Page 82 of Puppy Kisses

“Uncle stopped at the rise to the southwest,” Zeke said. “He’s looking back at us like he wants us to follow. Adam, you don’t think Dawn and those shoes…?”

Adam bit back a curse. “Yes, actually. I do think it, and it serves her right. I hope she fell into an entire field of poison oak. Come on. We’d better go pull her out.”

Zeke took his arm and began walking with him in a generally southwestern direction. His speed was fast and anxious, making Adam wonder if his brother knew something he didn’t.

“You know as well as I do that there isn’t any poison oak around here,” Zeke said, his voice tense. “We only said that to scare her—which, now that I think about it, was our first mistake. She isn’t afraid of anything. I accused her once of being afraid of you, and all she did was laugh and say she’d stab you with her EpiPen if she had to.”

Adam halted, yanking Zeke to a stop with him. “Her EpiPen?”

“Yeah. She’s super allergic to bees. They’re the only thing in the world that has a chance of slowing her down.”

At those words, every part of Adam stopped—his breathing and his steps, the steady beat of his heart. So many times, he’d cursed the speed and joy with which Dawn moved, stood by in wonder as she did and said exactly what she wanted. From the start, it had been what drew him to her. There was so much life in her—so much love—that just being near her had been an experience worth having.

Knowing there was something that could bring all that to a crashing halt ripped something from his soul.

“Why the hell didn’t anyone tell me that?” he demanded, whirling on his brother. “There’s a hive the size of a watermelon along the riverbank at the edge of Bea’s property. I’ve told her a dozen times that we’d be happy to take it down for her, but—”

“Fuck.” Zeke’s oath matched the rush of blood that was suddenly pounding through Adam’s veins. “There was no way Dawn had her EpiPen on her today. That dress barely had a skirt, let alone a pocket.”

“Go to her house and get it.”

“I will, but first—”

“Go to her goddamned house and get the goddamn medical device she needs to stay alive.” Adam’s entire body flushed hot and then cold, his skin breaking out in goose bumps despite the heat of the day. If anything happened to that woman, if they didn’t get to her in time…

“I’ll find her even if I have to crawl over every inch of that riverbank on my hands and knees,” Adam said, though he wasn’t sure which of them he was saying it to.

“But—” Zeke began again.

“Please, Zeke.” Adam’s voice cracked. He didn’t bother trying to hide his desperation. Asking for help wasn’t something that came easy to him—and he doubted it ever would—but some things were more important than pride. “It’ll take me too long to get somewhere I can call for help. Her best chance is for you to bring the EpiPen to her.Run, Zeke. I know you know how.”

Zeke didn’t waste any more time in arguing. With quick assent, he loped off in the direction of Bea’s farmhouse.

It would have been a lot easier to search for Dawn if he had either Uncle or Gigi to provide him with some guidance, but Adam hadn’t spent thirty-three years on this land for nothing. If he remembered correctly, the hive was located in a grove of trees by the creek’s edge. He and the twins had spent hours there as kids, climbing the branches and daring each other to swing from one to the other. Adam had spent quite a few hours there as an adult, too, enjoying the breeze that lifted up off the surface of the water and scented the air.

He hadn’t been kidding when he said he loved this place like his own child. He knew every leaf in every tree, every furrow in every field. It was in his soul and in his blood—a gift from Grandpa Dearborn, who had loved it just as much as he did.

None of that mattered now. Leaves and trees grew everywhere. Cows could be relocated. Even the family farmhouse was just a pile of cement and wood and carpet that only mattered because of who lived there. If someone were to offer him the opportunity to give it all up for a promise that Dawn would be okay, he’d take that deal in an instant—signed, sealed, and never once regretted.

Sorry, Grandpa.

“Dawn!” he called, even though he had no idea if she’d be able to respond. His knowledge of anaphylaxis was slight, but he knew that time was the most important factor. “Dawn Vasquez, you pain in my ass and general plague upon the earth, where are you?”

The only answer was a rustle of a breeze and the sound of a rock kicking off the toe of his boot. Drawing a deep breath, he forced himself to slow his steps and follow the map of this land that had been laid out inside his mind for decades.

“If you acted like a normal human being, none of this would have happened,” he continued. Yelling at her wasn’t at all how he wanted to do this, but his heart was thrumming too hard for anything else. “Of course there are bees around here. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. You’re in the goddamned wilderness, for crying out loud.”

This time, he heard a low whimper in the distance. He latched on to that sound like it was a lifeline—a rope he could follow through a blizzard to make it home.

“If you’re going to stay out here for the rest of your life, you’re investing in steel-toed boots and a backpack full of supplies,” he said. “Or one of those buttons you can push when you’re old and you fall down. I’ll buy it myself if I have to. Tie it around your neck. Wrap it around your finger and hold you close—”

“What on earth is wrong with you?”

Adam almost shouted his surprise at hearing Dawn’s voice from a few feet away. He subdued it just in time, which meant the sound came out more like a grunt.

“Is it me you’re talking to, or your stupid cow? Because if she got loose again, it isnotmy fault. I secured her.”

“Dawn.” It was all he could say—an exclamation and a sigh of relief, the weight of the world lifting off his shoulders. Oddly enough, the loss of that weight didn’t make him feel more stable on his feet. His knees were suddenly weak, his joints like liquid. It was as though every feeling he had was pouring out of him all at once. “Oh, thank fuck. You’re okay.”