adult.”
In years gone by, just the hint of anger across her father’s brow was enough to send her scurrying away. But she wasn’t six anymore.
“Wrong, we’re both adults and free to do what we choose.” She raised her chin proudly, knowing she was doing the right thing. “And free to bear up to the consequences of those choices.”
Archy resorted to an age-old defense. “You’re breaking your mother’s heart.”
It took effort not to laugh at that. How could he throw her mother up to her, after what he’d done himself? Her mother had divorced him and moved out years ago because of his transgression and had only recently returned to care for her ailing mother. Kate Wainwright now spent part of her time living on the vast ranch in a small cabin her father had built for her.
“I suspect you took care of that long before I did.” She saw her father’s face turn red and knew he was struggling with choice words he didn’t want to say to her. “See, I can play the guilt game, too, Dad. And it doesn’t do either one of us a bit of good.”
Like fire flashing in a pan only to be smothered by a lid, his anger dissipated, replaced by memories he didn’t feel equipped to deal with at this time. He wasn’t a man who liked to get sloppy. Archy took his firstborn daughter into his arms. “If you need anything…”
She understood what he was trying to tell her. Rose nodded, her soft hair brushing against his broad chest as she returned his embrace.
“I’ll know who to call.”
Afraid emotion would get the better of him, Archy left the room before either one of them could say another thing.
The bartender straightened the name tag on her blouse that proclaimed to anyone who passed through the doors of the Lone Star Country Club that she was Daisy. Daisy Parker was the name she’d taken to keep her own identity a secret until she could safely reveal who she really was. Those who mattered would be surprised to discover that beneath the dyed blond hair and the slightly altered appearance—thanks to a plastic surgeon in London—was a woman who had grown up among them as Haley Mercado. The same Haley Mercado whose family had ties to the Texas mob. The mob that was now after her.
Turning around, she went to take the order of the customer she’d heard come in. A woman, by the sound of the heels clicking on the Spanish tile.
Haley put on her brightest smile and walked up to the woman she recognized as Rose Wainwright.
“Why the long face, honey?” she asked in the deep Texas twang she’d affected.
Rose slid onto the stool and looked around the almost-empty room. “Just taking a last look around.”
Haley cocked her head, hair that had once been a midnight-black but was now a golden blond brushing against her shoulder. “You going somewhere?”
Rose nodded and took a deep breath before saying, “New York.”
She didn’t sound very happy about it, Haley thought. “Business or pleasure?”
“A little bit of both.” She laughed softly to herself. “A little of neither.”
Haley saw her boss pass by the entrance to the lounge and nodded in his direction. Not twenty minutes ago he’d unwittingly enabled her to gather more information by asking her to tend bar for a big private party on Thursday night. The more she unobtrusively circulated, the more information the wire she wore would pick up. With any luck, the ordeal she was enduring would be over soon.
Haley felt rather bad that Rose’s privacy was being invaded this way, but it couldn’t be helped. The young woman did look as if she needed to talk. “So, what’s your pleasure? The usual?”
Rose shook her head. “No. I’ll just have a ginger ale.”
The last two times she’d seen Rose, the older Wainwright daughter had ordered a white wine. Haley’s brow arched. “That’s even tamer than usual. Sure you don’t want any wine?”
Rose shook her head. “I need a clear head.”
Haley reached behind her on the bar, extracting a bottle of ginger ale. Twisting off the top, she poured the contents into a glass. “I’ve never seen you imbibe too much.”
“Well, I’ve turned over a new leaf,” Rose replied.
Haley set down the near-empty bottle. “New York and ginger ale. Any other new things?”
Rose pressed her lips together, seeming to be deep in thought.
“No, that’s it for now.” Rose wrapped her hand around the chunky glass that Daisy had placed in front of her on the counter.
“You don’t look very happy about going.”
She waved a hand. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
This wasn’t the kind of thing the FBI was hoping for when they wired Haley. None of what this unhappy young woman had to say would help her reach her own goal, that of reclaiming her life. But the sadness in Rose’s eyes spoke to her.
She leaned forward, placing a hand on top of Rose’s. “Honey, if you ever need someone to just listen, you know where to find me.”
Rose smiled, obviously touched by the offer. “Thanks, but like I said, I’m going to New York.”
“They’ve these newfangled things they call telephones. People talk into them and people on the other end can hear every word. Imagine that.”
Rose laughed.
Haley smiled, her eyes crinkling. At least she’d done one good deed today. “That’s better.”
Matt finally understood the old, trite saying. He understood what it meant to be at wit’s end, because he was at the end of his.
He had no idea what to do.
After deciding that Flynt was right, that he should take the bull by the horns before he allowed it to ram right through him, he’d gone to see Rose.
But she was gone.
She wasn’t at the library, wasn’t anywhere in town. And when he’d finally broken down and called her house, the woman who had answered the telephone informed him that Rose wasn’t available. No details, nothing. Impatient, he’d asked when she would be back. The only answer he got was that information was unavailable at this time. Then the phone had gone dead.
He’d slammed down the receiver. What kind of garbage was that?
Unavailable.
That was the whole problem. Rose was supposed to be unavailable to him because he was a Carson. But she hadn’t been. She’d been like fireflies and light. Magic. Pure magic in his arms, in his bed. The memory of making love with her into the wee hours of the morning clung to him tenaciously, coloring every moment of his day and night.
He couldn’t go on this way.
Damn it, a man should be able to shake off anything, but he couldn’t
