What the Heart Wants Read Online Free Page B

childhood—he’d told her very little about his father, sugarcoated his childhood, and said squat about why he’d left town.
    His high beam cut across the front of the house as he turned into the drive, but no forlorn-looking teenager was sitting on the front steps.
    His mouth went dry and his chest tightened.
    What if…
    No, he refused to go down that road. He was Lolly’s father. He’d know if something had happened to her…wouldn’t he?
    He ran his eyes over the shadowed porch again.
    Goddamn—where was she? If she wasn’t at Kinkaid House, she had to be here.
    He backed the Cadillac into the driveway—if there was an emergency, he needed to be able to haul ass. Easing himself out of the car, he leaned against the side of it for a long moment, gazing into the sky and trying to be logical while his heart raced like the Indianapolis 500.
    Maybe she’d found a way to get into the house. Girl Child had been an expert at picking locks ever since she was two, when she’d shrieked “Me do it!” and unbuckled her own car-seat belt, which, of course, meant he had to spend half the night on the Internet, searching for a tamperproof seat belt. But, truth be told, he was proud of her willfulness, even encouraged it. As far as he was concerned, it was a survival trait.
    But there was a big difference between a willful toddler unlocking her seat belt and a willful fifteen-year-old taking off down I-35 on her own.
    And, oh God, I love her so much.
    He shoved off the car and walked up onto the porch, took a one last quick look around the porch, unlocked the door, and flipped on the lights.
    â€œLolly?”
    His voice echoed in the empty house.
    Maybe she hadn’t heard him.
    â€œLolly!”
    No answer.
    He made a swift search of every room, opening every closet, then checked out back.
    Nada.
    A chill crept over him. He walked into his old room at the front of the house, raised the blind on the lone window, and looked up at the evening star—the wishing star, as Aunt Maxie called it—and willed his daughter to miraculously appear.
    *  *  *
    Laurel turned off the TV and started up the stairs to prepare for bed. The sixth step produced a groan straight out of Transylvania. She glanced behind herself.
    Get a grip, Laurel Elizabeth.
    The sound of old wood creaking under stress had been part of her life since she was born, along with occasional noxious smells emanating from the walls, and lightweight curtains floating in sudden, inexplicable drafts.
    As she reached the top of the stairs, the doorbell rang for the second time that evening.
    *  *  *
    Jase turned away from the window and picked up his mobile. Maybe Lolly had shown up at home and Maxie hadn’t had a chance to call him yet.
    He punched in her number. “Anything on your end?”
    â€œNothing. Have you checked with Pastor Harlow? Has he seen Lolly?”
    â€œReverend Ed’s passed away. His wife too.”
    There was a quick gasp on the other end of the line. “Recently?’
    Jase frowned. Why didn’t Maxie know that Laurel’s parents had died? The Harlows’ obituaries should have been in the Retriever , which Maxie had maintained a subscription to ever since they left Bosque Bend. Not that Jase ever read the rag himself. No need to be reminded of the town that had tossed him out like rotting garbage.
    â€œHe died a while ago, but Mrs. Harlow went just last year. Laurel is living in Kinkaid House all alone now. She and Dave Carson are divorced.”
    â€œDivorced?” Another gasp. “Laurel Harlow? I wouldn’t have expected that either.”
    â€œYeah.”
    Maxie’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, Jase.”
    She understood. Reverend Ed’s daughter was the princess of Bosque Bend, the golden girl, the one for whom everything worked out, the one who lived happily ever after, giving hope to people like Jase and her