The Runaway Daughter (3 page)

“Close to a hundred miles. You want the jugs filled, too?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Brock answered, catching sight of Ginger coming around the corner. The fringe of her skirt flapped, showing a good portion of her knees, and his stomach tightened. Horsefeathers, but that dame got under his skin.

“My ma’s got the best food in these parts,” the attendant said. “If you and the missus are hungry. It’s cheap, too.”

Brock’s nerves twanged at the kid’s assumption, but he gestured toward the café as Ginger stepped closer. “Go in and find a seat,” he told her. “I’ll park the truck.”

The smile that formed on her face made Brock flinch. Her expression was on the sly side. Cunning.

She stepped closer, giving him a good whiff of her fruity perfume. “You won’t get far,” she whispered.

He opened his mouth, but clamped his lips together when she dangled the rabbit’s foot tied to the truck’s key before his eyes.

“Didn’t want you driving away without me,” she said.

“Why you little…” He reached for the key, but she was too quick in pulling it away.

Giggling, she skirted around him. “You did the same thing to me, back there on the road.”

He caught her by the waist to wrestle the key from her hand. All her wiggling, giggles and squeals had him laughing, too. When he finally had the rabbit’s foot in one hand, he lightly swatted her backside with the other, which shot a thrill right through him and out the soles of his boots. “Get in the truck,” he said. “I’ll park it and then we’ll both go inside to eat.”

The food was tasty, but it wasn’t the good meal that made Brock feel ten feet tall. It was the admiration of the other diners, mainly men, as they glanced at the doll sitting across the table from him. Her short hair bobbed as she talked and the little gold headband she wore across her forehead like a miniature crown shone as brightly as her sky-blue eyes in the sunlight gleaming through the big windows.

Those men were jealous, and they had a right to be. They’d probably never seen a dame as pretty as Ginger, or one as cheerful. He’d always liked that about her. The way he could make her laugh. It filled him with something akin to sunshine.

When they finished eating, he had to remove the key from his pocket to dig deeper for his cash.

“I don’t know why people think these are lucky,” she said, running a painted fingertip over the rabbit’s foot key ring he’d laid on the table. “It sure wasn’t a lucky day for the rabbit.”

The mixture of mirth and sincerity in her eyes made him laugh. “No, I guess it wasn’t.”

“Where’d you get it?” she asked.

“It’s my father’s. I don’t know where he got it.”

She leaned back in her chair, growing a bit more serious. “I know I told you before, but I’m sorry about your father’s accident.” Her cheeks took on a pink hue. “I offered to pay for your mother’s groceries one time, when I saw her at Gabby’s store, but she wouldn’t let me.”

The food he’d just eaten turned into cold oatmeal in his stomach. “My mother’s a proud woman. She won’t take handouts.”

“I wasn’t trying to give her a handout.” Ginger shrugged. “I was just trying to be neighborly.”

Her sincerity softened that dark spot inside him. He laid a hand on top of hers. “I’m sure you were.”

“You folks want anything else?”

* * *

Ginger wished the waitress hadn’t appeared right then, for it made Brock lift his hand off hers. Though most people thought she’d been wealthy her entire life, it wasn’t true. She could remember ten years ago, even six, before Prohibition had given her father the means to make more money than most others. Back then, her father might have let her date Brock.

Ginger shook her head when the waitress glanced at her and Brock asked for the check. A lot like his mother, Brock wouldn’t take handouts either, which meant he wouldn’t let her pay for the meal. Yet his funds had to be limited.

After the woman walked away, Ginger reached into her beaded purse, under the table so no one would see, and separated a five-dollar bill from the roll she’d saved up over the years. She then aimed the bill to fall near his boot.

“Brock,” she whispered, leaning across the table. “Look on the floor. Someone must have dropped some money.”

He scooted his chair back and picked up the bill. “Is it yours?”

Keeping her face expressionless, she shook her head.

“Excuse me, miss?” he said to the waitress. “Do you have a lost and found?”

The woman returned to their table. “Why? You lose something?”

“No,” he said. “But someone did.” He held out the bill. “This. Maybe you know who sat here before we did. It might be theirs.”

Ginger forced a growl back down her throat.

Brock then laid a one-dollar bill on the table, for their meals. “Maybe you can see they get it back?”

“Sure,” the waitress said, taking both the five from his hand and the one off the table.

Ginger waited until they’d climbed in the truck before saying, “She’ll keep that money.”

“Probably,” Brock said, pushing the key in the slot and stepping on the starter pedal. “Maybe it’ll teach you not to drop money on the floor.”

Her cheeks grew warm.

He steered the truck toward the road. “A man notices when a five-dollar bill lands on his boot.”

“It didn’t land on—”

“Did your father put you up to this? Give you money to throw around like leaves off a tree?”

His tone had changed. He was clearly unhappy at what she’d done. “No, I—”

“You what? Don’t think I have enough money to even get to Chicago?”

“No, I—”

“I don’t take handouts, Ginger. Not from you or your father.”

“I was just trying to pay my own way,” she snapped, furious he thought she saw him as someone who needed a handout. Her father might, but she didn’t. Brock was going places, and she wanted to go places, too.

“You’re going to pay your way, all right,” he said. “Your way back home.”

“I’m not going home,” she insisted.

He shot a glare her way, and she turned away. She’d show him, and her father. By the way her stomach soured, it clearly didn’t quite agree with her. The money she had wouldn’t last forever. For the first time in her life, she’d have to think of a way she could earn more.

It was late afternoon when they entered Chicago. Ginger had been to downtown Minneapolis and St. Paul on numerous occasions, but the thrill she felt here was different. She was entering the unknown, a great adventure. It had taken a few hours, but Brock was no longer mad at her. He’d even let her read his letter from the station manager, and that had excitement bubbling in her veins. “Where’s the radio station?” she asked, scanning buildings on both sides of the road.

“I don’t know,” Brock answered, maneuvering around cars and trucks parked right in the middle of the roadway. “I’ll have to ask someone.”

Spying a man on the side of the road, Ginger yelled out of her open window, “Do you know where the radio station is?”

“Which one?” the man replied. “Chicago’s the radio hub of the world.”

Brock braked. “KYX.”

The man walked close enough to set a hand on the side of the truck. “KYX. That’s one of the big guys.”

Ginger’s heart skipped several beats. Brock was going to hit it big. She’d see to it he would, along with a few other things. “Where’s the station?” she asked, growing giddy. “KYX.”

“Stay on this here road,” the man said, pointing straight ahead, “until you come to Pershing Street. Turn left, cross the river and follow that road for about four miles. It’ll be on the left, a big brick building. You can’t miss it. If you end up at the railroad station, you’ve gone too far. Turn around and go back a few blocks.”

Brock was leaning across her, listening as the man spoke. He always smelled so good. Spicy and clean. Mitsy had called it sexy. Ginger had wanted to scratch the girl’s eyes out that time. But she hadn’t. She’d kept the torch she carried for Brock her own little secret, knowing her father wouldn’t allow anything to happen. Things had changed now, her father was nowhere around and she’d show Brock he needed her as much as she needed him.

“Thank you,” Brock said to the man.

In high spirits, Ginger grabbed his arm as he settled behind the wheel again. “Isn’t this rate? Beyond rate!”

He grinned and winked an eye. “Yeah, doll, it is.”

Thrilled beyond explanation, she gave him a playful little shove. “Get this jalopy moving!”

Traffic made for slow progress. Ginger wanted to shout out of the window, tell everyone to get out of the way, that the next world-famous radio performer was right here in this old milk truck. Oh but she was excited. She grabbed Brock’s arm again. Squeezing the hardness of it, she leaned over and pressed a cheek against his shoulder. “They’re going to love you. Those folks at KYX are going to love you. I just know it.”

“You sure are excited, Ginger.”

“Yes, I am,” she said. “For good reason. We’re about to make history.”

Brock’s insides were dancing as if he’d just guzzled a full bottle of moonshine. Even though excitement swam through him like music, he knew he had to drive straight to the train station and plunk Ginger’s little behind on a train back to Minnesota. If he wanted to live. Which he did.

That meant driving right past his dream. It wouldn’t take long to buy her a ticket, but delaying things even that long was souring. As was ditching her. He’d tried staying mad at her, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t her fault his family was broke, neither could she know he’d dreamed of the day he’d be rich enough to swoop in right under her daddy’s nose and claim her as his own. Feeling guilty at having taken his frustration out on her after her money-dropping stunt, he’d let her read the letter the radio station had mailed him. She’d been flying high ever since. So had he. He’d never had someone be so excited for him. It made his dream bigger. More thrilling.

“What are you doing?” he asked when she pulled the hat off his head.

“Just spiffing you up there,” she said, dragging a comb through his hair. “Lean over so I can get to the other side.”

“I’m driving.”

“So?” She moved the mason jar onto the floor and scrambled onto her knees to reach over Brock’s head, complaining when she banged her own on the cab’s roof. They both laughed. She was just as excited about all this as he was. Surely his audition wouldn’t take long. He could drop her off afterward.

Once she replaced his hat, she straightened the collar of the black-and-white shirt his mother had made for his gigs. Ginger then rolled down his shirt sleeves, buttoning the cuffs one by one.

All her fussing was getting him as worked up as good as a bout of necking. If he wasn’t preoccupied with all the traffic, he might have taken advantage of her closeness by getting a thoroughly good taste of those red lips.

Something he couldn’t do.

“That’s good,” he said, twisting away.

She planted her bottom on the seat right next to him, their sides touching, which had little lightning sparks shooting down his legs.

Taking a little mirror out of her purse, along with an assortment of other things, she started spiffing herself up.

“How does all that fit in that little bag?” he asked, needing something to focus on besides kissing her. She was running that lipstick over her lips and the action affected his good sense.

“You’d be amazed by what’s in this bag.”

“I already am,” he admitted.

“Oh, look, Pershing Street. Turn!”

He wrenched the wheel, glad she’d seen the sign he’d obviously missed. Horns honked and people shouted. He hit the gas a bit harder, swerving around traffic and hitting the bridge at full speed. The wood rumbled beneath the truck’s tires.

She laughed over the echo. “It’s like we’re outrunning the coppers. Rumrunners chased by bulls.”

Her enthusiasm was contagious and Brock laughed along with her. “We aren’t going that fast, doll.” The truck rolled off the bridge and onto the road with a bump that jostled them both.

“It’s just as exciting, though, isn’t it?”

Her wide grin showed her pearly white teeth. On impulse, Brock dropped an arm around her shoulder. “Yes it is.”

She snuggled closer and the V-neckline of her purple dress gave him a good view of the red lace on her undergarment. Air caught in his lungs and he dragged his eyes back to the windshield, but couldn’t help wondering if her underpants had red lace on them, too.

Needing to erase those thoughts from his mind, he removed his arm and placed both hands on the wheel. “Keep a lookout for a brick building.”

“They’re all brick,” she said. “But don’t worry, I’ll see the one we’re looking for.”

* * *

Ginger did see the building, just a short time later, and all but leaped out of her seat at the thrill shooting through her when she spied the big blue letters painted above a set of double glass doors. “There, Brock,” she squealed and grabbed his arm. “There it is! Pull over.”

“I am,” he said. “At least I’m trying to. You’re cutting off the circulation in my arm.”

Knowing she was doing no such thing, she laughed and held on tighter as he turned the corner and eased the truck to a stop on the road beside the station. When he turned off the engine, she said, “Here, look at me, let me check your hair one last time.”

Touching him made her heart hammer, and after doing it once, all she could think of was doing it again. Tilting his hat slightly, she adjusted it to sit at the charming angle he always wore it. “There. Perfect.”

The look in his eyes made her heart turn a somersault, all the while beating at top speed. A desire that had lived inside her for months sprang forth with such force she couldn’t think of a single consequence. She leaned forward.

The heat of his lips was stunning when her mouth first touched his. Ginger’s first reaction was to pull back, but then the fact he wasn’t trying to stop her hit home. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him for all she was worth. When the tip of his tongue poked at the seam of her lips, bidding entrance, she opened her mouth.

His tongue swept between her teeth and she leaned closer, inviting him to explore at will. It was the most fascinating thing she’d ever experienced.