Lone Star Millionaire

He pushed away the question because he didn’t have an answer, then got out of the car. Sabrina did the same and came around to his side.

He gave her a brief smile. “Thanks for coming with me. I would have hated to do this alone.”

“No problem. I’m happy to help.” For once she didn’t tease and he was glad.

He studied her, the short, layered red hair, the familiar face, the concerned expression. She wore tailored khaki slacks and a cream blouse. As always she was sensible and in control. He admired those qualities in Sabrina, and right now, he was depending on them.

He nodded toward the house. “Let’s go.”

He led the way to the front door and knocked. There was nearly a minute of silence that left Cal wondering if they had the wrong place or if no one was home. Then the door opened. A woman in her late fifties or early sixties stared up at him.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice throaty and her tone annoyed. “I ain’t gonna buy anything, so don’t bother trying to sell me whatever you’ve got.”

“Mrs. Sellis?” Cal inquired politely. “I’m Cal Langtry. I believe my attorney spoke to you on the phone. I’m here about my daughter.”

The woman was small, not much over five feet, and very thin. Her clothes were worn and stained. Gray streaks highlighted her short, dark hair. She looked Cal up and down, then grinned, exposing yellowed teeth and three empty spaces.

“So you decided you wanted the brat, did you? I can’t figure out why, but you’ll save me the trouble of filling out paperwork, so that’s something. You’d best come in.”

She held open the screen door. Cal led the way inside. The living room was small and dark, with tattered drapes hanging over the dirty windows. Pizza cartons and empty potato chip bags littered the floor. The center of the sofa looked as if it had been hit by a bomb, with springs poking up through a large hole in the dark brown tweed fabric and bits of stuffing burping out onto the other cushions.

The woman shuffled to a rocking chair in front of a new television and sat down. The tray table next to her contained a pack of cigarettes and an overflowing ashtray. She took a cigarette and lit it, then inhaled.

“You’re early,” she said. “We wasn’t expecting you until the end of the week.”

Cal glanced at Sabrina. Mrs. Sellis hadn’t invited them to sit down, and neither of them made a move to settle on their own. For one thing, the couch looked filthy and uncomfortable. For another, he wanted to bolt.

“I finished my business more quickly than I expected,” he said. “Is Anastasia here?”

“Of course she’s here. Where else would the girl be? She’s twelve. I don’t let her run around on her own. She might not be blood kin, but I’ve done good by her. She’s had a place to stay and food to eat. There are some who wouldn’t have been so kind.”

Sabrina touched his arm. He knew what she was trying to tell him—that this woman had probably done the best she could. Maybe it wasn’t her fault she lived in such a poor house. Of course, she could have bothered with picking up the trash at least.

Mrs. Sellis took a deep puff on her cigarette and coughed. When she’d caught her breath, she yelled, “Anastasia, get your stuff and get on out here, girl.” She turned her attention back to Cal. “She’ll be right along. Did you bring the check?”

Cal stared at her. “What check?”

“Figures.” She stubbed out the cigarette. “I’m not handing the girl over to the likes of you for free, you know. Her fool parents up and died without a penny to their names. Her daddy had just changed jobs, so there weren’t any life insurance yet. I took the girl in because I’m family—” She frowned. “After a fact. They did adopt her. Well, I did the right thing and it’s been nearly a year. I get a little something from social security, but it’s not enough.”

Mrs. Sellis pushed herself to her feet. “She’s nothing but a trial, I don’t mind telling you that. Sassy mouth on her, always talking back. She won’t do her schoolwork. Grades falling, getting in trouble at school. She ran away a couple of times.” The woman glanced around her living room. “From here, if you can believe it.”

“Mrs. Sellis, the social security check would have adequately provided for Anastasia’s needs,” Sabrina said quietly. “Mr. Langtry’s attorney didn’t mention that any reimbursement sum had been discussed.”

Cal recognized Sabrina’s tactic instantly. They were going to play good cop, bad cop. He wanted to protest that he usually got to be the bad cop, but in this case, it was probably better that he come off as the good guy. After all, his daughter might be eavesdropping on the conversation.

Suddenly reminded of the girl’s presence in the house, he glanced around the small room. To the left was a tiny kitchen with an even smaller eating area. To the right was a single door. It would lead to a hallway, he thought, or maybe just to the only bedroom in the house. Again he was stunned that his child had been living under these circumstances. If only he’d known sooner.

“You his wife?” the woman asked.

“No, Mr. Langtry’s personal assistant.”

Mrs. Sellis cackled. “Is that what they call it these days. Oh, my. An assistant.”

Cal’s temper flared. “Name your amount. I will be happy to write you a check. In return you’ll sign a paper saying you never want to have anything to do with the girl again.”

“Well, that’s the truth, I’ll tell you. If I never see her again, it’ll be too soon. That one’s nothing but trouble.” Her dark eyes glittered. “Of course, she’s your own flesh and blood and that should make a difference.”

The anger increased. He didn’t like this woman. At first, he had felt some compassion for her circumstances, but now he didn’t give a damn. “I would like to see my daughter.”

“I know, I know. Anastasia, get out here, girl. I mean now!” She turned from the door. “What kind of a name is that, I ask you. Anastasia. Like she’s someone important, instead of a skinny brat with a nose for trouble.”

The door opened. Cal stared, his heart pounding as he waited to catch his first glimpse of his daughter. Someone stepped into the room. A young preteen, caught in that awkward stage between childhood and physical maturity.

She was about five foot five or six, just a little shorter than Sabrina, with large dark eyes hidden behind glasses. Her hair hung to the middle of her back. He registered those facts before getting caught up in horror at how painfully thin she was. Her too-small, worn T-shirt clung to her, exposing her bony shoulders and rib cage. Her cheeks were sunken and her mouth pinched. Jeans hung off her hips.

There was dirt on her face and hands, and her hair was greasy. He couldn’t tell if she was pretty or not. He couldn’t do anything but stare in shock.

“What the hell have you been doing to her?” Cal demanded in a roar. “There are laws against this kind of neglect.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “I’m not going to the state home,” she shrieked. “I’ll run away and you’ll never find me! I swear, I’ll die first.”

She made a quick move as if to run out the door. Cal stepped forward to block her. “You’re not going to the state home,” he said quickly. “I’m not from the government. I’m your father.”

He said the words without thinking, then the meaning sank in. Her father. This was his child. Not at all what he’d pictured, but no less his.

Sabrina felt as if she were caught up in a movie. Everyone was reacting to a script, but she didn’t have a copy of today’s dialogue. She stared at the girl standing—shaking—in front of them and her heart went out to the child. What terrible pain had she endured in the past year? No wonder she’d been a discipline problem. From the looks of things, Mrs. Sellis wasn’t overflowing with compassion and concern.

The girl watched Cal warily, as if deciding whether or not to trust him. He took another step toward her. Sabrina wanted to warn him to take things slowly. After all, if she was having this much trouble absorbing what was happening, Anastasia would be suffering with the same problem.

But she couldn’t get it together enough to speak. She was too stunned by Anastasia’s appearance and this tiny house that smelled of neglect and poverty.

Cal reached out to touch his daughter’s cheek. She spun away and glared at him. “You’re not my father,” she spat. “You’re just the bastard who knocked up my mother. Go to hell.”

With that, she raced for the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. Sabrina flinched at the sound. Cal looked as if he’d been sucker punched. Only Mrs. Sellis didn’t react.

“I told you she was difficult. So, about the check. I think eight thousand ought to cover it.”

“If you think—” Cal began, then visibly took control of himself.

“Excuse us,” Sabrina said, then moved close to him, took his arm and pulled him into the kitchen. “Cal, look at me.”

“That woman,” he growled. “She’s been starving her. That kid hasn’t eaten in days. Longer. Don’t try to tell me she’s got an eating disorder. This isn’t about trying to be thin enough. We’re talking about neglect and possibly emotional abuse. I can’t believe—”

He stopped talking and ran his hand through his hair. “Dammit, Sabrina, did you hear what my own kid said to me?”

“I know, but you can’t take it personally. She’s scared. She doesn’t know you from a rock, and here you are, ready to take her away.”

“Anything would be better than this place.”