With that, he climbed out and headed into the pouring rain, still half a football field away from the tiny figure of a woman sitting on the ground.
Tessa’s fingers trembled as she hit the most recent call on his phone, and Lynda answered. Somehow, Tessa got the information out, and managed to set a pin, but then Morgan turned, and?—
“Oh, my God, yes! She has Olive.”
“Keep her there!” Lynda commanded, and it was the last thing Tessa heard as she yanked the handle and flung herself out of the truck, sliding in some mud.
Morgan turned away before Tessa rushed closer, staying in the soaking wet grass next to a flat marker with one hand on it.
Her hair was plastered to her face, her shoulders shaking. She was wearing the jean jacket she’d had on the day she signed the temporary custody papers in Dusty’s office.
And Olive—sweet little Olive Oyl—was in her lap, in a pink raincoat, with her stuffed flamingo in a death grip. Poor Wingo. Poor Olive.
The child looked up at her mother’s face with the calm, puzzled attention of a small person trying to figure out why theywere in this place, but not—not yet, at least—afraid of anything. That gave Tessa an overwhelming sense of relief.
Then Olive spotted her and her whole face lit up.
“Tess-Tess!”
Morgan’s head shot up. She looked at them across the wet grass. Her eyes were red. Her face blotchy. Her mouth opened, then closed.
Tessa slowed her step until she stopped, letting Dusty reach her first. He got about ten feet from Morgan and crouched down.
Morgan stared at him as Olive started to wriggle and reached out to him. “Dusting!”
Tessa bit back a whimper as she took a few steps closer to hear their conversation.
“You okay?” he asked calmly.
She shook her head. Then she gave a small, wet laugh that was actually a sob. “No. I…I can’t do this, Dusty.” She turned to the gravestone. “I just want to be with him. With all of them.”
Tessa’s heart collapsed at the words. Dusty, true to his therapist’s oath, had never said if Morgan had those thoughts…but there had to be a powerful reason to keep her in rehab.
“Can I do that?” she asked, clutching Olive, who was now locked on Tessa and squirming to get free.
“Not today,” Dusty replied. “Not out here in a hurricane. Not with Olive.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, squeezing Olive so tight Tessa’s own ribcage hurt. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s the storm. I know I scared you. I just…” Morgan looked down at the child on her lap.
Olive had now noticed her mother was crying, so she stroked Morgan’s arm like their roles had reversed.
“I wanted her to know where her daddy was. Once more. Before. I want her to know him.”
Olive looked over Morgan’s shoulder and reached out her baby-sized hand, kicking to get to Tessa, as if her little brain finally realized the danger she was in. “Tess-Tess!”
Unable to stop herself, Tessa came to stand next to Dusty, putting a hand on his shoulder to keep from either crumbling to the ground or rushing to grab and save Olive.
Dusty held still under her hand, his gaze on his patient.
“Morgan. We’re going to get you back to campus. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be safe and so is Olive. You and I will talk as soon as this hurricane has passed. Okay?”
She stared at him, a gust of wind nearly blowing her over and sending a broken branch bouncing over the cemetery plots.
“We need to get in the truck, Morgan. The bridge is closing. The hurricane is coming.”
Tessa leaned closer to whisper, “Lynda said to stay here.”
“In the truck,” Dusty repeated with authority, which may have been directed to Tessa or Morgan, but it didn’t matter.
