Margaret Daley - Her Baby's Protector

I love hearing from readers. You can contact me at margaretdaley@gmail.comor at P. O. Box 2074, Tulsa, OK 74101. You can also learn more about my books at www.margaretdaley.com. I have a newsletter that you can sign up for on my website.

Take care,

To my husband, Mike.

Thank you for forty-six wonderful years.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

—Psalms 23:4

ONE

Kate Forster lunged to the right then the left, loosening her muscles before her run. “Are you ready, Jamie?” She bent down and looked under the canopy on the three-wheel, jogging stroller.

Her fifteen-month-old son grinned. “Go, Mama.”

“Okay, hang on tight.” Kate gripped the handle and started down her favorite route in the large park.

In the Remington Nature Reserve, the path took her through the woods and along the lake. The beautiful dose of God’s beauty renewed her after a long day as an Oklahoma family court judge, trying to figure out what was the best decision for the parents and children who ended up before her.

She needed the reminder the Lord was in control, especially after the day she’d had. She hated having to take a child away from a parent, but in this case she’d had no other choice. Not when a little girl’s life was in danger. The wails from the mother still rang in her mind.

Kate shook the memory from her mind and focused on her son giggling and urging her with, “Fatter. Fatter.” His word for faster.

Kate nodded at a couple who passed her going the opposite way. She often saw them here.

The breeze from the south cooled her as she headed into the wooded part of the reserve. The sounds of birds chirping blended with Jamie’s laughter. Both wonderful to hear.

A large man with jet-black hair—another frequent runner at Remington—overtook her and went around them, giving her a smile and a nod. His gleaming gray eyes stood out against his tan complexion and dark hair. She’d seen him a couple of times at the courthouse too. Was he an attorney?

As she rounded a curve in the path, she slowed. A tree trunk had fallen across the trail, probably from the thunderstorm and high winds last night. She’d need to lift the stroller over it if she wanted to continue. She came to a stop and decided to let Jamie out of the stroller while she hoisted it over the downed tree. She still felt wound up after her stressful day.

She picked her son up, his dark brown eyes—the same color as hers—widening.

He began to wiggle. “Down.”

Maybe she would let him play a little here then run back toward her car. She stood him on the path then eased down onto a lower branch of the tree trunk. The second she sat, exhaustion invaded her body. “You can play for a few minutes then we’ll head back.”

“No back.”

Her mistake was to stop and take a seat. “Sorry, honey, but it’s been a long day. Mommy is tired.”

“Me not.” He picked up a stick and poked it into the ground. It broke. He looked up at her, a pout tugging at his mouth.

She heard the scrunch of footsteps coming from the other side of the tree trunk. As she rose, she turned to see who it was. Her gaze zeroed in on a thin man about six and a half feet tall, wearing a ski mask—definitely not what someone would have on in April while exercising. When he saw that she’d spotted him, he leaped off the ground and vaulted over the log at the same time Kate whirled and raced toward her son a few feet away.

She scooped Jamie up in her arms as the man landed less than a yard from them. Her gaze connected with his dark one. She shivered at the piercing stare. He grabbed for her son, grasping his legs.

A scream erupted from Kate as the assailant tugged Jamie toward him. His scent of sweat and cigarettes nauseated her, making her want to get away from him. But she couldn’t let go. Her toddler wailed while clinging to her. She kicked out and connected with the kidnapper’s leg. He stumbled back, letting go of Jamie’s legs.

“Help, help! Someone’s taking my baby,” she yelled as she clutched Jamie against her chest and scrambled as fast as she could backward.

Her son’s cries reverberated through her mind. Her attacker stalked toward her, reaching for Jamie again. Caught between the kidnapper and the fallen tree’s trunk, she spun to the side, shielding her child with her body as she tried to clamber over the wooden barrier.

The accoster clasped her shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh while he yanked her back.

Another scream came from the depth of her being. Did anyone hear it? Would anyone come to help?

* * *

Detective Chase Walker lengthened his strides as he chewed up the distance to Remington’s lake. He’d spent all day hunting down a burglar, finally catching him and then interrogating him, and now he relished the feel of the fresh air and the pounding of his feet against the earth.

Peace. Calm. Two things he longed to have that always seemed just out of reach. After fighting in the Middle East, all he wanted to do was put those memories behind him. But each night they haunted his dreams. For three years.

A scream pierced the air.

He halted.

A cry for help followed.

He spun around and raced in the direction of the sound, going around a long curve in the trail.

Judge Forster, whom he’d passed earlier, struggled with a tall man on the other side of the fallen tree. Chase pumped his legs as fast as he could, closing the distance between them.

The assailant in a ski mask glanced at Chase, then tried to wrestle something from the judge. She held on tight.

Was it her child?

The attacker backed away, stumbled over the stroller and went down.

Chase sailed over the downed log as the tall man scrabbled to his feet and took off.

Chase’s right foot hit the ground first then the left, that leg nearly crumbling under him at the impact. He shoved away thoughts of the throbbing ache. “Okay, Judge Forster?” Slowing, he swung his attention to her on the ground by the tree, as she cuddled a crying child.

“We’re fine. Get him,” she said in a tight voice.

Chase increased his speed, the attacker at least a football-field length ahead of him. The leg he’d wounded as a US Marine overseas continued to protest. Each time he struck his left foot against the hard packed ground, needles of white-hot pain seared him. Nearing one of the small parking lots, Chase had to slow to half speed. But when he heard a car starting, he dug deep for one last burst of energy.

He came into view of the row of vehicles. At the other end he glimpsed a white sedan leaving. Too far away to catch, especially with his SUV in another parking lot, but at least he got the license plate number.

He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and started back toward the judge and her child. He speed-dialed the police station and reported the attack. The sergeant would put out a BOLO on the car. Chase told the sergeant he would take down what happened from Judge Forster.

By the time he returned, she was standing by the stroller, cradling her child against her chest and swinging him gently as she hummed a soft tune. She glanced at him briefly, her brown eyes so dark they were almost black. Once she’d noticed it was him, not her attacker, she focused on her son, dressed in blue shorts and shirt. He was still whimpering a little, but his cries had softened.

Chase waited. He had two brothers and one sister, all younger than him. While growing up, he’d babysat many times and knew when it was important to remain quiet. While he waited, he assessed the judge, who was trying to calm her child. Her long blond ponytail swished as she rocked her son. His gaze skimmed down her length and noted a couple of scratches on her legs, probably from a tree branch. Other than that, she seemed uninjured. And her expression showed that her earlier fear had faded but not the tension that pulsated from her, shouting that she would protect her child at all costs. Their gazes connected for a few seconds. He’d never met her, but he knew who she was. Her reputation as a judge was stellar—fair and compassionate but tough when needed.