What the Heart Wants (22 page)

But there was no relief in sight. Bright and early the next morning, Lolly continued her campaign. “If Laurel Harlow isn't my mother, who is?” she demanded, hauling out the old annual and opening it to a marked page. “Is it that one?” She pointed to a blond, bubbly cheerleader whom she vaguely resembled.

“God, no! She wouldn't have given me the time of day.”

Maxie took Jase aside later. “You've got to tell her, Jase. She's driving me crazy.”

“I will,” he sighed. “When she's old enough.”

Four days later, Lolly had flown the coop.

L
olly's off on another wild-goose chase,” Maxie said, calling him at the office. “It's the mother thing again. She left a note on her pillow, and the maid saw her getting into Chloe Ginsburg's little red car half an hour ago, about three o'clock.”

Jase closed down his computer with fingers that had turned stone-cold.

“Where to?”

“According to the note, she's off to San Antonio to meet her mother and we shouldn't worry about her.”

“San Antone? Lolly doesn't know a damn soul in San Antonio. She's only been there twice in her life—that seventh-grade tour of the Spanish missions, which she couldn't care less about, and last summer, when we did the River Walk and the Alamo. Remember that creep of a bellhop who tried to chat her up?” He rubbed his forehead to relieve a sudden ache over his eyebrows. “Why does she think her mother is in San Antonio?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I'm leaving as soon as I can. Call me if there's any news.” He stuck his laptop in its carry case, grabbed a jacket, and strode out of his office.

His administrative assistant looked up from her desktop computer. “Problem?”

“Yeah. I don't know how long this will take. If there's anything I haven't seen yet, I'll take it with me.”

“Lolly?”

“Yep.”

Connie slid a couple of pages into a folder and handed it to him. “Girl Child's run away again?”

“You got it.” Opening his case, he stuffed the folder in on top of his laptop.

“Bosque Bend?”

“San Antone.” He clicked the case shut and looked at his assistant. “And when I find her, I'll bring her home and lock her in her room till she turns forty or signs up to be a nun.”

Connie gave him a disbelieving look. “Sure you will.”

Damn Connie, but she was right. He'd never had it in him to discipline Lolly like he should have. Maybe if he'd been tougher on her, made her toe the line instead of being so fucking proud of her spirit, she'd be home whacking tennis balls against the side of the garage right now.

Bypassing the elevator, he headed for the stairs. His adrenaline was demanding action.

The Cadillac was parked right next to the door, a perk of being the head honcho. He opened the windows, turned the AC on high, made a few quick, futile calls to some of Lolly's friends, and headed for I-35.
Damn and double damn!
He had six hours of hard driving ahead to reach San Antonio by dark. A lot could happen to two girls alone in a strange city in six hours.

As soon as he hit the highway, a semi roared up behind him, swerved to pass him on the right, swung back in front of him, then abruptly slowed down so that he had to slam on his brakes to avoid a rear-end collision.

Fucking son of a bitch!
What if Chloe had to deal with a crazy driver like Mr. Big Rig? She hadn't been driving very long. In fact, she'd just gotten her license a couple of months ago. Visions of Lolly's bloody corpse being featured on San Antonio's notoriously lurid news stations flashed through his brain.

He turned the radio up louder to drown out his imagination and raised his speed another five miles, which at least kept him up with that damn truck.

Shit!
What the hell did he think he was accomplishing by driving to San Antonio? It had made sense for him to check out Bosque Bend last time because Reverend Ed's house was a slam dunk—but where was Lolly headed in San Antonio? He was clueless about how to even begin looking. But he had to try. He had to be on the scene. No way he could sit on his hands and expect Girl Child to come home on her own. And Laurel couldn't help him this time.

Laurel
. Everything kept circling back to Laurel.

Maybe, if he found Lolly and chained her to the Cadillac doorframe, he could stop in to see Laurel on his way back to Dallas. But what would he say? I love you, but I don't know how to handle it? I can't separate the person you are from the person your father turned out to be?

Lolly and Laurel. His daughter kept running away from him, and—let's face it—he'd run away from Laurel. Lolly's situation was the more pressing right now, but after he found her, he'd see to Laurel. Maybe then he could get rid of this depression, this sense of unreality, of hovering in space, that had been with him since that evening in the Bosque Club.

Ignoring the exit to Bosque Bend, he hit Waco during five o'clock traffic, which slowed him down a little, but wasn't too bad. He glanced at the cars on either side of him. Had he already passed Chloe on the highway? He had no idea of what her car looked like except that it was little and red, which meant it could be anything from a smart car to a BMW coupe.

Well, at least Lolly had learned her lesson about riding with somebody's dicey brother. He was fit to be tied when she'd confessed that escapade to him.

A narrow crescent moon was climbing the inky night sky when he finally reached the sprawling outskirts of San Antonio. He lowered his speed and turned off the radio. Maybe his first stop should be the police station, wherever that was. But the situation was like before—Lolly was a runaway, not a kidnap victim. Maybe he wouldn't have had to say anything at all if he'd brought Laurel back to Dallas with him. Would a stepmother have satisfied her? His mind showed him a quick snapshot of Laurel flapping her light robe at him as she raced around the house, and he snorted to himself—
as if Lolly would be his primary reason for marrying Laurel!

It didn't matter anyway. Whatever he could have done, he hadn't done it, and Lolly was all alone somewhere in San Antonio, searching for someone whom he hoped to hell didn't even exist anymore.

Hugo rose from his usual place at Laurel's feet, raised his hackles, and barked a warning just before the doorbell rang.

Thank goodness his leg cast was off.

Laurel still wasn't sure Hugo had become an indoor dog. The backyard was fully fenced, originally to keep dogs out rather than in, but he'd looked so lonely out there that she kept inviting him inside—or maybe she was the lonely one.

The big dog accompanied her to the door and stood back politely as she opened it further than she used to, but not all the way. Betsy Simcek's outburst might have reminded someone else of how her father had betrayed the town's trust.

It was Lolly again, weeping and clinging to the arm of a tall, dark-haired girl.

The girl gave Lolly a beseeching look. “I'm Chloe, and I—I just wanted to help Lolly find her roots. I drove her to San Antonio to meet her mother and everything turned out wrong. She said to bring her here. She wants to be with you. Is—is it all right?”

“It's just fine,” Laurel said as Lolly continued to weep and Hugo began to whimper in sympathy. “Come in, ladies.” She used her most soothing voice, holding the screen open all the way. “We'll all sit down in the kitchen and I'll fix you some tea.”

Chloe glanced toward the red MINI Cooper at the curb. “I can't stay. I have to be home by ten. Here's her purse.” She handed a pink leather concoction to Laurel, and moved Lolly gently forward so that she slumped against the doorframe.

Laurel reached out to support Lolly, at the same time giving Chloe a quick smile of farewell. “Don't worry, honey. I'll take care of Lolly.”

She put an arm around Lolly's waist, walked her inside, and guided her back to the kitchen, making what she hoped were comforting noises the whole way.

As soon as Lolly sat down at the big table, Hugo moved in to snuffle at the back of her knees, then moved around to lick her hand.

Lolly wiped her nose with a sodden tissue and looked him. “You—you got a dog.”

“His name is Hugo, and he's very gentle.”

The big dog rested his head in Lolly's lap while Laurel plopped her purse—a cute little novelty clutch ruffled like a rose—down on the table in front of her.

Lolly stroked his high-domed head. “Good boy.”

He gazed up at her with soulful eyes. Laurel was becoming more and more convinced Hugo was a born therapy dog. He'd certainly been a comfort to her, and now he was trying to take care of Lolly too.

Lolly ran her hand through his thick fur and began talking. “It was so b-bad when I'd thought it would be so great, that maybe she and Dad had been in love and maybe her parents…you know, like I thought for you…but she was
old
—way older than Dad—and ugly and nasty, and sex was all she could talk about. Her name is Marguerite, and she said she'd been Dad's teacher at Bosque Bend High School…and she talked about him like he was an—an
animal
.”

The tears gushed again. Hugo moved his head in Lolly's lap, reminding her of his presence while Laurel patted her shoulder. How could anyone be this cruel—and to her own child?

“She sort of cackled and said she didn't know that I would look exactly like her. Then she started talking about how she'd always been popular with the boys, especially when she started teaching, because she was so sexy. Her husband tried to change the subject, but she couldn't stop talking about sex…and Dad.” Lolly looked down at herself and her face crinkled. “She was so…
awful
…and here I spent a whole day shopping for this outfit just to look nice for her.”

Laurel nodded. That explained the pearl-luster one-inch heels and the fitted pink sundress with the stylish shortie jacket. Lolly had accessorized conservatively, with a simple pearl necklace and matching pearl studs, and her Shirley Temple curls were contained behind an Alice band. It was the perfect look when meeting a long-lost mother, if that mother had any decency in her.

Lolly clenched a handful of Hugo's coat. “Her husband said she didn't mean it, that she'd taken too much medicine, but I don't care! I never want to see her again!”

The big dog gazed up at her questioningly. Laurel unfastened Lolly's hand from his fur finger by finger. “Um, how did you find her?”

Lolly grabbed a paper napkin from the holder in the center of the table and blew her nose loudly. “Her husband called me, some old guy named Bart or something. He said my—my mother wanted to see me, but I shouldn't tell Daddy because he wouldn't let me come.” She sniffed. “And now I wish I
had
told Daddy, and he'd locked me in a dungeon rather than let me go meet her!”

Laurel pulled more napkins out of the holder and stacked them in front of Lolly. This might be a long evening.

“She was awful, so awful! I wish I never had a mother—I wish I'd never been born!” She looked up at Laurel. “I don't want to go home. Daddy—she said…she said that Daddy…” She reached for another napkin. “It's all so nasty!” Long, wracking shudders ran through her. She moved her head back and forth, then clutched at Laurel's arm. “I want you to be my mother, Laurel! Please let me stay with you!”

Laurel took her full in her arms. “Lolly, Lolly baby, that's okay. Hugo and I will take care of you. But let's get you upstairs.”

Laurel supplied Lolly with a nightgown and sat by her bedside as she cried herself to sleep, then left Hugo on watch as she went down to the den to call Jase's home number.

“Maxie? This is Laurel Harlow. Lolly's with me. I've bedded her down for the night, but she's in bad shape. Marguerite got her to come to San Antonio and told her more than she ever wanted to know about Jase and their relationship—very explicitly. I can't understand how anyone could do something like that—and to her own child.”

Maxie snorted. “It goes with the territory. But thanks for letting us know. I'll call Jase right away.”

Laurel replaced the phone and wandered upstairs, soaked in her bath, checked on Lolly, and went to bed. But she couldn't sleep.

Why had Marguerite Shelton lured Lolly to her bedside, then—well—
attacked
her? She should have been happy that her daughter had come at all.

She fluffed her pillow and turned over. Odd how hard it had been to get accustomed to sleeping alone again after Jase left. She hadn't felt that way when Dave vamoosed.

She shut her eyes, but her mind refused to close down for the night. Would Maxie be the one to come for Lolly, or would it be Jase? She pictured herself opening the front door to him. She'd wear one of her nicer dresses, maybe the pale blue with the stiff pleats down the front. And heels, yes, definitely, heels. And she'd be a perfect lady, gracious and cool.

Ice-cold cool.

Jase's phone sounded off with Maxie's ringtone. He nosed to the side of the road and parked, fear and hope clutching at his heart. His finger hesitated for a second before pushing the icon.

“Jase, she's safe. She's with Laurel again.”

His mind shuddered with relief.
Thank you, God. Again.

“But I've got to warn you. Laurel said the meeting with Marguerite—it wasn't pretty. More like traumatic.”

“Marguerite? Lolly actually found Marguerite?”

“Apparently Marguerite was the one who found
her.
”

“Damn that woman! What sort of game is she playing?”

“Who knows? Laurel said Lolly's sleeping now, but Marguerite really did a number on her. Apparently told her all about the your relationship with her, in detail and living color.”

“Damn that woman to hell! That's why I didn't want Lolly to have anything to do with her!” Jase inhaled deeply. “I'll pick Lolly up in the morning. Right now I'm a traffic accident waiting to happen.”

“Take care.”

He nodded as if she could see him and signed off. After the wave of relief came the tsunami of frustration. His forehead dropped to the steering wheel. Bosque Bend? What happened to San Antonio? What the hell was Lolly doing with Laurel again? Probably giving her a hard time. That seemed to be the Redlander family's main purpose in life lately—giving Laurel Harlow a hard time.