High Noon by Nora Roberts Page A

walk, barely avoiding a bullet as Reuben went down to his knees under Essie’s assault.
    â€œHelp us! Help us now!” Phoebe shouted until her lungs burned. She grabbed the bottle, prepared to whale in, but Reuben went down, flat on his face. Weeping, screaming, Essie continued to pound him with her fists, even when the door burst open. Even when men rushed in with guns.
    â€œDon’t shoot us. Don’t shoot us.” Weeping, Phoebe crawled to her mother.
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    Things slowed down to a dream, it seemed like. And in the dream people walked her through water where voices echoed and the lights hurt her eyes. Once, she fell asleep, and did dream. But the dream was so scary she pushed herself awake again.
    Mama had to have X-rays of her face to make sure her cheekbone wasn’t broken, and stitches to close the gash. Phoebe sat in the little room in the hospital. She didn’t want to lie down, didn’t want to sleep again and fall back into the dream where the gun exploded, and the bullet—like a live thing—hunted her down and killed her.
    Carter slept curled up in a ball on the narrow bed. His fists were clenched, and off and on his body twitched like a horse’s did when flies landed on it.
    Doctors and nurses and police came in and out, and asked questions. When they did, she wanted them to go away. When they went away, she wished they’d come back so she wasn’t alone.
    But there’d been water to drink, to wash the grit that had coated her throat. And then icy Coca-Cola, straight from the bottle.
    She wanted her mother. She wanted Mama so bad it hurt worse than Reuben’s hand across her face.
    When a man came in with a big McDonald’s takeout bag, the smell of burgers and fries had her stomach jittering with sudden and acute hunger.
    He smiled at her, glanced at Carter, then came over to sit beside Phoebe on the bed. “Thought you might be hungry. Don’t know about you, but I’d rather skip the hospital food. I’m Dave.”
    She knew she stared, knew it was rude. But she’d expected Dave to be old—older anyway. He looked barely older than the high school boys Phoebe liked to sigh over in secret. His hair was a light brown with a lot of curl to it, his eyes shades lighter and blue. He wore a dark blue shirt, open at the collar. And he smelled just a little sweaty.
    He held out his hand, but when Phoebe offered hers, he didn’t shake it. He held it, firm, just the way his eyes held hers. “I’m really happy to meet you, Phoebe. Really happy to see you.”
    â€œI’m glad to meet you, too.”
    Then she did what she hadn’t done in all the hours inside the hot little house, in all the time she’d waited while her brother slept.
    She cried.
    Dave sat, held her hand. He didn’t say a thing. At one point he got up, dug up a box of tissues and put them in her lap. When her tears slowed, he pulled the Quarter Pounders and fries out of the bag.
    â€œMy mama,” Phoebe began.
    â€œShe’s going to be fine. I checked on her, and I asked if I could have a little time with you before they took you and your brother to her, or brought her to you. Looks like he could use some sleep anyway.”
    â€œI guess.”
    â€œI know you were scared, but you were smart, too, and you were brave.”
    â€œI wasn’t brave. I was mad.” She picked up the burger, bit in. Her stomach clenched as if deciding whether or not it would accept the food. Then it relaxed again. “Carter was brave for climbing out the window.”
    â€œHe said you told him to, that you said you’d slap him stupid if he didn’t do it.”
    She flushed a little because she was forbidden to hit her brother. Even though there were occasions she judged he’d earned it enough for her to break the rule.
    â€œI guess I did.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œReuben would’ve hurt him. He’d’ve hurt him bad before he