That Old Flame of Mine by J. J. Cook Page B

on good terms, but that was a long time ago. He contacted me before you left Chicago, about wanting to meet you. I couldn’t see any harm in it. I thought you should be able to decide for yourself.”
    Stella gritted her teeth. “So you got together and created a job so you could lure me down here? The whole thing was a trick?”
    “Of course not! You make it sound like it was a conspiracy or something.”
    “That’s what it sounds like. You could’ve told me the truth.”
    “I felt silly after hiding who I was for so long.”
    “I can’t believe this.” Stella looked at her grandfather, sitting in the chair across the room.
    “As for the job, it just happened that way,” her mother continued in a rush. “They really needed someone with your experience. It seemed like a good time for you to realize that you had other family besides your dad’s.”
    Stella’s head hurt worse. She felt a little queasy—probably from shock. It didn’t help that she hadn’t eaten anything since lunch and it was almost midnight. She couldn’t handle this conversation. “I’m sorry, Mom. I have to go. I can’t do this right now.”
    “Stella—”
    She turned off the phone for good measure.
    “You see?” Carson asked. “I had good reason to keep tabs on you. I take it you don’t want to hear why your mother left home?”
    “Not right now.” She slid her long legs into the dirty wet jeans and pulled her mangled sweater over the nightgown. “I need my boots.”
    “I’m sure they’re here somewhere.” He glanced around on the floor without moving. “If you’re that determined, I’ll call someone to drive you home.”
    “I’m that determined.” She caught sight of her boots near the door and went to get them. As she bent down, a wave of dizziness overtook her. She ended up on the floor beside them. Her legs refused to support her when she tried to get up again.
    She heard her grandfather call for help. He came close and patted her arm. “Don’t worry, Stella Ann. I’ll take care of you.”

Chapter 11

    “What do you think?” she whispered, looking down at the unconscious woman.
    “Not bad. I’ve had worse.” He slid his hand over her body.
    “Can you do it?”
    “For fifty million dollars? Piece of cake.”
    W hen Stella woke up again, it was morning. Her head felt clearer. She’d had some strange dreams. She hadn’t made it home, despite her attempt at a dramatic exit. Instead, she was back in bed with a blanket tucked around her and her ruined clothes missing again.
    Mrs. Waverly was gone. So was her grandfather.
    Benton Carson. Her grandfather
.
    The idea of this place being a part of her family background made everything seem surrealistic again. She wasn’t sure if what she’d heard was true.
    If it was, how could her mother have kept something like this from her? Thinking back, she recalled wondering many times why her mother never spoke about relatives from her side. There were never pictures or heirlooms, as her father’s big Irish family had. She sort of assumed her mother’s family was dead.
    Why had her mother allowed her,
encouraged
her, to come here and not tell her? Surely it had occurred to her that not saying anything was worse than giving her some kind of heads-up.
    She got out of bed. The dizziness and nausea were gone. Her legs didn’t feel shaky. Her ribs and head still hurt, but the discomfort was tolerable.
    In the bright sunlight, the room was even more impressive. Stella tried to remember everything she’d heard about the owners of the pepper company. She had to admit to not being particularly interested. All that came back to her was that they had a big house on a mountain outside of town and they were rich.
Filthy rich.
Almost everyone hated them.
    Tory hadn’t hated them. She’d been one of those who’d apologized for Ben Carson being out of town at her arrival. “I know he wanted to be here. Something came up. He’ll be back soon,” she’d told Stella.
    Did