A Texas Hero. Linda Warren
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“I had a meeting. I told Abby that.”
“Yes. At seven-fifteen this morning. The exact time you were to pick up Chloe. I’ve been a banker for a lot of years and if you had a meeting this morning, on a Saturday, you knew about it yesterday or the day before.”
“Damn it, Everett. If she would take the damn settlement, she wouldn’t have to work. If she would forgive me, we could be a family again. I’ve apologized until I’m blue in the face and I’m in counseling, but Abby refuses to give me a second chance.”
“So you use manipulative tricks to bend her to your will.”
Doug frowned. “I don’t have to explain anything to you. Where’s my daughter?”
“You don’t know, do you?”
“What?”
“Abby’s bank was robbed this morning.”
“What?”
“The bank was robbed. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it.”
“I haven’t.” His cool facade slipped a little. “So Abby’s here, too? Is she resting?”
“Doug, Abby was taken as a hostage.”
“What?” Color drained from Doug’s suntanned face.
“The police have identified a white van that was used in the robbery. It belongs to a Calvin Williams of Austin. He said he loaned it to his son, Devon. The van was located in Houston, but there’s been no sign of the robbers or Abby.”
“Oh, my God.” Doug ran his hands through his hair. “Have you told Chloe?”
“Of course not. She’s too little to understand.”
“She needs to be with me. Where is she?”
“You’re not taking her. Abby’s last words were for me not to let you have her.”
“That’s insane. I’m her father.”
“Still, she stays here until Abby returns.”
“You’re crazy, Everett. I’m taking my daughter.” Doug pushed past him and headed for the hall doorway.
Gayle stood there with one of his golf irons in her hands. “You better leave, Doug, unless you want a really bad headache.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Try me.”
“Fine.” He held up his hands. “I’ll be back with a policeman and you’ll have to give her to me.” He turned on his heel and slammed out the front door.
Everett eased into his chair, his breathing shallow. “Call Holly and have her come get Chloe.”
“Why?”
“I think I’m having a heart attack.”
CHAPTER FOUR
ABBY COULDN’T GO ON. Her sweaty clothes clung to her body. Her muscles ached and her skin felt on fire. Dragging hot air into her weak lungs made her dizzy. She sank to her knees.
“E-than” came out as a croak.
He swung around. “Hey, you okay?”
“I have to rest a couple of minutes.” She crawled through the leaves and dirt to a tree and leaned against it, praying for a breeze, something to grant a reprieve from the god-awful heat.
“Sure. I’m just going to check things out.”
Check things out? Was he nuts? It was trees and more trees, bushes, dirt, leaves and brittle dried grass. The scenery was monotonous and boring. And deadly. The word shot across her brain with chilling foreboding. She scooted up closer to the tree, the bark cutting into her back. She would not give up this easily.
Ethan was some distance away, gazing at the dried grass, and then he glanced toward the sky. What was he doing? Evidently searching for the van tracks. But what was in the sky? He suddenly strolled toward her with long strides. He didn’t even seem tired. Whatever exercise program he was on, it worked. His clothes and hair were also sweaty, but he wasn’t gasping for breath. The man had stamina. He was probably one of those guys who could make love all night long.
Now, where had that thought come from? Obviously she was losing it.
He plopped down by her. “Better?”
“No. I’m thirsty and tired.” She turned her head to stare at him. His dark hair was plastered to his head like a wet cap. A complacent expression etched across the rawboned lines of his face. “Why aren’t you tired?”
“I am. I just don’t whine about it.”
“If I had any strength, I’d smack you.”
“Save all that indignation for walking.”
“Okay, Ethan James.”
“Don’t say my name like that.”
“How?”
“Condescending.”
“Then don’t be rude to me.”
He groaned and pushed up against the tree. “Could you please be quiet for a few minutes?”
“If you ask nicely.”
“Whatever.” He leaned back his head and closed his eyes.
With his features relaxed, he was actually quite handsome. Sort of had a Noah Wyle from Falling Skies appeal. And she had to stop thinking about him. She turned her thoughts to her dad and Chloe. Hopefully, her dad was coping. Under stress, his blood pressure tended to shoot through the roof. But Gayle would be there to keep a close eye on him.
Had they told Chloe? She’d just turned three and she would be asking for her mommy. Her stomach cramped at the thought of her baby’s distress. Don’t worry, Chloe. Mommy will come home.
Doug was probably there by now and had whisked their daughter away. She hoped he used some discretion if he told her about the bank robbery. Chloe was his daughter and he wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. She had to keep telling herself that.
She lifted her foot to look at her shoes. Her Manolo Blahniks were coated with dirt and ruined.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Looking at my last big expense before the divorce.”
He leaned forward. “I never understood women’s obsession with shoes.”
She stared directly at him. “And I’ll never understand a man’s obsession with his truck.”
He frowned. “That’s different. I use my truck for transportation.”
“These shoes were made for walking.” She lifted her shoe higher. “And that’s what I do in them.”
“It’s not the same thing,” he stressed. “That’s like comparing apples to oranges.”
“No. It’s like comparing a Granny Smith apple to a Red Delicious. And in case you’re wondering I’m Red Delicious and you’re a tart Granny Smith.”
He just stared at her with an irritated expression.
“Okay.” She turned to face him. “How do you feel when you get in that big ol’ truck?”
“What?” His irritation intensified.
“You probably feel in control. Confident. As if you can take on the world.”
“I think the heat’s getting to you.”
She ignored the snide remark. “When I put on these shoes—” she lifted one so he could see the classy, if dirty, little bow “—I feel pretty. Confident.