Linda Warren - The Wrong Woman

He shook his head. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, cowboy.”

“There was a redheaded stripper here a couple of weeks ago. Is she a regular?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she stripping tonight?”

“No, she used the old sick line.”

“Will she be here tomorrow night?”

“I’m not her keeper,” the waitress snapped. “Do you want a beer or not?”

Ethan stood and laid some bills on the table. “No, but thanks.” He picked up his hat and walked out.

Well, well, the old sick line. What was Serena Farrell up to? That was his thought as he went back to his motel room. But if Serena and the stripper were one and the same, why would Serena bother to hire him? It didn’t make sense, and he decided to dismiss the possibility. He tended to believe her; he generally trusted his impressions of people, and he had a feeling she wasn’t lying. So he just had to talk to the stripper and then everything would fall into place.

He was exhausted when he entered his room. Again, he told himself he was too old to keep these late hours. Sitting on the bed, he lifted his leg to remove his boot and was reminded of his weakness as pain shot through his hip and up his back. He jerked off the boot and threw it against the wall.

“Goddammit,” he cursed, not at his injury but at everything crowding in on him. He squeezed his eyes shut to block the vision in his head, but to no avail. His son’s laughing mischievous face was there for a brief paralyzing moment and he was caught in a vortex of that pain. Why did Molly have to say Ryan’s name? She wanted him to talk, but he didn’t need to talk. He had dealt with his son’s death in the only way he could, just like he’d dealt with his hip injury. By himself. In private.

He stood and removed his clothes. Pulling the covers back, he crawled into bed, but his hip wouldn’t let up and he couldn’t get comfortable. He’d been given pills for the pain, but he’d seen all too often what drugs—including prescription painkillers, which were readily available and sometimes addictive—could do to people. He never took them unless he had no other option. He forced himself to keep the memories at bay. He couldn’t think about Ryan. He shifted his thoughts to Molly and hoped she wasn’t messing up her life with Rudy Boyd. He’d check out Mr. Boyd just as soon as he could.

He moved onto his side and brought his knee up to take the pressure off his hip. That helped; the pain eased. Molly said he needed someone in his life, but he didn’t. He’d tried and it hadn’t worked. He was too much of a loner and he didn’t share easily, and women needed men to share—especially when it came to emotions. That part of him was sealed away so tight it would never surface again, and he was satisfied with that. Or was he fooling himself? He stayed on the ranch until he became restless, then he took cases to chase away the demons that brought on those restless spells. And a woman wouldn’t like that. His past was another casualty he had to live with.

As sleep drew near, Serena’s face flashed in his mind. She was a woman who could ease a man’s aches and pains—but not his.

ONCE AGAIN Serena didn’t sleep well. She kept wondering if Ethan had found the stripper. What was her name? Did she and this other woman have a connection? She was up early hoping Ethan would call, but he didn’t. Gran had her bridge ladies over, so Serena worked in the study. She had several greeting cards to finish, and in the afternoon she was planning to work on a child’s portrait. She’d already met the five-year-old girl, whose mother had brought lots of photos. That would be her routine for the summer, trying to supplement their income. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep it up or what she was going to do when the money from the earrings ran out. And she still had to pay Ethan Ramsey. Again she questioned her decision in hiring him. She could definitely use the money for other necessities—like electricity and food. But for some reason, she just couldn’t get the other woman out of her mind.

When she heard the cars leaving, she went into the den to talk to her grandmother.

“Are you tired, Gran?” she asked. Aurora sat in a large wing chair, eyes closed and feet propped up.

“A little.”

“I’d like to talk about my mother.”

Aurora’s eyes flew open and she sighed. “Serena, I don’t understand why you keep bringing this up.”

“Because it’s important to me. I’d like to know more about my parents.”

“I’ve told you all you need to know,” Aurora said in a sharp tone.

“I’m not ten years old, Gran,” Serena replied just as sharply. “And I don’t appreciate it when you treat me that way.”

“Oh, darling, don’t get upset with me,” Gran pleaded. “I just don’t like talking about them.”

“Why?” Serena wanted to know. “Jasmine was your only child, yet there are no pictures of her in this house. It’s like she never existed.”

Aurora’s lips tightened. “She broke my heart when she chose that man over me and your grandfather. I had all her things put in the attic. I didn’t want any reminders.”

Serena swallowed hard. “Why, Gran? Why do you hate my father so much?”

“He wasn’t a nice person,” came the clipped answer. “And I raised Jasmine with high standards. Standards that he flouted.”

“What do you mean?”

“He took Jasmine from me out of spite.”

Serena’s eyes narrowed. Gran was talking as if she knew John Welch very well. She remembered the other conversations she’d had with her grandmother, and something here didn’t ring true. “You said you didn’t know anything about John Welch, yet—”

Gran cut in. “I just get angry when I think about that man and what he did to my family.” Gran fingered the pearls around her neck with a nervous hand. “It’s so long ago now and I’m tired of talking about them.”

Gran was lying. Serena got to her feet, knowing it was useless to talk to her; Gran wasn’t going to let go of years of resentment and bitterness. Still, Serena wanted to find out why. As she went back to the study, she kept thinking that maybe her mother was alive. Oh, God, could her mother be alive? The ringing of the phone stopped her thoughts. She immediately yanked it up. It was Ethan, and she’d never been so glad to hear anyone’s voice in her life.

“Have you found her?” was all she could say.

“No,” Ethan said, and her spirits sank.

“She wasn’t at the strip club?”

“No, they said she was sick.” He sounded put out and she wondered why.

“Then she’ll be back, won’t she?”

“I’m not sure. Since it was Saturday I was almost positive she’d be there.” A long pause.

“What’s wrong?” she asked when he didn’t say anything else. There was definitely a quality in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“I believe in honesty. If clients lie to me, there’s not much I can do to help them. You once asked me if I was lying. Now I’m asking you, Serena. Are you lying to me?”

Now she understood the problem—he thought that since the stripper hadn’t appeared they could be one and the same person. “No, I’m not,” she said earnestly. “I am not the stripper. Please believe me. But I have to know who she is.”

She could almost feel his relief. “Okay, I’ll go back tonight.”

“Thanks, Ethan. I’ll wait for your call.”

Serena hung up the phone and noticed the caller I.D. Ethan was staying at a motel in Dallas. As she stared at the name, an idea formed in her head.

AFTER HEARING her voice, Ethan felt better. She wasn’t lying. He believed her, and he never took a case unless he believed the client. On this one, he’d been waffling back and forth so much he was beginning to doubt his instincts. Her soft voice confused those instincts completely, something that had never happened to him before. He’d feel like a fool if he was wrong about her, but deep inside he knew he wasn’t.