Page 24 of Not Mine to Rescue

Not today, when those wounds were freshly sliced open again. I stared into the darkness. The farm had a small patch of woods that hid the buildings from the road. It kept civilization at bay. But I could still hear the nearest highway. The noise beckoned to me with a promise of new cities, new starts, a way to escape… “Did you ever want to get away?”

“Just up and leave? Yeah. Many times.”

He’d followed my line of sight and stared into the woods with me.

“What kept you here?” I asked.

“Lemon.”

His answer was so quick, it was as if he’d been asked it before.

“Why?” I turned to watch his reply and pick up a clue that could help me hold on to reality.

He frowned. “She’s family. I suppose that is what it is.”

I wanted a family of my own.

My phone rang. I stepped away a little to have privacy.

Jim’s elated voice overrode my greeting. “It’s a boy. Joseph Bridger Crowne. Six pounds, eight ounces. It’s a boy!”

How nice for him. How fucking nice.

Chapter Seven

Wombat

Honoria crumpled like a rag. Her phone slipped from her hand and landed screen-up in the dried grass.

Molly tugged me to her side and crawled on top of her.

I caught the last words and a man’s voice, “And anyway, I thought you should know.” I glanced at the screen, seeing her ex’s name splashed there before the phone went dark.

“It’s a boy.” Honoria’s voice was robotic. She had her fingers woven through Molly’s fur. The dog panted between whimpers, obviously distressed. Dumb Ass barked because he wasn’t included.

I ignored both dogs until I could assess the situation. Honoria’s hands were freezing cold. Her face wasn’t much better. Shock, maybe? I couldn’t let her die out here.

“Move, Molly. I got this.” I picked Honoria up and carried her to my house. Molly was right at my side, uncharacteristically freaked. I set Honoria onto the couch and went to get Dumb Ass, who was trying to wiggle out of his collar.

When we got back into the house, Molly lay on top of Honoria, who hadn’t moved. But when Dumb Ass tried to pile on, she sat up.

“You should stay down.”

“I’m okay.”

I assessed the pallor of her face. “No, you’re not.”

She blinked. Her rally was weak. “I should leave.”

“You will stay until I can get some sugar in you and your skin temperature returns to normal. You’re in shock.”

Her face twisted. “I’m not.”

Liar. I set the back of my hand against her forehead, then against her neck. “No? Do I need to get a thermometer to prove it to you? I got one I use on horses.”

“Horses go into shock?”

“All mammals and birds do. I don’t know about snakes. I hate snakes.”