LITMIR.BIZ

      Mandy hadn’t meant to eavesdrop yesterday after church. But the rest of the congregation had drifted away, and Clint’s deep voice had carried to where Mandy was helping Sarah string a daisy chain of fat, golden dandelions.

      The tension in his stance and the agitation on Shelby’s face had been clear, too.

      At first, Mandy thought the two might be romantically involved, because they’d stood so close, with Shelby touching his arm and looking up at him intently, but then a handsome man had joined them, brushed a kiss against her hair, and introduced himself as Patrick Rivers, Shelby’s fiancé.

      Surprised at her own flicker of relief, Mandy had focused on the dandelions in her hand. The little sense of awareness she felt whenever Clint drew near meant nothing. She had no future here. It wouldn’t matter if he was dating, engaged or even married. It might be better if he was.

      Right now on this Monday afternoon in Loomis, she couldn’t even imagine ever wanting to be involved with another man. If she’d been so utterly wrong about Dean, how could she ever trust her heart again?

      It was ironic, learning that the mother of poor little Sarah was apparently on the run, just like Mandy herself—but it also gave her an odd sense of comfort. Would Clint be understanding if Mandy’s troubles suddenly caught up with her? Would he be willing to help?

      He’d certainly been gracious and patient so far, with a good measure of humor thrown in, over the fact that she was an abominable cook with a lot to learn in the housekeeping department. And he certainly looked like a man who could handle anything that came his way. Even Dean.

      Lost in her thoughts, she grimaced as she strolled down the sidewalk in downtown Loomis with Sarah’s small hand tucked safely in her own. She wouldn’t ask that of him. Not ever. A cold chill swept down her spine as she remembered Dean’s twisted expression and the loathing in his voice during their last fight.

      She furtively surveyed the street, feeling exposed and vulnerable at being out in broad daylight, half-afraid he might appear. It was certainly a possibility.

      Dean was a small-town cop, from a family of cops, with a couple of lawyers thrown into the mix. After her first 911 call, his relatives and buddies had closed ranks against her, accepting Dean’s claim that she had major depression over the loss of her father, that she was potentially suicidal and that she couldn’t be believed. That he’d taken her to the E.R. with those claims only supported his position.

      He’d smugly told her that his friends and family had all promised to help keep an eye on her and would let him know if she “went crazy and called 911 again.”

      And then he’d hit her where the bruises wouldn’t show…just to drive that lesson home.

      His connections to information and power had made her afraid to attempt reporting his verbal and physical abuse after the first time. And now, those connections would make it easy for him to track her down if she made even one misstep.

      But if he showed up here, she’d run before she’d let anyone stand against him. He had a dark, cold side to him that was too unpredictable to risk bringing out, and there was no way she’d let anyone else get hurt.

      Sarah tugged on Mandy’s hand and looked up at her with a worried expression, then she quickly twisted around to stare at the other people on the street as if afraid someone dangerous was lurking nearby

      Mandy summoned a bright smile. “It’s fun, coming to town with you. Did you like going out for lunch at the café?”

      “My favoritest place. ’Specially the smile sundaes.”

      Shelby had mentioned that Leah enjoyed taking her daughter to Loomis Hotel’s Café Au Lait, and it had proven to be a great choice. Even Mandy had gotten a chuckle out of the sundaes decorated as clown faces, and the bright atmosphere had made for a pleasant experience…

      Except for the imperious older woman sitting in a wheelchair parked at a corner table.

      Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the designer clothes and hat, or the real pearls of a wealthy matron who surely had more important things to think about than a little girl and her nanny. So why had she glowered at the two of them through most of their meal?

      Some of the other patrons had picked up on it, too, glancing surreptitiously between the irritable old woman and the table Mandy and Sarah shared, then leaning close to each other to whisper.

      “Um…Sarah, do you remember the lady at the café—the one sitting in the wheelchair?”

      The child shrugged as she peered into the drugstore window at the colorful display of toys and magazines.

      “Do you know her name?”

      Sarah shook her head. “Can I see the toys?”

      “I don’t see why not, for a few minutes.” Mandy opened the front door and followed Sarah to the toy area. “Just remember they’re for looking, not playing, unless your daddy buys something. Okay?”

      Enthralled, Sarah knelt in front of a display of dolls and doll clothes while Mandy stood watching over her. A few customers wandered down the aisle and nodded politely. Outside the big glass storefront, pedestrians strolled past as they went about their errands. A few of them cast curious glances at her through the window, looked down at Sarah, then smiled and offered little waves of acknowledgment.

      Mandy blinked when the woman in the electric wheelchair rolled by, then jerked to a stop and backed up to give her a cold, hard stare. Mandy’s heartbeat picked up its pace.

      “That’s Charla Renault,” a deep, familiar voice said behind her. “She owns the Renault Corporation—biggest company in the county.”

      Mandy turned and looked up at Clint, feeling a rush of relief at his arrival. They’d planned to meet at the town square in a half hour, but right now she was more than eager to go home. “She sure doesn’t seem very friendly.”

      “You wouldn’t be the first person to say that. But it’s also been a bad year for her, given the death of her son, Dylan.”

      So she was the mother of the man that Sarah’s mother was being accused of killing? Now it was all starting to make sense. A bitter, grieving old woman, seeing the daughter of a woman who might have killed her son, might struggle with a lot of anger and resentment. “I feel sorry for her, poor thing. I can’t imagine being in her shoes.”

      “She’s never made things easier for herself.” Clint lifted Sarah into his arms and started for the door. “You’d be surprised at the long-term feuds and jealousies going on between some of the richest families in the area. The Renaults aren’t on good terms with any of them—especially the Pershings. They’ve been battling for decades over one thing or another. Money, as they say, sure doesn’t buy happiness.”