His heart stuttered. He ran to her side and crouched, heaving a hard, fast exhale. “You okay?”
Blood seeped from a gash where her bare knee had collided with the asphalt. Sticky orange soda and little pieces of gravel littered her clothes. She pushed herself up. The woman was naturally pale, but at the moment, her skin had gone white.
He grasped her wrist to help her sit. Her pulse raced under his thumb.
She leaned against him as he helped her to her feet. When she trembled, he placed an arm around her in case she fainted—he didn’t need a rooster replay.
“What was that?” She scanned the parking lot.
He jerked his chin at the boy. “Kid over there is shooting rocks with a slingshot.”
The young kid stood with his mouth gaping. His dog’s tail thumped the grass.
“A kid? You’re kidding.” The woman blinked hard and pushed hair from her eyes. A scent of orange soda mixed with coconut drifted from her. The women he usually dated preferred designer perfume from pricey department stores, not a siren song of the tropics. Her vulnerable chestnut-colored eyes moved to him, and right then he decided his favorite color was brown.
“What’s your name?”
“Lu-Lucy—” She stopped and bit at her lower lip. “Just Lucy.”
A flicker of recognition sparked in her eyes. Being identified as a TV personality was part of the on-air gig for William, but as a new journalist in Confluence, this was the first time he caught that flash of awareness here.
“Well, ‘Just Lucy,’ I’m William.” He walked her to a picnic table on the grass.
She slumped to the bench.
He pointed at the boy, then snapped his fingers to his side, issuing an official summons. The kid moped to where Lucy sat.
William kept his words firm. “Something you need to say to the lady?”
“I—I—” the boy began. “I didn’t mean to break your window. It was just a rock.”
William crossed his arms. “Where’s your mother?”
The boy lifted a shoulder. “Don’t got one.”
William blew out a long breath.
As if on cue, a brawny police officer bolted from inside the gas station. He stalked toward them with the authority of a sheriff in an old-time western movie. The dog let out a deepwrrrooof.
“Dad,” the boy whispered, his eyes wide with fear.
The officer glanced at Lucy, the slingshot, and over to the shattered window. His mouth dropped in an exact replica of the boy’s. “What happened, Simon?”
Tears spilled down the boy’s face. “It was my rock.”
The towering cop briefly closed his eyes. “Apologies for my son. I’m Jeff Lawson, Chief of Police here in Confluence.”
“Chief Lawson, I’m William,” he replied. “This is Lucy.”
“Call me Jeff.”
Lucy sat taller. “It’s my car.”
“Ma’am.” Jeff bowed his head slightly and surveyed her oozing knee. “I’ll see to the window repair, and that knee may need stitches. Real sorry for my boy.”
“I’ll be fine. It’s just a small cut. It’s just my window…” She waved her hand toward the car.
“I know a guy who’ll replace it.” He pulled out a cell phone and tapped in a few numbers. With only a few words, he arranged for an on-site fix and then shoved it in his pocket. “He’s on his way. I’ll deal with my son and be right back.” He snatched the slingshot with one hand and the back of Simon’s collar with the other. “C’mon.”
