Two hours later, Sully followed Grady back out to the truck. Cradled in his dad’s arms, the boy seemed on the verge of sleep, his blond head bright against the black shoulder of Grady’s shirt. The child’s right leg was encased in a denim blue cast from foot to the knee, but no other signs of his misadventure were visible.
The mild sedative Arch had given young Jim was already working. The boy made a soft, sleepy sound as Grady shifted him to get back in the truck. Again, Sully drove. He circled the fire station and stopped with the passenger door adjacent to the yard gate.
“Here you go,” he said. “I can leave the truck here or put it over by the side of the station where you usually park.”
“This is fine,” Grady replied. “But where do you think you’re going? I owe you some chow at least.
