What the Heart Wants (What the Heart Wants, #1)(9)

Laurel closed the door and turned the lock, just in case Lolly changed her mind, but by the looks of her, she couldn’t have made it much farther, poor thing. She’d stumbled on the threshold, and her face was drawn and pale. Once inside, she sank onto one of the Victorian corner chairs just inside the door. Her eyes closed, her yellow head drooped like a wilted daisy, and her purse and backpack fell to the floor beside her.

Laurel blinked in surprise. The chairs—squat, square, and stodgy—were basically decorator pieces. She’d never seen anyone actually sit in one of them before, much less fall asleep on their lumpy cushions.

She jiggled Lolly’s shoulder gently.

“Um, honey, would you like something to eat?” No way she was going to let Jase’s daughter spend the night in the foyer.

Lolly raised her head slowly, as if it were very heavy. Her eyes were still half-shut. “Yeah, I guess so.” She yawned and scooted to the edge of the chair. “I haven’t had anything but Red Bull since breakfast.”

“Let’s get you into the kitchen. I think I can rustle something up. Here, I’ll help you with your gear.” She grabbed the straps of the pink backpack.

Good grief! The thing weighed a ton! No wonder Lolly was tired.

Lolly rose from the corner chair in slow motion and retrieved her purse from the floor. Glancing up at the arched entryway to the kitchen, she smiled weakly, then staggered toward the big round table in the center of the room. Laurel hurried over to pull out a chair, at the same time depositing the backpack on the one next to her.

Lolly flopped down, whispered her thanks, then rested her head on her folded arms and closed her eyes again.

Maybe some caffeine would help—at least enough to keep Lolly awake till Jase came for her. Laurel took a pitcher of sweetened tea out of the refrigerator, filled a tall glass, and added ice and a slice of lemon.

Lolly probably needed some solid food too. She glanced around the kitchen. Darn—where were Harry Potter’s house elves when you needed them? She didn’t have much of anything in the house, and cooking was not her strong suit. A well-paid housekeeper had presided over the kitchen when she was a child—except for the fancy baking, of course, which Mama, being a proper Southern lady, had reserved for herself. And when Laurel was married to Dave and both of them were working, they’d either gone out or ordered in.

She sighed. Some women were born to cook and some women learned how to cook, but she was neither. Thank goodness for microwaves, but right now her freezer was totally empty—she’d been putting off going to the supermarket till she pawned the Meissen clock.

She touched Lolly’s shoulder. “Honey, do you like peanut butter?”

Lolly’s head stayed down, but a weary voice answered her. “Yeah, but no jelly.”

Laurel couldn’t help but smile. “That’s good, because I don’t have any.”

Uncapping a plastic container of Jif, she spread a smooth scoop across a piece of bread, slapped another slice on top, and cut the sandwich diagonally. A paper plate, a handful of potato chips, and a yellow napkin from the holder in the center of the table completed her presentation.

Apparently the pungent smell of peanut butter did the trick. Lolly raised up as if from the dead and pulled the plate and glass toward herself.

Laurel breathed a sigh of relief—at least Lolly wouldn’t die of starvation on her watch. Now to fix herself some tea and sit down so they could get acquainted.

But Lolly’s sandwich was disappearing so fast that she immediately returned to the counter to make another one. This one went down a little slower, after which Lolly delivered a hearty sigh of satisfaction and a soft burp, then beamed across the table at her hostess.

“Thanks. That was good. I didn’t know I was so hungry.” Her peanut-buttery smile widened.

A pang of recognition pierced Laurel. Lolly may be fair while Jase was dark, but she had the same clean bone structure across the cheeks, and, when she chose, the same brilliant smile.

Don’t go maudlin, Laurel Elizabeth. Now you have to convince her to call her father and let him know she’s here, safe and sound.

She glanced at the clock on the wall across the room, and her internal alarm bell rang. Grabbing her glass, she took a couple of big swallows to wet her suddenly dry throat.

Two hours was the max by car between here and Dallas, three hours—maybe four—by Greyhound. Jase had said she’d left home in the morning. That meant there was a fair amount of time unaccounted for. Maybe it would be better to get a handle on the situation before Jase arrived. Besides, what else did they have to talk about? She wasn’t about to let Lolly get onto the topic of her parentage.

She schooled her tone to sound light and casual. “Did you travel by bus?”

“Well, partway. I paid the brother of a friend of mine to drive me here from Dallas, but”—Lolly’s pretty face twisted—“he got, like, mad at me and drove off and left me at a service station in the middle of nowhere. Stole my iPod too.” She shrugged carelessly, as if iPods grew on trees. “The station didn’t have much business, so it took me a couple of hours to pick up a ride, but a lady who was heading to Grapeland agreed to take me as far as Waxahachie—even dropped me off at the bus station.” Lolly paused to gulp down the last of her tea. “I bought a ticket to Bosque Bend, and got off at a furniture shop downtown.”