Some Girls Do Read online

  Stumbling inside the lobby, she raced to the elevator and stepped inside. Pressing the number for her floor, she waited until the doors slid closed, then leaned against the back wall, her heart pounding a mile a minute.

  She couldn't believe what she had just done. She wondered where she'd found the nerve. She'd spent her life feeling like a weirdo, like a victim.

  The rush of power made her light-headed and she began to laugh so hard her eyes watered. She would never forget the look on Chad's face when she'd rejected his offer. Sniffing and wiping her damp cheeks, she walked to her room and entered to find Chantal mewing balefully. Tensing, Wilhemina quickly checked the curtains and felt a trickle of relief that Chantal hadn't done anything destructive.

  Freshening the cat's water bowl, she chuckled again at Chad's indignation. She sank down on the bed and the cat jumped up beside her. Wilhemina absently rubbed Chantal's hairless little head. “Chad definitely was not any cowboy knight,” she murmured, wondering if such a thing existed. “Maybe I should just go back to Philly. Katie's probably sick with worry.”

  She sighed, discouragement seeping through her veins. What if she was on a crazy wild goose chase? Something inside her balked at the thought of returning with her tail tucked between her legs. Wilhemina felt as if she'd spent most of her life discouraged and defeated. She couldn't bear the idea of seeing pity in Katie's eyes. No, she wasn't ready to return, she decided. Whether she found a cowboy knight or not, she was going to have her own-adventure.

  Nothing was going to stop her.

  After visiting three nightclubs in Dallas, all Katie wanted was to go to sleep, but she wouldn't dare let Michael know how tired she was. She'd already embarrassed herself with that anxiety attack on the plane and heaven knows what all she'd told him after taking the Valium.

  They headed for Fort Worth, also known as Cowtown, and arrived at a huge bar just after midnight. The place was still jumping. Michael flashed a photo of Wilhemina to the main bartender and he shook his head.

  Michael returned to Katie's side. “Let's try one more tourist trap bar, then find a place for the night. We can start calling hotels on the list,” he said, raking his hand through his hair. “We'll find her. She'll stick out among all these cowgirls.”

  “The same way you do,” Katie said, unable to squelch her thoughts.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you definitely don't look native Texan. You look and sound pure Philly.”

  He shrugged. “I'll put on a pair of jeans tomorrow, but I draw the line at boots and a ten-gallon hat.” He scrutinized her. “You look like you're about ready to fall over.”

  “I'm okay,” she lied. “It's just been a long day. Why don't we try another bar?”

  He hesitated as if he were reconsidering, then nodded. “Let's go.”

  The bar yielded no leads, and Katie and Michael checked into separate rooms at a chain hotel close by. Michael insisted on carrying her bag to her room. “Thank you,” she said as she pushed open her door. “I wouldn't have expected you to be so…”

  “So what?” he asked, the intensity of his gaze unsettling her.

  “Gentlemanly, considerate,” she said, and wincing at her bluntness, she rushed to explain herself. “I can tell you're very goal-oriented and when you're focused on solving a problem, it's sometimes hard to remember things like—”

  “Manners,” he finished for her. “And kindness. You mentioned my lack of kindness before. I think you also said something about me being charm-free twenty-four hours a day.”

  Katie winced again. “I guess that sounded a little harsh.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. I've been working twenty-four/seven for the past few years. I haven't had time for charm school. For that matter, almost all of my communication has fallen into the category of necessary business communication.”

  She frowned. “Why have you been working so much?”

  He appeared to stifle a sigh. “That's another story for another time. Too long for tonight. You need your sleep. I want to be out of here by seven A.M.”

  “No problem,” she said. “Is it okay if I meet you downstairs?”

  “That'll work. Sweet dreams, Katie,” he said, surprising her with his civility.

  “You too,” she said and entered her room. She eyed the bed with extreme lust. Her body begged for me immediate gratification of clean sheets and a soft pillow.

  Tsk. Tsk. Your body's begging for what just walked down the hall, Priss.

  Resisting temptation, Katie shook her head and grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste from her duffel bag. “This time you're dead wrong, Mama. There can't possibly be any sex good enough to compete with the pleasure of sleep tonight.”

  Spoken like a true virgin, her mother's voice echoed inside her with amusement.

  Katie turned the water on full force to drown out the sound. Her mind bounced between Wilhemina and Michael as she brushed her teeth. She wondered where Wilhemina was, if she was barhopping or heading for the open road. She wondered if they were looking for a needle in a haystack. After all, Texas was a big state and Michael wanted to keep their search low profile so Ivan wouldn't find out.

  She wondered what had made Michael work so hard during the last few years. She still couldn't believe he'd carried her luggage for her. Remembering he had caught her as she fell on the plane, Katie felt her stomach take a dip. She frowned at the sensation and spit into the sink.

  It was the aftereffects of the Valium and lack of sleep, she briskly told herself and stripped out of her clothes. Pulling on an oversized T-shirt, she set the alarm clock on the bedside table. She slid between the sheets and moaned in pleasure. She vaguely recalled the sensation of waking up draped over Michael's body. His body had been warm, his muscles strong, his masculine scent appealing.

  Wrapping her arms around the spare pillow, Katie inhaled the clean, crisp scent. “The bed is better,” she told herself and mentally turned off her mother's protest.

  The following morning, Michael sipped his third cup of coffee as a tall, lean-blond woman in jeans walked toward him. She set her duffel bag next to him. He blinked, not recognizing her for a full moment.

  “Sorry I overslept,” she said breathlessly. “I can grab a bagel and coffee and I'll be ready to go.”

  He noticed her hair was still damp and she wore not a smidgen of cosmetics on her face: “We've got a few more minutes.”

  “Three,” she corrected.

  “Three?”

  She pointed to her watch. “Three minutes. You said you wanted to leave by seven.”

  “We can wait a few more. I'm mapping out the plan for the day.”

  She shrugged. “Okay.”

  Still blinking, he watched her bound toward the self-serve counter. He took in the sight of her hair falling down her straight back, her curvy bottom and long legs. It occurred to him that Katie had a very nice ass. He watched her tap her foot impatiently as she toasted a bagel. She grabbed a miniature container of cream cheese and poured a large cup of coffee, then put it all on the table across from him. She spread cream cheese on half the bagel, lifted it to her mouth to take a bite, then paused. “Why are you staring at me?”

  “You look different.”

  “My hair's wet,” she said with a trace of self-consciousness.

  “And you're not wearing an ugly gray dress or your ugly glasses. You look eighteen.”

  She chuckled, and it was a husky, sexy sound. “I'm not,” she said and took a big bite of the bagel. She chewed it, then followed with a long sip of coffee. “Hot,” she said, pursing her lips and inhaling to cool her tongue: “I felt about eighty after yesterday. What about you? Did you sleep well?”

  “I didn't hit the sack until three,” he said with a shrug.

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Why?”

  “I called all the hotels on the list the car rental agent gave us.”

  “And?”

  “And Wilhemina stayed at
a Dallas Hyatt night before last, but checked out yesterday morning. She's apparently on the move. She took out a big cash advance on her credit card, so we won't be able to track her that way anymore.”

  “Should we visit the Hyatt to see if she talked to anyone about her plans?”

  “That's on the list, but I have a hunch we'll just be backtracking. If Wilhemina is serious about finding a cowboy, she'll head away from Dallas.”

  “True. Are you sure we're going to find her?”

  “I have no doubt,” Michael said, ready to tear apart the entire state if necessary.

  “I'm glad you ditched the suit. Are you sure you won't try a Stetson?”

  His lips twitched at her faintly teasing tone. “I'm fine. Are you ready to go? I've already covered the bill for both rooms.”

  She nodded. “Ready,” she said and reached for her duffel bag.

  Michael automatically grabbed it first. He caught the look of surprise on her face. “You're not used to having a man carry things for you, are you?”

  She shook her head. “I'm a worker bee. It wouldn't occur to Ivan to—”

  “I wasn't talking about Ivan,” Michael said.

  She looked at him blankly for several seconds, then realization occurred and she laughed. “Oh, well that would entail me having the time and inclination to meet men, and I haven't had either.”

  “You have Sundays,” Michael pointed out.

  Her face closed up like a candy shop at the end of the day. “My Sundays aren't for meeting men.”

  They rode to Dallas in an uneasy silence. Michael sensed he'd stepped over the line when he'd asked about Sundays. Her reaction only made him more curious, but he needed to focus on finding Wilhemina.

  “Since part of your argument for being here, was because you understood Wilhemina, what do you think her attitude toward Dallas would be?”

  “I think she would like it. For a while anyway. Great shopping, the arts. In some ways, she would feel right at home. There's a lot of wealth in Dallas. But if she views this as her great adventure, and I think she does,” Katie said with a sigh, “she won't hang around here long. I think you're right when you said we're backtracking.”

  “You lived in Texas for a while. Do you know anyone who lives here?”

  Katie hesitated a half beat-too long. “Not anymore,” she said with an odd sadness in her voice.

  “Where did you live?”

  “In a little town in the middle of nowhere. It pretty much got blown off the map a few years ago when a tornado hit,” she said, clearly reluctant to discuss it. She pointed ahead. “Is that the Hyatt we're looking for?”

  Michael nodded and parked the car in the parking garage. “I'll talk to the front desk—”

  “I know,” she said. “You'll ask the questions. I'm just here for reference along the way and negotiations when we find Wilhemina.”

  They walked to the lobby and Michael interviewed the crew at the front desk, the concierge, and the bellman. Several of the employees remembered Wilhemina, and the bellman had given her a few suggestions for places to visit.

  Michael glanced around for Katie, but didn't see her. He strode toward the restaurant and caught sight of her Chatting with a woman in the gift shop at the same time she was flipping through a telephone directory and scratching down a number. Her gaze and finger hovered over a listing.

  “Find something?” Michael asked.

  Katie glanced up and immediately shut the directory. “Not much. I was just talking to Anna Lee. This is Michael Wingate.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Anna Lee, a middle-aged woman with big hair, said, accepting his handshake. “Wilhemina was such a nice girl. I hope you're able to find your sister.”

  Michael blinked, then remembered Katie had proclaimed him and Wilhemina brother and sister. “Thank you. Both of us are anxious to find her.”

  “Anna Lee said Wilhemina bought some cookies from her and asked where to find cat food. Anna Lee also recommended a few rowdy bars in Fort Worth,” she said in a gently teasing tone.

  Anna Lee giggled. “They're not too rowdy. Just fun.” She glanced at the phone directory. “Did you find your friend?”

  Katie shrugged with so much discomfort he could feel it from five feet away. “Too many with the same last name. You know how that goes. Maybe next time. Thank you again for your help,” she said, and they left the tiny shop.

  “We're going to have to kill some time before these bars open,” Michael ventured. “Are you sure there isn't someone you want to look up?”

  “I'm sure,” she said, her mouth drawn in a-firm line.

  “Okay. Did you write down the names of the bars?”

  Katie nodded and passed him the sheet of paper. “Anna Lee recommended three.”

  Michael scrutinized the list. “What's this fourth address?”

  Katie's eyes widened and she tried to snatch the’ paper from him. “lt'S nothing—” She reached for it again, but he folded it in his hand. “It's nothing about Wilhemina. Just let me rip off the bottom of it.”

  “If it's nothing, then why did you write it down?”

  She shrugged as if she didn't care, but the way she gnawed her upper lip gave her away. “I don't care. Let's just go.”

  His curiosity aroused, Michael walked toward the rental car with Katie quietly stewing beside him. He opened the car door for her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, not looking at him as she slid into the seat.

  Michael got into the driver's seat and plugged an address into the complimentary global positioning system on the dash. Katie continued to look out her window, her silence filled with so much tension he wondered how she kept from exploding.

  Navigating through the downtown streets of Dallas, he took a turn into an affluent neighborhood full of large homes with wrought-iron gates and circular drives.

  Katie glanced at him suspiciously. “Where are we going?”

  Taking another turn, he slowed as he rounded a curve and identified his target. “907 Hawthorn Avenue. The address you copied from the phone book,” he said, looking past the wrought-iron gate to the front door of a large, elegant home. He caught sight of a blond teenage girl scooping up a terrier and snuggling it just before she passed it to a woman in a black maid's uniform. Michael glanced at Katie and saw a look of hunger on her face.

  She lowered the window, her gaze fastened on the teenager as the girl bounced into her red Miata convertible. “She looks so beautiful,” Katie murmured and a bittersweet smile lifted her lips. “And she always loved animals. I wonder how many pets he lets her keep”

  “Who is she?”

  She was silent so long he thought she might not answer, and Michael had learned that the only thing that made Katie talk when she didn't want to was mind-altering medication.

  Her gaze clung to the sight of the teenager as she revved the engine, drove out of the driveway, and roared down the street. “My little sister,” she finally whispered.

  “When you have a terrible day, drink a margarita, eat chocolate and dance in the kitchen. Things will look better in the morning.”

  —SUNNY COLLINS'S WISDOM

  Chapter 9

  In less than a moment, it was a hot summer day in a little county in the hill country. Katie was twelve years younger and everyone she knew called her Priss.

  “Can I take 'im with me, Priss?” Lori Jean asked as she gripped a brown dog of indeterminate breed under its front haunches, leaving the back legs dangling. Lori stretched her little-girl legs to make the big porch step just outside the front door of their mobile home. Lori Jean's father, oil baron Harlan Granger, stood beside his white Cadillac impatiently waiting to take custody of his daughter. Her mother refused to speak to the man. She was infuriated that Harlan was taking Lori away and had already hugged Lori good-bye.

  Thirteen-year-old Priss was devastated Kneeling down, she looked into the tear-filled eyes of her seven-year-old sister and tried to be brave. Harlan Granger wanted nothing more than to
purge his daughter of any memories of her life before he'd recognized her existence. Harlan held such contempt for her mother that Priss wouldn't be surprised if the man wanted to give Lori a blood transfusion and complete deprogramming. Priss always had a hard time understanding how her mother's boyfriends could want her bad enough to make a baby with her, yet hate her afterward. Priss knew there was no way he would allow Lori to bring a flea-infested mutt into his fine house in Dallas, but she tried to gently spin the truth for Lori. “I bet your daddy is going to let you have all kinds-of pets at your new house.”

  Lori glanced over her shoulder, her face pinched with fear. “He looks mean,” she whispered. “I don't want to go with him. Can't I stay with you?”

  Priss's heart hurt so much she could barely breathe. Her mother denied it, but Priss suspected this could very, well be the last time she saw her little sister with the lopsided pigtails. Priss pulled Lori into her arms. “I would love for you to stay, but you're going to a much nicer place. Harlan Granger is going, to take very, good care of you. You'll have new dresses and toys and friends. It's gonna be great.”

  “But what about when I want to talk to you?”

  Priss felt the threat of tears and blinked them back. Crossing her fingers behind Lori's back for the lie she was about to tell, she pressed her lips into a smile. “We'll visit each other.” Hating the lie even though it was necessary, she pulled back and followed with a solemn vow. “If you ever need me, all you have to do is call me. Okay?”

  Lori bit her lip uncertainly. “Okay. Will you walk me to the car?”

  It was something her mother should have done, but her mother couldn't bear it because their middle sister, Delilah, had been taken away just the day before by her father, a Bible-thumping minister. Lori Jean had been told that Delilah's departure was temporary, but Priss knew better. This wasn't the first time Priss had covered for her mother, and deep inside she felt touched that Lori was so attached. Soon enough, Lori would forget her.