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much blood. She fought the urge to pull Rob into her arms and hold him, knowing it was dangerous to move him.
    She’d never in her life been so grateful to hear sirens. Someone pulled her from Rob’s side. Men and women in white coats descended on her child in a swarm, and she started to feel woozy. Just when everything started spinning and she thought she was going nosefirst into the turf, a strong pair of hands grasped her shoulders.
    â€œLana—you okay?”
    â€œSloan?” She sank onto the grass with his help.
    â€œI came as soon as I heard. The call went out over the radio. I recognized the address.”
    She didn’t know precisely why, but she was unutterably glad he was there. Because of his position, he could cut through police and hospital baloney and find things out for her. She suddenly felt that someone was on her side.
    â€œWhat happened?” Sloan asked gently, kneeling on one knee beside her, his hand still on her shoulder.
    â€œI don’t know. The roof …” She gestured absently. Rob’s football lay a few feet from where the paramedics were working. “Maybe I should have let you come over and fix it after all.”
    â€œDon’t second-guess yourself now,” Sloan said sensibly, rubbing her shoulder. “It won’t help.” The warmth of his presence penetrated and surrounded her like a halo.
    As the paramedics moved Rob onto a gurney, Lana’s heart was in her throat. “My baby,” she murmured. “He’s so still.”
    â€œI’ll find out what’s going on,” Sloan offered.
    â€œYes, please. I want to ride in the ambulance with him.” She was so glad Sloan was there. She wouldn’t know whom to talk to, what to ask. It was okay, just this once, to let someone else make the decisions, and she couldn’t imagine anyone better for the job than Officer Sloan Bennett.
    Someone shoved a consent form in her face. She signed it blindly. Sloan reappeared. “He’s conscious and his vital signs are good. They’re taking him toMethodist. You can ride in the ambulance, but hurry.” He offered her a hand up.
    She took it. “Did they say if he’ll be okay?” she asked, her voice trembling uncharacteristically as he pulled her onto shaky legs. She kept hold of his hand, gripping it like a lifeline.
    â€œNo one said for sure,” Sloan answered. “But in my experience, cuts to the head always look worse than they are because they bleed so much. At the least, he’ll have a concussion.”
    â€œAnd at the worst?”
    He led her toward the ambulance. The paramedics were holding the door open for her. “Don’t go borrowing trouble. We’ll find out soon enough.”
    â€œOh, wait. My stove is on, my door is unlocked—”
    â€œI asked your neighbor to go in, turn everything off, and lock up. She brought your purse and keys.” He handed them to her.
    â€œAh. That was very … thorough of you. Thanks.”
I think.
She gave his hand a quick squeeze and climbed up into the ambulance. She knew Sloan was being efficiently helpful and nothing more. Without his intervention she’d still be floundering around. She should be very grateful—and she was. Really. Besides, she had something much more important to worry about than why Sloan Bennett unsettled her so.
    She focused on Rob, who was being attended by two bustling paramedics. Lana wanted to touch him, hold him, but she knew she’d just get in the way. She saw his eyes flutter and heard a muffled sob, which reassured her a bit.
    Methodist Medical Center was less than ten minutes away, but with the siren blaring, the ambulance made it in five. Sloan’s squad car was right behind. He pulled up to the emergency room doors. The moment she emerged from the ambulance he was there, walking beside her, not touching but there to support her if she got too wobbly. She was glad for his