The Single Dad's Redemption (9 page)

Yet at the end of the day, when Connor asked if she’d join him for supper over a campfire tomorrow night, to reciprocate for the dinner at her dad’s house, her common sense flew out the window and she instantly said yes.

What
was she thinking?

Chapter Eleven

E
ven sitting at his campfire that night, Connor couldn’t get Bobby out of his mind.

The thought of what the boy had gone through still had the power to send a wave of nausea through Connor’s midsection. He’d steered way clear of men like Bobby’s father in prison—abusers who showed no remorse, only rage over being convicted...and who baldly proclaimed that they’d get their revenge once released.

If there was truly such a thing as prison justice—where abusers of children were handed mortal retribution by their peers—Connor sure hadn’t seen it.

Which meant Bobby’s father might live to be released someday. The thought was chilling.

When Keeley came out here tomorrow night for supper, he wanted to ask her more questions. Connor stoked his campfire and sent a shower of sparks spinning into the black-velvet sky, then looked up as a gray-haired man and two young boys strolled by, towels slung over their arms. He nodded at them. “Nice night.”

“So far.” The portly gentleman nodded and kept walking, but the boys stopped and stared at his fire.

“Grampa forgot wood for a fire,” the younger one said somberly. “So we can’t have s’mores. And Charlie’s mad ’cause we even gots the chocolate and marshmallows and everything.”

His older brother gave him an elbow. “It’s gonna rain anyway, stupid.”

Their grandpa turned and gave the older one a stern look. “No name-calling. Remember? Now, what do you say to Kyle?”

Charlie stubbed a toe in the dirt and mumbled out an insincere “Sorry.”

Connor rose and smiled down at the boys. “You know what? I bought too much wood today, and if we’re getting more rain later, it will get too wet to use. Would you do me a favor and take some of it?”

“Really?”
both boys said in unison.

Their grandfather hesitated. “I don’t have my billfold on me right now.”

“Forget it. Just go have some fun.” He loaded each boy’s proffered arms with wood and then handed more to the older man.

“I’ll come by in the morning and settle up with you, promise. Thanks.” The older fellow took a few steps then turned back. “I’m Bill, by the way. Bill Gordon. Be careful tonight. I heard on the radio about heavy storms north of here, and the forecasters say we’ve got sixty-percent chance of the same.”

Connor glanced at the rocky bluff that rose high above the creek to the east, dimly lit by his flickering campfire. “You might want to set up camp on higher ground if you’re down low. I think I’ll do the same.”

“We’re good. My motor home is parked in a great spot.” He waved and the three disappeared into the darkness, the high, youthful voices of the boys echoing off the bluffs as they chattered about campfires and marshmallows and a puppy waiting for them back at their campsite.

Picking up his supplies and moving higher along the bluffs didn’t take Connor long with such minimal gear. In a half hour his tent was set up under a rocky outcropping he’d noticed earlier in the day, partially protected from the weather, with everything securely stowed. A good five feet higher than the bank of the stream where he’d been before, it ought to be safe enough.

Instead of starting a campfire, he turned on a couple of solar lanterns that he’d left outside all day to charge up in the sun. He settled down, leaned against the rock wall of the bluffs and smiled to himself, thinking of the two young boys who were probably tussling over those s’mores and the tending of the fire, and wearing their poor grandfather flat out.

But then the memories of Joshua’s early years started coming back and Connor’s amusement faded.

He’d been four when Connor went to prison, a bright-eyed chatterbox who wanted answers to a million questions and who never slowed down unless he was asleep. Even then, he tossed and turned, too busy in his dreams to stay tucked in.

Connor’s own poignant dreams of that time often came tiptoeing into his thoughts this time of day, then stayed all night and kept him awake until dawn.

But the rain and wind had risen sharply during the past half hour, and maybe the staccato beat of rain and the rush of wind through the trees would make sleep come easier.

He climbed into the down sleeping bag in his tent and secured the exterior flap against the strengthening buffets of wind, then closed his eyes and hoped for the best.

It seemed like only minutes later when terrified screams filled the air.

Connor flew out his tent, grabbed one of the solar lanterns and held it high in the slashing rain driven nearly horizontal by the high winds.

Lightning razored through the sky, illuminating a roiling rush of water pouring through the grassy area where Connor had first set up camp. The water had to be ten, fifteen feet above the usual surface of Aspen Creek, and the flash flood had grabbed entire trees that were now bobbing past at a dizzying speed.

Picnic tables spun by, crashing against the rocks and then ricocheting back out into the raging flood.

Another terrified scream rent the air—closer now. Searching madly at his feet, Connor clawed at the ground for a coil of rope he’d left just outside his tent then raced down the rocky embankment below his campsite to the edge of the water and swung the lantern’s beam through the darkness.

“Where are you?” he bellowed, knowing he could barely be heard above the roar of the water and crashing thunder overhead.

“Help! Help me!” a young voice screamed. “Please!”

Blinking away the rain, Connor swung his lamp again—and there was Kyle, desperately clinging to a picnic table caught in a logjam midstream with something sodden and lifeless caught in the crook of his elbow. A stuffed animal? Had he risked his life for that?

The tangle of uprooted trees was bouncing, swaying, in the onslaught of the rushing water. At any moment they could break free and rocket past, leaving the boy helpless—threatening to sweep him from his makeshift raft as they tumbled through the water. There’d be no hope for rescue then.
None.

Even now, with the logjam at least twenty feet from shore, the deep, violently churning water made reaching the boy nearly impossible.

A slight figure in a yellow hooded rain jacket came running from the direction of the parking lot.
Keeley?

“Connor—you’ve got to get out of here,” she yelled above the wind. “The National Weather Service has issued flash-flood warnings and—”

“Can’t,” he yelled back. He lifted an arm and pointed at the water. “A kid is out there.”

Her eyes widened in horror. “Can we get him?”

He pulled her close to yell in her ear. “Just go back to town and stay safe. And start praying.”

“I’ll pray, but I’m not leaving. You might need help.”

The obstinate lift of her chin and her resolute expression told him he’d only waste precious time trying to argue.

Slipping and sliding in the mud, tripping over rocks and branches, he raced to the point on the bank closest to the logjam, with Keeley at his heels. From far upstream he could hear the boy’s grandfather screaming Kyle’s name.

At the water’s edge he thrust the lantern into Keeley’s hands.

“Okay, Kyle,” he shouted into the screaming wind. “I’m here, and I’m going to get you out of there. Hang on and do not let go. Hear?”

His rope was nothing more than forty feet of limp white nylon—nothing like the stiff lariats he’d used to rope cattle most of his life. He quickly tied a slipknot at one end and formed a loop. “I’m going to throw this noose at you, kid. Grab it if you can, and hook it around your chest.”

The boy stared at him, his eyes wide with terror. “I c-can’t. I c-c-can’t,” he cried.

“You have to catch this, buddy.” Connor tried once. Twice. Three times.

With each throw, the fierce wind whipped the rope downstream, nearly tangling on the bobbing branches and roots of the uprooted trees.

The entire mass jerked and shifted again. Jerked downstream a good ten feet.

“Help me!” Kyle screamed. “Please.”

The picnic table under him bucked and pivoted. An edge slipped under a tree trunk, nearly upending before it wedged tight once more.

Connor froze. If the boy slipped off, he could be swept under those trees and drown.

“New plan,” he shouted as he moved a dozen feet upstream, tied the end of the rope around the leg of a teeter-totter frame—galvanized pipe set in cement
. God, please let it hold. Help me.
“I’m coming for you. Hang tight.”

He started to tie the other end of the rope around his waist. Keeley grabbed his arm and shook her head. “Let me go—I’m a strong swimmer. I’ve got a good chance of making it between all those branches. And I’m much lighter, so you can pull us in when I get him.”

He shook his head. “Risk your life? Not a chance. Hold the lantern. Then guide us back in.”

He took a short running start and dived as far into the raging flood as he could.

Instantly the violent force of the water sucked him deep into the icy blackness, obscuring his vision. His head hit a boulder at the bottom, sending a burst of pain and dizziness rocketing through him.

A wall of floodwater slammed into him, sending him downstream. Tumbling helplessly, he managed to struggle to the surface and take a strangled breath before the racing water threatened to pull him under again.

He slammed against something hard, rough, unforgiving. Another tree? He grabbed it, launched himself upward and hung on. In the dim light he saw Kyle just a few yards downstream.

The sound of sirens wailed in the distance as he pushed away and swam hard to reach the boy. “Okay, k-kid,” he sputtered as a wave of water slammed into his face. “I’ve got a rope and I need you to help me get it around your chest. Let that stuffed animal go, Kyle—”

“No,” the kid screamed, clutching it tighter under one arm. He was pale as flour, his teeth chattering. “Don’t make me!”

Connor blinked the water from his eyes and realized the boy held a weakly shivering puppy.

Gripping a tree branch with one hand, Connor worked one-handed at the knot at his waist with numb, icy fingers. After three tries he managed to get it around Kyle’s chest and tied a quick bowline knot.

Seconds later the logjam of trees broke free with an unearthly shriek and disappeared into the darkness, taking Kyle’s picnic table with them.

Kyle went under water but Connor reeled him in, sputtering and coughing.

Connor spit out a mouthful of filthy water. He hooked an arm around the boy and his pup, and let the current drag them downstream until the rope grew taut with an abrupt jerk.

It held fast
. Thank You, Lord.

And then Keeley was hauling on the rope, trying to pull them back in.

Battling the current, they swung like a pendulum, closer to the bank as she took up the slack. What had been a quiet little creek was too deep to touch bottom and the racing current clawed at them as he fought to reach the shore.

Cold and exhaustion seeped through Connor’s muscles, making each effort slower. Weaker.

He struggled harder. “Don’t worry, kid—almost there.”

Like voices in a dream, he heard the sound of Keeley shouting. Felt her superhuman, adrenaline-charged efforts to bring them in to safety.

Now he saw distant lights flashing through the darkness.

And then somehow they hit the rocks along the shore and Kyle was lifted from his arms.

Coughing, Connor staggered to higher ground and when his legs wobbled he dropped, his forehead on his upraised knees. Someone draped a blanket over his shoulders.

Flashlights swung through the area as more people arrived and milled around. From the depths of his foggy awareness he heard an old man crying
.

Oh, God. Please, no.
Had the boy drowned in his arms, even as they were trying to escape the river? Connor’s heart clenched on a wave of searing grief.
Please, please. Let him be okay. Please...

Chapter Twelve

K
eeley hurried into the emergency room at the tiny Aspen Creek hospital, her heart in her throat.

Tom Benson, one of the regular ushers at church, sat behind the admittance desk and looked up. “Quite a night, eh?”

Her pulse pounding, she brushed all pleasantries aside. “I’m here for Connor Rafferty. The EMTs brought him here but I couldn’t keep up with them on the highway. Is he okay?”

Tom waved her toward the waiting room. “We wanted to put him on a gurney and take him into the ER, but he’s refusing to be seen. I hear he just wants to go home.”

Her hand at her throat, she stared at him. “But is he
okay
?”

Tom shrugged. “Ask him—he’s in the waiting room. He hasn’t been the most cooperative patient we’ve ever had, believe me. But he has a head injury, and if he wants to risk keeling over, that’s his right.”

“Head injury?” Her heart in her throat, she spun around and headed for the waiting room around the corner, where she found a half dozen dazed people wrapped in blankets, looking shell-shocked.

Connor sat by himself in the corner, his head leaning back against the wall. Weariness etched his face. A jagged cut from his temple to the corner of his jaw still seeped blood; his hands were covered with scrapes and several deeper cuts.

His dark hair appeared matted on one side—probably even more blood.

She hurried to his side and sank into the chair next to him. “I’d just gone to bed when I heard the sirens go off in town, and then I heard about the flash flood on the radio. I came as fast as I could. Are you all right?”

He slid a glance at her, nodded faintly, then closed his eyes again.

She glanced around the room and realized that others were in the same shape. Exhausted, with bruises and lacerations. “From the looks of everyone, this could have been a terrible tragedy.”

A haggard man with gray hair appeared in the doorway, his arm wrapped tightly around the shoulders of a dazed, muddy boy of maybe nine or ten. They both walked into the room and headed straight for Connor. The man extended a hand.

When Connor stood to accept his handshake the man turned it into a bear hug. Then he enveloped Keeley in a hug, as well.

He stepped back with tears in his eyes. “I can never, ever, repay you for what you did tonight.”

“Right place, right time,” Connor said. “I’m just glad I was there and that Keeley came to help.”

“I didn’t stop praying from the moment Kyle raced off to get his puppy out of the creek.” The man’s voice broke and he shook his head slowly, his eyes closed at the painful memory. “When that flash flood hit and they disappeared, I figured I’d never see either of them alive again. You were the answer to my prayers.”

Connor glanced at Keeley. “This is Bill Gordon. He and his grandsons were camping, too.” Connor turned back to the older man. “Will Kyle be all right?”

Bill clapped Connor on the shoulder and sank wearily into the chair at Connor’s other side. His younger grandson stretched out on the floor. “The docs tell me he’ll be fine. He’s off at Radiology right now to check his left arm, and they’ll probably keep him overnight. And the puppy is fine. It’s staying at a vet clinic for a day or two. What about you?”

“I was just waiting for a ride back to my campsite.” Connor’s laugh held a rueful note. “Usually I’d hike, but after tonight I feel a little lazy.”

“Exhausted is more like it.” The man reared back in his chair and studied Connor. “The nurses didn’t even clean you up a little? Looks like you could use a few stitches.”

“I used to rodeo and this is nothing, believe me. My tent and a good night’s sleep is all I need.”

Bill frowned. “They didn’t tell you?”

“About what?”

“How bad it was. The flood rose clear up to the windows in my motor home, and the entire lower campground was swept clean. Anything you had out there is long gone into the St. Croix and probably halfway down the Mississippi by now.”

Already pale and drawn, Connor sagged into his chair, and Keeley wanted to wrap an arm around him. But she’d seen him flinch during Bill’s grateful hug and now she wondered just how badly he’d been hurt.

“I think we should have the docs look you over,” she murmured.

He shook his head. “Not necessary.”

“Because of the cost?” she asked quietly.

When he didn’t answer, Bill leaned forward. “Ma’am, go tell the nurses this man hasn’t yet been seen. He saved my grandson’s life, and whatever it costs, I’ll foot the bill. And if he needs a place to stay, I’ll figure that out, too. I owe him more than I can ever repay.”

* * *

It was three in the morning before the doctors released Connor after an exam, X-rays, an MRI of his chest and head, and twelve sutures.

Bill had long since talked to the billing department about Connor’s expenses and offered to pay for a hotel room, as well, then had taken his younger grandson home.

Keeley studied Connor’s face as the nurses walked him out of the ER entrance to her SUV. Once they were on the road, she glanced at him again before returning her attention to the highway.

“By tomorrow, you’re going to look like you were in a fight and lost,” she teased. “You’ll be moving around like someone old as Methuselah.”

He leaned his head against the headrest. “Probably.”

“I’m not taking you to a hotel, by the way. The discharge instructions say you should be under observation for twenty-four hours because of that concussion, so I’m taking you to Dad’s house and I’ll stay there, too.”

He gave her a sidelong look then closed his eyes. “That’s not necessary. It’s just more bother for you.”

“Actually, I’ve been thinking.”

“Should I be worried? I’m not being fired, am I?”

She laughed, relieved that he felt good enough to tease her back. “Fire a local hero? Not on your life. You’ll be front-page news in the next issue of the
Aspen Herald
.”

He groaned. “Not what I want to hear.”

“But this ought to put Millie and her gossipy friends in their place. They were reveling in their juicy news and now you’ve gone and saved a little boy
and
his puppy.” She glanced at him again when he didn’t respond. He looked so pale and drawn in the faint light of the dashboard that she wondered if he should have been kept in the hospital overnight. “Are you all right? Did the doc give you anything for pain?”

“No.”

“Is there anything you can take? Should we go back? I can’t believe they didn’t give you something.”

“Just local anesthetic during the sutures. Tylenol would be okay but I don’t need it.”

“No need to be all macho with me,” she said. “If you want to tough it out, that’s your choice. But I can well imagine what you’ll feel like in the morning with all of those cuts, bruises and a cracked rib. Why didn’t they put some sort of compression bandage on you? That’s what I got as a kid when I fell off the monkey bars.”

He shot a dry look at her. “That’s old school. Now they fear suppressing your deep breathing and the risk of pneumonia. Anyway, this isn’t my first time. I think most of my ribs have been cracked at some time or other.”

“Rodeo?”

He nodded. “So it’s no big deal.”

“I disagree. It still must hurt.” She pulled to a stop in front of Dad’s house and hurried around the SUV to open his door. “Ready?”

He surveyed the darkened house. “This is going to wake your dad up in the middle of the night. Does he even know we’re coming?”

“No,” she admitted. “It was too late to call.”

“He’ll think we’re burglars. Is he armed, by any chance?”

“No guns. And, anyway, he sleeps in a bedroom upstairs and takes his hearing aids out at night, so he’ll never know we’ve arrived, and the dog knows both of us, so he won’t bark... I hope. I’m putting you in a small guest room on the main floor.”

Connor eased out of the vehicle, one arm gingerly wrapped around his ribs.

“Right. This is no big deal,” she said dryly. “Do you want me to help you up to the house?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got this.” He slowly followed her up the long cement sidewalk to the porch, then white-knuckled the banister as he eased up the steps.

Once she got him to the guest room, she flipped on the light by the queen-size bed and turned down the colorful patchwork quilt. “I’ll be back in a second.”

In the hall bathroom she found a new toothbrush and an unopened travel-size toothpaste in one of the drawers and set them on the counter with a set of fresh towels.

After a moment’s thought, she brought a cup of water and a bottle of Tylenol to place on the bedside table. “Here you go—in case you find it’s going to be a hard night. The bathroom is two doors down, and I set out fresh towels for you. I’ll be peeking in to check on you every two hours, just as the nurse said.”

The soft light of the bedside lamp shadowed the lean planes and hollows of his face; his five o’clock shadow and unruly hair made her think of the swashbuckling pirates in some novels she’d recently read.

Despite the weariness etched in his face, he was still more appealing than anyone she’d ever met, but today she’d seen more than just superficial good looks.

He was her real-life hero.

Something shifted in her heart, breaking away some of the protective walls she’d so carefully erected over the years.

“Sleep well,” she whispered, reaching up to rest a gentle hand against his uninjured cheek. “If you need anything, just call my name. I’ll be down the hall.”

She started to turn away but he caught her hand and gently pulled her back. Goose bumps raced up her arm at his touch.

“Don’t go,” he whispered.

When their gazes locked she felt transfixed—unable to look away from the depth of emotion she saw in his eyes. She licked her suddenly dry lips. “Is...is there something else you need?”

His mouth kicked up a little at one corner, deepening the dimple on that side, and she blushed a little at the possible double meaning of her words.

“I just want to thank you, Keeley, for everything you’ve done.”

She glanced around the bedroom then managed a small smile, trying to ignore the hint of farewell in his words. “This guest room was empty. I’m sure Dad won’t mind.”

“I didn’t just mean the room.” He rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand, sending warmth through her veins and straight to her heart. “When I was first released, I had no idea what to expect from people on the outside. You’ve given me back my self-respect, and the feeling that maybe I really do have a chance after all.”

“I know you do. I have no doubt at all.” She gave him her most confident smile. “But now I’d better let you get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

Minutes later she set her smartphone alarm for two hours and snuggled under an afghan on the sofa in the family room, but sleep eluded her. Instead, an endless loop of thoughts about Connor kept cycling in her head.

He could have made a halfhearted rescue attempt and then given up to keep himself safe, but he’d totally risked his life for a stranger and had protected a puppy with his life, as well. What man would do that? Yet afterward, his only concerns had been about their welfare, and he’d firmly discounted his heroics to anyone who praised him.

With each passing day she’d been drawn to him a little more. And who wouldn’t be?

Despite his protestations about being ill-suited to working at the store, he was good with the customers and kept busy with fix-it projects when none were around. He hadn’t complained once—not about his rough living conditions at the campground, not about the more difficult shoppers who came into the store.

But more than that, he’d been truly concerned about Bobby and he’d been patient and kind to her difficult father. Even crotchety old Bart liked him, and that dog didn’t like anyone but her dad.

Still, as her lingering doubts about Connor faded away, one truth remained.

No matter how kind or honest or charming he was...no matter how much her feelings might grow, there was no point in hoping for anything more.

He’d drifted into her life unexpectedly and within weeks he’d be gone—off to find his son and reestablish his life. And to do that, he’d need to return to the world he knew best—ranching or the rodeo circuit, somewhere out West.

A Wisconsin tourist town like Aspen Creek would have nothing to offer a man like him.