Susan Wiggs - The Drifter

Jackson shifted his gaze away from Adam Armstrong. The man didn’t interest him. There was nothing wrong with the fellow—except his unrelenting charm.

At the center of them all, wearing an organdy gown she’d begged Jackson to buy in San Francisco, Carrie sat like a queen amid her subjects. Her eyes shone, her cheeks were flushed, and her voice had a piping, animated quality as she chattered of everything and of nothing at all.

“…I had the most beautiful gown—it was tea rose moiré silk. And there was a woman who brought her little dog right into Antoine’s.”

“Imagine that,” Armstrong murmured politely with a smile Jackson wanted to pound off his face.

“I believe it was in New Orleans that I first heard ‘The Streets of Cairo,”’ Carrie went on. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it was New Orleans, at the Wildcat Club. The Cairo dance was so scandalous, but it couldn’t have been too evil, because my partner that night was a preacher. They had the most marvelous oysters there….”

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