me help you home.”
Wariness entered the kid’s blue eyes. “I’m fine.” He swiped his dirty sleeve across his mouth, smearing the blood.
“Who were those guys?”
The child clamped his lips together, cringing, but keeping his mouth closed.
“The least I can do is make sure you get home without those kids bothering you again.”
The boy’s eyes widened.
“Okay?”
The child nodded once then tried to stand. Halfway up, his legs gave out, and he sank to the ground.
Jake moved closer. “Let me help.” He steadied himself with his cane.
When the boy stood with Jake’s assistance, he wobbled but remained on his feet.
“I’ve been in a few fights. I know you have to get your bearings before doing too much.”
The child tilted his head back and looked up at Jake, pain reflected in his eyes. “Did ya win?”
“Sometimes. Can you walk home? If you don’t think you can, I’ll call your parents.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone.
“No, I can walk.” The child glanced over his shoulder. “Do you think they’ll come back?”
“Not if they know what’s good for them. I won’t let them hurt you again.”
“I wish that was true,” the boy, probably no more than ten, mumbled, his head dropping. His body language shouted defeat.
“It’s getting worse,” Jake heard the kid mumble to himself. That again aroused the protective instinct in him.
“C’mon. Show me where you live. Is it far?” He looked back to check for the trio who had jumped the child. A male jogger and a couple, hands clasped, were the only people he saw in the park. “I’m Jake. What’s your name?” With his injured leg throbbing, he used his cane to support more of his weight than usual.
“Josh.” The boy dragged his feet as they turned the corner onto Sooner Road.
“Why were those kids bothering you?” The question came out before Jake could censor himself. He didn’t want to get involved. Yet, the second he took the first step toward the fight, he had become involved, knowing firsthand what the boy was going through.
Josh mumbled something again, but Jake could hear only the words, “like to fight.”
“Have those guys bullied you before?”
The boy’s pace slowed until he came to a stop in front of a one-story, redbrick house with a long porch across the front. “Yeah. The big one has since he moved here,” he said, his head still hanging.
“Do your parents know?” Jake studied the top of the child’s head, some blood clotted in the brown hair. The urge to check the wound inundated him. He started to bring his hand up.
Josh jerked his chin up, anger carved into his features while his eyes glistened. “I don’t have a dad. I don’t want my mom knowing. You can’t tell her.” He took a step back. His hands fisted at his sides as if he were ready to defend that statement.
“I won’t.”
The taut set of the child’s shoulders relaxed some, his fingers flexed.
“But you will.”
“No, I won’t. I can take care of this myself. Mom will just get all upset and worried.”
“She’ll know something is wrong with one look at you.” Jake gestured toward the house with a neatly trimmed yard, mums in full bloom in the flower bed and an inviting porch with white wicker furniture, perfect for enjoying a fall evening. Idyllic, as if part of the world wasn’t falling apart with people battling each other. “Is this where you live?”
Josh stuck his lower lip out and crossed his arms, wearing a defiant expression.
Instantly, Jake flashed back to an incident with a captive prisoner who gave him that same look. His heartbeat raced. His breathing became shallow. His world shrank to that small hut in the mountains as he faced an enemy who had been responsible for killing civilians and soldiers the day before. He felt the shaking start in his hands. Jake fought to shut down the helplessness before it took over.
“Josh, what’s going on?” A female voice penetrated the haze of memories.
Jake blinked and looked toward the porch. A tall woman, a few inches shy of six feet, with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail that swished, marched down the steps toward them, distress stamped on her features.
“What happened to you?” Stooping in front of the boy, the lady grasped Josh’s arms. When he didn’t say anything, she peered up at Jake. “What happened?”
“Is Josh your son?”
“Yes.” The anxiety in her blue eyes, the same crystalline color as the boy’s, pleaded for him to answer the question.
Jake shifted. He’d done what he said he would do. He’d delivered the child safely home. It was time to leave Josh and his mother to hash out what had occurred in the park. He backed away, his grip on the cane like a clamp. He spied the imploring look in Josh’s eyes. “Your son needs to tell you,” he said.
She turned back to the boy. “You’re bleeding, your eye is red and your clothes are a mess. Did you get in a fight?”
The boy nodded.
“Why? That’s not you, Josh.”
The kid yanked away from his mom and yelled, “Yeah! That’s the problem!” He stormed toward the house.
Jake took another step back.
She whirled toward him, her face full of a mother’s wrath. “What’s going on?”
“He was in a fight.”
“I got that much from him.”
“I broke it up and walked him home.” Jake could barely manage his own life. He didn’t want to get in the middle of someone else’s, but the appeal in Josh’s mother’s eyes demanded he say something. “Three boys were beating up Josh.”
“Why?”
“That you have to ask him. I came in after it started, and he wasn’t forthcoming about what was going on.”
“But something is. I get the feeling this wasn’t the first time.”
“A good assumption.”
“I’m Emma Langford.” She paused, waiting for him to supply his name.
He clamped his teeth down hard for a few seconds before he muttered, “Jake Tanner. I live around the corner, across from the park.” Why did he add the last? Because there was something in her
