Beckett's Cinderella by Dixie Browning Read Free Book Online

with their hair hanging down their backs. Now, every Tom, Dick and Harry had the privilege of seeing any woman of any age with her hair down.
    Okay, so maybe she was a throwback. Or maybe she was instinctively searching for a safer time.
    Fat chance.
    She’d put on a clean pair of jeans after her bath, along with a T-shirt that was now damp where she’d splashed it washing dishes. Hardly her most flattering outfit, but then, she wasn’t out to impress anyone. Especially not some silver-haired devil who thought he had her number.
    â€œAre we still winning?” She addressed her uncle, but handed the envelope back to the visitor.
    He ignored her outstretched hand. He’d stood when she’d come back into the room, but turned back to the screen when several players huddled on the mound, their words screened behind gloves, mitts and face masks.
    â€œInteresting,” she said calmly, placing the envelope on top of the Coastland Times on the coffee table when he failed to take it from her. If he left it behind again she would simply trash it. Let him find himself a relic from someone else’s attic to use as bait.
    â€œYou read the letter?” He was still watching the game, but there was no mistaking who he was talking to.
    â€œAs much as I needed to.”
    â€œThen you understand what this is all about?”
    â€œOh, I understand. Don’t let us keep you, Mr. Beckett, I’m sure you’re a busy man.”
    Picking up on her skepticism, Beckett raised his dark eyebrows. In other words, go peddle your papers somewhere else, he interpreted, half amused, half irritated. If she’d understood only half of what she’d read, and been able to read just a fraction of what he’d given her, she’d done better than he had. Of course, he had the advantage of knowing what it was all about. The legend had been handed down in his family for generations. Once upon a time, someone named Beckett had cheated or stolen a sum of money from someone named Chandler. His mission was to make restitution so that the remaining Becketts could quit fighting their collective guilty conscience and concentrate on more important matters. Such as dealing with strokes, broken bones, Alzheimer’s and emphysema.
    The old man was watching them curiously instead of the action on the small-screen TV. Beckett would just as soon not have to try and explain over two sports announcers and a mob of cheering fans. “Look, could we go somewhere quiet where we can talk?”
    â€œWe’ve talked. I’ve read your papers, and I’m not interested.” As if to prove it, she crossed her arms.
    His stomach growled, protesting its emptiness.Dammit, he needed to wind up this business and get back to his own life. He made the mistake of reaching out to lead her into the hall. The brief brush of his fingers on her arm created a force field powerful enough to set off mental alarms. If the startled look on her face was anything to go by, she’d felt it, too. Jerking her arm free, she led the way to the front door, held it open and stood at attention, waiting for him to leave.
    Reaching past her, he closed the screen door. “Mosquitoes,” he reminded her.
    â€œWill you please just go?” Crossed arms again. The lady was at full battle stations. “Whatever it is you’re doing, you’re not doing it with me.”
    Oh, but lady, I’d like to. The thought came out of nowhere, catching him off guard. And dammit, he didn’t need that particular distraction. He made it a policy never to mix sex with business.
    â€œI’m not interested,” she said flatly.
    â€œYou’re not interested in ten thousand dollars?”
    Her jaw fell, revealing a tiny chip in an otherwise perfect set of china-white teeth. Beckett found the small imperfection immensely satisfying for reasons he didn’t care to explore. He was growing a bit irritated by her refusal to hear him