Genesis (The Legend of Glory Book 3) Read Free Page B

said.
    “Jesse?”
    An infant’s harsh cry shattered the long silence on the other end.
    “Jesse?”
    “Don’t know what I was thinking,” he mumbled. “Wasn’t thinking.”
    My heart raced. I stood, and started to pace. “Where are you?”
    “Old Tucker farm.”
    The abandoned homestead was five miles outside of town.
    “Dad passed out. Mom was scary drunk. She was screaming at Belle, and I thought she’d hurt her. Sneaked out with her and Mom’s bottle. But ... but I drank the booze to stay warm and didn’t know it would be like this.”
    Jesse had never drunk liquor before. He jokingly said that it was against his religion, but I knew his reluctance stemmed from not wanting to end up like his parents.
    “How did you get there?”
    “Walked.”
    “Don’t go anywhere,” I told him. “I’ll come.”
    “Hurry, Glory. If they realize I took Belle they might kill me.”
    “I’m coming.”
    I hung up and tried to figure out what to do. Our town didn’t have a taxi service. Dad and Mom had made hotel reservations in Boulder so they could drink and not have to drive home that night. Calling Carmela was out of the question—even if her parents would help out, they’d certainly get the cops involved and likely have Jesse expelled from school to boot. I couldn’t think of anyone to call and started to panic.
    “Breathe,” I told myself.
    Too many deep breaths later, I was dizzy, but had a plan. Jesse had taught me to pick locks, pick pockets, and hotwire cars. I had gone along with him for the novelty, never imagining those outlaw skills would come in handy. I was wrong.
    Dad’s old Chevy truck was parked out by the road with a FOR SALE sign on it. The keys were with Dad on his chain, but the solution seemed obvious to me.
    Midnight dark outside, I held a small flashlight with my teeth and slipped a straightened hanger between the window and the weather stripping. After a few minutes of struggle, the door lock opened with a mechanical thunk. We had practiced both the lock popping and hotwiring on this truck, and I felt on familiar ground.
    I realized too late that I should have changed clothes—lying on the floor of a pickup truck to hotwire the ignition in a full petticoat was more than awkward. However, stressed, all I could think of was rescuing Jesse and his sister as quickly as possible. In panic mode, operating more on instinct than rational thought, I somehow remembered exactly which wires to spark and managed to do so without electrocuting myself. I even remembered to tape them off so I could safely drive. The hardest part was breaking the steering lock, but supercharged by adrenaline, I got the job done.
    I only had my learner’s permit, but figured I could avoid trouble. It seemed to me that late on Halloween night the cops likely had more pressing matters than patrolling backcountry roads.
    When I made it to the Tucker farm, I left the truck running and found Jesse and his one-year-old sister inside the abandoned house. Huddled near a warm wood stove, he had his arms wrapped protectively around her. Shadows were deep; the only light in the room came through the glass on the front of the stove.
    “Jesse?”
    When he saw me, he started to cry. “Take Belle before I accidentally hurt her.”
    He sat still as an ice sculpture while I took possession of the little girl fancifully named after the infamous western outlaw, Belle Starr.
    “I’m as bad as my parents. I put her in just as much danger.” His words weren’t quite as slurred as before—his adrenaline rush was probably as intense as mine.
    I helped him to his feet, and he leaned on me as we walked to the truck. When I opened the passenger door, and the interior light splashed on his face, the sight of his left eye swollen shut horrified me.
    I gasped and gently touched his face. “Oh, Jesse.”
    He shrugged. “Rough night all the way around.”
    “Your dad did this? You want me to punch him out for you?”
    That brought the hint