Son of a Preacher Man - By Arianna Hart Page 0,26
a million bucks. That’s got to count for something.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret. I buy everything on consignment. Even the car was used.”
“Get out of town. You must make good money as a lawyer.”
Nadya adjusted a stray curl and stuck it back in the French twist. Damn Georgia humidity. “When I first started interviewing, I didn’t have two nickels to rub together. Mama and I were living in a tiny apartment, and she was working two jobs so I could concentrate on law school and passing the bar. One of the girls I went to school with brought me to this second-hand shop, and I got designer clothes for dirt cheap. I’m still paying off college loans so I keep going there. It seems like I’ve worn hand-me-downs my whole life. You can take the girl out of the trash, but you can’t take the trash out of the girl.”
“You stop that talk right now. I think that shows you have good old common sense. Why waste your money if you don’t have to? And when I come up to New York to visit, you can take me to this shop so I can get me a pair of shoes like those. That’ll put Pansy’s knickers in a knot for sure.”
Mary Ellen looked like she wanted to suck the words back into her mouth, so Nadya took pity on her. “Mar, I figured the Campbells were still in town. Don’t worry. You can say their names without me flipping out. I’ve put that behind me.”
“Well, I haven’t. I still hate them like poison.”
“Let it go.”
“Humph. Easy for you to say. You don’t have to see the sanctimonious bitches every Sunday.”
“Mary Ellen!”
“It’s true. Why, just last week, Orleane had the nerve to tell me I shouldn’t have hired Rosa because she was Mexican. Rosa works twice as hard as anyone in this town. That’ll be the day that I let Orleane Campbell tell me who to hire.”
“Mama, Hunter keeps knocking over my tower!” Billy called from the den.
“You go watch the boys. I’ll call you after the meeting.” Nadya hugged Mary Ellen.
“You better. I’ll have about eaten myself alive with curiosity.”
Nadya blasted the air conditioning as she made her way to Hornblower’s office. She tried to believe what she’d said to Mary Ellen, but it wasn’t working. Her heart beat double time, and her palms were sweaty on the leather steering wheel. As ridiculous as it seemed, she was scared to death that finding out who her father was would change her life.
The center of town was a bit more active today. There were other cars on the street and parked in front of the general store. Maybe Dale wasn’t a ghost town, after all. It was early enough in the day to see children playing in the little park near the town green, and people were coming and going from the gas station and the post office.
If she didn’t have the whole father deal on her mind, she might have tried to see if there were any faces she recognized, but right now the last thing she wanted to do was run into someone else from her past.
She took a deep breath and made sure she didn’t have lipstick on her teeth and her hair was in place before she got out of the car. Her heart was in her throat as she knocked on the door to the office, but she refused to let it show. She’d approach this like she approached meeting the opposing counsel—professionally and with her cards close to her chest.
Hornblower himself answered the door. “Good morning, Miss Sarov. Come on in. I was tickled to hear your message. You’re doing the right thing.” He already had two glasses of sweet tea on his desk, right next to a thin folder.
Her stomach churned with anxiety. Damn, she wished she hadn’t had seconds on Mary Ellen’s biscuits and gravy this morning.
“I’m willing to hear what you—or my father, rather—had to say. That’s all I’m committing to at the moment.”
“Of course, of course. Why don’t you sit down and have your tea while you read the letter your daddy left you? After you’ve finished that, I’ll go over the particulars of the will. How does that grab you?”
“That’s fine.” He must be nervous himself if he was willing to skip the social chitchat. Her hands shook as she accepted the envelope from him, and she damned herself for the show of weakness.
“I’ll just run across the