“Climbing a tree,” Wyatt heard her say.

“This isn’t a tree, sweetheart,” he told her.

Hope had figured that out and all the bravado that had passed her lips a few minutes before was gone now. She glanced to the ground and quickly buried her head into Wyatt’s chest.

“Don’t let her go!” the voice of Mom called.

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” Hope asked in a small voice.

Where had the strong, tiny girl who was there a few minutes ago gone? She’d been brave, managed quite the climb before a slip.

“No,” he told her. “We’re going to climb down together.”

She held on fast.

Wyatt had to anchor his feet tighter to keep from sliding.

He inched closer to the ladder, Hope nothing but a barnacle on the hull of his frame.

“Sweetie,” he said once they reached the ladder. “I need you to let go.”

She held tighter.

“Hey,” he said in a voice only she could hear. “You climbed up here. Let go and just sit while I step on the ladder and help you down.”

Those doe eyes blinked a few times before her grip loosened.

He started to let her go and she clasped on.

Distract . . . get her to stop looking down.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Se-seven,” she stuttered.

“Really? I thought you were at least a teenager, climbing up here like you did.” Her grip let loose again.

Wyatt kept one hand on her as he positioned himself on the ladder.

“I’m just seven,” Hope said in a much calmer voice. “Gonna be eight in August.”

Once his feet were secure on the second step down the ladder, he waved Hope over.

She scrambled like she had earlier.

No fear.

“August is a good month for a birthday.”

Hope nodded as she turned her back to him and started a slow descent.

“My friend Lorna’s birthday is two days before Christmas. That just sucks.”

The second story passed them as they talked their way down.

“Christmas birthdays always suck.”

“Yeah.”

“Birthday gifts get lost in Christmas wrapping.”

“Yeah.”

Wyatt felt the ground beneath his feet before he lifted Hope from the last few steps. He hadn’t let go when Blondie clasped the kid to her chest like a life raft in a turbulent sea.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she scolded without an ounce of anger.

“She’s fine, Melanie. You’ve climbed trees higher than my roof,” Miss Gina said.

Wyatt took a step back.

So this was Mel . . . Melanie . . . friend of the town sheriff . . . old friend of Luke . . . owner of a car destined for destruction in the back of Grayson’s farm.

The woman who kept him locked in a cold truck half the night.

Her amber eyes found his over the head of her daughter and held.

CHAPTER FOUR

She wanted to kill her, hold her . . . strangle her . . . scold her . . . love her to death.

Good night, parenting was a bipolar disorder.

Melanie knelt down to her daughter’s level and clasped her face between her palms. “Don’t ever do that again. You hear me?”

“But—”

“No buts, Hope! What you did was dangerous and you could have gotten really hurt.”

“But—”

Melanie let her hands slip to her daughter’s shoulders and tighten. “Never again!” she yelled.

Hope’s big eyes started to moisten and her bottom lip started to tremble. Melanie wanted to comfort her but didn’t want her point to be lost.

“Hey, Hope.” Miss Gina placed a hand over Melanie’s. “Why don’t we go inside and make some lemonade?”

Hope nodded and took Miss Gina’s hand.

Melanie watched her daughter walk out of sight before the adrenaline of the moment dumped into her system all at once. Her head grew dizzy and her eyes misted over. Before she could fall, she went ahead and let her knees bend until she felt the damp soil under her butt.

“You okay?”

Melanie squinted up at the stranger who’d kept her daughter from what would have been a very painful fall and sighed. “I’m going to be gray before I’m thirty,” she said.

He ran a hand through his brown hair before releasing the tool belt from his waist and dropping it to the ground. He pushed up a spot of grass beside her and rested his forearms on his knees. “You have had a rough couple of days,” he told her.

“Boy have I ever.” It took Melanie a full thirty seconds to register his words. “Wait . . . how would you know about my week?”

The stranger smiled, flashing dimples, and reached out his hand to shake hers. “Name’s Jack . . . Jack the Ripper. I’m on a work release program out of Sing Sing. Save little girls to keep my parole officer happy.”

She placed a limp hand in his and peered close. It was the stranger from the night before, minus the rain-soaked coat and pissy attitude. “Oh, God. I’m sorry . . . I mean . . .”

Melanie clasped his hand tighter and felt a laugh deep in her belly. It didn’t take long for that adrenaline to release in laughter. “I’m sorry I kept you out in the rain. Thank you for all your help last night.”

“I couldn’t exactly leave you there.”

“Lots of people would.”

He had the kindest chocolate brown eyes. His hair was long on top, a surfer style Melanie saw a lot in California. He had a decent tan, considering he lived in Oregon, and he was thicker than a pencil pushing desk jockey.