phone. Mitch rose to pace.
“What’s wrong, mister?”
Mitch shot the boy a quick frown and saw him take a step back. Looking down, Mitch saw that his hands were clenched into fists. He was probably scaring the kid to death. He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to calm. Emotions were useless. Nothing good came of feeling too much. And sometimes you lost more than you could bear.
The kid wasn’t at fault for his mother’s sins. And Mitch had promised. He didn’t renege on a promise. For the boy, not for her, he would do this.
“Okay. Stay behind me and stay quiet unless you see something familiar. Don’t get in front of me, whatever you do, because you’ll trample the tracks I’m looking for. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy ducked his head, and Mitch could still see tears sparkle on his lashes.
Gingerly, Mitch reached out one hand and laid it on the boy’s head, surprised by the softness of the golden hair. Immediately he pulled it back.
“We’ll find her, son.”
“Yes, sir.” Like a tiny soldier, the boy drew himself up straight. “I’ll be quiet.” He looked ahead to the way he’d pointed, and Mitch could almost see the resolve of the man the boy would become.
How had a pampered, selfish woman produced this child?
It didn’t matter. She was probably fine, just didn’t have the stamina to make the two-mile hike up the mountain. Instead, she’d sent this poor little guy for help. Mitch would find her, tell her what he thought of her, and send them on their way. Cy had given Mitch this cabin after he’d given up on his granddaughter caring whether he lived or died. Though home was a luxury Mitch never expected to know again, he would be damned if that woman would spend a single hour inside the only place that had welcomed him in the last twenty years.
“Come on, son. Let’s get going.”
It didn’t take long to spot the figure lying beneath a tree. Mother and child had gotten pretty close to the cabin. Still, a quarter of a mile through a dark, unfamiliar forest had to be scary for someone so small.
“Mom!” The boy ran past him, dropping down beside her.
Mitch followed.
Like Sleeping Beauty, she lay there as if under a spell. Wisps of golden hair escaped from a long braid that would extend almost to her waist. He knelt beside her and felt for a pulse, the boy’s eyes following his every move.
“Is she dead?”
Strong and steady. “No. She’s not dead.” He felt her forehead and quickly pulled his fingers away. Damn. She was burning up with fever. He looked at the boy. “Did she say she was feeling bad?”
“She said her throat hurt, so she couldn’t talk to me much. She had to stop a lot after we left the car.”
The cabin lay two miles inside a designated wilderness area, on one of the few private tracts enclosed by government land. All motorized objects were prohibited—even bicycles were not allowed. There were no phones and no electric lines. The mountains were so rugged that cell phones weren’t reliable and two-way radios required a repeater, which only the ranger station had. The isolation had suited Cy just fine, and Mitch as well. But right now, he cursed the lack of resources. He could carry her two miles to his truck, but he doubted the boy could walk that far again and carrying both would be tricky. The nearest medical facility was eight hours away.