The Devaney Brothers: Daniel. Sherryl WoodsЧитать онлайн книгу.
noise.
She had the bottle over her head and was ready to strike, when a petite, dark-haired girl, no more than thirteen or fourteen, emerged from the booth, alarm in her eyes and her mouth running a mile a minute with a tumble of excuses for being in Jess’s past closing.
Molly’s heart was still slamming against the wall of her chest as she lowered the bottle and tried to make sense of what the girl was saying. The rush of words was all but incoherent.
“Whoa,” Molly said quietly, reaching out, only to have the girl draw back skittishly as if she feared she was still in danger of being hit.
Molly set the bottle on the table, then held out her empty hands. “Look, it’s okay. Nobody here is going to hurt you.”
The girl stared back at her, silent now that the immediate threat was over.
“I’m Molly. What’s your name?”
Nothing.
“I’ve never seen you around here before,” Molly continued as if the girl had responded. “Where are you from?”
Still, the only response was that wide-eyed, solemn stare.
“Not talking now? Well, that’s okay, too. It’s a pleasant change after spending an entire evening with a bunch of rowdy men who can’t shut up, yet have very little to say.”
The girl’s mouth twitched slightly, as if she were fighting a smile. Molly grinned, sensing that she’d found a kindred spirit.
“I see you know exactly what I mean,” she continued. “Are you hungry? The grill’s shut down, but I could fix you a sandwich. There’s ham and cheese, tuna salad or my personal favorite, peanut butter and pickles.”
“Yuck,” the girl said, her face scrunched up in a look of pure disgust.
The reaction made her seem even younger than Molly had originally guessed.
Laughing, Molly said, “I thought that might get a response from you. So, no peanut butter and pickles. You are going to have to tell me what you do want, though.”
The girl’s shoulders finally relaxed. “Ham and cheese, please.”
“With milk?”
“A soda, if that’s okay.”
So, she’d been taught some manners, and from the look of her clothes, she’d been well provided for. They were wrinkled, but she was wearing the latest teen fashions, low-riding designer jeans and a cropped shirt that revealed an inch of pale skin at her waist. Her sneakers were a brand that cost an arm and a leg.
“I have money to pay for the food,” the girl said as she followed Molly into the kitchen.
“This one’s on the house,” Molly told her as she made the thick sandwich and found a can of soda in the huge, well-stocked refrigerator.
The girl took the sandwich and drink, then regarded Molly uncertainly. “Aren’t you going to have anything? You didn’t eat all night.”
Molly regarded her with surprise. “How do you know that?”
“I was kinda watching you,” she admitted shyly.
“Really? Why?”
“I thought maybe if I could pick up on what goes on around here, you’d think about giving me a job.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” the girl said brazenly.
Molly frowned. “I don’t think so. How about fourteen?”
“Close enough,” she responded a little too eagerly.
“Which means you’re only thirteen,” Molly concluded, sighing heavily. Not that fourteen would have been much better, but thirteen definitely meant trouble.
“But I look eighteen,” the girl insisted. “No one would have to know.”
“I’d know,” Molly said. “I try really hard not to break the law by hiring minors to work in the bar.”
“Couldn’t I at least bus tables or help you clean up after the bar closes? I could mop the floors and wash dishes. No one would even have to see me, and that wouldn’t break any laws, would it?”
Technically, it wouldn’t, but Molly knew better than to take on an obvious runaway, not without having some facts. And something told her this child was so anxious to make herself indispensable that she’d eagerly attempt all sorts of things that would break every rule in the book.
“Here’s the deal. You tell me your name and your story. Then we’ll talk about a job.”
“Can’t talk with my mouth full,” the girl said, taking a bite of the sandwich to emphasize the point.
Molly shook her head, amused by the delaying tactic.
The girl gobbled down the rest of the sandwich, then looked longingly toward the fixings that were still on the counter. Molly made her a second sandwich, then held it just out of reach.
“Your mouth’s not full now, and I’m waiting,” she prodded.
The teen studied Molly’s face and apparently concluded that her patience was at an end. “Okay, my name’s Kendra,” she said at last.
“No last name?”
She shook her head, a touch of defiance in her eyes. “Just Kendra.”
“Where’d you run away from, Kendra?”
“Home.”
Molly grinned. “Nice try. Now give me some specifics.”
The girl sighed. “Portland.”
“Do you have family in Portland that’s likely to be going crazy looking for you?”
She shrugged. “I suppose.” Though she attempted to achieve a look of complete boredom, there was an unmistakable trace of dismay in her eyes.
“Then call them,” Molly said flatly. “If you want to stay here, that’s not negotiable. They need to know you’re safe.”
Huge tears welled up in Kendra’s eyes. “I can’t,” she said, then added with more belligerence, “I won’t.”
The ferocity of her response triggered all sorts of alarm bells. “Did someone at home hurt you?”
Kendra’s eyes widened as Molly’s meaning sank in. “Not the way you mean. No way,” she said.
She sounded so genuinely horrified that Molly couldn’t help feeling relieved. “Then what happened?” she asked, trying to think of other reasons a child this age might take off. Only one immediately came to mind. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
The girl regarded her indignantly. “I’m a kid. Are you crazy?”
Well, that was another relief, Molly thought. “Then what did make you leave home? Experience tells me that almost anything can be worked out, if everyone sits down and talks about it.”
Rather than giving Molly a direct answer, Kendra sent her a considering look. “Did you sit down and talk to whoever hurt you?”
Molly blinked at the question. “What are you talking about?”
“You were crying before, after you locked up. That’s why I didn’t speak to you sooner. People don’t cry unless somebody’s hurt them. Did you talk it out?”
Molly thought of Daniel’s refusal to talk, his refusal to even take her point of view into account. And after the miscarriage, she’d been the one who’d fallen silent. He’d made one overture, one attempt at an apology—probably at Patrick’s insistence—but she’d told him to stay the hell out of her life and slammed the door on him. So, no, she hadn’t followed her own advice and talked it out. What was