Read Online Fiancé at Her Fingertips by Kathleen Bacus - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kathleen Bacus
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interior, Debra’s teeth began to chatter. She felt woozy, disoriented. She slammed the book shut and closed her eyes for a moment. In through the nose, out through the mouth , she reminded herself, trying to get a handle on her breathing before she started to hyperventilate. She peeked inside the book again, opening first one eye and then the other. Various little notations came into focus. There they were, from June to July: DD lunch, dinner with Debra, tee time 9:00, DD. Even get helmet for Debra ! Debra shook her head. What was going on here? Had she completely lost her grip on reality? Did she even know what reality was anymore?
With fingers that had difficulty processing the neurological impulses from her brain, Debra turned to today’s date: August 8. There was the racquetball court time of eight to nine, followed by a tee time of 10:10 a.m. She shivered whenshe saw her parents’ address printed in the same bold script, with directions written below it.
She stuffed the clothing and book back into the gym bag with shaking fingers. She was going to be sick. Hitchcock couldn’t rival this. Or those Goose Pimple books her nephews loved to read. She’d given a whole new meaning to going to La-la Land. More like La-la Logan Land.
Did they still send out the men in white coats? Debra suspected she’d discover the answer to that soon enough if she didn’t get to the bottom of this demented delusion.
Expanding her search, Debra got down on her hands and knees to peer under the Suburban’s seats. She grunted in disgust. Okay, this cinched it. There had to be something very, very wrong with a person who didn’t have at least one empty pop can tumbling about on the floor or one single solitary candy wrapper or fast-food sack crunching beneath his feet. Yeesh! Her car probably had a redeemable can value of close to three dollars.
She put her left ear to the plush gray carpet and surveyed under the middle seat. Nothing. She sighed and turned her head to examine the area under the front seat and spotted a shiny object on the floor under the passenger’s side. She maneuvered her hand under and stretched for the item. Her fingers closed around it just as the driver’s-side door of the Suburban opened and slammed shut.
Debra flattened her torso against the car floor. She gasped when she heard the sudden roar of the engine, and the vehicle began to back out of her folks’ driveway and onto the street. Trapped in the backseat of a lunatic lawyer’s car, Debra knew one thing for certain: This never would’ve happened if she’d stuck with Inflatable Ian.
She tried to keep track of the turns the driver made, but soon lost count. What was she going to do now? She brought her hand out from under the seat, remembering the item she’d clutched earlier. She propped her hand in front of her face and opened her fist. Her heart began a drumbeat againsther chest. She couldn’t get enough air in her lungs. She stared at the dainty charm bracelet in the palm of her hand, touching each charm with a shaky finger. The golf clubs. The hairy-dog charm. The sports car. A book. A basketball. A pair of tennis shoes. A silver cameo head with the initials DJ.
DJ. Debra Josephine.
Debra made a fist around the delicate jewelry. How the hell had her own charm bracelet come to be on the floor of an invented intended’s SUV?
Chapter Six
Mr. Right will possess a winning personality and wonderful sense of humor—but not to the extent that he’s ready for amateur night at a comedy club .
Debra pushed to her hands and knees and plopped onto the center of the rear seat, meeting Lawyer Logan’s eyes squarely in the rearview mirror. To her bafflement, those eyes crinkled and he smiled at her.
“I wondered how long you were going to stay down there all squished up before your discomfort got the best of your stubbornness,” he said.
Debra’s eyes widened. “You knew I was back here?” she asked.
“I saw your feet when I got in. It’s
With fingers that had difficulty processing the neurological impulses from her brain, Debra turned to today’s date: August 8. There was the racquetball court time of eight to nine, followed by a tee time of 10:10 a.m. She shivered whenshe saw her parents’ address printed in the same bold script, with directions written below it.
She stuffed the clothing and book back into the gym bag with shaking fingers. She was going to be sick. Hitchcock couldn’t rival this. Or those Goose Pimple books her nephews loved to read. She’d given a whole new meaning to going to La-la Land. More like La-la Logan Land.
Did they still send out the men in white coats? Debra suspected she’d discover the answer to that soon enough if she didn’t get to the bottom of this demented delusion.
Expanding her search, Debra got down on her hands and knees to peer under the Suburban’s seats. She grunted in disgust. Okay, this cinched it. There had to be something very, very wrong with a person who didn’t have at least one empty pop can tumbling about on the floor or one single solitary candy wrapper or fast-food sack crunching beneath his feet. Yeesh! Her car probably had a redeemable can value of close to three dollars.
She put her left ear to the plush gray carpet and surveyed under the middle seat. Nothing. She sighed and turned her head to examine the area under the front seat and spotted a shiny object on the floor under the passenger’s side. She maneuvered her hand under and stretched for the item. Her fingers closed around it just as the driver’s-side door of the Suburban opened and slammed shut.
Debra flattened her torso against the car floor. She gasped when she heard the sudden roar of the engine, and the vehicle began to back out of her folks’ driveway and onto the street. Trapped in the backseat of a lunatic lawyer’s car, Debra knew one thing for certain: This never would’ve happened if she’d stuck with Inflatable Ian.
She tried to keep track of the turns the driver made, but soon lost count. What was she going to do now? She brought her hand out from under the seat, remembering the item she’d clutched earlier. She propped her hand in front of her face and opened her fist. Her heart began a drumbeat againsther chest. She couldn’t get enough air in her lungs. She stared at the dainty charm bracelet in the palm of her hand, touching each charm with a shaky finger. The golf clubs. The hairy-dog charm. The sports car. A book. A basketball. A pair of tennis shoes. A silver cameo head with the initials DJ.
DJ. Debra Josephine.
Debra made a fist around the delicate jewelry. How the hell had her own charm bracelet come to be on the floor of an invented intended’s SUV?
Chapter Six
Mr. Right will possess a winning personality and wonderful sense of humor—but not to the extent that he’s ready for amateur night at a comedy club .
Debra pushed to her hands and knees and plopped onto the center of the rear seat, meeting Lawyer Logan’s eyes squarely in the rearview mirror. To her bafflement, those eyes crinkled and he smiled at her.
“I wondered how long you were going to stay down there all squished up before your discomfort got the best of your stubbornness,” he said.
Debra’s eyes widened. “You knew I was back here?” she asked.
“I saw your feet when I got in. It’s
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