Free The Troublesome Angel by Valerie Hansen Page B

held up her hand, palm out, and began to back away. “Oh, no. Not me. That’s where I draw the line.”
    “Why?” Gray was beginning to regard her knowingly, his head cocked to one side. “You scared?”
    “No. I just make it a point to avoid places where I’m not welcome.”
    “Even when a child needs you?”
    “That was a low blow,” she said, scowling.
    “You and I both know Missy’s in no danger while she’s in the house.”
    “Assuming that’s really where she is,” he countered. “What if we’ve missed something and she’s not in there either? What if—”
    “Okay, okay.” Stacy waved her hand back and forth to stop him. “I get the picture. I’ll come with you.”
    “Into the lions’ den?” Gray teased.
    “Sure. Why not? If Daniel could do it with real lions, I’m sure I can face your parents one more time.” She heard him chuckle quietly. “Just stop acting like you’re going to enjoy putting me through this. Okay?”
    “Not a chance,” he said. “If I wasn’t so worried about Missy, I’d probably sell tickets to all my friends. My parents would have eaten you up and spit out the pieces if I hadn’t interceded the last time you were here. But they don’t have a clue how much you’ve matured since then. I can’t wait till they find out. It should be quite a show.”
     
    The inside of the house hadn’t changed much since the last time Stacy’d been there. At least she didn’t think it had. With all the antiques and ornate furniture, it was hard to tell. Gray led Lewis and her in via a side door and detoured through the kitchen to explain the circumstances to the cook and butler.
    An elderly groundsman, Euless Feeters, was seated at the kitchen table having lunch. He smiled and stood with the rest of the staff when Gray introduced Stacy. “How do, ma’am. Y’all have any luck?”
    “None,” Stacy said soberly. She addressed the group. “Can any of you think of some special places Missy liked to play around here?” The cook and butler both shook their heads.
    So did Euless. He snorted. “Naw. Poor little thing was never allowed out of the house, far’s I know. Shame, too. To listen to Nathan, a body’d think it was a blamed sin to enjoy nature.” He shot a contrite glance toward the younger Payne. “’Scuse my French.”
    “No problem,” Graydon said. “I agree with you. Besides, you knew Dad when he was a boy. You and Grandpa Nate go way back. Far as I’m concerned, that entitles you to say whatever you want.”
    “Darn right. Me and ole Nate used to run trot lines up and down the White and jug for catfish when we got hungry.” He stared into the distance, obviously remembering, then chuckled. “Course, a fella had to tie up them jugs real good or those big river cats’d take off with ’em, hook, line and all.”
    Stacy listened, amazed. “You mean, the Paynes weren’t always wealthy?”
    Feeters cursed colorfully, making Stacy and the cook blush. “Poor as church mice,” he went on. “Just like me and mine. Then ole Nate met Anna and wanted to settle down, so he bought some acreage down on the Arkansas, south of here. Came time to sell it and move on, he made a prettypenny, I’ll tell you. Invested it all. That’s how he got started.”
    She glanced up at Graydon. “Is that true?”
    “Sure is. Grandpa was always proud of the way he’d worked his way up in the world.”
    “Ought to of stayed right where he was, if you ask me. All that money caused nothin’ but trouble when he up and died.” Feeters glanced down at Lewis. The dog was seated politely at Stacy’s side, drooling. “You fixin’ to take that hound into the rest of the house whilst your mama’s at home, boy?”
    “Of course.” Gray grinned at the old groundsman. “Why? You want to watch?”
    “Oh, no. Not me.” Feeters scooped up the remains of his sandwich, grabbed his faded baseball cap and started across the kitchen. “I know better than to be within a hundred miles a