Carla Cassidy - Cowboy Defender

Clay pulled her close to his side, along with the two children who obviously knew something was horribly wrong. She leaned into him, desperately needing his warmth, his strong support.

“We need to call Dillon,” he said and pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

“Sh...should we pick up the sweater?” she asked, her teeth chattering in her head.

“No. Don’t touch it,” Clay replied and then he connected with Dillon. He told the chief of police what had happened and where they were located and then hung up.

“He should be here in just a few minutes.”

He tightened his arm around her, as if knowing she needed his strength, his body heat to pull her back from complete hysteria.

It had to be some sort of a horrid mistake. If it wasn’t, then that meant somebody had just tried to hurt her, to disfigure her with acid.

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