The Hero (Thunder Point #3)(5)

“A kidnapper? A serial killer?” Sarah offered.

“More likely he found ’em hitching or panhandling. People don’t know this about Rawley, but he’s generous. Softhearted. He doesn’t like to let on that he has a helpful nature. He’s on the gruff and silent side, but he’d give anyone the shirt off his back. When we went through all Ben’s things after he died, Rawley took the old clothes to the VA, but he washed ’em first. Bags full of ’em. He has a generous nature—he gives a lot. I’m not so much worried about that woman and her little girl as I am about Rawley. I hope they don’t fleece him.”

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Spencer suggested. “What if that’s what happened? What if she’s desperate and takes advantage of him?”

“Well, I could try,” Cooper said. “But it might be hard getting anything out of him. That Rawley...he takes pride in saying as little as possible.”

“That girl looks about fifteen,” Spencer said, frowning. “He must’ve found them in trouble somewhere.” He glanced toward the dishes on the bar. “He fed them.”

Two

Rawley drove Devon to the Walmart nearest his home. He parked in the big lot and looked at her. “Your people ever go to the Walmart?” he asked.

“Not that I know of,” she said. “And I never did while I was there. But I have some clothes.” The clothes were in the backpack left outside the fence for her. She hadn’t looked at them closely and didn’t know if they’d fit, but the backpack was stuffed with things for her escape.

He reached up to the sun visor overhead and pulled out a ball cap. “Tuck that braid up in this,” he said. “Get yourself a few things, grab some stuff for Mercy. Get yourself any other lady things you might need. Things no sixty-three-year-old bachelor would ever have laying around. I’ll get us some groceries. We’ll try to be quick and not make a stir—don’t want you to give yourself away. Can we do that?”

She nodded, tucking up her braid. “I have forty dollars,” she said.

“Look,” Rawley said. “I know you’re worried. I know you’re suspicious of me and of everybody, and rightly so. But you’re not a prisoner, and even if you decide you can’t stick around you’ll want to stay clear of that camp. You shouldn’t look like you came from there. And you don’t have to run off in the night, all you have to do is say you need a ride somewhere and I’ll take you. Hang on to your forty dollars. You’ll need it, I figure.”

“I was there by choice,” she revealed. Until she wasn’t.

“Well, it’s your choice not to be there now. Let’s just get ’er done. Then you can relax and get a little rest.”

As for not making a stir, the second they walked in the door, little Mercy used her loudest voice to look around and say, “Mama! What is this place?”

It took Devon a second to recover, but recover she did. She pulled Mercy’s little hand and said, “Just a very big store, honey. Now please use your very quiet voice and come with me.” At least Mercy hadn’t called her Sister Devon. That was the way Jacob liked it; no one was a mother or a father, a husband or a wife—they were all brothers and sisters. Which made his behavior seem pretty damned incestuous.

Of course Devon remembered visiting a Walmart—it’s not as though she’d forgotten her life before the family. She grabbed her daughter’s hand and a cart and sped through the women’s and children’s clothes. Two pairs of jeans, a pair of shorts, two shirts, socks, underwear, tennis shoes. She bought the exact same items for Mercy. She added two hoodies, in case they had to flee in the night, and then a few incidentals including brushes, combs and toothbrushes. And—because he was right—she bought a pair of scissors. She had to stop looking like one of them.

She met Rawley by the checkout. Her heart was racing. So, here she was with a scruffy old guy who had given her a ride and now wanted to help her even more and just by the look of him alone she should be worried. But the tall, handsome, soft-spoken Jacob with the ready, welcoming smile, who had so much to offer when she was in need, had never worried her for a moment. And he was the one she should have been worried about!

In his cart Rawley had groceries and... She looked closely. He had a safety seat for Mercy for the truck. It was an old truck and the cab was small, but it had seat belts. She was touched beyond words. That safety seat meant so much more to her than all Jacob’s promises.

The new seat had to be strapped in by the door and there were no seat belts for the middle seat. She had to sit next to Rawley without belts while Mercy rode in the passenger seat. Still, it was better than walking or hitching.

Had it been possible, she would have held her breath all the way to Rawley Goode’s house. She kept telling herself she was safer in this old man’s truck, or in his home, than she would’ve been had she stayed with the family at the compound. She kept telling herself this was safer than hitching rides. Despite her racing imagination there was something she had not been prepared for. When they pulled into the driveway of a small brick home in a neat little neighborhood, she felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. It was like the house she’d grown up in. When they went inside, she stopped right inside the door, right in the little living room, and almost collapsed in relief and emotion. This could be Aunt Mary’s place! The furniture was different but probably just as old, complete with those familiar doilies on the tabletops and arms of the Queen Anne chairs and sofa. It was small, the rug over the hardwood floor threadbare, the wood furniture distressed but polished. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Oh, my God.”