The hours in the storm had done their work, and by evening he was burning and restless, and Flynn — whatever he believed about me — did not hesitate to call his private physician to the estate.

I sat on one side of my son’s bed, and Flynn, to my quiet astonishment, sat on the other.

He did not have to.

He believed I was a criminal using a child to con him.

And still, when Mason tossed in his feverish sleep and reached out one small hot hand, it was Flynn who took it, and held it, and did not let go, while the doctor worked.

At one point Mason, deep in the fever-haze, turned and laid his cheek against Flynn’s arm and sighed and went still, and I watched a man who thought he owed this child nothing sit frozen, afraid to move, for fear of waking him.