Chapter 63 Claire
Claire ran behind Red, veering through the makeshift hospital and into the crowded school hallway.
Fear for Jenny pumped through her weak limbs.
Red bulldozed through the crowd, and they burst through the front doors of the high school .
. . just as the Henshaws’ red truck roared out of the parking lot.
She stared at it, weakness flowing through her. The Henshaws were taking Jenny.
But no. There was Pete Henshaw staggering out the door behind them, his eyes on the truck. “Iris!” He pushed past Red, stumbling into the parking lot as the truck careened onto the highway.
Claire struggled to stay upright, emotion swamping her. If Pete didn’t have Jenny . . . Claire had a flash of memory. Iris clutching Jenny close, her vacant expression. Dell is such a good baby.
Iris had her little girl.
Red grabbed Pete by the front of his shirt. “Where is she going?” he demanded.
What would Iris do with Jenny? Run away with her to Wyoming, like she’d wanted to do with Beth and her baby?
Claire couldn’t let that happen. She’d lost Jenny once.
She wouldn’t lose her again. A West Yellowstone police cruiser idled in front of the school doors.
Claire was in the driver’s seat before she knew what she was doing.
Red was rounding the front of the car and pulling open the passenger door.
Claire put the car in drive, then stomped on the brake.
“What are you doing?” Red said.
“Get in,” Claire yelled to Pete out the open window.
Pete Henshaw was just as desperate to stop Iris as she and Red.
They might need his help. Claire swung the wheel in the direction she’d seen Iris go—south, back toward the slide.
She pushed her foot down on the accelerator and the police car bounced over the curb and onto the highway.
She looked in the rearview mirror and caught the surprised face of Father Donahue. God would forgive her for stealing a car, and they could deal with Sheriff Eagle when Jenny was back in her arms.
Red turned in his seat and growled at Pete. “What is Iris doing? Where is she going with our daughter?”
Pete kept his eyes on the road ahead. “She won’t hurt her.”
Dizzying fear thrummed through Claire’s body. She strained to see further down the road, looking for the red Ford. “You were keeping Beth a prisoner,” she accused. How could they trust his word now?
“I wasn’t going to let Iris keep the baby,” Pete said quickly. “You have to believe me.”
Claire could see his stricken expression in the rearview mirror.
She swerved around a boulder in the center of the road.
“Look.” Claire saw the red tailgate ahead.
“That’s the truck.” Claire pushed down on the gas, the police car surging forward.
The Henshaws’ truck veered from one side of the damaged road to the other.
Claire could barely breathe, thinking of Jenny with Iris, driving wildly on the rough road.
Could Jenny have survived Rock Creek Campground just to die in a car crash with Iris Henshaw?
“You’ve got to understand,” Pete went on, his voice breaking. “We lost both our boys. She’s not herself.”
Ahead of them, the truck slowed and turned off the main road.
“Where does that road go?” Claire asked Red.
“It’s a Forest Service road,” Red said. “Goes to the Hutchinson Bridge.”
“She can’t go too much farther,” Pete said. “The bridge was damaged by the quake.” Pete kept talking. “I didn’t want to lose Iris, too. You’ve got to believe me.”
Claire turned down the road, her racing heartbeat pounding against her ribs. She glanced at Red, taking her eyes off the road for a split second. He was leaning forward, determination in every line of his body.
The road curved, and she lost sight of the truck. She took the curve far too fast and they all slid sideways. The bridge came into sight and—there—the red truck—nose down on the edge of the riverbank, the passenger door gaping open. Claire jammed on the brakes, and the car shuddered to a halt.
Claire pushed out the door and ran to the truck. “Jenny,” she gasped as she reached it. The cab of the truck was empty.
“Claire.” Red was right behind her. His voice held a note of panic and Claire followed his gaze. The Hutchinson bridge listed sideways, its deck buckled and broken. The guardrails on one side hung loose and twisted, dangling over the waterless ravine of the Madison River twenty feet below.
Claire’s breath lodged in her throat.
Iris Henshaw stood on the devastated bridge with Jenny in her arms.