Page 67 of Love, Untangled

“Can you hear me, Pen?” he asked, his tone soft. His breathing evened out, though his heart continued to race. “If you can, I’d love for you to open your eyes, please. I just want to see your pretty eyes. Please, Penelope. I need to know you’re okay.”

She frowned a little, rubbing her face against the cropped grass under her cheek. The sirens shrieked as a police rig squealed into the driveway, shooting gravel everywhere. Carlo made a mental note to clean that up for Pen. Later. Once he knew she was safe and that she would recover.

“Leon. Mom,” she said.

“Penelope, open your eyes. That’s it. Don’t move your head, not yet. Shh.” Carlo settled on his hip, bringing his face closer to Pen’s. She blinked, her gaze dazed and her pupils too wide. A concussion seemed likely. Damn that man. He’d hurt her. And for what?

“Alpaca Man? Lydia?” she rasped. She winced. “My head.”

“I bet it hurts. You have a hell of a bruise here.”

“I ran into Leon’s elbow. It wasn’t intentional.”

She moved to sit up, but Carlo rested his hand on her shoulder. He went over the questions he’d ask any patient with possible spinal trauma.

“I can feel my fingers and toes, but my cheek hurts.” She grimaced. “A lot.”

“I bet. It’s already swollen. Why don’t you wait for the ambulance?” Carlo asked.

But Penelope, stubborn Sunshine, pushed up onto her hands and knees. Carlo gritted his teeth, hating that she was in pain, hating that she wouldn’t be still, hating how much he cared about both.

“I need to find Alpaca Man and Lydia. Where is Leon? He saved me. My mother! She has a gun…” Her words tripped over themselves, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Alpaca Man ran to my place. He’s safe.” And pretty much told me that you were hurt. That animal was smart. Like that collie in the TV show Carlo sometimes watched reruns of as a kid. Lassie, that was what it was called.

Carlo hadn’t given the alpaca enough credit, considering him less intelligent than the fictionalized Lassie, but he wouldn’t underestimate the alpaca again.

Smoke billowed around them, and Carlo tensed. Until the fire was out, he’d remain vigilant—all too aware of how quickly an area could go up in flame.

But he wouldn’t lose Pen. He wouldn’t.

“I got Lydia out of the pen and she headed that way too.”

Pen calmed a little as Carlo’s words penetrated her fear, enough to raise a hand to her cheek, wincing as she traced her fingers over the swollen, aching flesh. Ash began to blow toward them. He needed to move her, but he didn’t want to hurt her.

“We have to find Leon,” she said, clutching at Carlo’s jacket sleeve. “Please. My mother…she was going to shoot me. She might hurt him.”

“Leon?” Carlo asked. “I’m much more concerned about you.”

A fire engine roared into the driveway. The four men exited the truck, Adam among them, and began to work as a team, striving to get the flames consuming the barn under control. He kept Pen facing him. Away from the destruction behind her. She’d be devastated. No reason to add to her current concerns.

Once again, Penelope proved difficult. She tried to turn her head, agony searing across her features. With a sigh, Carlo turned her and watched horror and then a terrible acceptance sink into her features.

“She did this,” Penelope said, her voice catching. “My moth— Serena. She did this because she didn’t like the bank asking questions about those documents. She forged them. She told Leon she did.”

“We’ll find her—”

The firefighters turned on their hose, attached to the truck, and pumped a thick stream of water at the flames shooting into the sky. They flickered yellow, red, a deep orange, the rich blue of high heat closest to the structure. This fire was hot and would take more water than they had in the tanks to put out. Then the wind shifted and Carlo smelled gasoline.

Whoever set the fire did so intentionally, and arson was a crime with stiff sentences. As long as the police found the culprit—probably Penelope’s mother, Serena—she wouldn’t be able to slink out of a conviction. Not for this. Not with Penelope and Leon as witnesses. He glanced down, noting how much redder and puffier Pen’s cheek had become, his ire growing.

“All for a house she never should have coveted.” Pen paused. Almost as an afterthought, she added, “She said…she said she killed Rodney…my father.” She shuddered. “Rodney Davis,” she said, just in case there was confusion. “He’s my dad. Was. She admitted to killing him. Leon…Leon heard her too.”

“Oh, my darling,” Carlo said. “My Sunshine.” His heart ached for her. So much. This was worse, so much worse than what he’d lived through. Until this moment, he hadn’t thought that possible. But Penelope’s mother had tried to kill her and admitted to killing her father.

What a terrible burden to live with.

Determination welled through him and he tightened his arm around Penelope, needing to feel her reassuring warmth, the scent of her shampoo as her hair tickled his nostrils. But she smelled off—a slick sweat created from fear overpowered her normal scents, along with the dust that clung to her.

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