Force of the Falcon. Rita Herron

      She curled up inside his coat, a sob wrenching from deep in her soul as her little girl’s face flashed in her mind. Katie, with the big brown eyes. Katie, who liked Cheerios and peanut butter cookies. And strawberry shampoo and bubble baths and picking wildflowers in the yard.

      Katie with the guileless smile and the determination to overcome her handicap. Katie, who never complained about being left out or struggling to walk, all the things other kids took for granted.

      Katie, with no father.

      Or rather, one who hadn’t wanted her.

      The agony of Stan’s betrayal and parting words felt like a heavy weight slamming into her every time she thought about it. He had wanted a baby, but with Stan, everything had to be perfect.

      Katie wasn’t. At least not in Stan’s eyes. And neither was Sonya because she carried a genetic disorder that had caused Katie’s physical problems.

      She’d been heartbroken at his cruel comments, but most of all she hated him for abandoning Katie.

      Katie might have a physical handicap, but she was perfect in Sonya’s eyes. The most precious child that had ever existed.

      She had the heart and soul of an angel.

      Pain and fatigue clawed at Sonya, tempting her into unconsciousness. She closed her eyes, a tear leaking out and freezing on her cheek.

      Sonya could live without a man in her life. She never wanted that kind of heartache again.

      But she’d die if anything happened to her daughter.

      WHERE IN the hell was the kid?

      Brack stooped to search for footprints, indentations in the icy ground, anything to help him find the child.

      Ahead, twigs and debris swirled through the snowy haze, and the sound of a cry floated toward him. It was her. The little girl. He sensed her presence nearby just as he sensed the injured animals in the woods when they needed him.

      He was part animal himself, he’d been told enough times. He connected with them on a deep level, much more than humans.

      But the woman’s pleas had torn through his defenses. He could still see her wide-set green eyes staring up at him in terror.

      His pulse kicked up as he scanned the horizon. It was so damn dark. She might be wandering aimlessly in the forest. She might have fallen and hurt herself. She might be hiding from wild animals.

      He closed his eyes, forced his mind to siphon through the fear and zero in on his instincts. What would a little girl do if she was lost or scared?

      Find a place to hide? Maybe in a cave or one of the old mines if she stumbled upon one.

      The soft swish of a falcon’s wingspan cutting through the air sliced through the noise of the violent wind, and he glanced up and saw the falcon again. Soaring lower than normal. Heading to the east.

      Again, he followed it, and the flashlight beam caught a small scrap of red fabric that had snagged on a broken branch. The little girl’s, maybe?

      He picked up his pace, then started yelling her name. “Katie! Katie! Where are you, honey?”

      His voice floated through the wind and echoed off the mountain. Could she hear him?

      Seconds later, he spotted a group of branches piled at the mouth of a cave, and a pair of small crutches was lying near the entrance.

      Her mother’s pleas taunted him. Please find her. She can’t walk very well….

      He paused, listened. A small cry echoed from within the stone walls. The little girl was inside.

      Relief whooshed through him.

      He slowly inched forward, knowing she was probably frightened and that he might scare her.

      “Katie?” He ducked inside the opening, scanning the gray interior, listening for sounds of her breathing. How far back was she? “Katie?”

      He paused, allowing a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then eased another step forward. “Katie, your mommy sent me to get you.”

      A small whimper. Almost indiscernible. Still, it chilled his insides.

      He glanced to the left, shined the flashlight across the interior.

      “Katie, my name is Brack, honey. Your mommy’s worried about you.”

      “Mommy?”

      The tiny voice made his heart squeeze. She was huddled into a ball, her arms cradling a small animal close to her chest, her chest heaving with sobs. In between her gulps, the soft meow of a kitten drifted toward him.

      “Yes, honey. Your mommy.” He squatted down, putting himself more at her eye level, then lowered his voice. “She wants me to bring you back to her.”

      A hiccup, then she nodded, her chin still resting against her knees. “Is my mommy aw wight?”

      God help him, he didn’t know. But he had to lie. “She is now, but we need to get her to a doctor.”

      “It’s all my fauwt,” she cried. “My fauwt that m-monster gots her.”

      “Shh, it’s all right.” He reached his hand toward her. “Come on, we have to go now, honey, before the storm gets worse.”

      Her eyes were so luminous with fear that she reminded him of a small bird trapped by a predator. “Can you stand up, honey?”

      She sucked in a breath that rattled with fear and then clutched the wall with one hand. But she kept the other one wrapped around the kitten.

      “What’s your kitty’s name?”

      “Snowball…” Her voice broke, brittle, like ice cracking in the wind. “That’s why I runs outside. To finds him.” She wobbled forward, her thin legs buckling, and he caught her. “I needs my crutches.”

      “We’ll get them.” He scooped her up into his arms, letting her carry the kitten between them. God, he wished he had a blanket or something to shield her from the cold. She buried her head against his neck, shivering, but she didn’t complain as he dashed outside the cave. He stopped only long enough to grab her crutches, then tucked them under his arm and rushed through the woods back to her mother.

      He just prayed the woman was still alive when they reached her.

      Chapter Three

      Brack dashed through the woods, battling the wind, well aware of the tiny child in his arms who had placed her trust in his hands. He couldn’t let her down.

      But what if they were too late to save her mother? Did Katie have a father at home waiting for her? If so, why had the man let his wife go out into the approaching storm to search for the child alone? Where the hell was he now?

      And who would take care of Katie if the woman didn’t make it?

      His own memories of losing his father erupted from his past to haunt him. Even though his father hadn’t died when he’d been carted off to jail, Brack had felt as if he had. Once he had been incarcerated, his father had cut off all communication with his boys. As an adult, Brack realized that his father had done so to protect his sons, but at six, he hadn’t understood. Instead, he’d felt as if he’d been abandoned.

      He cut through the patches of broken limbs and trees, grateful the falcon had led the way to Katie. Her body jerked with the cold, so he cradled her closer, using his own heat to keep her warm.

      “We’re almost there, lamb chop,” he murmured.

      She nodded against his chest, and his lungs tightened at her brave little face. Finally, he made it to the overhang where he’d left her mother. The woman was so still that panic squeezed the air from his lungs. She lay curled on her side, her knees hunched upward, her head buried in her arms. He quickly knelt and checked for a pulse again.