The Mountain King Read Online Free

in to the Mobil station to get some gas, Sandy had wondered why both Polly and Dennis had chuckled so hard when he asked if she wanted him to check her oil. 
    While Dennis might not be as handsome as he seemed to think he was, he wasn’t exactly ugly, either; but how could her stepmother cheat on her father like this? How could she stand to be touched by those callused, work-stained hands? Had he even tried to clean the oily black rings from under his fingernails before coming over tonight? 
Other why questions filled Sandy’s mind. 
Like: Why couldn’t her father see what was going on? He certainly wasn’t stupid, but he had taken off for a weekend hike with his friend from work as if everything at home was just peachy-keen. Could he really be totally blind to it all? Or was he pretending that he didn’t see it . . . for whatever reason? Maybe he did know about it and had simply given up. After all, two failed marriages wasn’t much of a confidence builder. 
And why, Sandy thought, why did she feel so nervous, so tormented about telling her father about all of this? 
She knew she should. She knew she had to, but doubts and worries and concerns filled her. How would her dad react? Would he even believe her? They’d had more than their fair share of conversations about how he thought Sandy wasn’t giving Polly a fair break. He objected to the way Sandy treated his new wife with such cool, aloof distaste—at best. 
But what did he expect? 
Sandy’s real mother had left home when Sandy was only ten years old, and in all that time she had never called her or visited her. She might as well be dead, as far as Sandy was concerned. Maybe she was. Either way, it was the kind of loss she knew she would never get over. Things weren’t supposed to happen that way. And no matter what her father thought about his first failed marriage, Sandy wondered how he could ever expect her to accept, much less like, someone like Polly. 
And thinking of Polly, how would she react if—no, not if — when Sandy told her father what she knew? 
Would she deny it all? Would she make up some half-assed excuses? Would she break down in tears and say she was so-o-o sorry and promise never to do anything like that ever again? 
Or would she try to get even with Sandy? Maybe she’d have Dennis or someone else hurt her. 
Sandy found herself wishing— praying that her father would come home tonight—right now!—unannounced so he’d catch Polly and Dennis screwing around in the living room. That sure would make things easier. Then he’d have to deal with it! 
Once again, the discussion downstairs drew her attention. 
“Don’t worry about her, all right? She’s asleep.” 
“Yeah, but what if she can hear us?” 
“She’s asleep, I tell you.... She went to bed early, saying she was sick. And even if she isn’t asleep, so what? What’s she going to do, huh?” 
“Maybe tell her father . . . or maybe he’ll find out for himself.” 
Yes! Please, yes, God! Sandy thought, clenching her fist desperately. 
 
    “Christ, how many times do I have to tell you this? Mark isn’t going to be home until tomorrow night. He’s going to call me when he and Phil—”  
    “Phil Sawyer, right?” 
    “Yeah. When he and Phil get out of the woods and find a phone booth somewhere near Gorham, New Hampshire. I have to drive out there to get him, I suppose, if Sandy’s sick. So just forget about Mark, all right? He’s a good thirty miles away from here. Come on— 
Sandy’s heart pulsed heavily in her neck, almost choking her when she distinctly heard the rustle of clothing and the rasping sound of a zipper being opened. 
“You like this ... don’t you?” 
“Ummm.” 
“Well, then ... come on. Get the rest of those clothes off and show me a little appreciation, why don’t you?” 
Sandy took a deep breath, held it a few seconds, and then let it out in a slow, rattling hiss. 
“You’ll be sorry. . .” she whispered to the