For the Sake of His Child

It was time—past time—to talk with the police. He’d already waited too long. The police station was close.

A slow-moving eighteen-wheeler hogged the right lane, the one he had to be in to exit. Swearing, he looked to the left, hoping to pass the truck and speed ahead.

But the dark green Cadillac was still on his tail.

Before he could guess the driver’s intention, the Cadillac slammed into the side of the van.

Kirk wrenched the steering wheel, trying to regain control. The van swayed on the high overpass.

Trapped behind the huge truck as he was, with the Cadillac boxing him in, there was no escape.

Desperately clenching the steering wheel with all his strength, he tried to prepare for the next blow. This time the heavy car made a direct hit on the driver’s-side door.

The sounds of tearing metal and shattering glass barely penetrated, blocked out by his last conscious thought: It wasn’t supposed to end this way! God, please let Brynn understand…please.

CHAPTER ONE

Two years later, Walburg, Texas

THERE WAS A TIME when Brynn Alder had not been sad. A time before her life had been stolen. A time when she had reason to be happy.

Tall French doors stood ajar, opening onto the cobbled brick terrace. Black and white chickadees perched in the huge, aged oak tree, sharing morsels from the well-stocked feeder. As Brynn watched, a blue jay swooped toward them and they darted away. Sometimes, when all was still, the chickadees tentatively breached the boundary between their world and hers, hopping inside from the terrace, crossing the warm wood floor of her studio. They always made her smile.

Although Brynn had known the Texas Hill Country was beautiful before she’d moved here nine months earlier from San Antonio, her true appreciation hadn’t developed until she’d settled in this house, drawn by the security it offered.

“Brynn, I’m going to get it this time,” thirteen-year-old Emily insisted, panting as she tried to shape the slippery clay. It was time for the child to go home, to move past her troubles now that she had the coping skills she’d learned from Brynn. But not before she had one more try at the potter’s wheel.

“Savor the feel of the clay in your hands,” Brynn reminded her. It was the sensation, not the end result, that she wanted the girl to carry with her. Brynn closed her eyes, picturing not Emily, but her own daughter, Sarah, sitting at the wheel, a determined, expectant expression on her young face.

“Rats!” Emily interrupted the fantasy. “I blew another one.” She held up a lumpy, shapeless object. “You’re right. This isn’t for everybody.”

Brynn smiled gently, glad Emily would take away this important concept. Ignoring the emptiness in her heart, she reached for the piece of clay. “And learning that lesson makes this a wonderful memento of our time here together. May I keep it?”

A gigantic smile erupted on Emily’s freckled face. “You really want to keep it?”

“Absolutely!” Brynn glanced at the clock on the studio wall. “But now you have to pack.” She had given in to Emily’s request for one last walk, horse ride and session at the wheel. “Your parents should be here any minute.”

“Okay.”

Emily was a changed child. When she’d come to Brynn six weeks earlier, there had been no trace of a smile and no willingness to obey the simple rules Brynn insisted upon. It was ironic, her ability to read what other people’s troubled children needed. If only she’d been so attuned to her own.

It was too difficult to go there, to relive the pain and loss. Instead, she followed Emily up the stairs, then detoured to her own room. Quickly Brynn exchanged her smock for a fresh T-shirt. She made few concessions to ceremony these days, since the remote location of the house seldom made them necessary. There were times it seemed she lived on the edge of the world. And despite the counsel of family and friends, she needed the solitude.

Loneliness wasn’t a factor. Brynn knew she’d be equally alone in a crowded room. When she’d lost the ones she loved, a chasm had rent her soul. And no one could fill that void.

One of her beloved dogs, a Border collie named Virgil, pushed his muzzle into her hand. She patted his silky head and his tail wagged in silent support as they walked down the stairs together.

Brynn had only enough time to fix some iced tea before the doorbell rang. The Hills, Emily’s parents, could scarcely contain their anxiety.

But before Brynn could reassure them, Emily rushed down, her shoes making a noisy clatter on the wooden stairs. Running forward, she hugged her parents eagerly.

Surprise changed to gratitude as the Hills returned Emily’s embrace, the room filling with enthusiastic voices.

A few minutes later, Emily’s father still looked stunned as he glanced toward Brynn. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Enjoy your beautiful daughter,” Brynn replied.

After accepting thanks, she watched the trio get into their car, then waved until they were out of sight. Once back inside, with the door closed, she found that the silence seemed louder than the noise the happy family had made. Only the clicking of Virgil’s toenails broke the stillness.

Brynn strolled through the studio and onto the terrace. The house was too quiet, as it always was when a child left. And this one had stayed longer than most. As a result, Brynn was behind in her work. Contracts to three galleries had yet to be filled and she couldn’t afford to lose the work. However, once the commissioned pieces were completed, she needed to rest. She couldn’t mentor another child unless she had some downtime first.

Sitting in a comfortable, deep rocker, she surveyed the open green field before her. Her other three dogs were playing in the long grass, chasing rabbits or each other. Virgil was the one who glued himself to her side, keeping watch. Still, all the animals had adjusted well to the move. And to think less than a year earlier she’d had no pets. Now she couldn’t imagine not having them around.

Virgil had been a gift from her best friend, Julia Ford. Worried about Brynn after Sarah’s death, Julia had brought over the faithful dog. Unable to face the responsibility of having to care for another living creature and perhaps failing it, Brynn had determinedly headed for the shelter where Julia had purchased the dog, intending to return him. However, as she walked the aisles of caged animals, her tender heart had betrayed her.

Instead of returning Virgil, Brynn had brought home three additional dogs destined for destruction that day, along with two cats marked for a similar fate. And now they were her family.

A flash of sable surfaced in the field and she smiled. Shamus, her big, rambunctious setter mix, was galloping away from his smaller playmates. Brynn was indebted to her friend for far more than her pets. This was Julia’s ranch—loaned to Brynn without hesitation or limitations.

Brynn’s cell phone rang, interrupting her musing. She considered ignoring it, but knew she no longer had that luxury. The ranch phone rarely rang. Julia’s visits were sporadic and most callers knew that the cell phone was the best way to reach Brynn.

The man’s authoritative voice was one she didn’t recognize, and his request one she was hoping to avoid.

She listened to him for a few moments. “I’m sorry, Mr.… is it McKenzie? But I really can’t take on another child at this time.” Even now, exhaustion seeped through her bones. Helping a child took every bit of her limited emotional reserves.

“I was told you are the best,” McKenzie responded.

Hearing determination in his tone, she winced, knowing how desperate some parents were for help. “I appreciate the compliment—”

“It’s not a compliment. I wouldn’t be bothering you if I had an alternative. I’m not crazy about sending my child away. But she needs you.”

Brynn swallowed, hating to refuse, but knowing she had to. Battered by the events of the past year, her emotions were fragile. Although she volunteered willingly, she knew her limits. “Mr. McKenzie, the same people who recommended me can find you someone else.”

“You have a unique approach, Mrs. Alder. No one else takes a child on a one-to-one basis. Group programs haven’t helped my daughter. She’s been in the highly recommended ones and the mildly recommended ones. They didn’t make a dent.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. McKenzie.”

“This can’t be discussed on the phone,” he replied. “I can be at your place tomorrow—”

“No!” Fear made the word a screech. She calmed her voice. “As I said, I can’t help her. Goodbye, Mr. McKenzie.” She shut the phone, unwilling to hear more. Feeling the tightness in her throat, she made herself breathe more slowly.

Brynn had reluctantly given her phone number to Julia, family and a few doctors, but she’d never divulged her new home’s location. Even her mail went to a post office box in San Antonio, which Julia checked. Her friend alerted her to anything that needed an immediate response, then brought the mail when she visited. And so far, it had worked. No one had bothered her here.

Breathing normally now, Brynn rubbed Virgil’s ears. “I’m being ridiculous,” she told the dog. “There’s no way Mr. McKenzie or anyone else can find us here.”

Still, she felt better once she’d rounded up all the pets and securely locked them inside for the evening.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Jake McKenzie wasn’t in any better humor, having driven through San Antonio’s rush hour and then another three hours to the outlying edge of the Hill Country.