Texas Heroes_ Volume 1(70)

Mitch swore silently. She looked exhausted and painfully thin. The boy’s own exhaustion was showing.

Sore throat and fever—maybe it was just the flu. If she were anyone else, it would make sense to take her to the cabin and check her temperature before taking any more radical action.

But she wasn’t anyone else. She was callous and uncaring and had let Cy die alone except for a man who was no blood relation.

Mitch looked at the boy, saw his fear and fatigue. Then he looked back at the woman.

Even like this, she was beautiful. Delicate, so small she could have been a child herself, her figure hidden beneath layers of clothing. A backpack cut into her shoulders, its bulk twisting her body to one side. Another one, smaller and brightly colored, lay beside her. He reached out to remove the big one, surprised at its heft.

“You won’t hurt her, will you?” Like a tiny warrior, the boy moved closer to his mother.

Mitch frowned. “Of course not.” Despite what she’d done to Cy, he would never hurt her. “She’s got a fever. When’s the last time she drank anything?”

“This morning, I think.”

“Did you carry any water?”

“Just my lunchbox thermos.”

“Your mom carry any?”

He shook his head. “Her water bottle fell and broke, but she said she would drink some when we got to Grandpa Cy’s cabin. Do you know my Grandpa Cy?”

Mitch was too angry to discuss Cy right now. What was she thinking of, putting the boy in a vulnerable position like this? Couldn’t she tell she was sick? What if Mitch had been out guiding, as was normal this time of year? They both could have died out here.

He made up his mind. The boy needed rest and food. “Come on, son. Let’s get you back to the cabin.”

He picked her up easily, draping the backpack over his shoulder. “Can you carry that one or do you need me to do it?”

The boy lifted the bright green and yellow pack and squared his shoulders again. “I can do it. Just make my mom better, please, mister.”

For a woman who had shown little evidence of either character or heart, this little guy had enough for both of them. An odd tightness in his throat, Mitch merely nodded and led the way.



Mitch laid her down on the bed in Cy’s room. So tiny. So fragile. So pale.

“You sure she’s not dead?”

Mitch frowned and turned, seeing the boy’s blue eyes swimming with tears.

“Yes.” He had no experience with kids. “She’s just passed out.”

“Is she gonna die?” The boy’s lower lip quivered again, but he stood straight and studied Mitch.

A long-buried arrowhead surfaced. Mitch knew what it was like to watch a mother die. “No.” His jaw tightened. “She won’t die.”

The boy moved a step closer to his mother, standing between her and Mitch. “Can you make her well?”

What are you doing here? Mitch wanted to ask. Go away. Leave me alone. Your mother turned her back on your grandfather and let him die unwanted.

But he was just a kid. Even if she was heartless, she was still his mother.

“I think so. Listen—” He dropped to his heels. “What’s your name?”

The boy hesitated. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. Especially men.”

A little late for that, but Mitch nodded seriously. “That’s good advice. But since your Grandpa Cy was my best friend, I guess that makes us not so much strangers.”

The boy thought it over, then nodded but still didn’t answer.

Mitch held out his hand. “My name is Mitch.”

The boy darted a glance to his mother’s still form and then back. Finally, he placed his much-smaller hand in Mitch’s. “My name is Davey.” Then, as if remembering a lesson in manners, he added, “Pleased to meet you.”

Mitch stifled a grin and shook the boy’s hand. “All right, Davey. First thing we have to do is bring down your mom’s fever.” He rose to his feet. “You can help me.”

“Me?” Blue eyes goggled.

“Yeah, you. Unless you’re too little.”

“I’m not too little.” Davey’s chest puffed out from his sturdy little body. “I can help.”

Mitch nodded. “Good. You stay right here so she’ll see you if she wakes up. I’m going to get a thermometer from my first aid pack.”

When he returned, the boy was watching as though she might vanish if he didn’t. She’s not worth it, kid, he wanted to say. Instead he opened her mouth and put the thermometer under her tongue, then sat on the edge of the mattress and carefully held her slack jaw shut, glancing at his watch to time himself. “You ever run a fever?”