by Diana Palmer
“So?” she asked, flushing.
He bent his head. “I don’t sleep with other women, baby. Only with you. And just lately,” he groaned against her soft mouth, “my bed has been very empty.”
She let him kiss her. A few seconds into it, she forgot what she was doing altogether and lifted herself against his powerful body with a sob.
“Wait. Wait a minute,” he said urgently. He moved away from her long enough to close and throw the bolt on the door. Thank God it had one, he was thinking, while he could still think.
He backed her up into the dryer and kissed her again, hungrily. She was probably wearing a dress, he mused, because none of her jeans would button and he’d notice. He smiled against her mouth as he reached under her dress and slipped off her underwear.
“Judd, no, we can’t!” she whispered.
He nibbled her upper lip while he peeled off his gunbelt and put it aside and reached for his belt buckle. “It’s okay, baby. We can do it without the red negligee,” he teased huskily. “Besides, we’re married. I’ll show you the license again.” He lifted her up to him and his mouth covered hers as his lean hands brought her over him. “We’ll go look for it...later,” he groaned as he went into her.
She stopped protesting, thinking, breathing. She clung to him, moaning into his devouring mouth as he drove into her with the noisy washing machine concealing the noises they were making. She hoped it wasn’t near the end of its cycle. She was so hungry for him that she sobbed with every quick, hard motion of his hips. She wanted to drag his clothes off, push him down on the floor, ravish him...
She didn’t realize she was saying it until they wound up in a tangle of limbs on the linoleum, with his body heavy on hers as they clung to each other in a raging fever of desire.
She’d never experienced such instant passion. In the last lucid instant, he lifted his head and watched her face as he drove her right over the edge into ecstasy. She shuddered and shuddered, her cries almost inhuman as her nails bit into his hips. Seconds later, his body corded and arched. He made a hoarse, harsh cry and his face contorted. She watched him, so excited that her whole body felt on fire with the overwhelming heat of fulfillment. Even in Japan, it hadn’t been so intense. She couldn’t stop shivering. Tears ran down her cheeks while he moved helplessly against her in the pulsing aftermath.
Just as he collapsed on her, the washing machine stopped abruptly between cycles. She felt his body shake. It wasn’t until he lifted his head and she saw his dancing black eyes that she realized why. He was laughing.
“What a relief! That damned soundman can hear an ant walk across a sponge at fifteen feet, and he likes to record people when they don’t know he’s listening,” he murmured breathlessly. “If that washer had stopped a few seconds sooner...”
She laughed, too, trying to imagine the embarrassment. The washer started up again, noisily, and he moved against her, his mouth tracing her lips, her cheeks, her ear. He nibbled her earlobe. She kissed his cheek and he groaned.
“Sorry,” she murmured, noting that she’d kissed a cut. She touched his bruised face gingerly. “Does your jaw hurt?”
He nodded. “Grier hits hard.”
“What did you want him to tell you?” she persisted.
“That he’d keep his distance from you,” he invented. He pursed his lips and moved deliberately, so that she could feel the slow, delicious burgeoning of his body. “But I don’t think that’s going to be a problem now. Do you?” He moved again.
She gasped. She was still sensitive, and those tiny motions were so sweet that she started moving with him. “Maude...”
“The cycle lasts fifteen more minutes,” he reminded her, bending. “But I doubt if I will...”
“Let’s see,” she whispered rakishly, and pulled him down to her.
* * *
They were standing again, when the washer wound down for the second time. She’d just pulled her underwear back up and he’d refastened his jeans. But he glanced down at his shirt and sighed. “Grier took off his shirt first. I should have done the same. Have I got a clean one? I can’t go back to work like this.”
She smiled radiantly and nodded, going to the clothes rack. She pulled out a clean, ironed white shirt and handed it to him.
He took off the one he was wearing, baring an undershirt also liberally splattered with specks of blood. “Damn,” he muttered.
“You’ve got a clean undershirt, too,” she said, turning to pull one out of the clothes basket where she’d been folding laundry. “Here.”
He stripped off the undershirt, aware that she was eating him with her eyes.
He tossed the undershirt and the white shirt into the laundry hamper and moved closer, bringing her hands to his hair-roughened chest. “I didn’t even have the presence of mind to undress first, I wanted you so badly,” he mused with a smile. “I’m going to commute to Victoria from now on. I’ll spend my nights here, where I belong, and we won’t be sleeping in separate beds.”
“You’re going to sleep with me?” she asked, fascinated.
“Of course.” He traced around her soft mouth. “Unless you’d rather I stayed in my old room? That might be interesting. You could put on the red negligee and come seduce me in the night.”
She hit him gently and laughed. “I’ll sleep with you and do my seducing in comfort. You’re my husband,” she whispered, feeling every word.
“You’re my wife.” He bent and kissed her gently, drawing her hands back and forth over his chest. “I’m sorry you wouldn’t open your Christmas present.”
“Why?” she asked absently.
“It was pearls. Pink pearls, your favorites. But there were two presents. Tippy gave me back the ring. She’d teased me into buying it, which I did to save my pride. When I returned it,” he added gently, “I bought a set of rings—one for you, one for me. Wedding bands. So you get two presents, not one.”
She just looked at him.
He shrugged. “I never wanted a divorce,” he confessed. “Not really. My mother was young, like you, and maybe she wasn’t ready for marriage. I saw my father die inside after she left him. He never got over the divorce, and he mourned her until he died. I didn’t want to end up like him. I was afraid of commitment. I knew you cared about me, but I was afraid it was just a crush,” he confessed.
“Some crush,” she said with a smile. “It lasted five years.”
“I knew that when you took a bullet for me,” he said quietly. “That was when I knew you felt something powerful for me. But Grier was always around and better men than me have felt inferior to him.”
“Cash is a sad and lonely sort of person,” she replied. “I felt sorry for him. I know things about him that you don’t, Judd. He was married just briefly, and there was going to be a child. I don’t know what happened, but they divorced bitterly. He was just a friend.”
He grimaced. “I didn’t know that. I was crazy with jealousy. I finally realized that you weren’t going to wait forever while I sorted out what I felt for you. That was when I knew that I was going to fight to keep you.”
She gazed at him, encouraging him to continue.
“You know, my parents were exact opposites. He was in love, but she married him without really loving him. She did fall in love, with another man, and she couldn’t help what she did. I never understood that before, because I’d never been in love.” His voice turned husky. “But I understand her actions better now, even if I still don’t approve of them. Love takes away your choices. You and I think alike and I believe deep down I knew all along that we have enough in common to make a good marriage. But I just couldn’t let go of the past—of the fact that you and Cash seemed so close. I couldn’t be certain what you felt for him. He gave me some bad moments, especially after we came back from Japan.”
She smiled slowly. “Tippy
gave me some. She’s beautiful and sophisticated.”
“Sophisticated, like Grier.” He traced her ear, pressing her soft hair behind it. “They can console each other,” he said with a wicked grin. “But they’re both out of the running.”
She hesitated. “Are you sure?”
His dark eyebrows lifted. “Just how many women do you think I’ve ever ravished on the floor of a laundry room?”
Her eyes narrowed. “It had better only be one,” she returned with mock anger.
He chuckled. “Now you sound more like yourself.” He reached for the clean undershirt. Her hands fluttered against the thick hair on his chest as she reluctantly moved away. He smelled of aftershave and soap. She liked the masculine scents, far too much. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’m tying up loose ends in the Clark cases.” He glanced at her. “I never told you. Guess who was doing the poisonings down here?”
“Not Jack Clark,” she guessed.
“No. His brother John was poisoning the cattle, and he killed old Hob. He got a friend and co-worker—the same man who loaned him the pickup truck—to give him an alibi for the time of old Hob’s death by making him think a jealous girlfriend was checking up on him. Jack Clark killed the young woman for testifying against him and sending him to prison for six years. Jack was our prime suspect for the poisonings because he lived in Jacobsville, and he knew it.”
“Don’t leave anything out!” she demanded.
“The councilwoman who was showing Jack the properties in Victoria had no idea that he was establishing an alibi, while his brother was down here poisoning bulls. They poisoned Brewster’s bull because it was one of the progeny of Handley’s Salers bull. They poisoned ours because they were both getting even with us for firing Jack. But if it hadn’t been for you, I might never have solved the murder case in Victoria.”
“Me?”
He pulled his shirt on, fastened it, and stuck the star back on the pocket. “You mentioned how the fence was cut,” he said. “We had a cut fence at the scene of the last homicide. I checked it against the picture you had Nick take of our cut fence. It was a perfect match. Our fence—that you had sense enough to save—has become prime evidence. Not to mention that black pickup truck that belonged to John Clark’s friend, Gould, in Victoria. Then, those colored fibers I mentioned that were found at the crime scene matched a swatch from a flannel shirt you remembered Clark wearing when he confronted you on the ranch. It was with a box of his belongings that John Clark took to Victoria with him. There’s one other crucial bit of evidence we latched on to, also.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense,” she said excitedly.
“Besides a hair found on the shirt at the crime scene, the evidence technician noted teeth marks on the woman’s breast. She hadn’t been dead long, and her body was half-covered by the shirt when she was recovered. The technician said her body was still warm when they found it. He played a hunch—he put sterile water on a swab and went over the woman’s breast. He got DNA evidence that links the murder directly to Jack Clark. And that hair on the shirt the woman was wearing matched one of Clark’s exactly. That evidence is all admissible in court.”
“I didn’t know you could do that!” she exclaimed.
He chuckled. “I’ll have to clue you in more about forensic evidence.”
“But why did he kill her, do you know?” she asked.
“She was the young girl who testified against him for sexual assault and battery and vanished. He spent six years in prison on her testimony. After he was released he and John went to work for Handley, who had the purebred Salers bulls. Handley was her husband’s best friend. Handley fired them about the time Jack recognized the young woman and decided to get even. John Clark poisoned his bulls, Jack raped and killed the woman.”
“Good Lord. And what about poor old Hob?” she continued.
“When we told Jack Clark about the concrete forensic evidence against him, he gave in and confessed everything with the public defender sitting right beside him. He said his brother went to Hob just to threaten him, to keep him quiet. Hob refused to be threatened. He was going to call the police and tell them the Clark boys cut the fence. John hit him in the throat with a fire poker. He didn’t mind bulls, but he couldn’t live with killing a human. He told Jack he was going to rob a bank and if he got killed he didn’t care.”
“Poor old Hob,” she said sadly. “What a sad way to die.”
“So Jack’s going away for a long time. It’s a good thing, because the behavioral psychologist who evaluated him said he might have killed again. Clark still hates me, of course, for what happened to his brother and for helping put together the evidence that’s going to convict him for murder.” He grinned at her. “Like I care.”
She hugged him, hard, secure for the first time in her marriage.
“And you didn’t believe me about the cattle or the fence at first.”
He drew her close. “No, to my cost, I didn’t. That could have had fatal consequences if Clark had been a little more confident. I’m sorry, too. But those days are over. You tell me black is white, baby, and I’ll believe you now.” Lifting his head, he searched her drowsy, happy eyes and smiled. “Kiss me. I have to go back to work.”
She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him hungrily. “Take me with you,” she whispered.
“I’d never get a thing done,” he teased. He put her away reluctantly and buckled on his gunbelt. “I’ll be home by six.”
She felt as if her whole life had changed in a space of hours. She couldn’t stop smiling. “Okay. I’ll lay out my red negligee.”
He chuckled delightedly. “That’s a date.”
He unlocked the door and they walked hand in hand to the front door. He looked down at her and wished that he could tell her what he knew. She was carrying his child. He’d never felt closer to her. He’d never loved her so much. But he had to wait, to bide his time. If she found out that he knew, she might think he was staying with her for all the wrong reasons. He didn’t dare let on. He kissed her goodbye and drove off, making a mental note to phone Grier and warn him again not to spill the beans. Maude didn’t say a word, but she couldn’t stop smiling, either.
The next morning, the crew was working again. But this time, it was different, because everyone could see what was happening between Judd and his young wife. Tippy felt as if it had become open season on her. After one particularly difficult scene in the barn, Gary Mays called “cut” and moved into the set with his back to the barn door to slide a very familiar arm around Tippy’s shoulders, deliberately forcing her against his body. Gary had become Tippy’s worst nightmare all over again.
“Now, listen, doll,” Gary coaxed, “just do the scene the way it’s written, and don’t try to do any real acting, got it? All I want is for you to look pretty and swing those sexy hips for me.” He smoothed his hand lingeringly over her bottom with a leer worthy of a paroled convict.
Seconds later, his hand was in midair, facing backward, with a very cold-eyed Cash Grier on the end of it.
“I don’t think you meant to do that, did you, Gary?” Cash asked pleasantly, and flexed his hand a fraction—just enough to make Gary flinch. “Sexual harassment is such a nasty term. Think what the press would make of it, in our politically correct society. You do see my point?” he added softly, and that hold tightened again.
“I see it...perfectly!” Gary gasped, turning into the hold, to keep from having his hand wrenched off.
“And even though I can’t arrest you for it, since it’s out of my jurisdiction, I can call one of my buddies who works for the sheriff’s department, and he can arrest you. So you won’t touch her like that again. Will you, Gary?” Cash persisted, smiling.
That smile sent cold chills down Tippy’s spine.
“Not ever in my life, I swear!” Gary gasped.
Cash let go of his hand, still smiling. “I think you might like to call a ten-minute break,” he added. “I’d like a word with Miss Moore.”
“Go right ahead,” Gary gritted. He gave Tippy a look of pure loathing. “Ten minutes, everyone!” he called, and then got out of Cash’s vicinity as quickly as he could manage, holding his wrist in his other hand.
Cash motioned to Tippy with his head. She went to him like a lamb, without a single protest, and stood looking up at him with wide, perplexed green eyes.
“Why do you let him handle you like that?” he asked quietly.
She was shaken. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m twenty-six years old,” she said. “I have a nine-year-old brother to support. Modeling doors are already closing for me. I have to make it in film or I won’t have a source of income.”
“And you think money is worth letting that second cousin to a tarantula climb over your body like a fungus?” he persisted. “What did I tell you at the hospital when Crissy was shot, about looking him in the eye and saying ‘no’?”
She looked up at him with pain in her eyes. “That’s easier to say than do.”
His chin lifted slowly. His black eyes were steady and narrow on her face.
“But you’re going to try it. Aren’t you?”
She nodded, because he had that sort of effect on people. “You could have hurt him,” she said hesitantly.
His eyes pinned hers and traces of his past made cold shadows in his eyes. “I could have broken his hand as easily as I bruised it. A few years ago, I wouldn’t even have hesitated.” He was thinking. His mind was adding up facts and producing conclusions. “You’re sex on a half shell until a man comes within two feet of you. Then you ice over. But under the ice, there’s fear. You’re afraid of him,” he murmured, pointing toward the man with his chin. “But not,” he added softly, “as afraid of him as you are of me.”
She swallowed. She hated being so transparent, but Gary’s boldness had unnerved her.
