Heiress for Hire (Cuttersville #2)(42)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Then when you added into the equation that he wanted Amanda six ways to Sunday, and she had said no, quite firmly, in the chicken coop, he definitely wasn’t at his best. Now she was walking around trying to act like her legs weren’t torn to hell and back and had to sting, and as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

"I’m not stubborn. I’m independent." Then she frowned. "Well, not financially. Until now anyway. I guess I am now. But I’m definitely emotionally independent."

That sounded horrible. He didn’t think she meant it that way, but it sounded so lonely—like she cared about no one and in return there wasn’t a soul who cared about her.

"Do you want me to call your father and let him know what happened?" Danny felt responsible for her accident, and he thought he should let her father know she was alright.

Amanda stepped through the door he pushed open. "There is absolutely no reason to tell my dad I was attacked by a hawk. He’d either suggest I deserved a good clawing, or he would say, ‘That’s nice, sweetie,’ which means he’s not listening to a word I say."

Piper had wandered into Amanda’s parlor, which was filled with knick-knacks the owners of the house had accumulated over the years and left in place. His daughter was down on her knees staring thoughtfully at a porcelain figurine. Danny couldn’t tell what the figure was from where he was standing, but Piper sucked in her breath and tilted her head.

There were another six figures on that table alone. He figured she’d be good for a solid fifteen minutes.

He needed to talk to Amanda.

"Amanda."

But she had different ideas.

"I’m going upstairs to change. This dress is trashed. And I’m starving."

Danny clung to hope. "How about I order a pizza? We can eat dinner with you, then we’ll get out of your hair. A pizza’s the least I can do."

She paused with her foot on the first step. But she just said "Sure" without looking back, in that casual voice she had. The one that he had decided was her fake voice, the one she used when she wanted people to think she was an empty, shopaholic, party girl, with a sharp tongue and credit cards to burn.

That wasn’t her.

And she proved it by turning and calling, "Piper, why don’t you come up with me? I could use some help."

"Okay." Piper abandoned the figurines and ran toward the stairs. Baby barked and ran alongside her, the leash still trailing.

"Do you mind waiting?" Amanda asked him, her chin over her injured shoulder as she looked back at him, her green eyes mysterious and closed.

"I don’t mind." He was Mr. Dependable, after all.

Waiting.

Amanda wondered if hawks carried rabies.

Maybe that could explain why she had suddenly wanted Danny Tucker to sweep her off her feet and up the stairs.

Which was ludicrous. Nobody had ever carried her anywhere, not even before she’d grown giraffe-long legs. Their longtime housekeeper used to nudge her with her knees and hands, like Amanda was a sheep that needed herding, but that wasn’t the same thing.

No, she had actually wanted him to carry her in his arms, settle her on the bed, and touch her banged up knees with the tenderness he showed his daughter.

God, that sounded kind of sick. Like she’d developed a daddy complex or something. Next she’d be foaming at the mouth and dating her father’s friends.

"Why are these pennies laying in the hall?" Piper asked.

Because her friendly household spirit didn’t want to see her penniless. Amanda had started to feel kind of touched each time she came into the hall and found another pile of twenty, thirty, sometimes a hundred pennies.

"I keep meaning to pick those up," she said vaguely, not want-ing to go into the nuances of humans who refuse to stay dead with Piper.

"It’s from her, isn’t it?"

"Her who?" Amanda started rifling through the dresser in her bedroom. She didn’t have enough drawer space in this house, and her father hadn’t even shipped her fall and winter clothes to her. If he actually respected her request and shipped her things, she was going to burst out of these closets. She had a dozen coats alone.

"The ghost. I can hear her, she’s crying. But she wants you to be happy."

Right. Piper could communicate with ghosts. While a good party trick, Amanda thought it was a little unnerving. "Well, I want me to be happy too. And I do appreciate the pennies."

"She knows." Piper sat on the bed and gave it a good bounce. "Can I meet her?"

"The Crying Lady? Are you sure you want to?" Amanda hadn’t heard her crying since the night she’d had the argument with her father. She wasn’t sure she wanted to renew their friendship—or the nightly moaning.

"Yes." Piper nodded.

Struggling not to sigh, Amanda pushed her dress to the floor and stepped out of it. The strapless bra was annoying, but she wasn’t going to shed it in front of Piper. Instead, she just pulled on a tight T-shirt over it, taking care with her shoulder, and a pair of terrycloth shorts. A peek in the mirror showed the country was killing her. Chopped-off hair, a tan that was fading, and all her makeup disappeared. Without money to maintain her nails, she had finally succumbed to the horror of having them soaked off by the nail tech at Cut Above, Hair by Harriet’s competition. She now had stubby little discolored natural fingernails.

Good thing she’d brought her self-tanner lotion, though. She could use it tonight to stave off fading. Running a brush through her hair, she went for the bronzer, brushing some over her cheeks and nose, with a flourish.

"Need some?" She turned and waved the poufy brush at Piper.

Piper shook her head. "It smells bad."

Amanda laughed as she switched shoes, from heels to rubber flip-flops, taking in her bruised and scraped knees ruefully. That was sexy. Not.

A touch of lip gloss, a smoothing of her shorter hair, and she was ready. Not necessarily in top form, but good enough for pizza in Cuttersville.

"I like your hair like this better. And you don’t have any of those lines on your stomach that my mom did. The ones she always said were my fault for being a porky baby." Piper sat on the edge of the bed, her expression thoughtful, as her skinny legs dangled toward the floor like thick twigs.

"You were porky? I find that hard to believe."

"Ten and a half pounds."

"Wow. I’m impressed. You ought to go into the Baby Hall of Fame with a number like that."

"You going to have babies, Amanda?"

Amanda sat on the bed next to Piper, her knees groaning. Time for acetaminophen. "Someday. When I meet a man who’s not a jerk."

"My dad isn’t a jerk. Anita keeps saying he is, but I think she’s wrong. I think he… likes me. And you. He likes you too."