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Authors: Lorie O'Clare
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allow it.
“Darling, I think he’s a bit too old for you.” Angel tried patting her curls into place.
“With those perfect curls,” Zoey said, and dragged her delicate-looking fingers down a long strand of straight hair, “you would probably snag him the moment he came in to buy a book.”
“Sweetheart, these curls are a nightmare.” Angel laughed. “I am just the right age for a man driving a Cadillac Escalade. Anyone who can afford that has paid his dues, and I certainly don’t want a pup.”
“A what?” Zoey searched outside the windows that faced the circular-drive courtyard on the edge of downtown Zounds. “I was talking about the guy on the motorcycle.”
“It’s a Harley-Davidson,” Maggie informed her. “I’ve got to go, ladies. Talk to you soon.”
“Bye, Maggie!” Angel called out. She then frowned at Zoey. “I didn’t even see a guy on a bike. I was too busy drooling over the man driving that Escalade. Did you see how muscular his arm was as it rested on his open window?”
“I didn’t notice.” Zoey turned to leave, then remembered the book she’d just bought and grabbed it from the counter. “See you soon. And Angel,” she added, her large dark eyes sincerely forlorn, “I’m so sorry about the envelope. My father is such an asshole,” she said, whispering her final comment.
Zoey was glad to leave the bookstore before Angel read whatever was in the envelope from her father. It wouldn’t be good news. With her father it never was. He was an evil, vindictive man, who got pure pleasure out of making others suffer, her in particular. If he mentioned Hector Isley to her one more time, Zoey would scream. Her father had ranted all of her life about how she would marry in the church, which was his way of saying she’d marry a Catholic Mexican. He and Hector’s father had both decided that their children’s marrying each other would create an invincible financial dynasty. Hector had agreed to the marriage. Her father didn’t care if Zoey wanted to marry Hector, or not.
Zoey got sick every time her father brought it up. Not to mention, he hadn’t stepped foot inside a church her entire life. Well, he might have once they moved to Zounds, but only to inform the poor priests that he now owned their church and all tithings would go to him. Which was fitting. Her father did think he was God.
She walked down the street with her head held high, knowing anyone who noticed her hated her for being Cortez’s daughter. She wanted to scream to everyone who looked away when they saw her that she hated him even more than they did.
Especially now. Her father would not shut up about how once she married Hector they would all be incredibly rich and unbelievably powerful. He would then pat her on the shoulder and remind her she would be secure for life. As if she cared a bit for any of his bloodstained money or abusive power.
Zoey knew what her father did. She knew he was sucking this town dry. And that was simply because it entertained him. Emilio Cortez had moved to Zounds ten years ago because it was directly in between San Francisco and Seattle, two cities he held onto by the balls, as he would put it. Zounds was the perfect place for him to hide from all of the criminal activity he oversaw in both of the large cities.
When she reached the other end of downtown, Zoey turned toward the library, where she’d parked her car. Zounds wasn’t big enough for her to entertain herself for long. But since her father ruled over her as cruelly as he did everything and everyone else, Zoey wasn’t allowed to leave town. She seriously jonesed for a large shopping mall or a movie theater that showed more than two movies at any given time. Or a classy restaurant with a classy man at her side.
Images of the man on the motorcycle, the Harley-Davidson, popped into her mind. He had looked tall, which meant he probably wouldn’t look twice at someone as short as her. She’d reached five feet, two inches
“Darling, I think he’s a bit too old for you.” Angel tried patting her curls into place.
“With those perfect curls,” Zoey said, and dragged her delicate-looking fingers down a long strand of straight hair, “you would probably snag him the moment he came in to buy a book.”
“Sweetheart, these curls are a nightmare.” Angel laughed. “I am just the right age for a man driving a Cadillac Escalade. Anyone who can afford that has paid his dues, and I certainly don’t want a pup.”
“A what?” Zoey searched outside the windows that faced the circular-drive courtyard on the edge of downtown Zounds. “I was talking about the guy on the motorcycle.”
“It’s a Harley-Davidson,” Maggie informed her. “I’ve got to go, ladies. Talk to you soon.”
“Bye, Maggie!” Angel called out. She then frowned at Zoey. “I didn’t even see a guy on a bike. I was too busy drooling over the man driving that Escalade. Did you see how muscular his arm was as it rested on his open window?”
“I didn’t notice.” Zoey turned to leave, then remembered the book she’d just bought and grabbed it from the counter. “See you soon. And Angel,” she added, her large dark eyes sincerely forlorn, “I’m so sorry about the envelope. My father is such an asshole,” she said, whispering her final comment.
Zoey was glad to leave the bookstore before Angel read whatever was in the envelope from her father. It wouldn’t be good news. With her father it never was. He was an evil, vindictive man, who got pure pleasure out of making others suffer, her in particular. If he mentioned Hector Isley to her one more time, Zoey would scream. Her father had ranted all of her life about how she would marry in the church, which was his way of saying she’d marry a Catholic Mexican. He and Hector’s father had both decided that their children’s marrying each other would create an invincible financial dynasty. Hector had agreed to the marriage. Her father didn’t care if Zoey wanted to marry Hector, or not.
Zoey got sick every time her father brought it up. Not to mention, he hadn’t stepped foot inside a church her entire life. Well, he might have once they moved to Zounds, but only to inform the poor priests that he now owned their church and all tithings would go to him. Which was fitting. Her father did think he was God.
She walked down the street with her head held high, knowing anyone who noticed her hated her for being Cortez’s daughter. She wanted to scream to everyone who looked away when they saw her that she hated him even more than they did.
Especially now. Her father would not shut up about how once she married Hector they would all be incredibly rich and unbelievably powerful. He would then pat her on the shoulder and remind her she would be secure for life. As if she cared a bit for any of his bloodstained money or abusive power.
Zoey knew what her father did. She knew he was sucking this town dry. And that was simply because it entertained him. Emilio Cortez had moved to Zounds ten years ago because it was directly in between San Francisco and Seattle, two cities he held onto by the balls, as he would put it. Zounds was the perfect place for him to hide from all of the criminal activity he oversaw in both of the large cities.
When she reached the other end of downtown, Zoey turned toward the library, where she’d parked her car. Zounds wasn’t big enough for her to entertain herself for long. But since her father ruled over her as cruelly as he did everything and everyone else, Zoey wasn’t allowed to leave town. She seriously jonesed for a large shopping mall or a movie theater that showed more than two movies at any given time. Or a classy restaurant with a classy man at her side.
Images of the man on the motorcycle, the Harley-Davidson, popped into her mind. He had looked tall, which meant he probably wouldn’t look twice at someone as short as her. She’d reached five feet, two inches
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