Colton Holiday Lockdown. C.J. MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
and Dr. Rand had met once or twice when Rafe had brought him to the clinic, but Danny wouldn’t lash out at Dr. Rand. They’d barely spoken.
“If a cure isn’t found, then the quarantine remains in place and you have to stay in town,” Dr. Rand said. “That could be worth a lot to a boy who’s lost everything else.”
Guilt tripled in Rafe’s stomach. He’d agreed to take Danny into his home because Danny needed a place to live and Rafe thought he could help him. Help him through some of his grief, show him a life outside of Dead River was possible and put him on track to build a good future. Had he been wrong to take the boy into his home knowing he’d be around only a short time?
“I’ll try to reach him again,” Rafe said. He took a few steps away and dialed Danny. Speed dial number two. Why wasn’t Danny answering?
The call went to his voice mail again.
Rafe’s emotions were a combination of anger with Rand and worry and fear for Danny. He returned to the group. Gemma was watching him, worry plain on her face.
“It will be his word against mine, and it’s more trouble than it’s worth. I won’t press charges, but I want that punk to stay away from me.”
Rafe ignored the name calling and addressed Flint. “I’ll find him. I’ve been worried.” But now, he was deeply concerned.
“When you find him, I want to talk to him,” Flint said. His words seemed to please Dr. Rand, which may have been his intention.
“I’ll go with you,” Gemma said.
“I can handle it. You don’t have to take care of everyone,” Rafe said.
Gemma flinched, but then lifted her chin. “You are in no condition to drive and search. You tell me where you want to look and I’ll take you.”
She was right. It was dark and while he had a short list of places where Danny might be, what would he do if Danny wasn’t there? He’d need to search the town and two people working the problem were better than one.
“Come on,” Rafe said. He tossed her his keys.
Gemma slid into the driver’s seat and adjusted it so she could reach the pedals. “We’ll find him, Rafe. I’m here for you.”
It wasn’t the first time she had spoken those words to him. Did she remember the last time? Years before, when they’d been in high school together, Rafe had been desperate to leave Dead River. Even then, he’d hated this tiny, small-minded town. He’d gotten fired from his job at the record store because he’d been late for work again. His reasons for being tardy hadn’t mattered to the store owner, but then again, Rafe hadn’t explained that his father was on a bender and he’d stayed with his mom until his father had shown up because she had been worried. Gemma had tried to console him with those same words while he had waited for his father to show.
Drunkard fathers were something he had in common with Gemma, though his had eventually gotten sober. It wasn’t anything they discussed. Rafe’s father had been inconsistent, unreliable and more bent on getting drunk than moving his family out of the trailer park where they’d lived. Rafe had hated that trailer park. Hated it and everything it had stood for. Gemma’s father was destructive on a whole other level. Showing up now and then, causing problems, embarrassing his family and leaving her grandmother to raise her and her brothers.
“I know you and Mr. Sergeant were close,” Gemma said.
Rafe made a sound of acknowledgment. He and Danny’s grandfather, a guidance counselor at the high school, had gotten along. Rafe credited Danny’s grandfather for getting him into Harvard University, which had changed the course of Rafe’s life. “He knew I wanted out of Dead River and he gave me a study guide for the SATs. I read that book cover to cover.” Multiple times. He’d practically memorized it. Donald “Donny” Sergeant had told Rafe if he wanted a ticket out of Dead River, he’d have to earn it. Rafe’d had decent grades, but his SAT score had been the clincher to a full ride at Harvard.
“Now you can’t wait to leave again,” Gemma said.
Her voice held the slightest censure. “Can you blame me?”
“For wanting to leave? No. For not seeing how much you have here, yes.”
Her words struck a chord in him, but he didn’t want to talk about the reasons he could not stay. “Can you drive by the graveyard?”
Gemma turned his car in that direction.
“You can say it, Gemma.” He could practically hear her thoughts.
“You say mean things to me because you want to keep me at arm’s length. Me and everyone. Why?” Gemma asked.
He did no such thing. He didn’t sink time into his relationships because he didn’t have time. Danny was an exception and he felt guilty that he couldn’t do more for him. “I am doing everything I can.” He was working at the clinic. He was working for a cure. Why wasn’t that enough?
“Danny adores you,” Gemma said.
“I know. He’s a great kid.”
Another pause. “What will happen to him if you leave?” Gemma asked.
As if he hadn’t asked himself that question before and struggled with the answer. On a good day, he told himself he’d bought the foster care system another three months to find Danny a suitable, permanent place, one with experienced parents who could give Danny a family. He’d been honest with the social worker about his limitations. The social worker knew Rafe planned to return to New York City. Rafe was listed in their system as “temporary.”
On a bad day, Rafe couldn’t think about Danny being passed from family to family trying to find a fit. He couldn’t stand the idea of someone taking Danny in who cared more about the stipend than Danny. “The same thing that would have happened if I hadn’t returned to Dead River.”
“I am glad that you did,” Gemma said. “Even if it’s for a short time.”
Rafe wouldn’t read into her words. Why was she glad? Why did she care? Gemma was nice to everyone it seemed. But she wasn’t an easy woman to get to know. She hated being in the spotlight and she didn’t speak her mind as often as she should. Whenever she spoke, he felt like she was carefully choosing her words. He wondered what it would be like if she let loose and let her emotions run wild.
The thought triggered an entirely inappropriate image of Gemma he hadn’t had since high school. Gemma used to have a short black-and-red plaid skirt that she wore with a white collared shirt and a black sweater. He had fantasized about getting her on the back of his motorcycle and then getting under that sweater, and under her skirt. Gemma on a motorcycle. His motorcycle. He shook loose the thought before it escalated and he was forced to hide a raging hard-on in his jeans.
He didn’t have a motorcycle anymore. It was impractical in Wyoming weather. Gemma was off-limits, then and now.
Gemma turned onto the unpaved road leading to the graveyard.
The graveyard was surrounded by tall, bare trees. It was a peaceful place, the groundskeeper putting time into clearing the snow from the path leading to the headstones. Rafe had been there more times in the past several months than he had all his life. He’d visited his mother and father and sat with Danny at his grandfather’s grave.
Danny had told Rafe that the quiet of the field made him feel better and closer to his grandfather. It was a place where he could cry or think without anyone judging him. A tough admission for a teenage boy and Rafe gave him credit for finding an outlet for his grief.
The metal gate around the graveyard was locked.
“He can’t be in there. It’s closed,” Gemma said. She drew the car to a stop.
Two angels holding harps looked over the entrance.
“The groundskeeper might not have checked that it was empty before closing it. Or maybe