Deadline (Sandra Brown)

foot to the other. “What are you saying?”
    “I think you know.”
    She did know, and she shook her head. “I can’t do that.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because. Because I wouldn’t think of putting you to the trouble.”
    “No trouble. It’s a big house with lots of bedrooms, already made up for occupancy.”
    They looked at each other for several moments. Finally she said, “You know that’s not the reason.”
    “Yeah. I know the reason. Last night. Just before I left.”
    She bobbed her head once.
    “You don’t have to worry about that.”
    “Of course I do.”
    “Okay, maybe you do. But you’ve got bigger worries than me, and I don’t have to spell them out. Do you really want to be here alone in a dark house?”
    “Mom, what are y’all talking about?”
    She looked down at her eldest, who, she kept forgetting, was perceptive beyond his years. He sensed the tension between her and Dawson, but was unable to understand it. Seeing his young brow wrinkled with anxiety subverted Amelia’s resolve.
    When she looked again at Dawson, he extended his arms away from his sides, palms toward her. It was a subtle gesture, but meaningful, communicating that he didn’t pose a threat.
    “Dawson has asked us to spend the night at his house because he has lights.”
    Her last few words went unheard because of their whoops of glee. “Can we, Mom?”
    “Can we go now?”
    “Can I take some of my cars?”
    “Let’s save the cars for another time,” Dawson told Grant. “I suggest you come right now, as you are, before the storm gets any worse.”
    “Can we, Mom?”
    “I suppose that’s—” Needing to hear no more, they left the kitchen at a run and pounded through the utility room. “Don’t open the door till I get there!” She scribbled a note to Stef on a paper napkin, telling her where they were, and anchored it to the table with the salt shaker, then blew out the single candle, pitching the room into total darkness.
    “Here, take my hand.”
    She was entrusting much more than her hand to the man who reached for her.

Chapter 10
    A lthough the boys were clamoring to leave, Amelia took time to grab each of them a change of clothing from the stacks of folded laundry on the utility-room table. Dawson had parked as close as possible to the back door, but it would still be impossible to reach his car without getting soaked.
    He didn’t worry about himself. He couldn’t possibly get any wetter than he already was. They made a mad dash for the car. The boys were shrieking with laughter and excitement by the time they clambered into the backseat.
    “Suddenly, they’re not as cranky and afraid as before,” she remarked when Dawson slid behind the wheel.
    “It’s an adventure now.”
    “I told them earlier we were having an adventure. They didn’t buy it.”
    “Sitting in the dark is a different kind of adventure from running through the rain.”
    “True. But the real difference is you.”
    The statement gave him pause, but now wasn’t the time to think about it. He started the car; the tires spun before gaining traction. As they pulled away, she remarked on Bernie’s dark house.
    “Do you mind if we stop and check on him?”
    “Not at all. In fact, he should come with us.”
    He drove the short distance, got out of the car, and ran up to Bernie’s back door, finding a sliver of shelter beneath the eaves. He knocked three times before Bernie appeared wearing a baggy pair of undershorts and a white T-shirt, with slippers and black socks on his feet. He was rubbing his left eye. His white hair was sticking out at odd angles.
    Since they’d only been introduced once, the older man seemed astonished to see him, but he remembered his name. “Mr. Scott?”
    “Sorry if I got you out of bed.”
    “I was reading. Just like Boy Scout camp.” He held up the flashlight in his hand. “What are you doing out in this?”
    “Amelia’s with me. She and the boys are staying at my house for the rest of the night.” He gestured toward the car.
    Bernie regarded him with surprise, then leaned around him and peered at the car. He waved at it, although the passengers were blurs behind the foggy, rain-streaked windows. “Stef, too?”
    “She’s stuck in town.”
    “Oh.”
    Before the old man drew the wrong conclusion, Dawson explained. “The boys were afraid. The house I’m renting has a generator. Lights.”
    “Ah, of course.”
    “We think you should spend the night there, too.”
    “No, no,