Scott rolled his eyes. "You even accessed her bank records?"
"Sure did, boss. Just doing my job. The balance of her account isn't exactly substantial, so, unless she's carrying a huge wad of cash - which is unlikely as there's no record of large withdrawals on her statement - then she's hardly likely to book herself in to any of the plush hotels. That makes our job easier, because we ignore them and concentrate on the lower grade budget motels." He drew a large circle on the map. "She'll be somewhere inside this radius. I've run a few more checks on her credit card but there's nothing listed yet for motels in Austin. She could have paid cash I suppose. But it's only a matter of time before she uses her credit card to pay for accommodation."
Scott nodded. "Yeah. Makes sense. Ok - so you call the garages and then make a start on the motels. I'm thinking that as she blew a chunk of money on that car, she might do what she suggested in her note, and find some temporary work. If that's the case, she'll most likely go for work in the diners and cafes. You think?"
"Yeah, that's right. You want to make a start checking them out?"
"Yep. I'll do it the slow way - on foot. I can't just sit around waiting. I'm going to start here..." he jabbed a location on the map, "and then sweep round to here." He indicated another point of reference. "Shoot - it could take weeks!"
"It'll be laborious for sure. But between us we'll turn something up, and hopefully within a few days, not weeks."
As it happened, Mike was right, because three days later, Scott found Carla.
It was early evening, and he had been trudging round on foot the entire day visiting dozens of diners, bars, and eating places. No one had taken on a new server/waitress called Carla Odell, and no one had seen anyone matching her description. But Scott refused to be discouraged. He just kept on going. The hours of the past few days had dragged interminably, but during that time, he realised even more just how important Carla was to him. He vowed that he would find her, and when he did, he wouldn't let her go.
The sound of Blues music could be heard emanating from Charlie's Blues Bar and Bistro across the street. The melodic notes of an alto sax rose above the hum of the traffic and charmed Scott across the road. He loved listening to live music especially when played on a saxophone. And whoever was playing this instrument had music in his soul. He couldn't resist the lure of the magical mellow notes, alternately sultry and sensuous then slow and sonorous, then gaining momentum to a gut wrenching crescendo.
It was atmospherically dim inside the bar, with small flickering flames dancing from candles in glass holders on each table. The place was quite full, and many people were eating in one area, whilst others congregated around the bar or sat with their drinks at tables close to the small, intimate stage on which the performer stood. He was a black guy, maybe in his seventies with a crown of white hair, and he held the audience captive with his musical ability. No one wanted to engage in conversation - all they wanted to do was listen to him play.
Scott ordered a beer and sat on a bar stool sipping his drink and listening to the music. It was good to relax for a while. He liked this place. The décor was good, the staff were friendly, and the music was fabulous. It seemed that everyone shared his view - all except one guy sitting at a table fairly close to the stage. This particular guy was ogling a nearby waitress with a tray of drinks, making a nuisance of himself by calling out to her. There were a few polite requests for him to be quiet, followed by a few not so polite requests for him to shut the fuck up.
The saxophonist played on, so immersed in his music he probably wasn't even aware of what was going on. The waitress moved swiftly, depositing someone's tray of drinks on their table; then stacking empty glasses back on her tray, she stepped forward, ready to move past the jerk with the mouth. He leered as she approached, hiccupped, then reached out and grabbed hold of her wrist. She cried out in surprise, and when his grip became more forceful, tried to pull away. He wasn't having that - he yanked her close and pressed his mouth against hers.
After that, several things happened at once. There was an almighty great crash followed by the sound of broken glass as the waitress dropped the tray she was carrying. A murmur of annoyance and outrage swept through the audience when they saw her struggling form in the grip of the drunken man. Two burly security men elbowed their way through the crowd. And, once the nuisance had unfastened his oily lips from the woman's, she let out a howl of rage and punched him hard on the nose.
"You... you JERK!" she yelled. And punched him again.
It was so deeply satisfying to see justice done in such a manner that Scott chuckled loudly, but the laugh caught in his throat as the lights were turned up, and as the waitress turned, he gasped, slack jawed. "Carla." He could hardly believe it. "Carla?" Louder this time, as he got to his feet. "CARLA!" he yelled and moved swiftly towards her. The nuisance had given chase to the departing waitress, but vigilante members of the audience were jostling him, prodding him, tripping him up. He roared and cursed as he fell flat on his face and was pounced on by the two security men. Carla meanwhile had stopped in her tracks. She stared ahead at the approaching figure. Relief and something else besides flooded through her in a great wave.
"Scott!" She ran to him. He opened his arms and caught her in the most welcome hug ever.
Taking her hand, Scott led Carla from the bar, weaving his way between tables.
"Your shift isn't over yet Carla," observed one of the female bartenders. She saw the determined slant to Scott's chin and the steel look in his eyes. "Or maybe it is," she sighed, adding softly, "What a gorgeous guy. Some girls have all the luck."
"Carla won't be working here any longer. She's just handed in her resignation," said Scott as they exited the bar.
"I have?" blinked Carla.
"That's right. You're coming home with me."
"Home? Back to Newport?"
"No. To my home - the Armstrong ranch, here in Texas. You'll be safe there."
"Oh. Scott, I... I'm glad to see you."
"And I you. Where are you staying?"
"At a motel two blocks away."
"Good. Let's go. Get your things. We're checking out." He kept tight hold of her hand as they walked along the side walk.
Carla briefly thought about protesting, but she felt such relief to see him, and his hand holding hers was so reassuring. It felt good. In spite of all her troubles, her spirits began to lift.
"There's a lot of people been worried about you, little lady," said Scott. He didn't berate her for not calling Violet and Herb to let them know she was safe. He just looked at her, his blue eyes taking in her appearance. She'd lost weight and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes and sadness within them.
"I know. I was going to call. I just... didn't get round to it. I've been feeling very down. You heard what happened between me and Lyle?"
"I did." He couldn't bring himself to say he was sorry they had broken up. "And I also know about your Aunt Hannah. I'm sorry things didn't work out as you expected, Carla."
"You know about Aunt Hannah? How did you find out?"
"Courtesy of Mike Thompson, private investigator. You didn't think we'd sit around and do nothing, did you? We needed to find out where you were - that you were safe. Violet and Herb were going nuts with worrying about you, and Precious too."
"I'm sorry," sniffled Carla.
"That's ok. This your motel?" Carla nodded as they stepped inside the foyer. "Let's go get your things. You're not spending another night in this flea pit," said Scott dismissively.
"Flea pit?" Carla giggled.
Scott was delighted to hear her laugh. "Well, you gotta admit, it is somewhat basic," he grinned.
"Yeah, well, I had to be careful with money. I spent more than I should have on a car."
"Ah yes. I think 'car' is a somewhat generous description for that clapped out old heap."
"You know about the car?!"
"Sure do. Don't worry about it - I'll make arrangements to get it towed away before the
Hummingbird Hill people start making a fuss that it's spoiling their carefully manicured landscape."
"Thanks Scott," sighed Carla. It was a relief to know she wouldn't have to worry about getting it moved herself.
Scott watched as she picked up a few discarded clothes and stuffed them in her bag. He went into the bathroom and returned with her bag of toiletries and a comb. "Is that all? I couldn't see anything else left in there."
"I think so. Is my toothbrush in the bag?"
"It is," he confirmed. "Ok lady, let's go." Effortlessly he shouldered her bag and led her towards the lift. At reception, in spite of her protests, he settled the outstanding check, and as they stepped outside, he hailed a cab, gave the driver the address of his hotel, then climbed in beside Carla.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"My hotel. I've been using it as a base while I've been looking for you." During the ride, he told her how he and Mike had been meticulously searching. "You've been a very naughty girl, making us go to so much trouble," he said with mock severity.
Carla pulled a face and smiled. Scott gave her a certain look - a strangely intimate, knowing sort of look that made her tummy do back flips. And then he slid his arm around her shoulders, leaned in close, and whispered, "You know what happens to naughty girls?"
"Uh. No." For some reason she felt all squirmy. "What?"
"They get spanked."
"Oh." She felt the first flush of pink cover her cheeks. "Do they now." She tried to make her voice sound offhand and casual. The squirmy feeling persisted. She gulped.
Scott's hotel was a palace. "What a flea pit this is," said Carla dryly as they stepped inside into the opulent interior.
Scott grinned and steered her towards the elevator. They got out on the fifteenth floor and Scott opened the door to his temporary base.
"Oh my god - just look at this!" exclaimed Carla. "It's not just a room - it's a whole suite of rooms." She wandered around expressing her approval at the décor and furnishings. "Scott - you must be filthy rich to afford all this."
He shrugged. "It's just money. People are far more important." He gave her a meaningful look then walked over to the bar. "I'm having bourbon. What about you?"
"Let me first visit the bathroom, then I'll decide." She scuttled off and returned wide eyed a few minutes later. "My god - the size of that spa! It's practically a swimming pool! Everything is so luxurious!" Carla came over and scanned the rows of bottles lined up at the bar. "I'm spoilt for choice."
"How about a cocktail?" He picked up a shaker. "I'm pretty good at making these things."
"Go on then." She smiled and watched as he added measures of orange liqueur, tequila, lemon and lime juice and ice. He shook the cocktail shaker flamboyantly and with practised ease, then strained out the liquid into a Margarita glass, finishing off by rubbing the cut side of a lime around the glass rim and dipping it into salt.
"Here we go. The ultimate Margarita for my lady," he said with a mock bow and a twinkle in his eyes.
Carla accepted the cocktail with a shy smile. Suddenly, the significance of the form of address 'my lady' began to increase. She regarded Scott as though looking at him properly for the first time. She had always known he was exceptionally handsome - a real head turner - but when she had been involved with Lyle, her only desire was for him. No one else even got a look in, and that included Scott Armstrong. But over the months, this man had become a part of her life as a friend - a special friend. He never compromised her or pressurised her or made any demands at all; he was always kind and friendly and funny, and a real pleasure to talk to. Carla realised how fond she was of him and how much she enjoyed his company - and here he was, rushing in like the proverbial Knight of the Realm on his white charger, to sweep her up out of harms way and keep her safe, and live happily ever after.
Carla's face fell at the notion. I've blown it, she thought. I've blown my chances. He's given me so many opportunities and I've spurned them all. And now it's too late.
"Hey. What's up? Why so crestfallen all of a sudden?" There's something amiss. I can read her like a book.
He knows there's something wrong. He can read me so well. "I... I've been a bit of an idiot," she began, then paused, struggling for the right words.
"Well, you've certainly been silly running off like that."
"Yes. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking straight - I just had to get away, Scott. I was so upset. I didn't think it through. Violet and Herb and Precious must be worried sick. I'll call them."
"I already did when you were in the bathroom - just to set their minds at rest. We'll talk now and relax over dinner, then you should call them later this evening or tomorrow and have a nice long chat. They all send their love."
"You think of everything. Thanks." Carla sipped her drink. "This is great."
Scott sat on the plush sofa and patted the vacant seat next to him. "Come and sit down. You haven't finished telling me what's on your mind."
Jeez he's perceptive. She slid down next to him. She couldn't bring herself to say she screwed up her chances with him so she sidetracked. "I was just stressed, that's all... catching Lyle with that... that bitch!" she said vehemently.
"Ah yes, you'll be referring to Becky Sue I take it?" Scott gave his glass a shake, rattling the ice cubes around. "Becky Sue at the Waterfront Bar and Bistro."
"You know her?"
"Kind of," he mused.
"What does that mean?"
"She came on to me once, and when I made it clear I wasn't interested she turned on the false tears and made a fuss, accusing me of assaulting her. She even said she intended to press charges. Stupid woman." Scott explained in more detail his encounter with Becky Sue.
Carla was incensed. "How dare she tell such lies! You should have got her fired for that!"
"I got her pot washing for a few months - that's probably worse than being fired." He grinned.
"You seem to have a lot of influence at the Waterfront."
"Yeah. Well... I own most of it," he said sheepishly. "Not just that bar, the whole chain."
Carla stared, then tossed back her mane of honey hair and laughed. "Scott Armstrong, I've never met anyone quite like you before. You're a real nice guy."
"You reckon?" His blue eyes gleamed. "Even though I spank my women?"
"You what?! You SPANK them! Hey - how many women have you got?!" Suddenly, the answer to that question was much more important than the spanking thing.
"Just the one at the moment," he quipped.
"Oh." Disappointment flooded over her like a tide. She tried to sound upbeat but failed. "Good for you. What's her name?"
"Carla Odell."
"Oh!" Her voice came out as a strangled squeak.
"Yup. Kept me waiting for months she did, while she dallied with a cocky arrogant little moron. But I figured when the time was right, we'd get it together. So I waited. And I waited." He set his glass down on the coffee table and gave her a penetrating look. "And I waited a bit longer. And here she is."
She spoke hesitantly, unsure of herself. "So... you're still... interested? A little?"
"Hell yes. A LOT. Come here, woman." He pulled her to him and crushed his mouth down on hers.
It was like being grabbed by a big bear and crushed in the most wonderfully sexy way imaginable. The scent of him, the feel of his strong hard body against hers, the taste of his lips as they ravaged her own was so incredibly erotic, and so incredibly right. Carla closed her eyes and found herself responding, kissing him back, her arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
A long time later they broke apart, panting, eyes shining.
"Well honey, that was worth the wait," drawled Scott. His face creased into a smile of elation. "Wanna be my very special girl, Carla Odell?"
"Yes," she answered. There was no hesitation. "Yes."
"We'll drink to that." Scott handed her glass over, and picked up his own. "To us." The crystal glasses chinked.
"To us." She smiled at him. "Lyle Wes
trom is history. God knows why I was so infatuated with him. As far as I'm concerned, he can go and boil his head."
Scott laughed. "I'll drink to that as well." Then his face became a little more serious, "We're not going to rush this, Carla. I feel as though I'm already jumping the gun in my haste to have you. But I don't want to spoil anything. You've just broke up with the guy - you're on the rebound. You need time to get over him properly. You're in a highly emotional state right now."
"Highly emotional," agreed Carla. Jeez - he's soooo sexy.
"However. I do have a suggestion for an activity that will help calm your highly emotional state." He looked at her through slightly hooded eyes. That look and the tone of his voice created such frisson that Carla began to tingle with barely suppressed excitement.
"Yeah?" She waited. Wondering. Hoping.
"Uh huh. I'll tell you my suggestion, and if you aren't happy with it then I won't do it. You need to decide for yourself. Ok - so this is how it will be. You're going to go over my knee, resting your elbows on the sofa. That mighty fine butt of yours will be nicely elevated for my pleasure." He held up his right hand. It was a large, strong and capable hand. A spankers hand. He wriggled his fingers. "I'm going to stroke you with this hand, tracing my fingertips down from your waist to the top of your thighs, then up again, stroking... probing... caressing. After that, I'm going to flip up your skirt, revealing those lovely long and shapely legs. Then I'm going to spank you over your panties. You'll get light to moderate slaps that will make your buttocks quiver. And as those slaps get progressively harder, you'll begin to breath harder, and maybe squirm a little. But you won't want me to stop."
She listened, mesmerised. "I won't? Why?"
Love on a Ranch Box Set Page 25
