Lone Star Millionaire. Сьюзен Мэллери

the pot with promises of travel and a generous starting salary.

      Sabrina chuckled. “Are you asking if I only want you for your money? Cal, it’s not like you to be insecure.”

      “I’m being serious.”

      “Oh, serious. That’s different.” Her blue eyes twinkled. “Okay, the money was a large part of it. I wanted to help Gram out and I had three younger siblings heading for college. But that wasn’t the only reason I took the job. I knew I would be giving up some things, but working for you offered the opportunity to travel, to learn about a major corporation from the top down. There was also the issue of moving to Houston. I was ready to be on my own, and getting out of Los Angeles made that possible.”

      He had the oddest urge to ask her if she had any regrets. Regrets about not taking the other jobs. He told himself he was reading too much into her words. At times the job was difficult, but he knew Sabrina enjoyed her work. If she didn’t, she would have moved on a long time ago.

      “Were you heartbroken when you realized I wasn’t a Texas cowboy?” he asked, his voice teasing.

      “Oddly enough, no. I already have to put up with you calling me ‘little lady’ every couple of days. I don’t need to add the smell of cow manure to the equation. You’re a good ol’ boy, Cal. That’s plenty. Oh, this should be the street. The address is 2123. There it is, on the left.”

      He parked their rental car and turned off the engine, but made no effort to get out. For a moment he could only stare at the small house.

      The walkway was cracked and overgrown with weeds. Any grass had long since died. There were missing panes in the windows, and those remaining were too filthy to see through. The screen door hung on the top hinge only.

      “This can’t be right,” he muttered. “Jack said Anastasia’s adoptive parents were middle class. Not rich, but nothing like this.”

      “These aren’t her parents,” Sabrina reminded him. “The woman she lives with is an aunt, maybe not even that closely related. Jack wasn’t sure.”

      “My daughter can’t live here,” he said, then swore. “How could my parents have let this happen?”

      “You’re going to fix it. That’s what matters, Cal. You came as soon as you found out about her.”

      Her. My daughter. The words were spoken, but they had no meaning. On the other side of that door was a child he’d never known about. A flesh-and-blood person with hopes, dreams and feelings. What was she going to say when she saw him?

      He pushed away the question because he didn’t have an answer, then got out of the car. Sabrina did the same and came around to his side.

      He gave her a brief smile. “Thanks for coming with me. I would have hated to do this alone.”

      “No problem. I’m happy to help.” For once she didn’t tease and he was glad.

      He studied her, the short, layered red hair, the familiar face, the concerned expression. She wore tailored khaki slacks and a cream blouse. As always she was sensible and in control. He admired those qualities in Sabrina, and right now, he was depending on them.

      He nodded toward the house. “Let’s go.”

      He led the way to the front door and knocked. There was nearly a minute of silence that left Cal wondering if they had the wrong place or if no one was home. Then the door opened. A woman in her late fifties or early sixties stared up at him.

      “What do you want?” she asked, her voice throaty and her tone annoyed. “I ain’t gonna buy anything, so don’t bother trying to sell me whatever you’ve got.”

      “Mrs. Sellis?” Cal inquired politely. “I’m Cal Langtry. I believe my attorney spoke to you on the phone. I’m here about my daughter.”

      The woman was small, not much over five feet, and very thin. Her clothes were worn and stained. Gray streaks highlighted her short, dark hair. She looked Cal up and down, then grinned, exposing yellowed teeth and three empty spaces.

      “So you decided you wanted the brat, did you? I can’t figure out why, but you’ll save me the trouble of filling out paperwork, so that’s something. You’d best come in.”

      She held open the screen door. Cal led the way inside. The living room was small and dark, with tattered drapes hanging over the dirty windows. Pizza cartons and empty potato chip bags littered the floor. The center of the sofa looked as if it had been hit by a bomb, with springs poking up through a large hole in the dark brown tweed fabric and bits of stuffing burping out onto the other cushions.

      The woman shuffled to a rocking chair in front of a new television and sat down. The tray table next to her contained a pack of cigarettes and an overflowing ashtray. She took a cigarette and lit it, then inhaled.

      “You’re early,” she said. “We wasn’t expecting you until the end of the week.”

      Cal glanced at Sabrina. Mrs. Sellis hadn’t invited them to sit down, and neither of them made a move to settle on their own. For one thing, the couch looked filthy and uncomfortable. For another, he wanted to bolt.

      “I finished my business more quickly than I expected,” he said. “Is Anastasia here?”

      “Of course she’s here. Where else would the girl be? She’s twelve. I don’t let her run around on her own. She might not be blood kin, but I’ve done good by her. She’s had a place to stay and food to eat. There are some who wouldn’t have been so kind.”

      Sabrina touched his arm. He knew what she was trying to tell him—that this woman had probably done the best she could. Maybe it wasn’t her fault she lived in such a poor house. Of course, she could have bothered with picking up the trash at least.

      Mrs. Sellis took a deep puff on her cigarette and coughed. When she’d caught her breath, she yelled, “Anastasia, get your stuff and get on out here, girl.” She turned her attention back to Cal. “She’ll be right along. Did you bring the check?”

      Cal stared at her. “What check?”

      “Figures.” She stubbed out the cigarette. “I’m not handing the girl over to the likes of you for free, you know. Her fool parents up and died without a penny to their names. Her daddy had just changed jobs, so there weren’t any life insurance yet. I took the girl in because I’m family—” She frowned. “After a fact. They did adopt her. Well, I did the right thing and it’s been nearly a year. I get a little something from social security, but it’s not enough.”

      Mrs. Sellis pushed herself to her feet. “She’s nothing but a trial, I don’t mind telling you that. Sassy mouth on her, always talking back. She won’t do her schoolwork. Grades falling, getting in trouble at school. She ran away a couple of times.” The woman glanced around her living room. “From here, if you can believe it.”

      “Mrs. Sellis, the social security check would have adequately provided for Anastasia’s needs,” Sabrina said quietly. “Mr. Langtry’s attorney didn’t mention that any reimbursement sum had been discussed.”

      Cal recognized Sabrina’s tactic instantly. They were going to play good cop, bad cop. He wanted to protest that he usually got to be the bad cop, but in this case, it was probably better that he come off as the good guy. After all, his daughter might be eavesdropping on the conversation.

      Suddenly reminded of the girl’s presence in the house, he glanced around the small room. To the left was a tiny kitchen with an even smaller eating area. To the right was a single door. It would lead to a hallway, he thought, or maybe just to the only bedroom in the house. Again he was stunned that his child had been living under these circumstances. If only he’d known sooner.

      “You his wife?” the woman asked.

      “No, Mr. Langtry’s personal assistant.”

      Mrs. Sellis cackled. “Is that what they call it these days. Oh, my. An assistant.”