Beckett's Cinderella by Dixie Browning Page A

to driving all the way to Kitty Hawk at this time of night, but if he got away, she would never be able to put an end to this stupid charade.
    â€œFin and Feather, right up the road. Asked me this morning if there was a place, and I told him it was clean as any and cheaper’n most.”
    Liza continued to stare down at the bills scattered across her lap. She was so tired she could cry. Why couldn’t people just leave her alone? She hadn’t done anything wrong. She might have been stupid for not realizing where James’s money was coming from all those years, but she’d paid for her stupidity. Paid for it dearly.
    â€œI’ll be back in half an hour,” she said, gathering up the thousand-dollar bills and cramming them back into the plain brown business-size envelope.
    He was good. Oh, he was good, all right, but whatever he was up to, she wasn’t falling for it. Even stupid people could learn from their mistakes.
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    Beckett wasn’t too surprised when lights flashed across the window of his unit, which was one of only five. He’d parked off to one side to avoid a pothole. Whoever had just driven up—he’d lay odds it was Queen Eliza—didn’t care about potholes. Ten-to-one she was steaming. Back stiff as a poker, fire blazing in those whiskey-brown eyes. Oh, yeah, she’d be something to see, all right. Move over, Old Faithful, get ready to see a real eruption.
    He opened the door before she could knock. Grinning, he asked, “What took you so long?”
    Stabbing him in the chest with the envelope, she said, “You can take your blasted money and—and shove it!” She stepped back, but he caught her arm.
    â€œWhoa…hold on a minute, how do I know it’s all here?”
    Her eyes alone could be classified as lethal weapons. Tossing the envelope onto the table beside the remains of his take-out meal, he led her gently into the room, careful not to exert any undue pressure. He had a feeling she would bruise easily.
    Had a feeling she could also inflict a few bruises of her own, given the opportunity.
    â€œLook, I think you’ve got the wrong idea about me—about what this is all about.”
    â€œI don’t think so.” Her arms were crossed again. If she had any idea what it could do to a man’s libidoto see a pair of small, soft breasts under thin white cotton, squished together and propped up on a shelf of tanned forearms, she’d be running for cover instead of glaring at him that way.
    â€œI guess the papers have spent too much time in various attics over the past century or so. Charleston’s gone through a few major hurricanes over the years—what with leaky roofs, hungry bugs and fading ink, it’s a wonder we were able to resurrect even that much. The thing is, the Beckett men—” He broke off, wondering how to explain it in the simplest terms.
    â€œThe Beckett men what? ”
    He tried a smile on her, then shrugged and said, “They have a tendency to procrastinate. Look, could we sit down? It’ll take a few minutes, but I’ll try to sum it up. My father is Coley Jefferson Beckett. You might’ve heard of him, he was a state senator for three terms.”
    â€œNot my problem.”
    â€œFine. The thing is, he was supposed to have located any Chandler heirs and paid them off years ago, only he was too busy campaigning. Now he’s suffering from emphysema, so it’s pretty much out of the question. Dad’s brother, my uncle Lance, might’ve done it. Trouble is, he’s got his hands full at the moment with—well, that’s beside the point. That leaves me and my cousin Carson, who’s currently laid up with a few broken bones.”
    Her eyes had gradually grown round with disbelief, so he hurried to finish before she got up and walkedout on him. “But now that PawPaw’s had this stroke—”
    â€œPawPaw?”
    â€œMy grandfather.