A Place To Call Home

As he topped a steep hill, he saw movement in the pasture beyond and slowed down to look. It only took a moment for the unfolding scene to register. A little girl of no more than two years old was toddling through the grass. Beyond her, and more than one hundred yards away, was a young woman, running at full stride, with her mouth open in a scream he couldn’t hear. To their right, and converging between them and gaining speed with every lope, was a huge black bull. It was obvious to Judd that the baby was the intended target, and that the mother would never reach her in time.

Without thinking, he stomped the accelerator to the floor. Tires spun on pavement, leaving behind the scent of burning rubber. He bounced across the shallow ditch and then straight through the five-strand barbed wire fence, leaving a tangle of mangled wire and broken fence posts behind him as he went. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he focused on the dwindling space between the baby and the bull.

Today was laundry day. Two-year old Rachel Franklin loved the days that her mother, Charlotte, pulled all the clothes from the clothes hamper to separate for wash. Charlotte—Charlie to her family—loved her baby more than life, but there were days, like today, when she could have done without her help. She’d already separated the colored clothes twice, each time pulling her red T-shirt from the whites. Rachel did love that red T-shirt, but Charlie didn’t think her brother, Wade, would be too fond of pink underwear, especially since he was Call City’s chief of police.

“Rachel, give Mommy the shirt,” Charlie said.

Rachel picked the red T-shirt from the pile and gave it to Charlie. The smile on her face was so precious that Charlie dropped the clothes she was carrying and picked her daughter up instead, nuzzling her nose against the baby-soft skin beneath Rachel’s ear.

Rachel cackled and squealed with delight, then threw her arms around Charlie’s neck.

“My mommy,” Rachel said, and squeezed as tight as she could.

Charlie returned the hug. “My Rachel,” she said, her throat tight with emotion.

The child was her life. The only good thing to come from loving Pete Tucker, their neighbor’s son. He’d played loose with Charlie’s feelings, then skipped out on her when she was two months pregnant to chase his dreams on the rodeo circuit. A month before Rachel was born, he’d crawled on a bull that, in a matter of seconds, had put an end to Pete Tucker’s dreams.

Charlie had grieved, but only for the loss of Rachel’s father. Charlie’s love for Pete Tucker had died the day he left her to bear the burden of their affair all alone.

“Want down,” Rachel muttered.

Charlie sighed as she put her baby back on her feet. Her daughter’s independence was inevitable, but she couldn’t help the spear of regret. She tousled Rachel’s curls.

“You go play in your room, baby girl. Mommy is going to put these clothes in the washer. Get them all clean for Uncle Wade.”

“Unca Wade?”

“Yes, these are for Uncle Wade.”

Rachel toddled off, satisfied with her mother’s explanation. Next to her mother, Wade Franklin was her favorite person.

Charlie picked up the pile of clothes, careful not to include the red shirt, and headed for the utility room off the kitchen. A couple of minutes later it dawned on her that the house was entirely too quiet and she started back through the rooms in search of Rachel.

“Rachel, where are you?” Charlie called.

She got no answer.

“Rachel, answer Mommy, where are you?”

This time the silence hit hard. Trying not to panic, she retraced her steps, searching in all of Rachel’s nooks and crannies, certain she would find her in one of her favorite places.

It wasn’t until she’d made the second trip through the house that she noticed the screen door in the living room was slightly ajar. She dashed out on the porch, telling herself to stay calm.

“Rachel, where are you?”

The silence that came afterward was unnerving. She wasted another precious minute running around the house and calling Rachel’s name, certain she’d find her playing in the sandbox under the trees in the backyard. But she wasn’t there, either.

Now she was beginning to panic. It wasn’t until she turned around that she noticed Everett Tucker’s black bull was in their pasture again. This wasn’t the first time it had happened, and her brother, Wade, had warned Everett more than once to fix his fence. She stood for a moment, staring at the bull’s curious stance. His head was up, his body almost motionless in the way animals are when they sense something trespassing on their territory. And then it hit her.

“Oh, God…oh, no,” Charlie moaned, and started to run, just as the bull began to charge.

She ran without focus, searching the pasture with a frantic gaze, all the while praying against hope that she was wrong. Then she saw Rachel, toddling through the grass with a handful of flowers. She bolted across the cattle guard, running as she’d never run before, and screaming aloud Rachel’s name.

She didn’t feel the heat of the sun upon her face. She didn’t even hear the sound of her own screams. All she could do was focus on Rachel’s curly head and remember how soft her baby’s curls were against her face, and how sweet they smelled after a shampoo.

The bull’s angry bellow shattered the air and Charlie screamed again, trying to divert his attention. It didn’t happen, and it occurred to her then that she would watch her daughter die. As fast as she was running, the bull was still gaining on Rachel, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Then out of nowhere, a black Jeep suddenly appeared in the pasture, flying across the ground at breakneck speed. Before she could absorb the implications, she stumbled and fell. The next thing she knew, she was flat on her face. Dirt was in her eyes, and her leg was afire with an unbearable pain. And yet as quickly as she fell, she was struggling to her feet and rubbing at her eyes, desperate to see. Had Rachel died while she was facedown in the dirt?

Through a blur of tears, she looked up to see the Jeep come to a sudden halt only a foot or so from where Rachel was standing. The door opened. She saw a man lean out and yank Rachel inside only seconds before bull and Jeep collided. The heavy thud of bending metal was like music to her ears. She dropped her head and took deep, calming breaths. Nothing mattered any longer. Rachel was safe.

Judd was numb. The rush of adrenaline that had gotten him this far was receding as swiftly as it had come, leaving him weak and shaken. The baby in his arms looked as startled as he’d been moments earlier when he’d seen the scene unfolding. The bull had already done a job on the passenger side of his Jeep and was now butting against the radiator as hard as he could. Judd sighed, watching the steam spewing up from under the hood. No telling what was busted, but it really didn’t matter. For now, the child was safe.

He began running his hands over the little girl’s body, desperate to assure himself that she had come to no harm. He’d yanked her pretty hard when he’d picked her up, but there hadn’t been time for gentle introductions. When he was satisfied that she was all right, he glanced at the bull, who had taken an angry stance a distance away.

So far, so good, Judd thought, and looked around for the woman he’d seen running earlier. Then he saw her on her knees a distance away. It was obvious from the expression on her face that she was in pain.

Beyond the Jeep, the bull began pawing the earth, sending showers of dust into the air. Every now and then, the air would shift from the force of an angry bellow.

Judd eyed the woman nervously. If the bull figured out she was there, she could very well be its next target. Saying a prayer that the Jeep would still move, he grabbed the little girl to keep her from falling, then put it in gear.

“Okay, baby, let’s go get your mother.”

The little girl stared at Judd with a solemn expression.

“Mommy,” she said, pointing with the flowers she still held.

“I see her, honey. And I have a suspicion she would like to see you, too.”

The Jeep moved forward amid a spewing mist of steam. He drove slowly, hoping the bull would stay his ground.

Charlie saw them coming, and her heart skipped a beat. The bull stilled, watching intently as the Jeep began to move. She started to get up, and then realized that motion—any motion—might set the bull off. She held her breath, almost afraid to blink. The fire in her ankle was spreading up her leg. When the Jeep stopped beside her, she tried to stand up, then dropped back to the ground from the pain.

A deep, gravelly voice suddenly rumbled close to her ear. “Easy there, lady, let me help.”

Charlie was starting to shake. “My baby—”

“She’s fine,” Judd said. “Put your arms around my neck.”

Charlie reacted instinctively, clutching at the collar of his shirt as he picked her up. She had a vague impression of a hard body, dark hair, and a muscle jerking at the side of his jaw as he set her into the driver’s side of the seat. Charlie winced as she slid over to the passenger side, grabbing at Rachel as she moved.

“Mommy,” Rachel said, and crawled into Charlie’s lap as if this was an everyday occurrence.

Charlie clung to her baby in desperation and buried her face in her neck. Seconds later, the door slammed and she knew that the man had climbed back inside. She needed to thank him. She needed to look in his eyes and see the man who had given her back her world, but she couldn’t seem to focus on anything but the child in her arms.

Finally, she looked up. Rachel was smiling that sweet baby smile, unaware how close she’d come to getting them both killed.

Charlie stared at a smear of pollen on Rachel’s cheek, as well as a crushed petal stuck to the corner of her lip, and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Rachel hadn’t just been picking the flowers; it looked as if she’d been eating them as well.