Read Online One Night by Marsha Qualey - Free Book Online Page A

tired.”
    Fat chance, Buckhorn. Lose you now? Time for some truth. Half truth and full guilt. “Prince Tom, by now your people know who I am and they know where I live. I bet they’re waiting there now. I can’t go home until I know that you’ve showed up at the hotel and explained everything. You saw how they worked me over. Do you think I want to go home and face that?”
    He paled.
    Slow down, Kelly. Play it straight, but don’t get him scared. “Besides, Tom, do you think I’d miss my one chance to have dinner with royalty?”
    That earned a half smile. “Okay, then, we’ll have dinner together. But tell me: What happened to Prince Tom?”
    “Sorry.”
    “No, it’s better. Just Tom, that’s good.” His eyebrows arched. “I saw you laughing when I told him my name.”
    “Buckhorn? You have to admit that you came up with a good one.”
    “It’s for real. Well, used to be real.”
    How had I missed that in the research? He kept on smiling, waiting.
    Light dawned. “The Texas stepfather?”
    He nodded. “I’m not so sure that he didn’t make it up, though; his background was a bit sketchy. But I was happy to use it, at least as long as I lived in Fort Worth. I don’t think Teronovich would have gone over very well with the good ol’ boys at Sam Houston Military.”
    Sam Houston Military—more background I’d missed. Everything before Oxford was a blank, really. There was probably plenty of material I should get out of him before Kit took over. Questions formed in my mind, but before I could start asking, Dr. Larson returned, looking unhappy. “I’ve done it again,”’ he said.
    Tom and I exchanged worried glances.
    “I called my wife to warn her I was bringing guests. She wasn’t there. Then I checked my voice mail. Apparently I’ve forgotten another dinner party, this time for my granddaughter’s fifteenth birthday. I’d bring you two along, but Cassie wouldn’t appreciate Grandpa’s friends. Not at her age.”
    I gave Cassie a rousing, silent cheer.
    “Could I drop you someplace?”
    Before Tom could say “Poppy Hotel,” I blurted, “Where do you live? What’s on the way?”
    “I’m headed over to my son’s house near Lake Ethyl.”
    “Could you drop us in Midtown? We’ll grab dinner there.”
    It pleased the man to do the favor. He hummed tunelessly as he closed up the study room and led us out. As he fumbled with the lock—trying again and again to get it set—Tom pulled me aside. “I think I should go back to the hotel, Kelly. If he drops me off first, then you can go home and know that when you get there, it will be all clear. I assure you: You will not be bothered.”
    He was not getting away. “But what about dinner? I’m starved. You must be, too. I know some great restaurants.”
    His head dipped, he sighed, his eyes wouldn’t meet mine.
    “Tom?”
    He steeled himself with a deep breath, let it out with a slight whistle, then said, “I can’t buy you dinner. I don’t have any cash or plastic or anything with me. Hell, I hardly ever carry a wallet anymore.”
    There was something kind of sweet about his discomfort. “Doesn’t matter, Tom. My treat. You’re the guest in town and I get to play hostess.”
    He shook his head. “It’s not just the money, Kelly. The afternoon was wonderful, but I should return to the hotel. It’s time.”
    “Time for what?” Dr. Larson said as he joined us.
    Time for dinner,” I said to him. I turned back to His Royal Highness. “You promised, Buckhorn.”
    *
    Dr. Larson dropped us off in the middle of Midtown, right in the heart of all the clubs, stores, and theaters.
    Traffic stalled, horns blew, people screamed as his dented Toyota crept along Atwood Avenue, stopping unpredictably and often as he mentally measured then rejected possible pull-over spots. The good-hearted man was oblivious to the havoc he created. We finally convinced him to let us hop out at a red light. We hustled out, gained the safety of the sidewalk,