No Ordinary Day | Book 2 | No Ordinary Getaway Tate, Harley (the reader ebook .TXT) 📖

mildewed siding of the houses in town, the house on the hill practically gleamed. They neared the end of the road, cracked asphalt giving way to cobblestones.

John slowed as they neared a small house with white clapboard siding and black trim. Holly waved him on. “This is the guesthouse. Main house is the big one up the hill.”

Holly’s fingers trembled as she clutched them in her lap. John pulled the Jeep into a large turnaround in front of the home and Holly sucked in a deep breath.

Memories of her mother filled her mind. The heady floral scent of perfume that tickled Holly’s nose and conjured a headache behind her eyes. The sharp smell of vodka mixed with orange juice in the morning. The constant criticism. The never-ending fights with her father.

She reached for the door handle and stepped out onto the pea gravel lining the turnaround as Raymond parked beside the Jeep. Her sneakers crunched across the ground, muffled from the sound of a generator running along the side of the house.

Curtains fluttered in the window. Holly’s heart leapt to her throat.

She climbed the stairs, feet slowing like lead wrapped around her ankles. Pink and yellow flowers cascaded out of twin pots flanking the front door. Her mother never gardened when she was little. Said it was too dirty. Not ladylike. Every skinned knee. Every ask to play catch. All the same. Holly wasn’t the daughter her mother wanted.

She reached up, about to knock, when the front door swung open.

Mom. Holly stared at the woman in front of her, almost unrecognizable with her dyed blonde hair and understated makeup. She flashed a hesitant smile, glancing past Holly toward the vehicles in the drive. Diamond studs in her ears caught the light and dazzled.

“Can I help you?”

Holly opened her mouth. “I, um, I...”

Her mother frowned. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in anything you have to sell. Didn’t you see the no soliciting sign out front?”

“I’m not selling anything, I—” Holly stammered, embarrassment filling the void shock left behind. She doesn’t recognize me. Her own daughter. So much for all the movies of parents taking one look at a long-lost child and bursting into tears.

Her mother palmed her hip, annoyance growing. “Well, we certainly aren’t in the business of giving handouts. If you’re from town, I already told the mayor—”

“Mom.”

“Excuse me?”

She swallowed. “It’s me, Holly.”

Her mother blinked, brow furrowing into a single, plucked line. “That’s not possible. Holly’s got to be no more than twelve. You, you’re” she waved at her, “practically an adult.”

“I’m fifteen. And it’s me. I’m your daughter.”

Her mother leaned around her, scanning the parking lot. “Where’s that good-for-nothing father of yours?”

“He’s dead.”

Holly expected a reaction. Shock, maybe a curse. But not indifference. Her mother turned back to her, face a stone impasse. “Then I don’t see how I can do anything for you.”

“There’s someone after us. Someone bad. My friends and I... need some place to stay.”

She hated how her voice sounded. She hated asking this woman for anything. Why did I come here? Why did I think it might be different now?

“Well, I can’t do that.” Her mother’s hand fluttered around her collar bone. “We aren’t equipped for guests.”

“It’s life or death, Mom. I wouldn’t be here if I had anywhere else to go.”

“Excuse me, ma’am.” Emma climbed the porch to stand beside Holly and stuck out her hand. “My name’s Emma Cross. I’m a researcher at CropForward. I worked with your ex, Zach.”

Her eyes roved up and down, taking in every inch of Emma’s body before resting somewhere south of her eyes. “Were you part of that ridiculous complaint, too? When I saw Zachary on the news...” She shook her head in disapproval.

Emma dropped her hand and her polite tone. “Someone murdered him.”

“What?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Holly interjected. “They’re still after us.”

“Then why the hell did you come here?” Her mother gripped the doorjamb and leaned out to stare at the vehicles like they might transform into robots and launch an attack. “You’ve got to leave, now.”

Holly reached for Emma. It was no use. Her mother was never going to change. She was never going to be anything more than a painful reminder of everything Holly never had. “I’m sorry. I never should have brought you here. This was a mistake.”

“You’re damn right it was. Bringing a pile of strangers to my house after all these years. Risking my safety for what?”

“With all due respect, Mrs.—”

“Scott.” Holly’s mother stepped back and reached for the door. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re done here.”

“No! You haven’t even given your daughter a chance. You hear her father’s been murdered and you don’t care? What kind of a mother are you?”

Holly’s cheeks flamed and she reached for Emma. “Please, don’t. It’s not worth it.”

“That’s the first sensible thing out of your mouth.” The door began to close.

“Mrs. Scott! You can’t just shut us out!” Emma stepped forward, about to wedge her foot in the doorway, when a man’s voice carried outside.

“Hon? What’s going on?”

A pair of cowboy boots descended the stairs behind Holly’s mother, and a man straight out of one of the westerns Holly used to watch with her dad on lazy Sunday afternoons emerged. He smiled and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened. “Is there something you folks need help with?”

Chapter Seventeen

Emma

Emma refused to believe a woman would willingly disown her own child in a time of need. She stepped forward, about to give the man she presumed to be her husband a piece of her mind, but Holly grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

She smiled at Emma before turning to the man. “Hi, sir. My name is Holly Klein. I’m Sandra’s daughter.”

The man’s eyes widened for a moment and he glanced at his wife. “Sandy? Is that true?”

Holly’s mother barely held back a scowl. “That’s what she says.”

“You don’t recognize your own daughter?”

“It’s been a long time. For all I know, she’s some random girl who knows our