Come Back for Me (Arrowood Brothers #1)(5)

I close my eyes, lifting my face to the sky, hearing the sound of my breathing.

And then a thump from above causes my senses to kick in.

I look around, trying to see what it was.

Then a sniffle.

“Hello?” I call out, turning to the tree and the platform high in its branches.

There’s a scuffle, the sound of feet shuffling on the wood. Someone is up there. It has to be a kid because a grown adult wouldn’t be hiding up on that platform. However, whoever it is doesn’t answer.

“Hello? I know you’re up there,” I say a little softer because I’m trying to be less scary. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

Another bit of movement and then a cry that is clearly in pain.

I don’t wait, I move up the tree, using the wood steps my brothers helped me build so I would always be able to come here.

“I’m coming up. Don’t be scared,” I instruct, not wanting whoever is up there to fall off the scrap of wood.

I make it to the platform and a little girl is huddled in the corner. Her eyes are wide and full of fear. She doesn’t seem much older than I was the first time I headed up here, but I’m not really around kids much, so I have no clue how old she really is. I do know all about the apprehension and the tears running down her face. I used to wear a similar expression in this spot.

“I won’t hurt you, are you okay? I heard you cry.”

She nods quickly.

“Okay, are you hurt?”

A tear falls down her cheek and she nods again, clutching her arm.

“Is it your arm?” I ask, knowing that’s what it is. When she still doesn’t speak, I try to remember what it felt like to be hurt and alone, hiding in a tree. “I’m Connor, and I used to live here. This was my favorite place on this whole farm. What’s your name?”

Her lip trembles, and she seems to wrestle with whether she can answer me. In the end, her green eyes watch me like a hawk as she clamps her lips tight, letting me know she has no intention of speaking to me.

I take another step up the ladder and lean on the platform. “It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

I’ll stay up here for as long as it takes to get her down.

She sits up, her brown hair falling around her face, and she sniffs before pushing it back. “You’re a stranger,” the little girl says.

“I am. You’re right not to talk to strangers. Would it help if I told you that I was also a sort of police officer in the navy?”

Her eyes narrow, assessing me. “Police officers have uniforms.”

I grin, smart kid. “That’s right. I wore one, but I’m not working now since I’m on the farm. Can you tell me how you hurt your arm?”

“I fell.”

“How’d you climb up here?”

She shifts a bit. “I didn’t want anyone to find me.”

My gut tightens as a million answers as to why this little girl is hiding up here with her arm in pain instead of running home for help. I have to keep myself under control and remember not everyone has a shitty home life. It could be anything.

“Why not?”

She worries her bottom lip. “Daddy said I wasn’t supposed to leave the house, and I didn’t want him to be angry.” Then she wipes her nose with her arm and another tear falls. “I came here so I could wait for Mommy to come home.”

I give her a knowing nod. “Well, I’m sure your daddy is worried about you. We should get you back home and get your arm looked at.”

“He’s going to be so mad.” Her lip quivers.

Poor thing is terrified. Of her father or because she broke the rules, I’m not sure. I don’t know who she is or who her father is, but she can’t stay up here injured and scared. She’ll fall. “How about I don’t tell him where I found you if he doesn’t ask.”

She eyes me curiously. “You mean lie?”

“No, I just think that friends keep secrets, and we’re friends now, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Well, friend, you know my name is Connor, but I still don’t know yours.”

Her lips purse. “I’m Hadley.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Hadley. Can I help you down since your arm is hurt?”

Hadley’s head bobs quickly.

I instruct her how to get close, and then she wraps her arm around my neck, holding on tightly as I get us both down without jostling her too much. When we get to the ground, I set her on her feet and squat.

We’re eye to eye, and there’s something about the way she looks at me—as though I’m her savior—that makes my heart ache.

“Is your arm okay?”

“It hurts.” Her voice is small and holds a quiet tremor of pain. She moves it across the front of her body, cradling it closely.

“Can I look at it?”

Hadley is a tiny thing. Although, I have no frame of reference on how old she is, if this is a normal height for a kid, or I’m an idiot.

“Okay.”

I take a look and there’s some bruising and it’s swollen, but nothing glaringly obvious that she broke it.

“Well, it doesn’t look terrible, but I think we need to get you home so they can make sure it’s not broken. Where do you live?”