Carrie had made good on her word.
Carrie loved it. Kyle had actually believed she intended to sell her body for the cash needed to spring him from the slammer. Apparently the newscaster had an elevated opinion of her charms—and a low opinion of her morals. She wasn’t sure if she should be elated or depressed.
Traipsing across the street, Carrie made certain she was in a designated crosswalk. The last thing they needed was for her to land in a jail cell alongside Kyle.
The pawnshop was getting ready to close when she walked reluctantly inside. She hated to part withher grandmother’s opal ring even if it was only for a few days.
“Can I help you?” the shopkeeper greeted her, leaning against the glass counter. He was a small, bald man with beady eyes who studied her movements as if he expected her to pull a gun from her purse and demand his money. Given her introduction to Wheatland, she couldn’t say she blamed him.
As it turned out, the transaction went fairly smoothly. Within a matter of ten minutes, Carrie had the cash she needed, and she’d extracted from Mr. Dillon a promise that he wouldn’t sell the opal. The only stipulation was that she contact him sometime within a week. No problem. The ring was too precious to her to give up voluntarily.
Although she now possessed the necessary funds to bail Kyle out of jail, it would still be morning before they’d be free to leave Wheatland. Given no option, Carrie started searching for a hotel room for the night.
Every five minutes or less, Kyle found himself studying the face of his watch and wondering what the hell was taking Carrie so long. He stood and started pacing the way he had when first placed inside the tiny cell. The office door opened and he whirled around to discover a blond young woman no more than twenty-three or twenty-four wearing a pink waitress uniform with a white ruffled apron. She carried a dinner tray covered with a pink linen napkin.
Smiling prettily at him, she advanced a couple of steps. “I’ve brought your dinner,” she announced shyly. “I hope you like chicken-fried steak with real mashed potatoes, corn, and a homemade biscuit.”
After all Kyle had endured that day, the thought of food sickened him. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
The blonde blinked as if he’d insulted her. “I brought along a piece of Melba’s blueberry pie. Melba won a blue ribbon last year at the state fair with this pie recipe. It’s the best blueberry pie in three counties.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just that I’m not hungry,” Kyle murmured.
“That’s all right,” she said and blushed prettily. “I’m Mary Lu.”
Kyle shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nice to meet you,” he said stiffly. Unfortunately Mary Lu didn’t show any signs of leaving, and Kyle wasn’t in the mood to make small talk. The waitress continued to stand on the other side of the bars and, although he didn’t know much about such things, seemed to be making eyes at him.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen a short brunette with long hair wandering around town, have you?” If Mary Lu was intent on staying, he might as well pump what information he could out of her.
“You must be asking about your friend.”
“Yeah,” Kyle agreed.
“You’re not married or anything, are you?”
He wasn’t sure about the or anything part. At the present he wasn’t involved with anyone, if that was what she meant. Then again, she might be coyly referring to his relationship with Carrie. If that wasthe case, he could in all honesty admit there was nothing between them.
“I’m not married,” he murmured.
Mary Lu set the dinner tray on the table, pulled up a chair, and crossed her legs, making certain he was allowed a view of her shapely thigh.
“What’s Carrie doing?” Kyle asked outright, too anxious to hide his interest.
“I can’t rightly say. The last I heard she was over at Dillon’s Pawnshop.”
“Pawnshop? What the hell for?” His
Carrie loved it. Kyle had actually believed she intended to sell her body for the cash needed to spring him from the slammer. Apparently the newscaster had an elevated opinion of her charms—and a low opinion of her morals. She wasn’t sure if she should be elated or depressed.
Traipsing across the street, Carrie made certain she was in a designated crosswalk. The last thing they needed was for her to land in a jail cell alongside Kyle.
The pawnshop was getting ready to close when she walked reluctantly inside. She hated to part withher grandmother’s opal ring even if it was only for a few days.
“Can I help you?” the shopkeeper greeted her, leaning against the glass counter. He was a small, bald man with beady eyes who studied her movements as if he expected her to pull a gun from her purse and demand his money. Given her introduction to Wheatland, she couldn’t say she blamed him.
As it turned out, the transaction went fairly smoothly. Within a matter of ten minutes, Carrie had the cash she needed, and she’d extracted from Mr. Dillon a promise that he wouldn’t sell the opal. The only stipulation was that she contact him sometime within a week. No problem. The ring was too precious to her to give up voluntarily.
Although she now possessed the necessary funds to bail Kyle out of jail, it would still be morning before they’d be free to leave Wheatland. Given no option, Carrie started searching for a hotel room for the night.
Every five minutes or less, Kyle found himself studying the face of his watch and wondering what the hell was taking Carrie so long. He stood and started pacing the way he had when first placed inside the tiny cell. The office door opened and he whirled around to discover a blond young woman no more than twenty-three or twenty-four wearing a pink waitress uniform with a white ruffled apron. She carried a dinner tray covered with a pink linen napkin.
Smiling prettily at him, she advanced a couple of steps. “I’ve brought your dinner,” she announced shyly. “I hope you like chicken-fried steak with real mashed potatoes, corn, and a homemade biscuit.”
After all Kyle had endured that day, the thought of food sickened him. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
The blonde blinked as if he’d insulted her. “I brought along a piece of Melba’s blueberry pie. Melba won a blue ribbon last year at the state fair with this pie recipe. It’s the best blueberry pie in three counties.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just that I’m not hungry,” Kyle murmured.
“That’s all right,” she said and blushed prettily. “I’m Mary Lu.”
Kyle shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nice to meet you,” he said stiffly. Unfortunately Mary Lu didn’t show any signs of leaving, and Kyle wasn’t in the mood to make small talk. The waitress continued to stand on the other side of the bars and, although he didn’t know much about such things, seemed to be making eyes at him.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen a short brunette with long hair wandering around town, have you?” If Mary Lu was intent on staying, he might as well pump what information he could out of her.
“You must be asking about your friend.”
“Yeah,” Kyle agreed.
“You’re not married or anything, are you?”
He wasn’t sure about the or anything part. At the present he wasn’t involved with anyone, if that was what she meant. Then again, she might be coyly referring to his relationship with Carrie. If that wasthe case, he could in all honesty admit there was nothing between them.
“I’m not married,” he murmured.
Mary Lu set the dinner tray on the table, pulled up a chair, and crossed her legs, making certain he was allowed a view of her shapely thigh.
“What’s Carrie doing?” Kyle asked outright, too anxious to hide his interest.
“I can’t rightly say. The last I heard she was over at Dillon’s Pawnshop.”
“Pawnshop? What the hell for?” His
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