Page 64 of Where You're Planted

Jack clipped the radio back onto his hip. “Come on. We’ll have to meet him closer to the trail.” He went to wrap one arm around her back and the other under her knees.

She stiff-armed him. “You are not carrying me like that.” Like a bride.

“You prefer piggyback?”

She looked down at her skirt and then up at the tall pine trees towering over them and shook her head.

Jack couldn’t understand why this was such a problem for her. But she clearly was not going to budge on this, and although hecouldexert his will here and she couldn’t stop him, he didn’t actually want to piss her off. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “All right. Fine. Put your arm over my shoulders.”

She eyed him warily.

“It’s gonna be a lot slower,” he warned, “and if you trip, that’s it, I’m carrying you.” He raised his eyebrows, questioning and threatening in equal measure.

She let him wedge his shoulder under her, and he stood, pulling her up with him. He was about a head taller than her and had to stoop to keep her elbow hooked around his neck, but she quit complaining, so he decided he could endure the uncomfortable position.

After testing her weight on the injured foot and collapsing against him, she tucked her foot behind her calf and resorted to hopping. It took tremendous effort for Jack to say nothing and just hold her steady as she went. She made it about twenty yards before she pressed her palm to his ribs, stopping him. “Sorry,” she panted.

“You’re doing great,” he said into her hair. “You’re a beast.”

She laughed, breathless, and then cast him a conflicted glance. “If you hadn’t come looking, I don’t know how I would have gotten myself out of here.”

He squeezed her hip reassuringly. He didn’t want to think about that or lord it over her now that she was finally admitting the severity of the situation. But he was also sure she’d have crawled out on her hands and knees if she had to. “You okay to go again?”

“Yeah, I— What’s that?” She squinted into the trees and hopped, pulling him sideways.

A small, green tent blended into the trees, nearly obscured by overgrowth.

“Wait here.” He unlooped her arm from his neck and guided her to a pine tree. He ignored her protests as he approached the tent and unzipped the flap. No one was inside, but there were two sleeping bags laid out side by side and stacks of supplies lining the perimeter—Ritz crackers,peanut butter, toilet paper, water bottles, clothes, flashlights, and some books with library barcodes on them.

He heard Tansy grunt and turned to find her right behind him. He glared at her. “I told you to wait.”

“Is someone camping out here?” she asked in surprise, poking her head in through the flap.

Jack rounded the back of the tent to find two folding chairs, a small firepit, a clothesline stretched between tree branches, and a trash bag strung up on a rope from a higher limb. He hadn’t spent as much time in this part of the property lately, but whoever this was seemed to have been here at least a few days, if not longer.

“Jack?” Tansy called, her voice muffled. She was all the way inside the tent now.

He paced back around, his mind already reeling with the logistical headache of reporting and dealing with this.

She held up a pair of pipe-cleaner butterfly antennae and the library books. “I know them. They come to every toddler story time. Stella and her mom, Lena. She checked out all these hummingbird books. Why are they camping here?”

“I don’t think they’re camping. I think they’re living out here,” he said grimly. He raked a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck.

“Are you serious?” Tansy asked, new distress in her voice.

“Don’t know how I missed this,” Jack muttered.

“How didImiss it?” Tansy countered, clutching the antennae to her chest. “They come to every story time, even the ones for older kids. I talk to the mom every week. She always seems tired, but toddler parents are always tired. I had no idea…”

The sound of approaching footsteps pulled Jack around. A young woman halted several yards away, a look of panic on her face as she protectively tucked her daughter behind her.

“Are they homeless?” Tansy went on from inside the tent.

“Don’t know, but they’re here,” he said, quiet enough for only Tansy to hear.

The woman looked like she wanted to bolt, but instead, she lifted her daughter to her hip, ducked her head, and narrowed the distance as Tansy struggled to back out of the tent with her bad ankle. Jack pulled her up, saying in her ear, “I’m gonna have to call the constable.”

“What? Why?”

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