Reason To Believe Read Online Free

didn't want to miss any of her cute moves as he ambled back over to lift the hood.
    Using the rag and a deft touch, he released the pressure on the radiator cap without scalding himself. Once the steam had dissipated, he was quickly able to locate the problem.
    "You've got a busted hose."
    She looked at him skeptically. He wasn't sure whether she was maintaining that safe distance from the engine, its trouble, or him. "How bad is that?"
    "Bad enough." The assessment pretty much covered all three. "This is as far as this baby can take you until somebody takes care of her."
    "Oh."
    "But it could be worse. If the pump was busted, that somebody wouldn't be me." He walked away. He could feel her eyes on his back as he tossed the rag into the open toolbox. "Not that I couldn't fix it. I just wouldn't have the parts."
    "You can fix a hose?"
    "I can rig something up. Come on in." He jerked a nod in the direction of his father's three-room house. It wasn't much, but it was shade. "I'll make us some coffee. I'd offer you a beer, but the ol' man won't have it in the house."
    "I'd really prefer a glass of water, if it's not too much trouble."
    "That's exactly what your car wants, and you're both in luck." He sneaked another peek at those legs. "But I just might be in deep trouble."
    "We'll be out of your hair before you know it." She smiled sweetly. "Promise."
    As far as he knew, that was the only promise she'd ever gone back on. She'd taken root in his hair and permeated every nook and cranny in his brain. Not that she was part of his every conscious thought. Far from it. He worked hard at excluding her most of the time.
    He did think about Annie a lot. He thought about his father once in a while, his friends occasionally, and his business was always right there in his face. He thought about himself. Hell, he thought about himself the most. But no matter what else he might be thinking about, Clara was still there, always there, firmly embedded in his head, thoroughly rooted in his hair. And she probably always would be.
    He didn't want to go back to her now, tonight, not without Annie in tow, but his search wasn't getting him anywhere but edgy. It would have been nice to be able to save the day, to bring his daughter home safely, see the old my-hero sparkle in Clara's eyes. He liked that much better than that damned raging wounded look. But when he got back to the house and walked in empty-handed, he saw worse. He caught Clara crying.
    Tucking her chin into the cowl of a soft blue sweater, she did her damnedest to hide the evidence behind the fall of her side-parted hair. Hanging her head was so unlike Clara that it unnerved him.
    Ben greeted Pancho with a passing pat on the head as he strode into the living room. "Did... did somebody call?"
    Her hair shimmied with her stiff headshake. "No."
    "Is Annie—"
    "She's not back yet, no." She dragged the heel of her hand quickly over the high curve of her cheek and sighed deeply. "I guess we'll have to call the police."
    "I hate to do that." He peeled off his jacket and tossed it over the wing back of the "papa" chair.
    "You don't have to." She snatched up the jacket before it had a chance to settle into place. Let her hang it up if it bothers her that much, he thought, but she seemed to have forgotten what she'd had in mind for it. She folded her arms around the black poplin and confronted him, hugging his jacket fiercely beneath her breasts. "You don't have to go with her when she has an appointment with a probation officer. You don't have to listen to her teachers' complaints."
    "I will. Be glad to. She can stay with me, too, you just say the word."
    "The word is no." Moving as though the weight of that small word exerted a terrible pressure, she eased herself into the chair, the mama chair, the smaller one, the one that fit her. Even so, it seemed to swallow her up when she sighed. "But just don't tell me what you hate to do, Ben, because you don't know the half of it. You don't know what