Rebel With A Cause. Carol Arens

do understand that this is for your good as well as mine.” Maybelle rubbed the room key with her thumb. “I wouldn’t want any of my gentlemen to get the wrong idea about you. Since you have everything you need for now, I’ll say good night.”

      The wrong idea? A dozen fascinating stories flashed through her mind at once. In that instant Maybelle swished out the door, closed it and turned the key in the lock with a swift snap.

      Missy stared at the door that she only now noticed had two locks. One to keep strangers out and one to keep her … locked in!

      Arms spread wide she fell backward onto the bed, mentally borrowing some of the colorful words she had heard Zane use. Drat! She wouldn’t learn a thing of interest locked in the tower like a fairy-tale princess.

      She stared at the ceiling. It sloped at a narrow angle following the line of the roof. The room would be a cozy place to spend a night if one were not a prisoner. Mercy, but the bed did feel like a cloud after sleeping on the ground last night.

      As pleasant as the feather cloud felt, the adventure with Zane had been thrilling. She’d never slept in a man’s arms before. Ever since, she’d savored that memory, musing over words to preserve the experience in just the right way.

      She had never spent the night in a house of sporting ladies either, but the adventure of it was shut away from her by a locked door.

      Still, there was the window. Luckily, she hadn’t agreed to keep it closed and could relish whatever sounds came through it without feeling guilty.

      Missy bounded up from the bed. She pulled a chair to the window and stood on it to get a good view through the deep dormer. She lifted it open, not a crack but all the way. This close to dusk, the air was too nippy for comfort but some things had to be braved in the name of literature.

      Below, the street was quiet but, come dark, her head would be so full of things to write about she would never be able to remember them all.

      She turned and slid onto the seat of the chair with a thump. How would she manage without paper and an ink pen?

      “Adversity holds the seeds of adventure,” she recited to the room.

      Adversity she had by the bucketful. She couldn’t write without supplies. She couldn’t obtain the supplies while clad in her underwear and Maybelle surely would not unlock the door until she was decently clothed.

      “What I need …” Missy leaped from the chair. The idea was so bold it stole her breath. She pressed her palm to her chest to still her heart. Suzie would be thrilled, neither of them had ever had this thing. None of her acquaintances had ever had it.

      “What I need … is a job!”