Whatever It Takes: A Highland Springs Romance (Whatever Series Book 4)

by Leigh Fleming

  “Stop it. She’s Grandma’s sister and a sweet lady who happens to have a gift—”

  “She’s not right in the head.”

  “Crazy or clairvoyant, it doesn’t matter to me.” Darla slipped across the room and took another peek outside through the curtains. “This bunch of city reporters will never find me there.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  Her escape was masterfully planned. Having packed enough clothes for a three-day stay at Clara’s, Darla filled the feeder so the wild birds wouldn’t starve while she was gone, and she watered all her plants. Jamie was to arrive in a few minutes and keep the press at bay while she slipped out the back. She felt guilty about not calling Meghan back—she’d called three times today—but her mind was too wrapped up in the news and the reporters outside her house. Once things settled down, she’d be sure to call her. The one person who hadn’t called was Jason, and that worried her.

  A text came through from Jamie, announcing his arrival. It was game time. From her bedroom window, she watched him pull up across the street. The police had restricted the press to the public sidewalk in front of her house and had left two young patrolmen on duty to control traffic and nosy neighbors. Jamie climbed out of his truck and stood in the middle of the road as the reporters swarmed around him.

  Darla rushed downstairs, grabbed her overnight backpack, and slipped out the back door.

  It was dark and silent as she ran across the dewy grass to her garage. To keep down the noise, she started the car inside before raising the door, and then slowly rolled down the gravel alley behind the row of houses along her street with her headlights off. It always worked in the movies, so there should be no reason it wouldn’t work for her. She turned left on Sycamore Street, away from where Jamie was holding court outside her house. Once she reached the outskirts of downtown, she put in a call to him, hanging up after the second ring, which was their preplanned signal she was safely out of town.

  She had no way of contacting Clara to warn her she was coming, but that had never been a problem before. Even as late as it was, she probably knew Darla was on her way. Slipping her phone back into her purse, Darla shifted into drive and pulled onto the two-lane road that led to Cash’s Holler. There were no cars behind her. Her plan had worked. Only one other car was on the roughly paved road, and it was heading in the opposite direction. She slowed down and flipped her turn signal, waiting for the car to pass. She turned onto another even more desolate road, smiling because she’d successfully made the slip.

  It was a moonless night, making the narrow road covered by thick, leafy branches seem more like traveling through a dark tunnel. Her bright headlights glowed in the building mist. She slowed down for a sharp turn, and a pair of headlights appeared in her rearview mirror. Though it was an isolated place, there were a few houses along this road, so it was probably someone coming home after a late shift. She continued down the dark road, staying calm until the headlights came closer, creating a blinding reflection in her mirror.

  Fearing it was a reporter, Darla pressed the accelerator and charged down the unlined road past tree trunks washed out by her bright lights. She’d driven it hundreds of times, showing homes to potential buyers or coming out to see Clara. She knew every twist and turn, so she felt confident she would ditch whomever it was that was gaining on her. Approaching the gravel lane that led to Cash’s Holler, she charged past, hoping to lose her pursuer at the four-way stop ahead. She just had to put some distance between them. Rounding another curve, a rabbit dodged out of a grassy thicket and ran across the road in front of her. She locked up the car on instinct, putting all her weight on the brake pedal.

  “Damn it, not now,” she screamed at the bunny as it hopped across the road. Whatever distance she’d gained was now lost due to her humanitarian efforts. The car was practically on her bumper. She floored it and swerved as her car shot down the road. The red stop sign glowed up ahead, and she flipped her blinker to go right. She hoped her ploy would throw off the driver behind her, at least long enough to get some headway. Without slowing down, she faked turning right and then quickly spun her steering wheel left. It had worked only a second. Like a magnet to steel, the car stayed on her bumper, growing closer with each second.

  Darla glanced in the mirror, letting out a shrill scream as the car clipped her from behind. She pressed her foot against the floorboard, praying as she came to another curve. The road swerved to the right and then quickly left as she barreled down a hill, but the car stayed on her tail. She knew there was a trailer park about a mile ahead where she could pull in and call for help. Whoever this creep was behind her wouldn’t do anything to her with so many people watching.

  More encouraged, Darla’s foot pressed deeper as she gripped the steering wheel, taking each curve like a pro. If she wasn’t being hounded by a ravenous reporter, this Indy Car racing would be fun. Her heart raced and her palms sweated. She had to get rid of this guy. Seeing the trailer park up ahead, she gritted her teeth and pushed her car to its limits. She had to get help. As if he knew her intentions, the car came closer, forcing its way to her right side, cutting off any attempt to turn into the trailer park. He rammed into her back right bumper, sending her skidding into the left lane. She fought to stay in her own lane, but he continued to nudge her into the other lane, metal scrapping against the body of her car.

  Approaching a knoll in the road, the car continued to force Darla to the left lane and she prayed another car wouldn’t be coming. Her pleas were unanswered. A pair of headlights beamed at her from the left lane. Horns blared. Tires squealed. Her car bounced as she hit a ditch, swerving to avoid the oncoming crash. Her forehead hit the steering wheel and everything went black.

  Darla wasn’t sure how long she was out. When she came to, the road was dark with not another car in sight. Whoever had been trailing her was gone, and she was left alone at the edge of a cornfield. Rubbing the lump that had formed on her forehead, Darla reached for the flashlight she kept in her glove box and climbed out. She walked unsteadily around her car to survey the damage. As suspected, her back right bumper was dented, but otherwise her car was fine. She had cleared the ditch when she went off the road but took out quite a few burgeoning cornstalks.

  As she climbed back in the car, a buzz alerted her to an incoming text, surprised to find cell service out here. She tapped the screen and nearly dropped the phone.

  Consider this a warning. Change your story, or next time you won’t be so lucky.

  It hadn’t been a determined reporter behind her. Clyde Fletcher had sent one of his henchmen to intimidate her. The story had gone viral, bringing out other victims’ testimonies. The governor’s pristine reputation was in question and his political future at risk. And Darla’s life was in jeopardy.

  Still shaking from the harrowing chase, Darla pressed the ignition button with a quivering finger and circled out of the field, cornstalks crunching and bumping the underside of her car. The wheels dipped down into a ditch, her front bumper scraping the ground as she pulled back onto the road. She turned toward the gravel lane that led to Cash’s Holler and the safety of Clara’s place, reassured that she was no longer being followed.

  Ten minutes later, still unsettled but confident she’d be safely hidden in the holler, Darla rolled beside Clara’s trailer and cut the engine. Her head fell back against the headrest, she squeezed her eyes closed, and took a deep breath. When she opened them, Clara was standing outside her car, her tiny hand pressed against the window. She stepped back as Darla opened her door.

  “I’ve been waiting on you,” Clara said, wrapping her thick sweater around her middle. “Come in, dear. I made tea.”

  Stunned into silence from the earlier ordeal, Darla followed Clara into her mobile home where a rich, spicy smell tickled her senses, immediately bringing calm to her shaken nerves.

  “It’s my special blend. Help you sleep like a baby.”

  “Thank you, Clara.”

  “You just settle yourself on the cou
ch, and I’ll bring it to you. You’ve been through quite an ordeal tonight.”

  There was no point in asking how she knew. Aunt Clara’s psychic abilities couldn’t be explained. It was as if she had a camera drone constantly following Darla and looking ahead to what was coming on the horizon. Her warnings and predictions usually startled Darla, but tonight they were comforting.

  “Here you go.” Clara placed a warm mug in her hand and took a seat in her antique rocker.

  “I’m so glad you were up. I didn’t want to frighten you by showing up so late at night.”

  “I couldn’t sleep, knowing what you were going through.”

  Darla chuckled as she took a sip of the tea, which burned her taste buds with its strong, herbal flavor. Though it tasted like she was drinking a mixture of dried weeds and wildflowers, she trusted that its medicinal properties would calm her like nothing else.

  While Clara rocked, Darla concentrated on drinking her elixir. Neither one spoke. The quiet ticking of the cuckoo clock kept time with the old woman’s chair, drawing her own heart into a steady rhythm. The concoction was doing its job. She felt calm, peaceful, and safe.

  Finally, Clara stopped her rocking and leaned toward Darla. “So you finally did it; you slayed the beast.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. He’s still very much in power.”

  “But the beast has been injured, all because of you.”

  “Look, Aunt Clara,” Darla said, setting her empty mug on the side table. “Could you not talk in code for once? The beast is Governor Fletcher and the hummingbird is my daughter, Meghan, and—”

  “It’s not code.” She crossed her arms over her sagging breasts, puckering her lips as if insulted.

  “You’ve known all along who was who. Why did you tell me all those things in symbols? Wouldn’t it have been easier to say their names?”

  “I didn’t know their names.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re clairvoyant, all-knowing, all-seeing, surely—”

  Clara interrupted with a loud cackle. “You make me sound like God. No, dear, I’m not all-knowing, but I do see things. They appear to me—animals, orbs, even objects. I learned the name of the beast today when I read the newspaper.”

  “Oh…”

  “And you just told me the name of the hummingbird. Meghan? That’s a pretty name.”

  “I didn’t name her.”

  “It’s a nice name all the same. She’s proud of you.”

  “Ha!” Darla jumped from the sofa, unable to sit any longer. She carried her mug to the kitchen and refilled her cup from the floral teapot. “She’s disappointed in me. She called me a coward.”

  Clara shuffled into the kitchen and laid her frail hands on Darla’s shoulders. “Not anymore.”

  “I shouldn’t have given the interview. It won’t be long before the press finds out who she is and will start hounding her, too. Jason has to be furious with me right now.”

  “He is, but he’ll get over it.”

  She spun around, causing Clara to teeter on her spindly legs. Holding her arms to keep her steady, Darla leaned down and locked eyes with the old lady. “You know? You can see how he’s feeling? Is he mad at me?”

  “He’s scared, worried for his daughter. Her health isn’t good.”

  “Did my admission make her worse?” Her own heartbeat sped up, and panic squeezed her lungs. If she’d caused a major setback for Meghan, she’d never forgive herself.

  “His anger toward you is temporary. He’ll forgive you with time.”

  “But what about Meghan?”

  “The clock is ticking for her.”

  ***

  “Dad!”

  Jason rolled onto his side, pulling the thin sheet over his shoulder. In his dream, he and Meghan were riding on a rubber raft, bouncing across a churning rapid.

  “Dad!”

  His eyes flew open. Her shouts weren’t coming from his dream, but from her makeshift bedroom downstairs. Heart pounding, he threw himself out of the bed and charged down the steps. Meghan was sitting up in bed, her dark hair splayed crazily over her eyes.

  “Dad!” She reached her arms out to him. “Darla needs us.”

  “What?” He scrubbed his hand over his face, now fully awake, realizing his daughter was in the middle of a nightmare.

  “She’s been hurt.” Meghan rubbed her forehead, wincing as if she were in pain. “Her head. She banged her head.”

  “Sweetheart,” he said, sitting on the bed and pulling Meghan into his arms. “You’ve had a nightmare.”

  “It’s not a nightmare. I’m awake. I’m not dreaming. She had a wreck and she’s hurt. I feel it.”

  “Meghan, that’s impossible.”

  “Please, Dad. We need to go see her. She needs us.”

  “Settle down now.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, hoping to calm her irrational fears. “We’ll call her in the morning to check on her, okay?”

  “I called her three times today and she didn’t answer. Something’s wrong. I feel it.”

  “Meggy…”

  “We have to go.”

  “Okay, okay. Please don’t get yourself all worked up. It’s not good for you.”

  Meghan pushed out of his arms and slapped her hand on the bed. “Stop saying that. I know I’m sick. I get it.”

  “But, honey—”

  “Stop babying me. Darla needs us.”

  “Fine.” Frustrated at Meghan’s unwillingness to remain calm, Jason grabbed his phone off its charger and tapped Darla’s number. He put the call on speaker as they waited for her to answer. After four rings, it went to voice mail.

  “Darla, it’s Meghan. Call me. I need to know you’re okay. Dad and I are coming to see you tomorrow.”

  “No, Meghan.”

  “Dad, she needs us.”

  “Not tomorrow. You have a doctor’s appointment.”

  “Okay, then the next day.”

  “You’re not supposed to travel.”

  “She’s had a car wreck. She was being chased. It’s not safe for her.”

  Realizing they were still recording, Jason tapped off the call and dropped the phone to the bed. His daughter was most definitely awake and not talking in her sleep. He’d never seen her so adamant about something, so convinced of something she had no way of knowing.

  “What do you mean, Meghan? Where did you get the idea she’s been in a wreck.”

  “I saw it. The whole thing came to me—sort of a dream—while I was sleeping.” She grabbed Jason’s arms and squeezed with a strength he didn’t realize she had. Her eyes flared, and her breathing was quick and shallow. “I had a vision. I’ve had them before but never like this. I know it’s real.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  After two days of hiding out in Clara’s mobile home, the wall of mountains surrounding Cash’s Holler closed in on Darla. As a hideout, the dark, misty canyon had lost its appeal. She’d never appreciated the bright sunshine so much as she made her way up the steep gravel lane and onto roads with unencumbered views of the rolling hills in the distance. Clara had been a generous host, making traditional foods Darla hadn’t eaten since her childhood. It was ramp season, and Clara made sure to fry the pungent wild leek into every meal.

  Surely by now the press would’ve evacuated from in front of her house, maybe even moved on to the latest accuser’s home near Charleston. She had kept up with news through the local paper. To date there were eight victims, including Darla, each telling a similar tale of manipulation and blackmail. All the women were under the age of eighteen. Clyde Fletcher continued to declare his innocence, refusing to step down as governor.

  Turning onto the main road back to town, her phone suddenly came alive, beeping and buzzing the arrival of calls and texts as she regained cell service. She pulled into the parking lot outside Misty Mountain Brewery and Sue’s Diner to read the long list of calls. There were ten calls from Meghan. In each voice mail, she had pleaded with Darla to call her right away. It was the la
st voice mail that sent a shiver down her spine.

  “She’s had a car wreck. She was being chased. It’s not safe for her.”

  How could Meghan have known she had been chased off the road into a cornfield? No one knew of the incident but Clara. Jamie knew she had escaped to the holler, but even he didn’t know about her wreck. Was it possible her daughter had inherited Aunt Clara’s clairvoyant gift?

  She rolled down the window, spooked and unable to breathe. Clara was the only person in her family who had the gift, but there was a legend that several women on her mom’s side from the older generations had been psychic as well. Could the ability have skipped a couple of generations and landed on Meghan? Shaking off the notion, still unsure how her daughter knew of the wild car chase, she listened to the rest of the messages. Kate, Liza, and Jamie had all called, expressing their concern.

  It was the message from Jason—a call she hadn’t noticed—that made her heart stop.

  “How the hell could you’ve done this? I asked you not to go to the press, told you to wait. Christ, Darla, what were you thinking?” He had huffed into the phone, and she could imagine him running his hand through his hair, his face red with fury. “You know what?” He breathed in and said with a quivering voice, “I trusted you, thought we had something.” Another heavy sigh. “You’re not what Meghan needs. Just stay away from us.”

  The phone tumbled from her hand as Darla dropped her head to the steering wheel. Hot, angry, devastated tears spilled from her eyes. She’d hurt Jason and Meghan, lost them forever. By fighting back and standing up for herself, she’d done more harm than good. The two people who meant the most in the world to her were gone. Aunt Clara said Jason was mad, but he’d get over it. For the first time, her great-aunt’s prediction was wrong.

  ***

  “Drive faster, Dad.” Meghan rolled her hand toward the windshield, urging Jason along. “You’re driving like an old grandpa. We’ll never get there.”