Heaven to Betsy (Emily #1) Read Online Free Page A

Heaven to Betsy (Emily #1)
Book: Heaven to Betsy (Emily #1) Read Online Free
Author: Pamela Fagan Hutchins
Pages:
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Time to get a move on.
    I entered the offices and sat on a nubby tweed couch in a lobby that was empty except for a desk with nothing on it but a newspaper and a small handbell in the center. The newspaper sat face-up and fully assembled, like no one had read it. Of course, the top story was still the assisted topple of New Mexican Spike Howard into a hotel swimming pool, midwedding revelry, courtesy of the sexy señorita with the smoking gun.
    I walked over to the desk and smoothed my hand over the picture of her standing on the balcony, then left the paper to peruse the rest of the lobby. Remington-like prints of cattle drives and buffalo hunts adorned the two full-sized walls, and a black iron, cursive Williams & Associates sculpture hung behind the desk. I listened carefully for a few moments, but only heard the ticking of a clock somewhere out of sight. My foot scrubbed against the Berber carpet. It was brand new, and very nice.
    “Excuse me,” I called out. “I’m Emily Bernal. Here to interview for the legal assistant position.”
    A clinking noise sounded from the interior of the offices, moving closer at a rapid clip. A tiny fluff of white dog bounded down the hall. Pomeranian. When it reached me, it stood on its hind legs and placed its front paws against my shins. It couldn’t have weighed more than five pounds.
    “Hello, you little sweetie pie. What’s your name?” I set my handbag on the desk and reached down for the pink rhinestone collar and shuffled through the tags that had given away her approach. “Snowflake. That fits.” I crouched down lower and massaged behind her ears. “Where’s your owner, Snowflake? Or am I interviewing with you?”
    “No, that would be my job,” a familiar voice said.
    “You’re not Williams,” I accused.
    I tamped down the flicker of humiliation I felt at seeing Jack Holden and his damn dimple. This man knew all about my trials and tribulations and wasn’t afraid to mention them in a less-than-complimentary way. Though maybe I’d deserved the way he’d said them to me. I wasn’t at my best that night. I stood up, sucking in my stomach and straightening my posture until I reached my full height of five-foot-nine-and-five-eighths in my modest two-inch pumps.
    “I’m ‘and Associate.’ Williams retired. I run the place for him.”
    I shook my head. “Did you do this on purpose?”
    “Do what?”
    “Lure me in here under false pretenses?”
    His dimple puckered and the left side of his mouth rose. His jacket was gone, and so was his hat, revealing what appeared to be sun streaks in his dark hair. Otherwise, he looked about the same as he had on Saturday night. Pressed Wranglers, lived-in boots, and a vintage, red plaid Larry Mahan shirt.
    “I’m pretty sure I placed an ad in the Sunday edition of the
Amarillo Globe News
. Not in a special message sent only to you.”
    I tapped the paper on the desk with my forefinger. “But the ad said litigation paralegal.”
    “Yes, we spend a lot of time in court.”
    “You left out the criminal part.”
    “Look, I didn’t force you to come in today. If you don’t want to interview, no hard feelings.” He shrugged.
    I realized I’d lost my manners, as my dear mother liked to say. “No, no, of course not. I’m glad to be here.” I gestured toward the empty chair behind the desk. “I think I must have spoken with your secretary to set up this interview. Is she out or something?”
    He nodded. “Yes.”
    The skin around my eyes tightened in confusion. Was that an answer to my question? It didn’t feel like it.
    He beckoned me with a wave of his hand. Snowflake fell in behind him and I followed the two of them down a long hall lined with wainscoting and more Western art. We passed a door on the right. He gestured toward it, turning and walking backwards for a few steps. “Kitchen. Bathrooms are back past the elevator.” He reversed course again and we kept going, entering a door on the left. “Williams’s
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