Larger Than Life by Alison Kent (bill gates books recommendations .TXT) 📗

room to roam, loved the privacy, loved the stairs when they groaned, the creaks in the hardwood floor. The sounds were her personal security system, alerting her to the wind, to shifts in the temperature, and to anyone who might be stupid enough to sneak upstairs and into her bedroom where she still slept with a Dirty Harry Colt .45.

And until he showed up to claim it, where she'd be sleeping with Mick Savin's SIG Sauer.

With the gravel of the road crunching beneath her boots as she walked down to the Barn, she wondered if she might've done good to bring one of the weapons with her. There was nothing about this visit from either of these men that made her feel the least bit safe—or anything but out of her element.

And then it got worse.

Just as Yancey stepped from his car, Candy stepped from around the side of the Barn holding hands with Spencer Munroe. At the unnecessarily heavy slam of the sheriff's car door, the pair came to a stop. Yancey didn't remove his sunglasses, didn't acknowledge his son. One hand at his hip on the butt of his gun, he headed straight for the showroom, entering through the door Holden had left wide open.

Neva shook her head, groaned, and picked up the pace, the setting sun still cooking the ground, the heat dampening her shirt where it clung between her shoulder blades, where sweat trickled between her breasts. She really, really didn't need this tonight. Especially since the only clue she had as to what was going on here was named Liberty Mitchell.

The last to arrive, Neva reached the Barn after Candy and Spencer had followed Yancey and Holden inside. What irony, she thought, walking from bright light into dim. The first time the showroom was filled to capacity, not a single one of the visitors was here to buy a thing.

It was in the next moment, however, as her eyes adjusted to the change, that the irony was lost in the face of panic. Two faces, to be exact. One belonged to Candy, her dark eyes wide as they darted from case to case as if accounting lor all of her precious babies.

But the other face, the face of Liberty Mitchell, her long dark hair pulled back in a scrunchie that emphasized her suddenly pale skin, her wide brown eyes brimming with tears, her usually smart mouth with lips that now quivered—it was the panic in that face raising hackles along Neva's nape and chilling the moisture coating her skin.

She looked from Liberty, who stood clutching a roll of paper towels and a bottle of Windex with FM resting at her feet, to Candy, to Spencer, to Holden, and finally to Sheriff Yancey Munroe.

"Uh, hi. Does someone want to tell me what's going on here? The showroom is closed." She tapped the sign in the door's window listing the hours of operation. "So unless you're here for a private viewing or with a warrant, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Standing on widespread feet, his arms crossed over his chest, Sheriff Munroe spoke first. "Neva, I have to say I'm disappointed. I've defended you for five years against rumors. Rumors that now appear to be true."

Neva wasn't sure if the knot of emotion in her stomach was dread or relief. She'd known this was coming—she'd just never expected to be so lucky. The showdown over Liberty might not be a pleasant cap to the day, but at least there were plenty of witnesses to the truth.

She stepped farther into the room, raised a brow. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Sheriff. Sorry."

"He's obviously referring to the proof standing in front of us." Holden, posed in the center of the room, turned to face her, the creases in his designer slacks sharp enough to cut glass, as was his vindictive tone of voice. "Proof that you do harbor runaways."

Before Neva even formed a response, Candy sputtered, "I don't know where you got your law degree, but even I know that part about innocent until proven guilty. Neva picked up the dog on the side of the road. We don't know if he's a runaway or if he was abandoned there."

Leaning into his elbows propped on one of the display cases, Spencer chuckled. His father glared. Neva used her fingers to cover her smile. Even Liberty regained a bit of the color in her face.

Holden wasn't amused. "Thank you for that, Ms. Roman. But the runaway you and Ms. Case will be prosecuted for harboring is Miss Mitchell."

"Who said she's a runaway?" Spencer asked. "If she was, wouldn't she be hiding somewhere instead of working out in the open?"

"Stay out of this, Spencer." Yancey's voice was low, just this side of threatening, the voice of the law, not that of a father. "It's none of your concern."

"Liberty's a friend," Spencer argued. "That makes it my concern."

"He does raise a good point, Yancey," Neva put in before the Munroe family animosity could escalate. "The only one here talking about runaways is Holden."

Yancey took a long moment to finally remove his sunglasses, hanging them by an earpiece over his shirt collar. He rocked back on his heels and spoke down to the floor as he said, "Then would you care to explain what the girl is doing here? Why you haven't reported her whereabouts to her parents? Why they had to hire an attorney—"

Spencer snorted. "Sounds to me like someone's jumping the gun, hiring an attorney."

This time the sheriff's pointed tone of voice nearly clipped the thread of his temper. "Spencer, I told you to stay out of this."

Spencer pushed away from the display case, taking a long step forward. His ringers flexed as he fought making a list. "You're talking about a friend of mine, and making accusations about my girlfriend. I have as much right to be here as anyone."

"Spencer, baby." Candy stepped in front of him to soothe. "It's okay—"

Yancey jabbed a finger