Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(30)

When he estimated that he had four seconds until the train passed, he bolted onto the tracks.

But instead of being on the other side, he jerked to a stop right in the middle. You’re supposed to be across by now, a quiet part of his brain calmly informed him.

One Mississippi.

His foot was stuck. Wedged tight between two cross ties. He wore Converse high-tops, the kind that went up to the ankle. Laced up tight because Didi had fits if either boy had untied shoes. Which meant he couldn’t just pull his foot out, and wouldn’t have time to untie it. The laces were double-knotted.

Two Mississippi.

He yanked and yanked, and time froze, and thoughts flew through his head, as clear and cold as a January night on the plains.

At least it’ll be fast.

Bryce is gonna freak.

Poor Steph, hope the kids will do okay.

All the while, he lunged with his entire being, but the shoe didn’t budge.

Three Mississippi.

The light washed over him, blinding him, and the train whistle was screaming—sorry, conductor, not your fault—and he looked at it, all that whiteness and noise and figured this was it, it’d be okay, Mom would be there, and—

And then something crashed into him, and he landed hard and was rolling on the gravel and dirt and the train was roaring past, shaking the earth.

Four Mississippi.

When the train finally passed, the quiet took a minute to return. The sound of hard breathing filled the air.

“Jesus,” Bryce said faintly, looking at him. A smile crept on to his face. “Jesus Christ, we’re still alive, thank you, God!”

Bryce had saved him. Bryce had risked his own life to save him, had hurtled across the tracks, tackled him and knocked him free.

The kid had come through.

And even though he was glad not to be a stain on the tracks and the conductor’s conscience, Lucas felt his heart slide down a little. “Thanks,” he said.

“Are you kidding? I wasn’t just gonna let you die! That was unbelievable!”

Lucas’s ankle was starting to swell from the force of being ripped out the shoe, which remained unharmed on the track. He tried to stand, but white-hot fire flashed up his leg.

“It’s okay, I’ll help you,” Bryce said.

And he did. Three miles back to the house, Bryce kept hold of him, carried his backpack, never grew tired. Got an ice pack and an Ace bandage and some Motrin. He suggested they not tell anyone about this, and Lucas agreed. They told Didi and Joe he’d tripped, and when he still couldn’t walk without pain a week later, Joe took him to the E.R., where the doctor told him he’d torn a ligament. Crutches for a month, physical therapy for two.

He never did get to see his father again.

Dan Campbell died nineteen months later, stabbed in the laundry room of his prison which, he’d said in his letters to Lucas, was much nicer than the one he’d left.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“SO WE NEED a plan,” Colleen said, scrubbing a countertop with Clorox Clean-Up. They were at Faith’s new house, a snug little Craftsman bungalow two blocks off the town green. “A safety net. I need a man, Faith.”

“I’m totally on board,” Faith said.

“As you should be, since I’m your best friend and have been your maid of honor twice.”

“And I appreciate it. Leave those counters alone, Coll. God, he really freaked you out, didn’t he?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Faith rolled her eyes.

Yeah, okay. Stress-cleaning. Colleen set down the sponge, took off her rubber gloves and turned her attention to unpacking a box full of photos. Here was one from Faith’s sister’s wedding, when Faith had been about ten. Gorgeous, all of those Hollands. The perfect family, unlike her own mess.

“About my new man,” she said. “I need someone hot and romantic and intelligent with a great sense of humor who can cook and is also a cowboy or a firefighter.”

Faith snorted. “Okay, I’m thinking...uh...cowboys are pretty scarce. And for hot firefighters, we only have Gerard.”

“You know what would be great? A tragic widower type, like Jude Law in The Holiday. Definitely my type. Or Hugh Jackman in Les Mis. Le sigh!”

“Right, right. Impoverished fugitives who burst into song. Coming up empty, Coll.”

Colleen flopped onto the couch. “That’s the entire problem with living in this tiny town. Fine. Will Jack date me? Can you make him?”

“Of course I can.” Faith took the photo and put it on the mantel. “But you do really want to settle down, right?” Faith said. “I don’t want you to break my brother’s heart.”

“Of course I want to settle down! This whole domestic bliss thing you and Levi have going...I’m burning with jealousy. In a loving, supportive way.”

It was true. Levi was hot and grouchy and wonderful, and whenever Colleen saw the way he looked at Faith—that protective, alpha thing, my woman, people, and yes, I have been banging her silly...well, sure. She wanted that. Plus, she hadn’t been banged silly in ages.

“Faith, what’s wrong with me? How come I never found anyone? Anyone real, that is?”

“Huh. Let me think about that for a second. Plus, I’m starving.”

“Eating for two?”