A Time to Remember

Had he searched for her? And if he had, why hadn’t he found them? Was it so easy for people to hide, even in this civilized world?

An owl hooted. She glimpsed its profile in the clearing just beyond.

Clearing? What had she done? Was she back where she’d begun?

“Oh, Father, I need help. Please show me the way. Get me to safety.”

She glanced around, saw a figure slip stealthily across the clearing below. The full moon caught the silent glimmer of steel.

That knife! He was so good with it. She smothered a gasp of fear.

She’d tried to escape once before. The warning still rang in her ears. Try again and the boy would stay—without his mother. That’s what scared her most. Cody growing up alone, without her or Gray. She had to get away.

Fear sent waves of panic rippling through her tired muscles. She’d run so far, tried so hard to cover their tracks. Would she stop now?

No.

The figure passed within inches of her, but Marissa shrank into the cover of overhanging boughs and remained hidden, scarcely breathing when he passed in front of her, sniffing the wind as if he knew she was nearby. At last it seemed safe. She eased out of her hiding place and tried to remember the direction she’d come before. But every path looked familiar. There was nothing to do but choose one and keep going.

And pray.

An hour later she admitted she was lost. Two hours later she’d passed her prison for the second time. Why hadn’t she marked the way? What if Cody was discovered? Defeat dragged at her, but she refused to give up.

“Help me now, God. Lead me to safety, to Cody and home to Gray.”

She opened her eyes, spied the moonbeams that lit up a small passage through the most dense area of the forest. If she went in there, she might never get out. But what other choice was there?

“‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,’” she recited silently. “He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.’” She kept walking, kept reciting with no idea of time except for the path of the moon, which led her onward.

A sound caused her to pause. She whirled, saw the figure behind her and ran as hard as she could down through the ravine, then scrambled up the other side. She dug her fingers into the earth, uncaring that the rough branches and stones tore at her hands, that the sharp needles of pine and spruce stung her face.

“You took him. You took Brett away from me. You shouldn’t have done that. Brett belongs to me. To me!”

Marissa tried to ignore the shrill screech. Was she closer now? She fought to gain a foothold in the mossy bank, forced her weary body to keep going.

“You have to be punished.” The voice came from right behind her.

Her feet were sliding and she couldn’t stop them. She reached out, grabbed something, heard an ominous crack above her.

He’d found her.

“Help me, God.”

Pain exploded inside her head and she knew no more.

Five months, two days, eighteen hours. That’s how long he’d been mired in this pit of suffering.

Gray McGonigle glanced around the cheerful kitchen his wife had taken such pleasure in decorating and felt his heart shrivel a little more. Would she ever come back, ever pull one of her pineapple upside-down cakes from the oven and tease him about his appetite?

And Cody—where was his son? Gray had promised God long before Cody was even born that he’d be the best father he could be as long as God kept Cody from the homeless life Gray had known as a child. So what had happened? Had he messed up? Was this God’s revenge—to take both his wife and child?

Something inside him screamed, “No,” but after five long months with few clues to their disappearance, Gray was so confused he didn’t know what else to think. He knew Marissa. She wouldn’t just take their son and disappear, not without telling him. Would she?

Maybe he didn’t know her as well as he thought.

Disgusted with himself and the ever-present clouds of doubt, he surged to his feet. His body ached for repose, but his mind wouldn’t stop asking questions to which there were no answers.

No one knew why Marissa had left, so how could Gray know if she would ever come back?

The phone pealed its summons into the silent room. He debated answering it, certain it would be Adam again, asking for money. His half brother had made no bones about his dislike of Gray or his disgust of their father’s will, which had cut him out of the ownership of the ranch. Gray had no desire to go over it all again. But the phone wouldn’t quiet, and finally he grabbed the receiver just to shut off the noise.

“Yeah?”

“Gray? Is that you?”

Not the baker woman! Dear Lord, he didn’t want to listen to another of her little pep talks tonight.

“Gray?”

He was about to snap a response, then hesitated. Something in her voice told him she was upset. And Winifred Blessing seldom got upset about anything life threw at her.

“What’s wrong, Miss Blessing?” Maybe focusing on someone else’s problems would help him forget his own.

“Gray, we—we found Cody. Bless the Lord, we found Cody.”

The words sucker punched him. His knees gave out and he collapsed onto a chair.

“Cody?” he squeaked, afraid to believe.

“He’s all right, dear. A little scratched and bruised, but he seems fine. Luc’s checking him out, just to be sure.”

Gray had to ask.

“Marissa?”

“We’re organizing a search party as we speak. Too bad it gets dark so early now, but we won’t let a little September dusk stop us. She wouldn’t have let Cody out of her sight, Gray. You know that.”

Miss Winifred was solid bedrock. But just now he thought he’d heard a wobble in her voice. A second later it was gone, replaced by the firm conviction that had stood her through more than six decades of life.

“She’s out there, I know it. We’ll find her. You just hang on to your faith, Grayson. Can you do that?”

Gray figured his faith had died about four months ago when he’d heard nothing from his wife and son in a month, had gained no information from the man he’d hired to find them. But he wouldn’t look back. Cody was home.

“Where are you, Miss Winifred?”

“In town, in the parking lot by the church. Can you come?”

“Try and stop me.” He was out of the house and barreling down the road thirty seconds later, his heart pumping like a jackhammer. “Come on, Marissa,” he muttered, peering into the gloom of an autumn evening. “Come home to me. Please come home.”