Chapter3
The cell phonebuzzed inside Lola’s pink Birkin bag and she fumbled to retrieve it. After crossing through the doorway, she headed to the empty U-Haul truck to return it to the office on Main Street. And hopefully not get lost. At least Earl had offered to give her a ride back from the office, saying he had to run some errands in town later anyway.
She added buying a secondhand car to her to-do list. An adult sized plastic wagon would make more sense with her budget. She needed to save every remaining penny to inject in opening the B&B. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Who knew paying for a hefty cab ride would ever be on the top of her list of small luxuries she couldn’t afford?
The blinding sun hit her, and she squinted to read the caller ID, without luck. She settled for answering it, holding the phone with one hand and sliding the other inside her bag to get the key. “Lolahere.”
“Ms. St. James?” chimed the dull voice on the other side of theline.
She tossed her bag on the passenger side and climbed in the truck, smothering a groan. Her backside still ached from the godawful horseback ride earlier, and the skin on her sunburned legs was stiff. “Yes.”
“This is Kendra, from the Texas Adoption Services. I’m returning yourcall.”
Lola’s heart skipped a beat. She’d made that call from the road two days ago. Was it fair to Daddy and Margo she wanted to look for her biological parents? The identity of her birth parents had always been a mystery, a curiosity. She’d grown up making up stories, wondering what could have happened to them—out of simple interest and without a dire need to meetthem.
Perhaps her relationship with Jack had ignited more questions in that department. After she lost her baby, she’d been overwhelmed, and Jack had told her they could try again. She hadn’t wanted to—not when taking care of someone else seemed like a responsibility she’d never master. Deep down, there had to be something wrong with her not being able to… commit to things that matter. To people who mattered.
“I’m sorry, your case was a closed adoption which means the biological parents don’t wish to be contacted,” the woman continued, her clipped voice void of any emotion.
Lola glanced at the house, then to the graveled path leading to the paved road. “I understand, but what if they changed their minds? It’s been twenty-six years.”
The woman’s sigh came through theline.
“Is there a way you can get in touch with them, and give them my information in case they changed their mind?” Lola asked.
“No. A lot of people contract personal investigators who specialize in reuniting families. Maybe you can try those?”
“Sure, the long route sounds like a fantastic idea, Kendra.” Frustrated, she muttered a good bye and shut her cell phone off, and then slid it in her bag. She slammed the truck door shut, harder than she’d intended, and a quick tremor followed.
Oh, the irony. When she’d had money she hadn’t wanted, it hadn’t mattered, but now… as she sought strength to open a business and see it through, emotional needs also hit her. A growing melancholy swept over her, and her temples throbbed. Between the estimated amount she’d have to pay handymen for the minor remodeling of the house to become a bed and breakfast, paying for gas, and buying supplies, there was no way in hell she could afford to pay a private investigator. Not anytime soon, anyway.
An hour later, she walked into the office to return the U-Haul. The only employee talked into the phone as he searched for some information on the computer screen. She scanned the surroundings and a board filled with business cards from local vendors grabbed her attention.
One, in particular. She walked closer, and read the coffee stained card. Cody Terrence. Handyman. Right on. She would contact him, and ask for an estimate on the projects she wouldn’t be able to do herself. Sure, she could slap some paint here and there, but she wanted to make the downstairs bedroom and bathroom wheelchair accessible, which required a lot more than following YouTube tutorials. Also, she’d need a ramp leading to the entrance.
Excitement threaded down her spine. This is a sign. She’d call Cody the next day, and schedule a meeting. All on her own, she’d get a handyman without Jack’s recommendation. The less she needed him, the better.
“Ma’am?” the clerk called her. “May I helpyou?”
She blinked. “Yes, of course. I came to return my rental.”
The clerk sized her up. “Must be new around here. I thought you were lost on your way to No Regrets.”
“No Regrets?”
The blonde male employee gave her a slow nod. “The bar across the street. They do happy hours. Ladies pay half until sevenp.m.”
Why waste a good opportunity to celebrate her new life? “I guess a half-priced drink can’t hurt me.” And that’s about all I can afford.
Goddamnit.The woman hadn’t been back for twenty-four hours and she was already turning his life upside down. Jack slammed the door of his Land Rover, and strode inside No Regrets, swinging through the salon-styled doors. The bar where Earl had told him she’d called from. Apparently, Lola had returned the U-Haul truck and decided to socialize with the locals, and was using his manager as her personal driver. Ten o’clock at night and she expected to be pickedup.
Country music blasted from the speakers, and a few couples line danced amongst laughs and cheer. Jack tipped his hat to the bartender, Mickey, who waved at him. A couple other patrons called his name, but Jack marched on. His gaze drifted to the pool tables, and every time he didn’t find her, his heart skipped a bit only to throttle in full mode a second later. What would he do if he found her with another man? That would be the last fuckingdrop.
No, she wouldn’t. Would she? He’d read in papers she always partied with a pretty boy in L.A. He curled his hand into a fist. She could do whatever she wanted far away from him. But this was his town and she had no right to come hereand—
The noise around him faded into the background.
Lola. There she was, sitting on a stool, legs crossed one over the other, her spine straight. The stupid outfit from the morning was gone, replaced by a black dress so short he could see some sunburnt patches above her thighs.
