Page 5

THREE

Kit’s palm was sweat-slicked as she removed the money from the duffel and set it on the floor.

Three bundles altogether, neatly secured.

She quickly counted one. Not new bills but plenty of them.

She alternated between ogling the money and the baby madly sucking at her bottle, impossibly small on Cullen’s lap.

Tot had flung out a fist to capture her foot as if she were responsible for keeping the toes attached to her body.

Ten thousand dollars, more or less. Kit was gnawing on her thumbnail, a habit she thought she’d conquered long ago. She checked the stacks again. It was still ten thousand dollars bound with rubber bands in the precise way she would have done if she’d ever possessed that much cash.

None of it made sense. If only the shrieking pain in her skull would let up so she could think.

With as minimal movement as possible, she snagged a container of Tylenol from her first aid kit and swallowed several with the aid of a small container of orange juice she’d intended as a midafternoon pick-me-up.

Cullen still hadn’t said a word. When Tot’s milk was halfway gone, he expertly tipped the child upright and patted her back in one fluid movement.

Kit wouldn’t have expected such proficient nurturing nor the warm feeling it gave her which she immediately checked.

So he was good with infant care. So what?

He was a stranger. Maybe he’d been the one to stow both the baby and money in her rig.

She didn’t remember a thing. This might have all been one ill-executed plan by the guy humming softly across from her.

“Well?” she demanded, pointing to the bundled bills.

“Well what?”

“What do you have to say about this money?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? It’s in your truck.”

She glared. “Do you have any theories you’d care to share?”

He pursed his lips. “Might explain why Big Guns was after the woman. She ripped him off. Ten thousand isn’t a ton, but it can be depending on the circumstances.

” He paused. “Some people don’t take kindly to losing what they feel is theirs.

” Something sizzled like a lit match behind his irises and then vanished.

They stared at each other.

The baby let loose a massive burp. “Attagirl.” He wiped her chin with a rag and returned her to the patting position. “I better go.”

His stomach growled, and he grimaced.

“Hey. Got anything I can eat while I hike? I’m starving.”

Food was the furthest thing from her thoughts since her own stomach was tumbling in queasy circles.

If she’d learned one thing from all her long hauls, it was to always travel with a variety of food choices, prepackaged and organized by time, a.m., afternoon, p.m., late night.

Should she feed this man? Her silence lingered too long.

“If you don’t want to, I understand.” He didn’t appear like someone who understood.

In fact, he was giving off hurt-little-boy vibes.

She’d never been able to abide seeing someone go hungry.

Plenty of homeless people had been the recipients of her food.

She found herself taking the bologna sandwich she’d stowed on the afternoon shelf in the mini fridge.

“Here.”

His mouth curved in a wondrous smile as if she’d handed him a steak and lobster feast.

“Yeah? You sure you don’t want it? That’s awful nice of you.”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s only got mustard, because I can’t stand mayo, and there’s pickles if you want, but I don’t put them on until I’m ready to eat because they make the bread soggy.” Was she really going on about mustard and pickles?

“Perfect. I eat pretty much anything that isn’t nailed down, and that sounds plenty gourmet to me. Rip off a hunk. We should ration, in case.” Since he was still patting the baby, she unwrapped the sandwich, took a plastic knife from the drawer, and sliced off a quarter.

He devoured it in one massive bite and sighed. “Delicious. I haven’t eaten since last night, and that was stew out of a can.”

A man that big wasn’t going to get far on a single mouthful. She gave him another quarter with a shrug. “You’ll need the energy.”

Droplets of rain hammered the metal cab.

He ate and quirked a brow. “Not to be a delicate flower or anything, but do you have storm gear? It’s gonna be a trek, and the ash is mixing with the rain. Gotta slog through all that debris out there, and it’ll stick to me like skin on a pudding.”

First her sandwich, now her clothes. She shifted uneasily. Still, it was going to be a dangerous enough undertaking for him without adding wet clothes to the mix. She pulled out the raincoat she’d bought on impulse at the thrift shop from its spot under the bed and tossed it over his knees.

His brows zinged up. “I, uh, was picturing a yellow slicker, like the Gorton’s fisherman guy.”

“Desperate times.” She didn’t allow a smile, but when he handed her the baby and shrugged on the raincoat, his wrists hung out of the too-short sleeves as if he were wearing a child’s size.

The dark blue material with yellow rubber duckies reached only a few inches below his belly button.

Baseball cap jammed on, coat unable to zip over his broad chest, and a smear of mustard on his chin, he was a sight.

She angled her shoulders so he would not see her smile in the glow of the flashlight.

The baby was beginning to squirm against her shoulder. A rush of panic followed when she realized she’d be in charge of this creature until he returned.

“How long do you think it will take?”

“No idea. Couple hours, maybe? I’m gonna have to move slow. Ground’s a mess. Two things while I’m gone.”

Now he was giving orders? “What?”

“Numero uno, see if you can get her to sleep.”

“How do I do that exactly?”

“You’ll figure out something. When you lay her down, put her on her back, not her tummy, and make sure she doesn’t smother or get tangled in the blankets. Second, work on packing some supplies in the duffel, okay? Dry clothes, food, flashlights, first aid kit, whatever you can fit. In case.”

“In case of what?”

He didn’t look at her. “A hasty departure.”

She blinked. “There’s nowhere to go. We have to stay here until we’re rescued.” Besides, this truck was her heart and soul, and she wouldn’t leave it until they pried her rigid dead fingers from the steering wheel.

“Hoofing it is a last-ditch scenario. Hopefully the cops or a rescue unit will show. Maybe some emergency workers will see the truck’s skid marks or my abandoned vehicle and call it in.” His tone hardened as he glanced at her. “Big Guns might have taken off and this baby’s mom is okay, but...”

But if she was able , why hadn’t she returned to the rig for her baby?

It was almost completely dark except for the glow from the flashlight she’d wedged between the mattress and the crumpled wall. Strange shadows marbled his expression, carving hard lines around his features.

She gritted her teeth and cradled the baby. “I’ll pack if I can.”

Before she realized, he’d bent toward her.

Her heart thudded. Was he thinking about ...

But he kissed the baby on the downy crown of her head. “Be good for Auntie Kit, huh, Tot?” And then he opened the door, disappearing into a gust of windblown ash.

The baby cried as if she knew he’d left.

Kit felt like crying too. Her temples were pincered in an agonizing vise, and aches and pains had begun to overwhelm the flimsy comfort of the Tylenol.

In particular, her left wrist was throbbing.

The infant’s sobs lasered into her skull.

The little thing was all rubbery limbs and head thrashes.

She mimicked what she’d seen Cullen do, patting with a combined walk and jiggle up and down motion as she minced along the minuscule area between her tiny table and sleeping alcove.

Louder and louder the baby screamed, drowning out the patter of raindrops on the roof and her own thoughts.

Her head ached. Did all babies shriek with such intensity?

Fear tightened her throat. Maybe there was something wrong.

The crash might have caused internal injuries.

Babies were fragile flickers that could so easily be snuffed out. She swallowed.

“I’m sorry your mama isn’t here.” Where was this baby’s mother?

Father? Out there lost? Buried alive? Shot?

She patted and joggled and soothed with the only kid song she knew, “Jingle Bells.” The screaming didn’t stop.

Something had to be wrong. She’d be forced to go get Cullen.

But should she leave the baby alone in the truck while she went to fetch him?

Strap her into the car seat maybe? Or carry her along, out into the night, worrying about noxious gasses and landslides?

The baby’s massive burp cut across her panic. It was so startling, Kit stopped walking. Through the blanket, the small arms and legs relaxed, as if a stopper had been pulled to drain out the discomfort. Slowly, Kit walked and joggled some more, quietly singing “Jingle Bells.”

Before the verse was over, Tot was asleep.

Victory flooded Kit’s soul. After a mental fist pump, she gingerly laid the baby on the mattress, tummy up, far away from any smothering fabric. Job one, complete.

Job two, packing for an escape. An escape from whom?

To where? She had to think, in spite of her muddled brain.

Cullen’s plan wasn’t going to work for her.

She had no intention of leaving, but she’d make sure he was supplied if he insisted.

The contents of the mini fridge yielded a few more snacks, which she added on top of the money in the duffel along with the food and water she’d brought and a tightly rolled blanket and the flashlight.

She tried to replay her actions that morning. It was all a depressing blank, and it remained so as the minutes ticked into an hour and beyond. How many more before Cullen was able to pick his way over the treacherous ground and return?