Читать книгу Deadly Competition - Roxanne Rustand - Страница 11

At the sound of his sister Leah’s old Mustang pulling to a stop in the driveway, Clint Herald opened his front door to the damp, gray January evening, his heart heavy.

Could his three-year-old niece even grasp the concept of death? Did Sarah still think her daddy would be coming back?

There’d been no forewarning of her father’s apparent suicide four days ago, and it still made no sense. And now the troubles were just beginning for Clint’s sister and his young niece.

Clint leaned down to scoop Sarah up for their customary hug but did a double take when he saw the stark expression on his sister’s face.

“Keep her safe,” Leah whispered, casting a swift glance over her shoulder. She leaned forward to give Sarah a hug. Then thrust her daughter forward into Clint’s arms and backed away. “Please.”

Surprised at the tension in her voice, Clint reached for Leah’s hand, but she took another step back. “What’s going on?”

“N-nothing. I just have to go.”

Leah had asked Clint to keep Sarah for the evening while she talked to her lawyer about the tangled legal situation at her late husband’s pawnshop. Earl had died without ever getting around to adding Leah’s name to the property or his will. Yesterday’s modest funeral had almost wiped out their joint savings—just the start of the financial worries she would be facing.

But from the desperate look of yearning on Leah’s face as she turned away from Sarah and hurried to her car, Clint feared that his sister must be in even deeper trouble than she’d revealed.

“Leah, wait a minute!” Clint called out. But his sister didn’t look back.

She climbed into her car, shut the door and rammed the stick shift into reverse, grinding the gears—something she never, ever did to her beloved old car.

“Leah?” He felt his pulse quicken. “Leah!”

Taking the porch steps two at a time, he started after her with Sarah still in his arms, but the car shot down the gravel drive toward the highway in a cloud of dust.

Sobbing, Sarah twisted in his embrace, her favorite doll clutched to her chest. She reached toward the car with one outstretched hand. “Momma!” She screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Momma!”

Clint stared as the Mustang took the turn onto the highway far too fast and fishtailed wildly. Then its wide tires grabbed asphalt and the vehicle sped out of sight.

The nightmare of finding her husband’s blood-soaked body had shaken Leah terribly. The overwhelming details of planning his funeral had taken an even greater toll on her over the past few days, despite Clint’s efforts to help out. But until now, she’d been stoic, perhaps numb with grief. She certainly hadn’t seemed afraid.

Yet he’d seen the terror in her eyes tonight, and her farewell had seemed tinged with despair.

He raced to his pickup with the crying child in his arms. Why hadn’t Leah confided in him? He would do anything in the world to help her.

Now, he prayed that wherever she was going and whatever she was facing, she’d be back tonight. She’d never leave Sarah. Sarah was her life, especially since his sister’s relationship with her now-dead husband, Earl, had seemed pretty rocky lately. Leah poured all of her love into Sarah. She would never abandon her little girl—unless—No! Leah couldn’t have had anything to do with Earl’s murder, and she would never leave Sarah unless she thought Sarah would be in some kind of danger if she stayed with her. Danger? What was he thinking?

As he carefully buckled Sarah into her car seat, then climbed behind the wheel of his pickup, Clint whispered a prayer for his sister—a prayer that she’d be safe and back soon.