Page 44 of Her Faithful Protector

“No, no!” Sam persists, restraining me while pointing his gun at her, even though she appears too exhausted to flee. “Ava, Jack has Quinton,” he announces, halting my fight instantly. “I just heard from him,” he asserts.

My body goes flaccid as if letting go of all the strain. Those are the words I’ve been desperately longing to hear.

He releases me and takes charge of Greta, allowing me the time to compose myself. When I turn around, I find Sam has tied her up, and she sits on the side of the road, still sobbing uncontrollably.

“It’s over,” Sam whispers. “The sheriff’s coming.”

I give him a heartfelt thank-you hug. He has been there for us from the beginning, risking his safety and opening his home for me, and now, saving me.

Shortly after, the sound of sirens permeates the air as the sheriff and his men arrive at the scene. They grab Greta without any pushback. She walks on, not even sparing me a glance.

The weight of the situation lifts as Sam and I head back to the car.

“Ready to see Quinton?” Sam says behind the wheel.

Just as my ex-babysitter takes a seat in the back of the sheriff’s car, out of nowhere, a motorcycle passes by, the rider aiming his gun through the open door. He’s so close that it stuns everyone. Two quick shots ring out, causing panic among the sheriff’s men. As the smoke clears, we see Greta’s limp body slumped in the deputy’s arms.

The motorcycle, a blur of speed and agility, disappears into the distance before anyone can react. It effortlessly evades the attempts of the sheriff’s men to take aim and fire.

It’s as if something is obstructing my airway. I struggle to comprehend what I’m witnessing. Greta Hall, the woman I despised for her greed and betrayal, now lies completely still on the ground. A spike of guilt pricks at my gut, wondering if there could’ve been a different outcome.

The sheriff instructs us to wait, but Sam explains how urgent it is for us to be in Townsend—citing that my baby is there. After assuring the sheriff that we will provide our statements as soon as we can, Sam is given permission to leave with an escort.

As we drive away, thoughts of reuniting with Quinton consume my mind, gradually erasing the unfolding events.

We veer onto a path off the main road, the tires crunching on the gravel, and it becomes apparent that our destination lies along the Missouri River.

“Shortcut,” Sam remarks with enthusiasm, glancing at the trooper’s car trailing behind us.

My only concern is reaching Jack and Quinton, so I don’t care how Sam does it. Yet, I’m confused. Why the river?

I silently implore my handsome driver to explain with a gaze.

He smirks, a glimmer of mischief bouncing in his eyes. “Quinton is apparently a big nature lover. He grew weary of the Townsend house, so Jack decided to treat him to some R&R at a riverside location.”

His response amuses me. I never knew my little one was an outdoorsy baby!

I notice Sam is driving without a GPS. “You seem to know this area well.”

“Red Mark’s first office was in Townsend. Not on this side of town, but the east side near the center.”

The path narrows, sandwiched by tall trees on our left and right. The scent of fresh pine seeps into the car.

Finally, we reach the trailhead, excitement bubbling in my gut. As the path opens up, the blue waters of the Missouri River come into view, its surface sparkling under the rays of sunlight. With every step, my eyes search for any signs of Jack.

And there it is—the man is seated under the shade of atree, gazing at the horizon with my baby contently sitting on his lap. My heart leaps with pure happiness at the sight of my two precious dears together. With his sunglasses on, Jack looks like a man who’s enjoying a break. From here, I wouldn’t have any idea what he had gone through to rescue Quinton.

I yell Quinton’s and Jack’s names. My voice bounces against the trees as if following me as I sprint toward them. Kneeling next to Jack, I reach out to Quinton, my fingers tingling. A contagious squeal of delight escapes the boy’s lips, his face lighting up with a smile that etches lines of honest joy. It’s a sound I couldn’t bear to live without. “Are you okay, baby? Mommy’s here,” I whisper.

“He’s okay,” Jack affirms—calm and proud as if telling me he has shielded Quinton with his life and emerged victorious.

Holding Quinton close, I plant gentle kisses on his forehead, stroking him tenderly as his cotton candy hair tickles my palm. “I love you, Quinton. I love you more than anything,” I quaver. “I won’t let anyone come between us ever again, you know that, right, Quinnie-Bear?”

Quinton trails his fingers along my cheek as if trying to wipe away my tears. I can’t resist kissing him again, savoring the sensation of his tender skin against my lips.

I then glance up at Jack, my other baby. His sunglasses are perched on his head, and I notice a wince clouding his face when I rest against his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he reassures me, quickly regaining composure and planting a kiss on my lips. His touch is like sunlight, radiating warmth that reminds me of something I can’t live without.

---