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ONE
She needed to be strong and fast to get her baby back.
Ellie Brooks planted her hands on her hips and watched several silver-headed ladies coo over one-year-old Owen. Her foster son grinned, flashing an adorable bottom tooth. One arm held fast to his trusted stuffed dog, Scout, as he used his other hand to grip the edge of a chair for balance. Ellie had left her little man in the care of his “grandmothers” while she helped set up tables and booths for the church bazaar. For the last hour and a half, he’d been cuddled, kissed, and entertained by the Silver Creek sewing circle. Judging from the half-done quilt tossed to the side, Owen’s babysitters hadn’t completed a stitch since his arrival. It wouldn’t be easy to extract him.
“Come on, Owen.” Marta Perez clapped her hands and held them out to the little boy. She leaned forward eagerly, her flowing skirt brushing the reception hall floor. “Take a step. You can do it.”
Ellie held her breath as Owen let go of the chair. His brow furrowed in concentration. For half a heartbeat, she thought he’d take his first step, but then he landed on the ground, his bottom cushioned by his diaper.
The elderly ladies cooed again, as if he’d done magic. Marta scooped him up with a quickness that defied her seventy-seven years and cuddled him. “You’re so cute, I could just eat you up.”
Ellie smiled as she approached, sliding the strap of her diaper bag higher on her shoulder. “Careful, Marta. If you start nibbling on him, you’ll have to explain it to Child Protective Services.”
Marta grinned, completely unbothered. Warm brown eyes peered at her over tortoiseshell glasses. “Let them come. I’d tell them he needed more spoiling.”
“Mm-hmm.” Ellie extended her arms. “As much as he’s loving the attention, it’s past his bedtime. If I don’t get him home soon, he’s going to turn into a pumpkin. A very cranky one.”
Marta pouted, kissing the top of Owen’s blond curls. “You hear that, mijo? Mama says it’s time to go. We don’t like it, do we?”
Owen gave a half-hearted whimper, then yawned before sticking his thumb in his mouth.
“That’s what I thought.” Ellie reached for him, and Marta reluctantly handed him over. Owen immediately rested his head on Ellie’s shoulder. A rush of love flooded her, and she patted his back gently while addressing Marta. “Thanks for watching him.”
“Anytime, mamasita,” Marta said, brushing imaginary lint off his onesie. “He’s no trouble at all.”
Ellie laughed. “I wouldn’t go that far, but he makes up for it in sweetness.”
Marta chuckled. “He sure does.” She kissed his chubby hand. “Bye, Owen. Be good for your mama.”
Ellie waved to the other ladies, adjusted her hold on Owen—he seemed to get heavier with each day—and headed for the exit. Most of the setup for tomorrow’s bazaar was finished, but a few locals lingered, chatting about town gossip and goings-on. Many stopped Ellie to pat Owen on the head or remark on how much he’d grown. The entire town of Silver Creek seemed tohave adopted the little boy as one of their own from the moment Ellie brought him home from the hospital as a sickly infant. He’d been born premature and with a congenital heart defect. But Owen was a fighter. Love, constant care, and one open-heart surgery later, and he was nearly indistinguishable from any other healthy one-year-old.
Chief of Police Roy O’Neal spotted them coming and held open the heavy door for Ellie. “That’s a boy with a fan club.” He gently knuckled Owen under the chin. “Keep charming ’em, kid. You’ll have this whole county in your pocket by the time you’re in kindergarten.”
Ellie snorted. “Kindergarten? He won’t need nearly that long.”
Roy chuckled. “Probably right. Night, Miss Brooks. Drive safe.”
“Thanks, Chief.”
She stepped out into the balmy spring air. After all this time, the outpouring of love from the townsfolk still caught her off guard. Ellie wasn’t a local. She’d only moved to Silver Creek three years ago seeking a fresh start, choosing the town solely because her maternal grandparents had grown up here. She hadn’t even known if she would stay.
But memories ran long in this slice of the Texas Hill Country. Ellie had been welcomed with all the enthusiasm of a long-lost relative. At a time when she’d felt alone and deeply discouraged, this town—and the people in it—had saved her, bit by bit. A kind word at the grocery store. A friendly hand repairing her house. An invitation to lunch after church. She made friends. Built a life. Healed. And after a lot of prayer and soul-searching, applied to become a foster mother. Ellie figured it would take ages for a child to be placed with her. She was single, after all.
And then… she’d gotten a phone call about Owen.
Nothing could have prepared Ellie for the monumental sense of responsibility or the overwhelming love she’d felt for the tiny bundle they placed in her arms. Nor had she been prepared for the outpouring of love from the community in the days, weeks, and months that followed.
“Everyone adores you, little man.” Ellie kissed Owen’s temple. His mouth worked overtime on his thumb, and he gripped Scout tight. He was definitely sleepy. “Did Mrs. Marta and the others wear you out? We can skip bath time tonight.” He’d already had dinner. A bottle and a story were probably all he could manage before a meltdown began.
Ellie picked up her pace. A whisper of wind brushed across her face and tugged at her ponytail, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass. It was still cool enough to be comfortable, but in a few short weeks, summer would arrive. Late May to mid-October could be brutally hot. She wasn’t looking forward to it.
The parking lot stood mostly empty, her SUV tucked under a fluorescent light next to an oversized truck. She sighed. The vehicle prevented her from loading Owen on the driver’s side, so she circled around to the passenger rear door. A van straddled the dividing white line, taking up two spaces. At least it was far enough away that she could maneuver.
The diaper bag slid to her elbow as she struggled to open the car door. A muscle along her stomach pulled, and the familiar ache courtesy of the bullet wound she’d taken to the gut flared. She ignored the old injury and set Owen down on the floorboard so she could toss the diaper bag into the car. He hated being strapped in, and she braced herself for the upcoming fight.
“Let’s get you into your car seat, sweetie.” Ellie smoothed one of his runaway curls and gave the sleepy boy a smile. She was just about to launch into a rendition of Mary Had a Little Lamb when the faint scuff of a boot against the pavement reached her ears.
Her attention snapped toward the sound, and she inhaled sharply. A figure in a black mask appeared alongside her bumper. Ellie froze. Her mind couldn’t quite accept what her eyes were seeing. It was like a nightmare had materialized out of thin air.