High Country Christmas. Cynthia ThomasonЧитать онлайн книгу.
care of kids, keeping them safe in a smooth-running facility. What would it say about my ability to do my job if I let you go back out into the cold tonight to beg a ride from another stranger?”
Taylor pulled up her hood and stood. “You’ve got plenty of other kids to take care of, lady. You don’t need to make a project of me. I can take care of myself.”
Noticing a backpack near the fridge, Ava said, “What’s in the pack, your worldly belongings?”
“Stuff. Nothing important.” She reached for the backpack. “See ya.”
Ava cradled the coffee cup in her two hands. “Suit yourself, Taylor Grande, but here’s how I see your situation. You’re exhausted. And in seconds you’ll be cold through to the bone. You don’t really smell like a flower garden. In a few hours you’ll be hungry again. I can take care of those conditions for you. I might even be able to get you some clean clothes before you leave.”
Taylor swung the pack over her shoulder. “I’ve got clothes, but thanks.”
“Think about this, Taylor,” Ava said. “You give me the army knife until the morning in exchange for a bed on my couch tonight and tomorrow we’ll reevaluate your situation. If you still want to leave, so be it.”
“You won’t try to keep me here against my will? I’ve heard stories...”
Ava sighed. “We’re not in the business of hostage taking. Look, you’ve got to trust somebody, Taylor. You can trust me or the next truck driver who picks you up. For tonight at least, I’m suggesting you trust me.”
After what seemed like unending minutes, Taylor said, “Okay. I’ll stay. But just till tomorrow.”
Ava tried not to look overly grateful at Taylor’s decision. “As I said, we’ll reevaluate.”
Ava picked up the dishes, stacked them in the sink. “One more thing...” she said.
“Yeah?”
“While I’m making up your bed, you take a shower.”
Taylor sniffed the sleeve of her jacket. “I don’t have a problem with that.”
* * *
ONCE TAYLOR LAY on the couch, she was asleep in less than a minute. Ava thought about calling her brother Carter. He was chief of police in Holly River, and he would know if any missing kids had come up on his radar. But it was the middle of the night. Carter was at home in bed. And she’d sort of given Taylor her word that nothing would be done about her situation until the morning. Besides, morning would arrive soon enough.
Ava turned on the heat in her apartment and crawled between her covers. She might get two or three hours’ sleep if she was lucky. She fell into a restless slumber with her bedroom door open. Taylor’s deep breathing comforted her. At least she’d done something for this child for tonight.
The next morning Ava padded around her apartment, making coffee and getting dressed. Taylor was still fast asleep when Ava left to attend to chapel duties. She put a note on the kitchen table where Taylor couldn’t miss it. Taylor, do not leave. I will be back soon.
During the church service, Ava spoke with Helen Carmichael, one of the “cottage mothers” the school employed to help the children in her charge. Helen and her husband, Mark, were kind people, empty nesters who had sent their own children to college and wanted to lend a hand to others. They lived full-time in the cottage assigned to them for two weeks, and then another couple took over. Each couple only worked two weeks. Managing a home with ten children, even with extra staff to help, was a serious and often painstaking responsibility.
“Helen, you currently have only nine children in your cottage, is that right?” Ava asked.
“That’s true. Have you received word that another child is coming?”
“Not exactly, but maybe so.” The Sawtooth Children’s Home, named for the mountain and the oak trees nearby, had such an excellent reputation that kids from all over North Carolina came to stay there. Often there was a waiting list. “There is one young girl,” Ava said. “I think she’s around fourteen.”
“That would be fine,” Helen said. “We’ve got six under ten and three over ten. Becky Miller is fifteen and she has a vacancy in her room.”
With that knowledge, Ava went back to her office, checked to see that Taylor was still sleeping and called Carter.
“What’s up, Ava? Everything okay over there?”
“Everything’s fine, Carter. But I think I’ve got a runaway. Claims she doesn’t know where her parents are, but I’m not convinced that’s true. Can you check your computer and see if a missing girl shows up? This one has dark blond hair, is approximately fourteen, maybe five-four, blue eyes, slim, pretty.”
“Where is she from?” Carter asked. “What’s her name?”
“Sorry. I didn’t get a straight answer from her. Overall she looks well cared for. And I know she came from some distance away.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
Within thirty minutes Carter had sent information to Ava’s cell phone. Attached was a picture of the young lady who was still currently sleeping on Ava’s sofa. She’d been missing for two days from a Chapel Hill address that Ava recognized as upscale.
Ava called her brother back. “That’s her,” she said. “Does she have any family?”
“Says here she’s got a father who’s looking for her. I’ve got to let Chapel Hill PD know. They may want me to pick her up.”
“I understand you’ve got to tell the police. But I’d rather you didn’t come here to get her just yet, Carter. I don’t want to spook this girl. It’s ten thirty, and I don’t expect her to wake up anytime soon. And when she does, I’m sure I can keep her here until we decide what to do. You can come by later, okay?”
“Not much later, but I’ll give you a little time,” he said.
“Thanks. By the way, what’s her name?”
“Sawyer Walsh. And you were right. She’s fourteen.”
“Thanks, Carter. I’ll call if I need you.”
Three hours later, Sawyer Walsh was beginning to stir on the sofa. She blinked her eyes open, stretched her arms over her head.
“How’d you sleep?” Ava asked her.
“Okay. Thanks for the bed. I’ll be out of your hair in a few minutes. Maybe I can take a sandwich with me.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged, but what’s your hurry? Why don’t you stay here at least for another night? You need more than one or two meals before you continue your journey.”
“I should go. I’m supposed to be in California in a week. Got friends there.”
Ava had become adept at recognizing lies. The California story was definitely made up. “Oh. California’s nice,” she said. “But still...”
Ava’s argument was cut short by the sound of a motorcycle engine followed by a persistent and loud knock on her apartment door. She turned the lock and opened the door. A man stood in the building’s reception lobby on the other side. He had an impressive build, almost an intimidating one, but it was also oddly familiar.
Ava saw the outline of an expansive chest and upper arm muscles under the black leather jacket he wore. He was tall enough to carry off the rough and tumble look, maybe six feet. His dark hair matched the stubble of beard on his face. He appeared tired as if he’d come to the school in a hurry.
Black jeans, a white T-shirt and black ankle boots with an insignia on the sides completed his outfit. A baseball cap covered his thick hair, which was mussed except for an obviously quick attempt to push coarse waves back behind his ears. When he saw