Luck Be a Lady - Cathie Linz [34]
“Sure. We didn’t know if you wanted us to join you. We didn’t want to crowd you or anything,” Pepper said.
Chuck pulled over another table, and a few minutes later they were all munching on burgers.
Out of the blue, the jukebox started playing all on its own, startling Megan. The song was Elvis’s “You Ain’t Nothin’ but a Hound Dog.” The song played through the “you ain’t no friend of mine” verse before stopping as abruptly as it started.
“It does that sometimes,” Pepper said. “Nobody knows why.”
“Maybe it’s that ghost from the Last Resort mine,” Logan drawled.
“I’m just guessing that you don’t believe in ghosts,” Pepper said.
“You’ve got that right.”
“You don’t believe in much, do you?”
“Right again.”
“It must be difficult being such a pessimist,” Pepper said.
“Nah, it’s easy,” Logan said.
“Because you see the dark side of life in your line of work.”
He nodded. “That would be an accurate observation.”
“That’s such a shame.”
His expression hardened. “No need to feel sorry for me.”
“Sure, there is. Right, Megan?”
Megan pointed to her mouth, which was full of a bite of burger she’d just taken.
“You can just nod,” Pepper told her.
Megan shrugged instead.
Everyone stared at her, waiting for a longer response. She hurriedly swallowed, grabbing for her root beer when she almost choked. Logan patted her on the back.
His touch was beginning to feel right and natural and welcome. Very, very welcome. A dangerous sign.
They were in a place that time and everyone else had forgotten, creating a cocoon that wasn’t real. She couldn’t afford to forget that. Besides, she wasn’t exactly in the most stable emotional state to begin with, given her recent discovery about her mother.
Earlier in their motel room, he’d demonstrated how vulnerable she was to the physical attraction broiling right beneath the surface between them. Leaning in to kiss her that way . . . teasing her.
“You okay?” Logan asked.
She nodded. She had to be okay. She had to stay strong and stay focused.
“So, do you feel sorry for me?” he asked Megan.
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
The rest of the meal was uneventful, perhaps because Megan remained silent, focused on her reaction to his simple touch. She really should be concentrating on ways to find her mother. Taking notes of things she recalled about her. Or had been told about her was more accurate since she didn’t really have any memories of her. She’d been too young when she’d died . . . disappeared, she corrected herself.
Pepper picked up the conversational slack by telling colorful stories about the history of Last Resort told to her by her grandfather. “He made a fortune and then lost it on the turn of a card. I tell you, it just brings the hair up on my arm. Not that I have hairy arms, because I don’t. Feel.”
Megan and Logan quickly refused her offer and instead made their excuses to return to their motel room. Once inside, Megan opened the drawer in the bedside stand.
“What are you looking for?” Logan asked.
“Paper and a pen. A-ha.” She triumphantly held up a small pad. “I wanted to make some notes.”
“About your mother?”
“Of course. What else?”
“Maybe Pepper’s stories.”
“That was a nice distraction, but I haven’t forgotten my mission.” She perched on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t bring my BlackBerry charger with me, so I didn’t want to use up my battery by putting my notes there.” She paused as a new thought occurred to her. “Won’t Buddy be worried about you disappearing? I sent a text to my father saying I was okay. But Buddy doesn’t have a cell phone.”
“I was able to reach him before we left Las Vegas. He was in his room for a change.”
“Why couldn’t you have called him from Chicago to tell him about the annulment papers?”
“Because he was never in his room. I left voice mails but he didn’t acknowledge them. He was probably staying in Ingrid’s room.”
Megan’s eyes widened.
“What, that never occurred to you?” Logan said.
She waved her hands. “TMI. Too much information.”
“Maybe they were