thanks.” Ryder hugged the boy. “I’m having another helping of this potpie, though.” Ryder reached around the child to serve himself.
“What’s this about your foot?” Tina asked, waddling back to the table.
Before he could answer, the boy on Ryder’s knee pointed a finger at Jeri. “Who dat?”
“That’s Miss Jeri,” Ryder answered. “She’s our guest.” He waved a hand between the two boys, saying to Jeri, “These are my nephews, Tyler and Frankie.”
Jeri made herself smile at the boys, but she felt off-balance. Ryder Smith wasn’t supposed to be a helpful brother and doting uncle. He wasn’t supposed to make her shiver or want to join in the conversation. He shouldn’t be long-suffering and patient. She shouldn’t appreciate his handling of the horses or find him the most attractive of the Smith brothers. He was a fiend, a villain.
Kathryn brought over two small plates filled with sliced apples, crackers and globs of peanut butter. Frankie slid off Ryder’s knee and right onto his foot. Ryder grimaced.
“Ryder Dodd Smith,” Tina said, folding her arms above the swell of her belly. “What did you do to your foot?”
He shrugged sheepishly. “Something fell on it.”
Jeri tried not to wince as guilt swept through her. She told herself that he deserved a couple of smashed toes, but she couldn’t quite believe it somehow. Especially when he protected her by leaving her culpability out of it.
Tina rolled her eyes. “Get that boot off.” She turned toward the back of the house, saying, “Kathryn, we’re going to need some hot water and then ice packs. I’ll get the Epsom salts.”
Sighing, Ryder sent an apologetic glance at Jeri and started eating again. Kathryn went to heat water.
Feeling as slimy as a slug, Jeri beat a hasty retreat, mumbling that she needed to make a phone call. If she didn’t speak to her mother soon, she was going to lose her nerve. These Smiths were too...normal...too likable, especially Ryder.
As she climbed the stairs, she heard something hitting the roof of the house. Too sharp to be rain and too light to be hail, the sound grew louder as she reached the landing and made her way down the hall to her room. Pushing aside the ruffled curtain, she looked out at the crystalline ice beginning to coat the bare limbs of the trees in the side yard. Within moments, the lawn was sparkling white and the outside of the window had begun to glaze over.
Jeri felt trapped in a prison of her own making.
No. She shook her head. Ryder Smith had made this prison for her family when he killed her little brother. And he had to pay for that. God was going to make him pay for that. She had to believe God would make him pay.
For her own sake, as well as her mother’s, she must make sure of it.
Pulling her small phone from the pocket of her jeans, she found her mom’s phone number and made the call.
* * *
“It’s getting nasty out there,” Kathryn remarked, closing the door behind the dogs, both of which shook themselves off before plopping down on the rug in front of the cookstove.
“Hope this doesn’t last too long,” Ryder commented, pulling on his sock.
Soaking his foot had made his toes throb like a big brass drum, but the ice packs had helped calm the throb. And the over-the-counter analgesic Tina had given him, coupled with the way Kathryn had taped two of the toes together, was taking the edge off what remained.
“Kathryn,” Tina said, “maybe you, Jake and Frankie should spend the night here.”
Kathryn nodded. As Ryder gingerly pushed his injured foot down into his boot, Tina made a sound that pretty well described how it felt to shove broken toes into a cowboy boot. When he looked over at her, though, he saw that she was grasping her belly, her face screwed up in pain.
“Tina!” Kathryn yelped, rushing to her side.
At the same time, Tyler cried, “Mom!”
Gasping harshly, Tina reached out and steadied herself by grabbing Kathryn’s shoulder. She seemed to catch her breath and straightened, only to cry out and double over again. Making a gargling sound, she started to sink. Ryder jumped up and caught her, sweeping her into his arms as she groaned.
“Call the doctor!” he barked, carrying Tina toward the bedroom she shared with Wyatt. Thankfully, the bedroom was on the ground floor and just down the hall from the kitchen. Behind him, Tyler and Frankie slid off their chairs. “Stay where you are, boys!” he ordered.
“The n-number’s on my phone,” Tina managed, clutching his neck with one arm and digging for her phone with the other hand.
Kathryn caught up with them and took the phone as Ryder lowered Tina onto the big bed. Tina curled onto her side, gasping again. Before Ryder could straighten, she grabbed him by the shirtsleeve.
“Get Wyatt.”
“Right away.”
He hurried for the door while Kathryn made the phone call. Tina moaned again; it was a strangled, frightened sound. Looking back in concern, Ryder strode into the hall—and straight into Jeri Bogman.
“Oh!”
He quickly stepped around her, his hands steadying her by the shoulders. “I’ve got to find Wyatt.”
“Something wrong?”
He glanced back into the bedroom before quickly ushering her away from the door, toward the kitchen. “Tina could be in labor,” he said in a low, tense voice.
“Oh, no. Can I do anything?”
“Keep an eye on the boys,” he said, leaving her at the kitchen table as he rushed for his coat. As he yanked open the door, he heard Jeri urging the boys to return to the table. Ryder hurried outside, throwing on his coat and praying silently as he went.
Thankfully, the new carport covered the steps, so they were dry and clear. The ground, however, was already slick with ice, which continued to fall in angry, wet splatters. Nevertheless, he ran, his injured foot screaming with every step. Slipping and flailing his arms to maintain balance, he got to the barn and went in through the small door, calling for his brother.
“Wyatt! Wyatt!” He heard the distant bang of a plank door.
“Ryder?”
He got as far as the middle section of the barn before Wyatt appeared out of the gloom.
“What’s wrong?”
“Tina’s in pain. Kathryn’s calling the doctor.”
Wyatt took off at a dead run.
“Watch the ice!” Ryder yelled, going after him.
Ryder caught up with Wyatt as he grabbed the edge of the barn’s door to keep his feet from going out from under him. He mentally reminded himself to come out later, when the onslaught had stopped, and sprinkle
