A Bad Boy is Good to Find - By Jennifer Lewis Page 0,77

my mom grew up someplace like this. She wasn’t, you know, sophisticated or smart or anything. She was just a nice woman. There’s no way…”

“If she ran away when she was very, very young, say fifteen or sixteen, then she wouldn’t necessarily seem polished and sophisticated.”

Con shook his head emphatically. “I don’t think so.”

“And, think about it, couldn’t Rina be short for say, Katherine? That would match up with the K she signs. What was her maiden name?”

Con gave her a funny look. “I don’t know what her maiden name was. But, you know, I think she did have Katherine written inside her prayer book. I asked her about it once.” He sat up, an expression of deepening alarm on his face. “And—” He stared at her, a distant look that chilled her. “She kept a lock of my brother’s hair taped inside her prayer book—he was sick a lot when he was little…” He tapped his chest, searching for a word. “He had um…respiratory infections. That lock of hair was real pale, almost white.” He stared at her, blinking.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Lizzie bit her lip.

“She never did say where she was from. I can kind of see why if she’d made a big step down like that.” Con rubbed his hand over his mouth. “That kind of thing freaks people out. Better to keep it a secret, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. You’re the expert on secrets.” Lizzie was getting a nasty prickly sensation up and down her spine.

“She always said my father was a good man when she met him.” Con looked past her, out into the darkness outside the uncurtained window. “That he worked hard and they had big dreams. The problem was, he couldn’t make enough money so he never felt like he was worthy of her.”

Lizzie let out a breath she’d been holding for some time. “Is that why you pushed me away once I had no money of my own?” she asked quietly.

“What?” Con looked startled.

“Because you were afraid that you’d end up like your father, unable to support your family?”

“No,” Con said indignantly. “No way. I didn’t think about it like that at all. I’m nothing like my father…” His voice trailed off.

Lizzie placed her hand on his arm as strange heat flooded her chest. She looked at his face, at the confusion on his striking features. “You know, Conroy Beale, suddenly I understand you a whole lot better.”

Chapter 19

Lizzie sat at the dining room table munching a croissant as long slivers of morning sun crept across the wood floor. Raoul had accosted her at breakfast, set up a mirror in front of her, and started work on her shower-wet hair while she was still eating.

“Sweetheart, you are looking goooood this morning.” Raoul’s smiling face leered behind her in the mirror. “Guess you took my advice about ice on the bags.”

“I just got a decent night of sleep.” Actually, she didn’t get all that much real sleep, but somehow unpacking some more of Con’s baggage and spending the night in his arms was more restful than a week at a spa. For the first time she could really see where Con was coming from.

Raoul chuckled. “Well, I’m glad you managed to keep young Conroy chained up long enough to catch some shut-eye. You’ll be married soon. That boy needs to learn to pace himself.”

Lizzie couldn’t help smiling.

Raoul spritzed her hair with some shiny stuff. “I don’t think any of us will get any sleep after they turn on those things.” He jerked his chin toward three enormous blue air-conditioning units that were being wheeled into the house.

“Thank God!” Lizzie closed her eyes for a second as the promise of being cool again almost unhinged her. “I had no idea how totally dependent I am on air conditioning.”

“Terrible for the skin. Dries it right out. The humidity has done wonders for your epidermis. It’s positively glowing.”

Yeah. Right. That glow has nothing to do with making love to Con and spending the night in his arms.

Hold up. No love was made. We had sex.

“You alright? You look tense. Like I was saying, now we’ve found the right routine—lots of moisture and a spritz of glycerine—the humidity makes your curls spring right up like Slinkys. Beautiful.”

“Thanks Raoul.” She took another a bite of her croissant and studied her reflection in the mirror. Perhaps her hair did look okay? Kind of like the “after” in a perm commercial. Would both Con and Raoul lie if they