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calls for parental guidance. I’m not your parent.”
    Chloe scowled, obviously annoyed that Bentley wasn’t responding as she wanted—or expected—her to. “Do you smoke grass?”
    Bentley’s heart stopped, and she counted to ten again. Chloe was trying to shock her, and doing a good job of it. But she wasn’t about to let the youngster know she had the upper hand. She leveled the child with a cool stare. “No. Do you?”
    â€œNo.” Chloe inched her chin up. “But I know some kids who have.”
    â€œWell, I suppose that makes you, and them, all grown up.”
    â€œYou’re a drag, just like the others.”
    Bentley dumped her coffee. “And I happen to think that people who take drugs are ignorant.”
    Chloe stomped her foot. “Do you know who my mother is?”
    A few choice guesses, ones like Wicked Witch of the West, jumped to her tongue, but Bentley swallowed them all and turned regally toward the child. She arched an eyebrow. “I’m quite sure I don’t.”
    â€œVictoria Ellerbee, that’s who. My granddaddy founded Ellerbee Oil.” The girl fixed Bentley with a triumphant stare. “We all but own Dallas.”
    â€œAll but own Dallas? Is that so?” Bentley narrowed her eyes and faced the child, her fists on her hips. “Well, do you know who I am? Bentley Barton Cunningham. Cunningham as in oil, Barton as in one of the first families of Texas, as in the Daughters of the Texas Revolution Bartons, as in governors and Senator Barton. My mama took tea with Rosalind Carter, and my grandmama took tea with Mamie Eisenhower. So don’t you try to pull family connections with me, young lady, because family connections are something I have plenty of. Do you understand me?”
    Chloe nodded, her eyes wide with surprise. “Yes, ma’am.”
    â€œNow then, let’s get something straight, shall we? You treat me with respect, and I’ll treat you the same way. If you act like a spoiled brat, I’ll treat you like one.” Bentley folded her arms across her chest. “Do we have a deal?”
    Chloe pouted and stubbed her toe against one of the chair legs. “I guess so.”
    â€œGood.” Bentley smiled. “Then, how about some shopping? I’m in the mood.”
    â€œIn this hick town? Give me a break.”
    â€œHouston’s only an hour away. We could go to the Galleria. And out to lunch.”
    Chloe’s head snapped up. Excitement, pure little-girl delight, lit Chloe’s eyes. A second later it was gone, replaced once again by bored cynicism, but in that moment, when she caught sight of the child beneath the veneer, Bentley could understand some of what Jackson was going through.
    â€œSo, what do you think?” Bentley asked. “Houston, shopping and lunch? Or TV game shows here?”
    â€œShopping.” The girl shrugged. “If you want.”
    Bentley could see Chloe struggle for indifference, and she fought back a grin. She’d won the first battle, no doubt about it. And if she had any say in it, she would win the war, as well.
    Smiling, she picked up her handbag and slipped it over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Three
    B entley and Chloe spent the next several days as they spent the first, at the Houston Galleria, going from one shop to another, with Chloe trying on and buying outfit after outfit. As each day passed Chloe’s bored facade slipped a little more, giving Bentley glimpses of a thirteen-year-old who was vulnerable, eager to please and in great need of attention. That child reminded Bentley of herself at the same age.
And tugged at her heartstrings.
    Bentley shook her head at the thought, watching as Chloe, juggling their soft drinks, made her way across the busy food court. Outwardly she and Chloe were nothing alike. Chloe was fair, she was dark.
Chloe’s behavior was…well, less than ideal. Growing up,