Page 40 of The Rough Ride

“Ask him. Any bloodshed yet?”

Nick heard the ding of an elevator in the background.

“Oh, for God’s sakes—any bloodshed yet, Nick? I can’t believe that’s his standard for childcare.”

“None at all. They’ve had breakfast and lunch. We’re playing in the yard, on the swings at the moment.”Hewas on his third fresh shirt of the day. Ollie’s oatmeal having decorated the second. But the clothes were in the washer, and Lindsay found the peepee-teepees before she’d left. Although the painful, raw childhood memories of his father continued to sneak up on him, watching the kids wasn’t as awful as he’d imagined. The house was a mess, but playing with the kids was kind of relaxing.

“No bloodshed, Beau. And that’s not my point. I’m their mother. I should be with them, especially with Hilde out of the picture,” Angie droned on through the phone.

“That’s a good point, sugar. And my point is—you’re needed here. I’m paying SecureIT a lot of money to take care of my family. I know it’s unusual, but surely, they can watchover two small children until we get home. We’re talking about combat-hardened vets protecting our kids. It doesn’t get any more qualified than that. Have Nick call a nanny service and hire some help if he needs it. He’s got access to discretionary funds. He knows what to do. I hired them because Commander Mackenzie gave them a five-star review. Nick is solid as a brick wall. Just trust him, sugar.”

“I don’t like not putting my family first, Beau.”

“I don’t either, but what choice do we have? Even if I wanted to fly you home right now, I can’t. Ours was one of the last planes to land in Dallas because that damn hurricane has turned its snarling face toward Texas. The airport’s closing soon, mama.”

“Bless your heart, Beau Richardson.”

“Now, don’t you start cussing at me in southern, darlin’. It’s not my fault. You give Nick my best. I have no doubt he’ll handle the situation just fine.”

Angie came back on the phone. “Did you hear all of that, Nick? Are you okay with it? I promise to get the first flight home once this weather clears.”

“Everybody’s fine, Angie. I simply wanted to keep you informed and let you know what was happening. Beau’s right. We’ll handle it. Try to relax. I’ll text you with updates every few hours.”

“I’m so sorry. I’d appreciate the update texts. Are the kids asking for me?”

“Not at the moment. They’re having fun.” He gave them both an extra high push on the swing and held the phone out so she’d hear the squeals of laughter.

“They sound happy. I won’t ask to speak with them now. Hearing my voice might upset Ollie’s apple cart. Call me if you needanything.”

“I’m sure we won’t, and I’ll send those text updates.” He ended the call.

He threw the ball across the yard to Precious again and texted Biggs, the next guy on duty for the three-to-eleven shift.

Don’t even think about being late, bro. Bring a gear bag with shorts, tees, relaxed shoes. That means plural. You’ll need them—heh heh.

24

Liz shared a dish of ice cream with Ella in her stroller under a shady, sugar maple tree with a bench. Her pretty munchkin shivered and made a different face with every little spoonful.

Liz couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this relaxed and happy. It had been worth every moment spent in preparation to share this time with her daughter at the zoo. They’d already visited the ape exhibit, watched the elephants get a bath, and walked through the birdhouses. With each new animal, Ella pointed and cooed in delight.

Maybe they’d find the big cats and giraffes and call it a day.

Ella’s little cheeks were pink with fresh air and sunshine as she yawned, ending with an adoring four-tooth smile for her mom.

Liz scanned her map for the closest restroom with a changing table. She followed the route with her finger and found one. It would be a short walk from their shady resting spot. She cleaned Ella’s face and hands with a cloth, tossed theempty cup in the garbage and meandered her way to the restroom with a smile plastered on her face.

“This is the good life, baby girl.” She pushed the handicap button and the door swung open to a large bathroom crammed with strollers and people. Oh geez, she doubted one more piece of baby gear would fit in there. She scooped up Ella, slid her into the baby carrier on her chest and grabbed the diaper bag. She didn’t like leaving the stroller outside but there wasn’t room for one more.

“Mommy first, then you, sweetheart.”

She used the restroom, changed Ella on a just-vacated table, and followed a slow stream of women and children out the door.

Liz walked to where she thought she’d left the stroller, but it wasn’t there. Maybe she came out a different exit on the other side of the building? She hoisted the diaper bag and walked all the way around the building.

Huh—no stroller.

She did another circuit of the building. Maybe someone had grabbed hers by mistake and had run back to correct their error, and left it in a different spot.

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