Free That Boy From Trash Town by Billie Green Page B

that had nothing to do with her father. Eighteen years' worth of memories.
    There were so many pictures of him in her mind. Dean handing her a battered street sign on that first day. Dean roaring with laughter at her outrageous 'nutation of the first girl Tad brought home to meet the family. Dean carefully explaining how she should behave on a date, telling her openly and frankly about what happened between men and women, something her mother refused to talk about. Dean holding Whitney when she cried.
    And finally, after reliving the best of their past together, Whitney knew that what had happened today wouldn't ever cancel any of the good memories.
    She wouldn't do as her mother had done and push what she had seen in Dean's face—the anger and contempt—into a Don't Look cubbyhole. It had happened and Whitney would face up to that. Weighed against the love he had given her for eighteen years, it no longer felt quite so devastating.
    Almost against her will, Whitney felt better. She felt stronger.
    Dean had taught her to use what God had given her. He'd taught her to call upon her inner strength, grab a problem by the throat and wrestle with it until it was resolved. That was what she would do now. She would find her father and get the answers she needed. And when she knew the truth, she would build a new life for herself. She would find a new home.
    Reaching down, she patted Heracles' neck. "Okay, boy, I'm ready to leave now." Digging in her heels, she pulled Heracles' head away from the past, toward the future.
    Then, turning in the saddle, she gave Dean's house one last long look. "Goodbye, Dean," she whispered. "Take care."

Chapter 5
    W hitney pulled to the side of the street, put the Jaguar in park, then spread a street map out on the passenger seat. She had been to Dallas plenty of times, but someone else—a taxi driver or a friend—had always been in the driver's seat. And she was pretty sure she had never been to this part of town. There wasn't a shop or restaurant for miles.
    Glancing up, she checked the street sign down the block, then returned her gaze to the map, her fingers moving across the fine lines. She was five blocks from Quintan Street. Five blocks. She was almost there.
    The night she left San Antonio, Whitney had thought only of finding her father. Getting her questions answered. Seeing his wonderful face again, and having his arms around her. But now that she had had time to think, doubts were beginning to set in. What if Lloyd Grant had walked out on his family of his own free will? What if he had simply decided he didn't want Anne or Whitney anymore.
    She had to admit the possibility made sense. Had abandonment been the case, Anne would have been shamed by desertion; she would have been disgraced in the eyes of the world. Her world. Being widowed was eminently more respectable than being dumped.
    If Lloyd had left because he no longer loved them, he might not want to be reminded of the family he left behind. He might resent Whitney for intruding. And there was always the chance that he had a new family, one that knew nothing about his old one. Did she have the right to disrupt the lives of innocent people?
    Putting the map aside, she closed her eyes and leaned forward, resting her head against the steering wheel. She didn't want anyone to be hurt by her sudden appearance, but neither could she leave without learning the truth.
    She would simply have to proceed with care. She wouldn't rush in, telling all and sundry that she was searching for her father. If Lloyd Grant was still at the address on Quintan Street, Whitney would watch and listen until she knew for sure what was going on in his life.
    And only then would she decide what to do next, she told herself as she put the Jaguar in gear and pulled away from the curb.
    The house at 1132 Quintan Street had a wide porch, supported by pillars that were half brick, half square wooden posts. The tiny yard held a few thin shrubs, but there were no