Cowboy In The Crossfire(10)

"Who's looking for you, Amanda?" He clasped her arms and spun her around to face him, his Stetson not shielding the intensity of his gaze.

"I don't know. And that's no lie. Some guy outside Vince's house shot me. He came after us. He won't stop. I know it. I have to get us out of here."

"I did a little research. There's no news of Vince being killed. Anywhere."

Amanda dug her fingers into Blake's arm. "Please tell me you didn't call Austin."

Before he could answer, she wrenched away, struggled up the front steps and stumbled through the door. Blake followed, hovering beside her like an overprotective guardian. She knew he wouldn't give up, but he'd have to. She'd beg, borrow or steal some money. Pay him back later. Somehow. Ethan's room drew her gaze. The door stood open.

Her son hadn't made a move without her since Vince's death. What if the killer had found them? What if he'd taken her son?

She ran across the hardwood floor and rushed into the bedroom. Empty. "Ethan!"

Fear laced her voice. She whirled around, shoved open the closet.

No Ethan. "Where is he?" She searched the bathroom. Behind the shower curtain. Nothing.

"Oh, God, Blake. Where's Ethan?"

Blake didn't respond. She looked over her shoulder. He stood frozen, staring at a cracked-open entrance to a room down the hall. His face turned white. "No."

Blake burst into a run and slammed open the oak door against the wall. Amanda ran into his back.

"What are you doing?" Blake's voice boomed. "No one goes in here."

Ethan froze, the bright yellow dump truck in his hand rolling to a stop. Amanda placed herself between Ethan and a livid Blake. She'd never seen him like this.

"You...you can't play with that." Agony carved into each line of his face, he sidestepped Amanda and took the truck from Ethan.

Terror painted her son's expression. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He ran to Amanda and threw himself against her.

She winced as he hit her side, but banished the waves of pain, focused solely on Ethan. "Shh, honey. Mommy's here." Worry vanished. She glared at Blake. "What are you trying to do? Scare him to death?"

Blake's wild-eyed gaze darted around the room before slowly clearing. He stared at the dog, who cowered in the corner, at Amanda holding her son. His throat spasmed. He thrust a shaking hand through his hair. "Oh, my God. I--"

The torment on Blake's face shattered her.

He stared down at the floor behind her. She followed his gaze. A cardboard box in the middle of the floor. The name Joey in large bold letters on its side. And she understood. His son's toys. And from the look of dust covering the furniture, the door hadn't been opened since Blake had moved here.

A twin bed with a football bedspread lay untouched, waiting for someone.

The room was a shrine.

"Blake--"

His distraught stare met hers. "I'm...sorry. I haven't been in here since--" His voice trailed off. He turned and slowly walked out. His shoulders slumped, as if his soul had broken in two.

She stared after him. Her heart shattered at the devastation and loss on his face. Her eyes stung at the defeated picture of his leaving the room.

She rubbed her face. What had she done? Ethan was close to Joey's age when he'd been killed. She hadn't considered how hard this would be for Blake. The painful memories Ethan would trigger. She'd never wanted to hurt Blake. She'd never knowingly have done that.

Blake's steps faded, and Amanda knelt down on the floor, needing to touch Ethan, to remind herself he was alive and here. She pulled him into her lap and cupped his face. She pushed back the hair falling on his forehead. What if she'd lost her son as Blake had lost his? Would she survive?

Ethan's face scrunched up. "I didn't mean to do anything bad."

"I know, honey, I know. What made you come in here?"

"Just looking. Sheriff Blake found the bear in a box in my closet. I saw all the stuff in here..." His voice trailed off.

Amanda studied the boxes in the room, brand-new with shipping labels still intact. Left here to wait. For a boy to play with them. A boy who never came.

Until yesterday. Until Ethan.

"You wanted more toys?"

He nodded, his expression full of chagrin. "I just wanted to play. I didn't mean to make him mad."

Struggling to keep the pain she felt for Blake off her face, she kissed her son's forehead, her resolve to protect him that much stronger. "He wasn't mad. Just surprised." She pushed back on her heels. "Why don't you play in your room for a while, and I'll talk to Blake."

A gruff throat clearing from the doorway drew her gaze. Blake's eyes looked bloodshot, but he forced a smile on his face and knelt down.

"I'm sorry, Ethan. I didn't mean to scare you."

With a shaking hand, Blake passed the yellow truck to her son. "This was my little boy, Joey's, favorite toy. I think he'd like you to have it."

"Joey?" Ethan's face screwed up in thought. "Uncle Vince said Joey's in the clouds."

Blake's jaw throbbed with the struggle to keep himself in check. He nodded.

"I wish he was here," Ethan said.

"So do I."