Page 2 of Unbroken

My phone rang and when I saw my mom’s number, I picked up quickly. She was watching my son Patrick, and any time she called I worried that something was wrong.

“You guys okay?” I asked as I answered.

“Well, hello to you too,” Mom laughed softly. “We’re fine, but Patrick has a stomachache again. He says he wants to be with you. Any chance you can come get him?”

“Is he really sick, or is this one of his episodes?”

“Hard to say, but I’m guessing it’s more in his head than his belly, to be honest.”

I sighed and kicked a rock with the toe of my boot. Patrick’s stomachaches were happening more and more frequently. I’d taken my four-year-old son for a checkup and after finding nothing of note, the doctor had suggested that his stomach issues could be stress-related. What exactly a child who hadn’t started kindergarten yet could have to worry about was beyond me, but it kept me up at night.

“Yeah, I can pick him up. I still have a lot to do at the ranch, though …”

“I’m sure the work can wait for just a bit. Patrick is asking for you.”

“Okay, I’ll come get him, but first I gotta, uh …” I glanced at Fiona and tried to calculate how long it would take me to drop her at the ranch and then run to my mom’s place. “Give me an hour. Tops.”

Fiona was watching me as I hung up. “Family stuff?”

“Yeah, my son, Patrick, isn’t feeling well. I’ll bring you to the ranch, then go grab him.” I shook my head, trying to mentally rearrange my schedule. “I’ve got too much to do today before the next trail ride. The timing couldn’t be worse.”

“Hold on,” Fiona said. “You don’t have to run back and forth. Let’s go pick him up together and then you can bring him back to the ranch with you. I’ll get him set up in one of the spare bedrooms and keep an eye on him while you finish up.”

“Seriously?” I asked. “You don’t have to do that.”

Damn it, Fiona made it hard to be surly with her.

“Happy to help. Come on, let’s go get your boy.”

“You look like Glinda,” Patrick said with awe in his voice, staring at Fiona with wide eyes from where he was glued in the middle of the bedroom. “FromThe Wizard of Oz.”

“You think?” She laughed as she bustled around, moving throw pillows and pulling back the top sheet on the bed. “I’ve heard that before.” She paused, folded her hands at her waist, and adopted a serene smile. “There’s no place like home.”

“Wow,” Patrick whispered. “You sound just like her too.”

“That was her nickname in high school,” I added. “She was the Good Witch.”

I refrained from telling my son that the way she’d treated me in the end made her seem more like the wicked one. No, she hadn’t attacked anyone—or their little dog—but she’d embarrassed me publicly and hurt my feelings in a way that no teenage boy was well equipped to handle. I tried not to be the kind of man who held a grudge, but moving on wasn’t the same as forgetting.

I watched as Fiona smoothed the sheets back and patted the bed. “Shoes off and up you go, flying monkey. If your belly hurts, you need to relax.”

Surprisingly, Patrick didn’t look to me for guidance and kicked off his sneakers, then hopped on the bed without hesitating. My son and I were alike in more ways than just our thick black hair and dark eyes; Patrick had the same untrusting temperament, but there was something about bubbly Fiona that seemed to make him feel comfortable.

I’d been worried that picking up Patrick with Fiona would be awkward given that my mom, Beatrice, still harbored a grudge against her, but we’d managed to keep it polite. Patrick was taken with Fiona almost immediately. I hated to admit that I still wasn’t immune to her either. When she laughed, she made everyone want to laugh along with her. Fiona Cafferty had a glow that had only gotten brighter with time.

She pulled the blanket over Patrick and sat on the edge of the bed. “Why don’t you tell us about this bellyache of yours. Did you eat something that didn’t agree with you?”

I winced, knowing from experience that this line of questioning would only make Patrick more uncomfortable and wouldn’t lead to answers, anyway. Whatever Patrick was dealing with was something much tougher to diagnose than eating too much ice cream. I just wasn’t sure what it was or how I could fix it, given that pressing Patrick about it would make my son clam up tighter than a… well, clam.

Patrick shook his head and shrank into himself, the smile slipping from his face. It was as if he’d suddenly remembered the reason why he was there and needed to get back into character.

“Do you want to take his temperature?” Fiona asked, glancing over her shoulder at me.

I shook my head. “No, I checked his forehead and he’s fine. He just needs to rest a bit and give his tummy time to settle down.” I widened my eyes at Fiona to suggest that there was more to the story and to letit drop. She frowned, but then nodded at me. “And I need to get back to work,” I added. “You gonna be okay, bud?”

“Yes, Daddy. Can I play games on your phone?”

“No, sir, you cannot. I need it. If you don’t feel well, you should take a nap.”

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