Tame Me. Caroline Cross

was dead. But if the old guy had to go, she certainly couldn’t fault his timing.

      “Miss Morgan?”

      With a start, she realized her companion was staring at her quizzically, as though he’d stopped speaking some time ago and was waiting for a response. “I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “It’s just this—” she smoothed her thumb over the crease in the paper caused by the overly enthusiastic grip of her fingers “—I can’t quite take it in. It’s such a surprise.”

      “But a welcome one, surely.” Smiling, Mr. Cowden came to his feet.

      “Oh, yes.” It was so welcome she couldn’t quite believe somebody wasn’t going to pop out of the woodwork at any second, claim there’d been a mistake and snatch her windfall away.

      “I can’t tell you how much that pleases me,” he went on as he came around the desk. “And how glad I am that we were able to be of assistance. Frankly,” his blue eyes gleamed cheerfully, “this is always my favorite part of the job.”

      “I can understand why.” With a smile of her own, she carefully folded the check and slid it into the inner compartment of her purse for safekeeping. Since it was obvious from Mr. Cowden’s behavior that he considered their business done, she stood, as well. “Do I owe you something? Isn’t there a fee for you finding me?”

      “Yes, of course there is, but it’s already been taken care of by Mr. Milton’s representative.” He held her coat for her, then ushered her through the door into the outer office. Minutes later, after signing a paper acknowledging receipt of the money, and a round of thank-yous, good lucks and goodbyes, she found herself standing outside on the sidewalk in the midmorning sunshine.

      For one glorious moment, elation got the better of her and she actually did a twirl. Four thousand, seven hundred and twenty-one dollars! She couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off her face as she waltzed up the street toward the bus stop, her feet barely touching the ground, her mind filled with possibilities.

      Where, oh where, to start? Tres Chic for a facial, a massage, a full day of beauty? Heaven knew, her pores would thank her. Or Mr. Kenneth’s to pamper her hair with some highlights and one of his signature haircuts? Should she make a trip to Marchant’s and pick up that to-die-for Moreno handbag she’d seen in the window last week? Or spring for a new pair of Merrazi wedges since a toddler with attitude had stomped on the toe of her favorites her first day at Annabelle’s?

      Maybe the order of the day was to go out for a leisurely lunch. Or, even better, treat herself to an elegant dinner. It would feel good to get all dressed up. Although most of her clothes had gone for consignment, she still had a few nice things. She could catch a cab to Gambiolini’s and request her usual table, then while away a few hours sipping a glass or two of pricey red wine, flirting with Phillippe, her favorite waiter, indulging her months-long craving for the house specialty, shrimp tettrazini.

      Except somebody she knew was bound to be there. Did she really want to deal with the whispers and repressive stares or, even worse, the humiliation of being treated as if she were invisible?

      Okay, so maybe dinner out wasn’t the best idea, she decided, as her bus pulled up. No matter. There were all sorts of other ways she could amuse herself. Like getting her good wristwatch back from the pawnshop, she thought as her bus pulled up and she instinctively checked the time on its drugstore replacement.

      Climbing on board, she flashed her pass at the driver, walked back to her accustomed seat in the middle, and continued to dream.

      She could rent a car and make the trip to Aurora to make sure her favorite jumper was doing all right with his new owner. Top Flight had always been a challenge, part of the reason she’d loved him, and it would be good to know that he’d settled into his new surroundings.

      For that matter, she could drive up to Breckenridge and spend a few days skiing and being pampered at The Pinnacle, one of her favorite little ultraluxury spa resorts. Although she supposed she should probably call first. It wasn’t unusual for them to be booked an entire season in advance.

      Of course, before she went anywhere or called anyone, she needed to pay her overdue cell bill—something else she could now afford to do. Just think! For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t going to have to worry that her phone service, an absolute essential to job hunting, not to mention her sense of safety, was about to be cut off.

      Heck, once her account was cleared she’d even be able to use some of her precious minutes on nonessential calls, such as letting Gabriel know—again—that she didn’t want or need his help. Even better—the thought of it had her sitting up straighter—she could send him the money to pay for the locksmith who’d shown up the day after their encounter to install locks on her doors and windows.

      She still wasn’t sure what she resented most about the gesture. The hit to her pride that with a snap of his elegant fingers he could dispatch someone to take care of something she herself had been unable to afford? Or that she could no longer crawl into bed without thinking about him because, for the first time since moving into the place, she was actually getting some sleep instead of constantly jolting awake at each and every little noise? Even though the night after the locks had gone on she’d bolted awake to hear someone fruitlessly trying to force her front door?

      Or was the agitation she felt when she thought of him caused by something else entirely? Perhaps a secret fear that hiring the locksmith had been his parting gesture? Could it be that deep down she was really afraid he’d taken her at her word and intended to respect her request that he stay away?

      Absolutely not, she thought, squaring her shoulders. Sure, she was surprised he hadn’t been back to harass her. But why shouldn’t she be? He didn’t seem like the sort of man to back down from anything. And his parting shot had seemed to indicate that as far as he was concerned, they were far from finished.

      Which was just plain crazy, given that they’d never started. Certainly they’d been friends of a sort, and she couldn’t deny that they’d always had chemistry, but they’d both chosen never to cross the line into something more. And while she’d obviously had her reasons for keeping him at arm’s length—he so wasn’t the type for a superficial dalliance—he’d quite clearly kept his distance for reasons of his own.

      Reasons she’d never really thought about.

      And wasn’t about to start now, she told herself firmly. For too many years she’d been like a leaf in the stream going wherever the current took her, coasting over bumps, sliding around obstacles, letting outside elements determine her path.

      Well, she was done with that. Like it or not, it was up to her whether she wound up over her head in some stagnant pool or learned how to keep herself afloat.

      That was why, she realized, coming back to earth as she stared out the window at a cityscape that was getting drearier with every passing block, she wasn’t going to spend cousin Ivan’s money on anything foolish like designer shoes or salon haircuts or pricey vacations. For the very first time since she’d found herself stranded outside the Plaza with no one to call and nowhere to go, she had a cushion, however small, between herself and life on the street.

      She wasn’t about to blow it. No, except to take care of her overdue rent and phone bill and purchase some urgently needed groceries, the new, improved Mallory was going to sock that money away and continue to watch every last nickel, dime and penny.

      She was certain she wouldn’t have to do it indefinitely. After all, a mystery relative unexpectedly bequeathing her money had to be a sign that her luck was changing. So tomorrow she would again scour the papers for jobs, hit the streets, renew her quest to join the ranks of the gainfully employed.

      And surely, if she just tried hard enough, by this time next week she was bound to be somebody’s favorite new employee.

      Stripper. Nursing home attendant. Fast-food worker.

      That pretty much described her current career path, Mallory thought dejectedly as she climbed off the bus well after dark a week later.