He scrambled into the chair. "Can you pour the milk into my cereal?"
"Sure." She poured some of the milk over the cereal and left the rest for him to drink.
As he started to eat, Jake came out of the bedroom and motioned to her.
She joined him in the living room. "What's going on?" she asked in a quiet voice, not wanting to alarm Brett.
"You need to see for yourself." He led her down a short hallway into the one and only bedroom. There was a small suitcase on the bed that was open but completely packed. On top of the neatly folded clothing was a note.
She picked it up and read aloud, "Please watch over my son. I'll be back as soon as I can. Don't call the police. He won't be safe if you do." She met Jake's gaze, her stomach churning. "What the hell is this?"
"Trouble," he said, meeting her gaze.
She thought so, too.
"And by the way," he added, "the hot water works just fine. It was just a ruse to get you out here."
"But this woman had no idea how long it would take for someone to come up here. He's a small child, and she left him alone."
"What are you going to do?"
She looked at the note once more and frowned. "She says not to call the police, but I have to." She lifted her gaze to his. "Don't I?"
Chapter Two
Hannah didn't need Jake to answer that question, because she already knew. "Of course I have to call the police. I'll reach out to Adam or Brodie. They'll know how to handle this and keep Brett safe. I trust them."
"That's the right move," he agreed.
She took her phone out of the pocket of her jacket, relieved to see she had a signal. "Phone is working again."
"Good."
"Jake, I may need you to give both me and Brett a ride into town."
"Absolutely."
"What about your friend?"
"I'll check on him now. What do you think will happen to Brett?"
"Child welfare services will be called," she said slowly. She hated the thought of that sweet little boy spending Christmas in foster care.
"Maybe the mom will be back soon."
That was Jake, the eternal optimist. He always looked for the bright side, and while she'd really liked that about him, there had come a time when she'd also hated the fact that he couldn't seem to understand that not everything would be all right. But this wasn't the time to get into the past, so she simply followed him into the living room. She wanted to check on Brett once more before she called the police. Maybe he could tell her something about his mom.
After Jake left, she sat down at the kitchen table across from Brett and gave him a smile. He'd eaten every last bit of his cereal, leaving behind a milk moustache. She picked up the napkin that had been set next to the bowl and wiped his mouth.
As she did that, she couldn't help thinking about the little details that had been carefully planned—the folded napkin, the fact that the milk had not been poured into the bowl so the cereal wouldn't get soggy, the warmth of the cabin, the bright lights, the television, and, of course, the note. It all seemed to imply that Brett's mother had spent some time planning her exit. She'd tried to think of everything, but she'd left the biggest thing to chance, and that was who might respond to her call about a broken water heater.
"Can I have a cookie now?" Brett pointed to the bag of chocolate chip cookies on the counter. "I always get a cookie when I eat my dinner."
She didn't think cereal and cookies were the best meal, but at least he wasn't going hungry. At this moment, her first priority was to keep him happy. She got him a cookie and brought it back to the table.
His smile made her heart melt. He had a sweet, angelic face, a trusting innocence that made her want to do everything she could to make sure he was safe. In some ways, he reminded her of her little brother Tyler. She'd been thirteen when her father had died, when her mother had fallen apart, and Tyler had only been eight. She'd fed him cereal and cookies, too. Or she'd made him jam sandwiches because it was all she could find in the fridge. And sometimes there had only been enough for one of them to eat. Not because there hadn't been money for food—just no one to get it.
Her heart hardened at the memories, and she felt a rush of anger toward the unknown woman who had left her son to the mercy of strangers.
What if she hadn't been the one to come to the cabin? What if her mom had sent the handyman? Old Blain wouldn't have known what to do with a small child. And how could the unknown mother trust someone she didn't know with her child?
Some people really shouldn't have children.
"When is my mommy coming back?" Brett asked, drawing her attention back to him.
"I'm not sure."
"Are you going to read me a story?"
"Maybe later. Do you know how old you are?"
He held up four fingers.
"Four. You're a big guy. Do you know where you live?"
"In a yellow house. It looks like the sun."
"That sounds nice. Is it here in the mountains?"
"No. It's far away."
"Do you live there with your mom and dad?"
"My mom lives there."
"Do you know her name?"
"Mommy."
She smiled at his pragmatic answer.
"What about your last name? Do you know that?"
He gave her a blank look, then said, "Can I play?"
"Sure."
As he slid off the chair and ran into the living room to play with his puppies, she got to her feet and took the cereal bowl to the sink. With Brett caught up in some imaginary game, she took out her phone and called her mother. She wanted to know more about the repair
