He shook his head. “I don’t think so, or I’d remember better. But I know she’s been in. Seems to me she was here all the time a while back. Hanging out with a bunch of girls. And then she quit coming in.”
Damn. It was the first in a string of words that Francesca screamed silently. And, had she been in her room, would’ve said out loud.
“That’s the way it is with them,” Carl continued, his gaze on a couple who’d just approached the bar. “One by one they seem to drop out of sight.”
“What’s that about?” she asked, with no possible solutions of her own to offer. She frowned, wishing her head was clearer. That was it for margaritas. Period.
“I’m not sure.” He handed the picture back to her as they stood. His break was over, which no doubt explained his preoccupation. “They’re young and they’re female,” he said. “I figure it’s either the result of hurt feelings or finding a boyfriend. Girls that age seem to forget they ever had girlfriends when they find a steady guy. My job is just to provide a relatively safe place for them if they choose to come here.”
Didn’t paint a pretty picture of her sex, but remembering back to her own teen years, Francesca had to admit Carl was at least partially right.
So did that mean Autumn had a boyfriend? Hurt feelings? Or had her sister dropped out of sight for other reasons? Like needing to pay the rent?
According to the Vegas police, too many runaways ended up working the streets to stay alive. The city abounded in prostitution opportunities. The younger the prostitute, the better, as far as some johns were concerned.
“What do those girls do?” she asked Carl, afraid to hear the answer. They walked to the door together, and she liked how he felt beside her, strong, reassuring. As though no matter how bad his answer, it would still be okay.
An illusion in the town of illusions.
“I have no idea.” Not a great answer, but better than the one she’d feared.
“How do they all know one another?”
Standing in front of her at the door, blocking the bar from her view, he shrugged. “I’m not even sure they do know one another before they start hanging out here,” he said, his focus fully on her again. “I run a clean, safe place. Word about that kind of thing tends to spread in a town like this. Someone meets someone in line someplace and mentions coming here sometime….” His voice trailed off.
“You’re probably right,” she said, her hand on the door. Other than their initial handshake, he’d never touched her. But Francesca felt as though she’d been hugged. It had been a long time. “While I’m in town, would you mind if I hang out here a bit? See if I hear anything about my friend?”
Carl grinned. “I’d be happy to have you….”
Carl’s words had been more than acquiescence to her request. They’d contained a not-too-subtly-veiled invitation.
If she came back, she’d be encouraging him.
He was a nice guy. A man comfortable in his own skin. And gorgeous skin it was, too.
He brought comfort to a life bereft of human intimacy.
Out in the darkened parking lot, she slid into her car, a new weight added to emotions that were already overburdened.
The flicker of candle flames reflected in Melissa’s eyes, adding dimension to an evening already beyond the realm of everyday life. Sitting on a blanket in the Nevada desert, lighted votives along the edges of their little clearing, Luke knew a peace he’d hardly ever found in his life. A sense of well-being.
“A perfect moment.”
The surprise in Melissa’s eyes matched what he felt as he heard himself say the words out loud. Luke Everson wasn’t prone to fanciful thoughts. To anything that he couldn’t completely control.
“A perfect moment,” she repeated softly, her gaze, only inches from his own, alight with things he couldn’t describe—yet knew he recognized.
Leaning forward, he touched his lips to hers, lightly. Once. Twice. Passion flowed around them, between them, inside him. Yet passion wasn’t all….
“Luke?”
“Mmm-hmm?”
She pulled his hand onto her lap, cradling it between hers, smiling at him. A womanly smile that blended with the charged atmosphere.
“Can we talk about something?”
“Of course.” They’d been talking all night. About anything. Everything. She was a great conversationalist.
“I mean really talk.”
“Certainly.” Focusing on her serious expression, he banked all passion for now. “What’s up?”
“Well…” She looked down, giggled.
Giggled? Melissa didn’t giggle.
“I, uh…” Meeting his gaze, she was completely serious again. “I don’t quite know how to start.”
“I didn’t realize we had a problem communicating,” he said, frowning, curious about what Melissa would say. He wasn’t used to seeing her embarrassed.
But the news wasn’t bad. He could tell by looking at her.
“I want to adopt a little girl.”
Wow. What an unexpected thing. Coincidental. He and Melissa really did think alike.
“Say something.”
“I’m not sure what to say.” They could exchange names of adoption agencies.
Her brows drew together, her eyes filling with concern made sharper by the candlelight. “Are you mad?”
“Of course not! Why would I be mad?”
“It’ll be a major change.”
“Change is inevitable.” He’d known it was coming for them, eventually. If not before, it would happen when he got his son. He’d have a lot less time to spend with her then.
“Luke?” She moved closer, her legs resting on top of his. “You are mad, aren’t you?”
She was beautiful. It felt damn good to spend time with her like this. “No,” he said, looking into her eyes. “I’m not mad at all.”
“So, what do you think?”
“Girls are nice.” Sounded inane, but he meant it. Nice for a family. Or a single woman. Not for a single man to raise alone. A girl had needs that only a mother could meet. “Do you have an agency in mind?”
He thought about mentioning Colter, but considering the fees the agency charged—due to their specialty in successfully maneuvering hard-to-complete adoptions—he decided not to. He didn’t want to steer her wrong. Being a woman, Melissa wouldn’t have to spend that kind of money. From what he’d learned during his frustrating rounds of applications in the past couple of years, adopting a child appeared to be much easier for a single woman, rather than a single man.
“No, but I have a child in mind,” she said, a sweet smile, an excited smile, spreading over her face. “Jenny came into the system a couple of months ago for counseling. Yesterday her parents’ rights were severed, making her eligible for adoption, and the foster parents don’t want to adopt.”
“How old is she?”
“Three.” The enthusiasm the single word carried told its own story.
“It’s a great age.” Of course, these days, to Luke any age was a good age.
“So, you think I should pursue this?”
“Absolutely.”
“And you’ll