Jessica Miller sighed in relief as she entered the dim coolness of the restaurant. Outside the temperature was in the nineties, not unusual for early August in New York City.
She was aware of the glances and outright stares when she followed the restaurant hostess to the table where her best friend waited for her. At five-ten and wearing sandals with two-inch heels, Jessica was tall enough to be a high-fashion model and, in fact, that was how she made her living.
With wide, bright blue eyes and light brown hair that needed little enhancement to make her look like a summer blonde, she had a face well known to the public.
"Jessica, I'm so glad you're here," her friend Violet Fortune said. "I was afraid the photo shoot wouldn't be finished."
"I told the director it had to be because I was leaving at noon." She wrinkled her nose, then smiled at her old chum from long-ago summer vacations and college days.
Violet and her family were from New York but they had visited their Fortune cousins in Texas each summer at the Double Crown Ranch outside Red Rock, which was near San Antonio. Jessica's father had managed the local hardware store in Red Rock, and Jessica had been born and raised in the small town. The girls had met as youngsters and formed a solid friendship.
They'd shared a room at college the first year, then Jessica had been discovered by the owner of a top New York modeling agency. The woman had attended a college function with her niece, spotted Jessica and demanded to represent her in a modeling career. Since the hardware store was going out of business and Jessica knew her parents and younger sister would need income, she'd taken the offer, given up her scholarship and moved to the city.
But only after the agency owner had promised Jessica's father she would guard his daughter from the predatory worms in the Big Apple who would devour fresh-faced country girls for a snack.
For the first two years of her new life in the city Jessica had actually lived in Sondra's home — with Sondra's son, five-year-old Bertram, whose father was a diplomat stationed in France; Mutley, the dog who'd followed Bertie home from the park; and four assorted cats.
At twenty-one, she'd decided she was old enough to be on her own and had bought her first New York apartment, which was where she'd lived for the past twelve years.
The other condos she owned were rented, as were the parking spaces she'd bought on the second floor of the parking garage next to her place. All in all, the country gal had done well. She was one of the three top-paid models in the world, according to Forbes magazine.
"What are you snickering about?" Violet demanded as Jessica took a seat opposite her friend. "Life," Jessica said.
Violet gave an exaggerated shrug. "Oh, that."
The two friends laughed merrily. However, there were undertones of sadness in Violet's eyes.
Jessica refrained from questioning her friend, but she knew the sadness had to do with work. After Violet had finished medical school and residency requirements, she'd taken advanced training in neurology and settled in the city, too. She'd stayed with Jessica for a few months before finding her own place. Brilliant at diagnosing brain disorders, she was well known for her pioneering studies.
Recently Violet had been the chief physician or consulting expert on several very difficult cases. While Jessica hadn't understood the intricacy of the diseases when they had discussed the problems, she'd recognized her friend's sense of failure whenever a patient didn't make it.
Jessica thought this was taking a serious toll on the skillful, sensitive doctor, but it did no good to tell Violet the tragedies weren't her fault. She knew that, and that she had to find her own emotional balance —
"Uh, excuse me, Ms. Miller, but, uh, could I have your autograph?" a young, feminine voice interrupted.
Jessica held her smile in place. Although she wished people would leave her in peace when she was about her private business, her career precluded that possibility.
Sondra had explained all that before letting her sign a contract with the agency. Her agent was a stickler for being polite to the public, who, after all, contributed to the success of her career.
"Of course," Jessica said. "What's your name? Are you visiting the city or do you live here?"
The teenager was obviously delighted that the famous model was talking to her. Jessica wrote the girl's name and a brief message and signed the spiral-bound notebook. Ten other people lined up at once.
The restaurant owner was adept at handling this sort of thing. He stopped others from joining the line and, after Jessica had autographed various pieces of paper, shooed the guests to their seats and reminded them that Ms. Miller also had to eat.
"Now I recall why I was reluctant to have my picture in the medical journal with that article on long-term diseases of the brain," Violet said with a wry grimace when they were alone.
"Yes." Jessica sighed as she looked over the menu. After they'd ordered, Violet narrowed her eyes and studied her friend. "So," she said, leaning in to the table, "are you going to tell me what's happening?"
Jessica grimaced. "I have a slight problem." She hesitated to mention it in view of the life-and-death struggles her friend dealt with every day.
"Yes?" Violet drew the word out.
"There's a local politician, a semi-biggie, who's, uh, sort of stalking me. I think."
Violet's manner became dead serious. "Who is it? Do you know? What's he doing?"
"Roy Balter. I met him at a weekend party. I couldn't take a step without falling over him. He asked for a date. I declined by saying my time was already spoken for. That usually discourages unwanted attention. But not with him. He repeatedly asked to see me."
"What happened next?"
"When I returned to the city, it started out with flowers. Tons of them every day. After the first few, I refused to accept any others. Now it's phone calls."
"Demanding to see you?"
"No. Heavy breathing. When he first started calling my private line and wanting to meet for dinner or the theater, I changed the number. He got the new one, but now he doesn't say anything when he calls."
"Oh." Her friend thought it over. "How do you know it's him?"
"Feminine intuition and the fact that the telephone number is blocked from identification."
Violet looked somewhat dubious. "I see."
"I talked to the district judge, but without solid evidence, he can't issue a restraining order. The police have informed me that without one they can't do a thing, even if the man is in my building. He has to be in my condo."
Jessica shuddered at the thought of him invading her private space. For the first time she admitted to herself that she was a tiny bit frightened by his persistence. It seemed obsessive…vindictive, even.
Continues...
Excerpted from Lone Star Rancher by Laurie Paige Copyright © 2005 by Laurie Paige. Excerpted by permission.
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