Stolen Kiss With The Hollywood Starlet. Lauri RobinsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
“Hear what?”
“Me sing.” Before he could say no, she drew in a deep breath and let the words flow. “Amazing grace, how sweet...”
She continued through the third verse, then, repeating the final line, she held on to the notes while letting her voice slowly fade away. Others back home liked how she’d always done that.
Folks here must, too, because everyone in the café was looking at her and clapping. Excitement fluttered inside her stomach. She smiled and nodded at them, and then turned her full attention to the man sitting at her table.
“That was very good,” he said when the clapping stopped.
“I know.” Folks had been telling her that for years. “That’s why I’m here.”
Smiling, he nodded. “What is your name?”
“Shirley. Shirley Burnette.”
“Well, Miss Burnette, I’m Roy Harrison.” He stretched a hand across the table. “It’s very nice to make your acquaintance.”
She gave his hand a solid shake. “You, too, Mr. Harrison.”
He leaned back in his chair again. “Miss Burnette, I’d like to offer you the opportunity to audition for some people I know. I’m confident once they hear you, they will offer you a job.”
Her heart nearly stopped right then and there. At the exact same time happiness burst inside her. She’d never been so happy in her entire life. If she hadn’t been sitting down, she’d be jumping up and down like a baby bird learning to fly.
“Do you have accommodations?” Mr. Harrison asked.
Still trying to stay seated, for the excitement inside her was getting harder and harder to control, she held her breath for a moment. “Accommodations? You mean a place to stay?”
“Yes.”
“No, sir, not yet.”
“Well, Miss Burnette, I can help with that, too.”
Oh! Glory be! California is the place to be! Ain’t even—No, haven’t even been here a day and already have a job and a place to live. That guy in the red car might have been right about the boots and the jaywalking, but he sure was wrong about everything else.
* * *
Walter couldn’t get the sassy, country-bumpkin blonde woman out of his head. It had been over two weeks but she was still there. On his mind. He was worried about her. About where she ended up. He’d like to think she’d taken his advice and gone back home, but he highly doubted that. She was too determined to do anything that reasonable.
He’d known another woman like that, and she was dead. It had been four years now; the days had gotten easier, but other things, namely the guilt, had gotten worse. In hindsight, he would have done things differently. Given her the divorce she’d wanted. Maybe then Lucy would still be alive.
He’d been so determined, so set on having everything he’d wanted that he’d not taken the time to realize she hadn’t wanted the same thing. That their marriage had been destined to fail from the start.
That had been exactly what he hadn’t wanted to face.
Failure.
He’d failed once before with Theodore, and like it or not, ultimately, he’d failed with Lucy, too.
“Mr. Russell, do you not care for the beef?”
Walter glanced up, forced a smile to form for Mrs. McCaffrey. “No. I mean, the beef is fine. Excellent. I just find I’m not hungry this evening.”
The twinkle faded from her green eyes as her frown added more wrinkles to her usually jolly face. “I do hope you aren’t coming down with something.”
She was one in a million. Finding Mrs. McCaffrey was one of the things he had done right. She was the best housekeeper in the state, and he was lucky that she’d stuck with him through thick and thin. Her husband had died many years ago, and having no children, she’d dedicated herself to taking care of others. He’d hired her six years ago, before he and Lucy had gotten married, which had proven insightful on his end because Lucy had wanted nothing to do with housekeeping.
Of course she hadn’t. She’d been a star.
He muffled a sigh. “I’m fine. I just had a late lunch. I should have telephoned you, but the afternoon got away from me. I do apologize.”
Mrs. McCaffrey waved a hand and then lifted the serving dish holding several slices of roast beef off the table. “That’s nothing to apologize about. You’re a busy man. The most sought-after lawyer in all of Los Angeles. And this beef will keep just fine for tomorrow night.”
Walter nodded. “I’m sure I’ll be hungry tomorrow night.” He hadn’t had a late lunch; he just wasn’t hungry because his mind was on that girl from Nebraska. He hadn’t been back to that state since he’d left over ten years ago. Not that she was making him homesick. He hoped she was homesick, though, and that she had already gotten on an eastbound train.
It was all rather foolish and out of the ordinary for him to be so worried about a stranger. He’d met hundreds of young women over the years, and never thought twice about the decisions they made. Because those had been their decisions, just like the ones she made were hers—that woman from Nebraska with her short blond hair and big blue eyes.
She didn’t look like anyone he knew, nor did she remind him of someone, of anyone, so there really was no reason for his fixation.
Then again, he’d never almost run someone over before, either.
“Would you care for a piece of cake and a cup of coffee?” Mrs. McCaffrey asked, returning to the dining room.
“No, thank you.” He stood. “I have some work to finish.”
She pulled the serving spoon out of the potatoes and waved it at him. “You shouldn’t work so much. It’s not good for the soul.”
“Someday I won’t,” he said, just to placate her. In all honesty, there was nothing else for him to do. It was a good thing that his clients kept him busy. In more ways than one. Being a lawyer for the rich and famous was a time-consuming job, but also one that had created a bank account that was far beyond what he’d ever have imagined.
Money hadn’t been the reason he’d gone into this profession, but he certainly couldn’t complain over how profitable it had become.
He strolled out of the dining room and down the hall to his home office. The house was big, five bedrooms upstairs, and one downstairs—a suite of rooms—off the kitchen, which was where Mrs. McCaffrey lived. There were other rooms on the main floor, but other than the dining room and his office, he rarely entered them.
There had been a time when he’d imagined this house full of children. A family. A real family. That’s what he’d wanted. Why he’d bought this house. A family like the one he’d had before he’d become an orphan at the age of ten.
That had been eighteen years ago now. He could barely remember what his parents had looked like, but he remembered that they’d loved him. And his little brother, Owen. He remembered the storm, too, and the flash flood. Parts of it. Especially being so cold that he didn’t think he would ever warm up.
It had been that way at the orphanage, too. Cold. Bitterly cold. A few months before he’d turned sixteen, he and Theodore Grahams had decided they’d had enough of being cold, and enough of being farmed out as day laborers to people who expected orphans to work harder than anyone else, so they’d escaped. Hopped on a train, and rode it to the end of the rails.
That happened to be California, and that suited them both just fine.
They’d found work on the docks, and thought their futures were as bright as the sunshine. It had been, for a few months. Until Theodore, big for his age, got in