The Wrong Woman. Linda Warren
him, although he hoped his instincts were wrong.
“Rudy, you’re the sweetest man,” Molly gushed, and Ethan wanted to drag her out of here and take her home. He’d begun to believe she’d put her life together again, but now he had a feeling she was sinking into something worse.
“Time to get back on stage,” Travis said.
“Are you gonna stay?” Molly asked Ethan.
“No, I’ve got some work to do.”
“Okay, see you later,” Molly called as she and Travis walked off.
“Your sister’s very special,” Rudy remarked.
“And vulnerable,” Ethan murmured with a hidden warning.
The two men stared at each other for a moment, then Rudy said, “Well, nice meeting you, Ethan. Come back soon. I’m sure your sister would enjoy that.”
“I will,” Ethan replied with forced politeness. Rudy strolled away and Ethan continued to watch him. Where had he seen that smug face before? It would drive him crazy until he figured it out, but right now he had a job to do. He headed for his truck and the strip club.
THE PLACE was the same as it had been a couple of weeks ago—dark, sleazy and packed with men. He sat down and ordered a beer just as the lights above the stage came on. The club had several cages suspended from the ceiling, and partially dressed girls were dancing in them. But now the main attraction was starting. The men gathered close to the stage—actually more of a runway. Some of them were college students and some were in their sixties and seventies, but most of the men were about his age—and looking for something to spice up their lives.
Girl after girl came onto the runway, each taking off her clothes seductively, tantalizing the men, who threw money recklessly onto the stage and tried to grab them, but the girls always escaped.
The scene was becoming monotonous and Ethan’s hip began to ache, but he had to wait for the redhead. That was why he’d come to this tawdry place. A scantily clad waitress arrived at his table, asking if he wanted another beer. He hadn’t touched the first one, nor did he plan to; he’d ordered it just to show that he could resist the stuff. He didn’t understand why he had to do that, but he did.
He shook his head. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure, cowboy.”
“There was a redheaded stripper here a couple of weeks ago. Is she a regular?”
“Yeah.”
“Is she stripping tonight?”
“No, she used the old sick line.”
“Will she be here tomorrow night?”
“I’m not her keeper,” the waitress snapped. “Do you want a beer or not?”
Ethan stood and laid some bills on the table. “No, but thanks.” He picked up his hat and walked out.
Well, well, the old sick line. What was Serena Farrell up to? That was his thought as he went back to his motel room. But if Serena and the stripper were one and the same, why would Serena bother to hire him? It didn’t make sense, and he decided to dismiss the possibility. He tended to believe her; he generally trusted his impressions of people, and he had a feeling she wasn’t lying. So he just had to talk to the stripper and then everything would fall into place.
He was exhausted when he entered his room. Again, he told himself he was too old to keep these late hours. Sitting on the bed, he lifted his leg to remove his boot and was reminded of his weakness as pain shot through his hip and up his back. He jerked off the boot and threw it against the wall.
“Goddammit,” he cursed, not at his injury but at everything crowding in on him. He squeezed his eyes shut to block the vision in his head, but to no avail. His son’s laughing mischievous face was there for a brief paralyzing moment and he was caught in a vortex of that pain. Why did Molly have to say Ryan’s name? She wanted him to talk, but he didn’t need to talk. He had dealt with his son’s death in the only way he could, just like he’d dealt with his hip injury. By himself. In private.
He stood and removed his clothes. Pulling the covers back, he crawled into bed, but his hip wouldn’t let up and he couldn’t get comfortable. He’d been given pills for the pain, but he’d seen all too often what drugs—including prescription painkillers, which were readily available and sometimes addictive—could do to people. He never took them unless he had no other option. He forced himself to keep the memories at bay. He couldn’t think about Ryan. He shifted his thoughts to Molly and hoped she wasn’t messing up her life with Rudy Boyd. He’d check out Mr. Boyd just as soon as he could.
He moved onto his side and brought his knee up to take the pressure off his hip. That helped; the pain eased. Molly said he needed someone in his life, but he didn’t. He’d tried and it hadn’t worked. He was too much of a loner and he didn’t share easily, and women needed men to share—especially when it came to emotions. That part of him was sealed away so tight it would never surface again, and he was satisfied with that. Or was he fooling himself? He stayed on the ranch until he became restless, then he took cases to chase away the demons that brought on those restless spells. And a woman wouldn’t like that. His past was another casualty he had to live with.
As sleep drew near, Serena’s face flashed in his mind. She was a woman who could ease a man’s aches and pains—but not his.
CHAPTER FOUR
ONCE AGAIN Serena didn’t sleep well. She kept wondering if Ethan had found the stripper. What was her name? Did she and this other woman have a connection? She was up early hoping Ethan would call, but he didn’t. Gran had her bridge ladies over, so Serena worked in the study. She had several greeting cards to finish, and in the afternoon she was planning to work on a child’s portrait. She’d already met the five-year-old girl, whose mother had brought lots of photos. That would be her routine for the summer, trying to supplement their income. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep it up or what she was going to do when the money from the earrings ran out. And she still had to pay Ethan Ramsey. Again she questioned her decision in hiring him. She could definitely use the money for other necessities—like electricity and food. But for some reason, she just couldn’t get the other woman out of her mind.
When she heard the cars leaving, she went into the den to talk to her grandmother.
“Are you tired, Gran?” she asked. Aurora sat in a large wing chair, eyes closed and feet propped up.
“A little.”
“I’d like to talk about my mother.”
Aurora’s eyes flew open and she sighed. “Serena, I don’t understand why you keep bringing this up.”
“Because it’s important to me. I’d like to know more about my parents.”
“I’ve told you all you need to know,” Aurora said in a sharp tone.
“I’m not ten years old, Gran,” Serena replied just as sharply. “And I don’t appreciate it when you treat me that way.”
“Oh, darling, don’t get upset with me,” Gran pleaded. “I just don’t like talking about them.”
“Why?” Serena wanted to know. “Jasmine was your only child, yet there are no pictures of her in this house. It’s like she never existed.”
Aurora’s lips tightened. “She broke my heart when she chose that man over me and your grandfather. I had all her things put in the attic. I didn’t want any reminders.”
Serena swallowed hard. “Why, Gran? Why do you hate my father so much?”
“He wasn’t a nice person,” came the clipped answer. “And I raised Jasmine with high standards. Standards that he flouted.”
“What do you mean?”
“He took Jasmine