opened her mouth to speak and then clamped it shut. A noise in the other room stopped her cold. “Did you hear that?”
“Get the baby and get ready to run on my word. Don’t wait for me to come back. Just go when I say.” Dawson was already on his feet, moving toward the kitchen so stealthily with his back against the wall that his movement almost didn’t register.
By the second noise, Mason was in her arms and an ominous feeling had settled over her. Her purse was on the foyer table next to the front door, keys inside.
She heard a scuffle and then Dawson shouted, “Go!”
Her need to protect her son warred with her desire to make sure his father was okay.
Dawson had told her to leave.
She dug out her keys from the bottom of her bag, hands shaking, praying Mason would stay asleep on her shoulder.
As she stepped onto the front porch, a shotgun blasted in the other room.
Melanie’s pulse raced as Mason opened his eyes and bawled so loudly there was no covering it. The sound would alert whoever had the gun, and chances were that person wasn’t Dawson. A knife pierced her chest at the thought of him being shot, bleeding. She had very much loved him and the two had been inseparable for most of their childhoods.
She bolted across the porch and down the stairs.
Mason wriggled, working up to release another round.
“It’s okay, baby,” she soothed as she made a run for her car, her legs bogged down by what felt like lead weights as she thought about leaving Dawson behind.
The carport on the side of the house was equal distance from the front and back doors. Anything happened to Dawson—and she prayed that wasn’t the case—and the attacker could get to her and Mason easily.
She couldn’t allow herself to think that anything could happen to Dawson, no matter how heavy her heart was in her chest, trying to convince her otherwise.
The auto unlock caused her sedan’s lights to blink and make a clicking sound. Mason stirred and she feared he was about to wail again giving away their location, but he whimpered instead.
Melanie repeated a protection prayer she’d learned as a child as she tucked Mason into the car seat. She half expected someone to come up from behind and jerk her away from her son. Or another sudden blast to split the air.
No matter how torn she felt between running to safety with her Mason and staying back to help his father, she would go. Dawson had ordered her to take the baby and run, and she had to believe—no, pray—he knew what he was doing.
Getting the key in the ignition was difficult with shaky hands. Adrenaline had kicked in and her insides churned. She finally managed on her fourth attempt. Mason stirred, crying louder, winding up to release a scream. The energy he was expending threw him into another coughing fit. And there was nothing she could do about it, which sent her stress hormones soaring.
Melanie backed out of the carport with blacked-out lights. She turned the car around so that she could better see as she navigated the gravel driveway.
With the windows up Mason’s crying would be muffled to anyone outside the car. Leaving him in the backseat, not being able to comfort him while he cried ripped out another piece of her heart. As soon as she could be sure she’d gotten them out of there and to safety, she’d pull over. No, she’d call 9-1-1 first.
Nearing the end of the driveway, she was almost to the street when a dark figure jumped in front of the car.
Melanie slammed on the brakes and flipped on her headlights.
It was Dawson...covered in blood.
She unlocked the doors, motioning for him to get inside while scanning the darkness for his attacker. Her heart sank. She could get him to Mercy Hospital in twenty minutes.
He darted to the passenger side, opened the door and jumped in. “Go.”
No other word was needed. As soon as his door closed, she gunned it, spinning out in the gravel. She eased her foot off the gas pedal enough for the tires to gain traction, cut a right at the end of the drive and sped toward Mercy.
“Dawson, you’re shot.”
“It’s not that bad,” he said.
Mason’s cries intensified. She glanced in the rearview and saw that his eyes were closed as he tried to shove his fist in his mouth.
“You have blood all over you,” she said to Dawson, not masking the panic in her voice as her heart ached to hold her son.
“It looks worse than it is,” he said, dismissing her concern and focusing on Mason. “What can I do to help him?”
“There’s an emergency pacifier in the diaper bag in the floorboard.” She motioned toward the backseat. “I’ve been weaning him.”
Dawson held up his bloody hands.
“There are wet wipes in the bag, too.”
Dawson grunted in pain as he twisted around and pulled wipes from the bag. Distress was stamped all over his features at hearing the baby cry.
Melanie had had the same look when her son was born and she realized that she didn’t have the first idea how to take care of a baby. A few months later, she’d become an old hand at caring for Mason, and she had no doubt that Dawson would, too.
As soon as the pacifier was in Mason’s mouth, he quieted.
“Make a left at the next light,” Dawson said, sounding satisfied.
She remembered that feeling well. Those early wins were important confidence boosters.
“You’re hurt. I’m taking you to the hospital,” she said emphatically.
“No. I’m fine.” There was no room for argument in his tone. “A piece of the slug grazed my shoulder. That’s all.”
“It looks a lot worse than that,” she said. Was he downplaying his injury? She wanted to believe he was fine. From her periphery she saw him one-arm his shirt off and then roll it up.
“Nah. I’ll be okay.”
“I have a medical kit in the glove box. There are a few supplies in there that should help.”
“Since when did you start keeping an emergency kit in your car?” he asked.
“Mason was climbing up the stairs to a slide at a playground. A mom asked me a question, distracted me for one second. I looked away. Next thing I know, Mason’s screaming and blood’s pouring from his forehead. A nice couple brought over a few supplies they’d learned to keep with them. I made my own kit after that.”
“The sound of his crying is heartbreaking. He’s quiet, but what if he loses that pacifier I put in his mouth? Should I go back there and hold him
