Cutter's Law

by Judith Rochelle

  For a long moment nobody spoke, shock freezing their faces.

  Finally Ryan cleared his throat. “Did I end up in another dimension coming back from the honeymoon? Is this really Allison Moore and my ugly brother talking to me?"

  Morgan put his arm around Allison and drew her close to him. “We've had an exciting time while you two were lazing around all day combining your DNA."

  And with Donna and Derek's help, they told Paige and Ryan about everything that had transpired during the past two weeks.

  "I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?” Ryan teased his brother.

  Then everyone was hugging everyone again, Ryan was bringing out his favorite bourbon and they were all drinking toasts to the future.

  "My God,” Paige said. “Just like in the movies, where the cowboy gets the girl."

  "Only this time,” Allison said. “It won't be the horse he's kissing."

  She lifted her face as Morgan's mouth came down on hers.

  A long moment passed before he lifted his head and smiled at everyone. “But we will ride off into the sunset together."

  Coming Soon...

  One Hot Texas Night

  Abby drove her rental car slowly up the winding driveway of Sycamore Grove and stopped at the circular turnaround in front of the long, wide porch. Shutting off the engine, she leaned back in her seat and just stared at the huge house that had been her sanctuary during the angst of her teenage years.

  Throughout the ups and downs of Elinor's marriage to King Donovan, Cy and Rachel Donovan had treated Abby and her mother as if they were blood relatives. Whenever Tate made her life unbearable, she could always come here, to his grandparents, for comfort and chocolate cookies. Even in high school, where she had few friends and a lonely adolescence, a warm treat from Sarah made the tears less painful.

  Tate was four years out of college when she hit her freshman year in high school. He'd come back to the ranch where he'd continued to do everything in his power to make her feel like an outsider. Whenever she had her few friends visiting, he made life so uncomfortable that she stopped asking them to come. Instead, she brought them to Sycamore Grove, where Cy and Sarah made them warmly welcome. High school would have been torture for her without those two people.

  And now King, for whatever reason, wanted her to have this property. Had he known what a haven it had been for her? And did he also know what a slap in the face it would be to Tate? Abby wondered what their relationship had been like those last few years. She'd been shocked out of her panty hose when King called and asked her to come to the hospital in San Antonio and see him. And shattered to see the wasted form of what had been a strong, powerful man.

  Remembering that reminded her of the awful confrontation with Tate outside King's room. This was not going to be fun, no matter how it turned out. A smart cookie would have signed everything over and taken the first plane out. But at the moment she was more mad than smart, so here she sat, contemplating what to do next.

  I wish you were here now to help me, Sarah.

  Her cell phone rang, jolting her out of her reverie. She looked at the incoming number. Sam. Another challenge to deal with.

  "Abby? How's it going? Did you teach those Texas hicks a thing or two?"

  Sam's voice was so arrogant Abby clenched her teeth. Had it always been like that or was he just upset about her trip? Sam Forrester's family owned the huge hotel chain she worked for, and lately Sam had taken her on as his personal project. She was halfway between flattered at his attention and irritated at his proprietary air.

  "I don't think I have much to teach them,” she said, a smile edging into her voice.

  "Whatever. What time dies your plane arrive tomorrow? I'll meet you."

  "I, um, don't remember.” She was waffling, her brain still trying to decode the conversation in Ryan Cutter's office.

  "Well, look in your purse, for God's sake,” he huffed with impatience. “What's the matter with you? Are you sick or something? You sound weird."

  "I'm fine, Sam.” She cleared her throat. “The thing is, I may need a day or two longer here, to wrap things ups."

  "You're kidding, right?” Sam barked a laugh. “Yesterday you didn't even want to go."

  Abby pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. “Things are a little more complicated than I expected. I probably need to be here through the weekend."

  Six more days. Was she crazy? She rubbed her forehead.

  "Abby, that's ridiculous.” Sam's voice shifted into officious, authoritarian mode. “If you need an extra day, take it. But that's it."

  "Or what? You'll fire me?” The anger she had felt for Tate was now moving in Sam's direction. He was the vice president she reported to at Forester, but he'd also become a frequent date. And maybe more, if she'd let him.

  "You need to remember that you have a very responsible position with the corporation."

  God, he sounded just like his father. Where was the relaxed, easy-going Sam that she felt so good with? Mot alive and well in the Forester offices, that was for sure.

  "Yes, Sam. I'm well aware of that. But this is my life and I have important business here that affects it."

  Silence. Abby could almost hear Sam counting backwards in his head and rolling a pencil on his desk, two little tricks he used to maintain self-control.

  "We have some important meetings coming up next week and I'll expect you here for them. Let me know when you make your return reservations. And Abby, keep your cell phone on so I can reach you at all times."

  The click echoed in her ear. That was it. Sam was finished with the conversation. Abby resisted an urge to throw the phone out of the window.

  She was so absorbed in her own thoughts she didn't hear a car pull up behind her, or the man get out until he was knocking on her window. She jumped hard enough to hit her head. What now?

  Enough like Ryan cutter to be an older version, he was tall and lean, dressed in khaki slacks and a police blouse with a badge. Okay, she wasn't about to be raped. She swallowed to get her heart rate under control, and opened the window.

  "Yes?” She frowned at him. What had she done wrong?

  "Morgan Cutter,” he introduced himself. So she was right. They were related. “White Tail's police chief. You're on private property."

  "Oh! I'm sorry. I have the keys with me.” She dug in her purse.

  Cutter frowned. “And you are...?"

  "Abby Culhane.” She took out her wallet and showed it to him.

  He gave her a stiff smile. “I believe my brother mentioned you were coming to town. Haven't seen you around here in years. All grown up, right?"

  All grown up? What an ass. Was he going to pat her on the head, too? She searched her mind for a memory. She barely knew Ryan, and Morgan was obviously older. How did he even remember her?

  "It's been a while,” she nodded, keeping a pleasant smile on her face. No use antagonizing the local law. Certainly not Ryan Cutter's brother. “I think I just inherited this property and I came by to take a look at it."

  Morgan studied her face.

  Abby tried to sit calmly, waiting for the next move, but the day was hot. With the air conditioner off in the car, her dress was beginning to stick to her and she could feel sweat running down her back. She opened the car door and got out. “I was just going in to take a look."

  "I'll walk along with you. Just to make sure you don't have any unwelcome guests."

  "Excuse me?” She hurried to keep up with him.

  "We don't have much crime to speak of in White Tail, but one in a while someone wanders through here. A big empty place like this looks very inviting to them. Hand me your keys."

  Abby fished them out of her purse and handed them to him.

  The inside of the huge house still had the faint musty odor that denoted long absence of human habitation, but overriding it was the slight tang of furniture polish and cleaning solutions. The high ceilings gave every room an extra look of spaciousness, and
the curtains, once pulled back, would let the light in through the myriad floor-to-ceiling windows. Abby remembers how sunshine had always flooded the house, making it warm and inviting.

  "Wait here,” Morgan ordered, leaving her in the wide foyer as he slowly and quietly made his way through the house. In minutes he was back at her house, handing her keys back to her.

  "Everything's fine. You can go on and do whatever you were planning on."

  "Thanks.” She sighed. “right now I just want to see it after all this time and figure out what I'm going to do with it."

  Morgan raised an eyebrow. “You aren't planning to stay, are you? I heard you had a great job in New York and loved the lifestyle."

  Abby shrugged. “Yes, that's true. I'm an operations manager for the Forrester hotel chain. I've got a great place to live in New York, too, and White Tail doesn't exactly fill me with warm memories."

  "I can see where this would be quite a letdown for you.” His tone of voice left no doubt about what he thought of women and big cities. His voice was so taut and pain-filled Abby wondered what had caused that attitude.

  "Well, I'll be here until the end of the week, tying up all the loose ends."

  Morgan watched her through narrowed eyes. “I don't imagine Tate Donovan is too thrilled with the turn of events."

  Abby laughed, but there wasn't much mirth in the sound. “That's the understatement of the year. Thank you for everything, Chief Cutter. I'll try not to break any laws while I'm here."

  He nodded abruptly and tipped his Stetson at her. “Just holler if you need the long arm of the law."

  And he was gone, leaving Abby alone in the house she hadn't seen since another lifetime.

  She took her time wandering from room to room, familiarizing herself with things all over again. She could have sworn the large, cheery kitchen, with its yellow cupboards and Saltillo tile still held the enticing aroma of chocolate chip cookies and fresh yeast rolls. Everything was still there—dishes, pots, pans, anything one would need to cook for two or two hundred.

  Throwing open the bolt on the back door, she let herself out on the oversized screened-in porch. The wide yard stretched away from it into the thickening acres of trees. Long ago shouts of laughter still floated on the war, summer air, redolent with the sweet scent of the flowers in the beds hugging the porch. Someone had been taking good care of then, and she recalled Ryan's comment about maintenance crews.

  Walking back inside she heard the distant ringing of her cell phone, and hurried to dig it out of her purse. She looked at the incoming readout.

  Sam again!

  "Hi!” She forced cheerfulness into her voice.

  "Hello, Abby.” His voice was less strident this time. “I realized I might have come on a little strong before and I'm sorry. I just miss not having you here."

  Two days ago hearing those words were have sent little thrills racing along her spine. Why didn't it now?

  "That's okay, Sam. I know you're under a lot of pressure right now."

  "You don't know the half of it,” he commented ruefully. “Anyway, I really called to ask if you'd like me to come out there and help you with anything?"

  Abby was stunned. Sam seldom volunteered for anything. “No, thanks, Sam, I've got it under control. I just have ... some things to do in connection with the will. I expect to be done by the weekend."

  "All right. But just say so and I'll be on the next plane out of here."

  She placed the phone back in her purse and sighed. Would she really be ready to leave by then? What was keeping her here, anyway, except the unwillingness to let Tate Donovan push her around. God, he yanked her chain. Even after all these years. She scowled, thinking of all the unpleasant incidents with him, especially that ill-fated prom night.

  "You're not looking too happy,” a deep voice drawled behind her. “If this place makes you feel that way, maybe you should just give up and sell it to me. I'll pay you a fair price."

  She hadn't even heard the door open. Damn! At this rate the whole town could sneak up on her before she knew it. But it wasn't the whole town that worried her. It was Tate Donovan, leaning in her doorway, looking casual but with his blue eyes blazing and his jaw thrust forward, ready to do battle.

  A word about the author...

  It seems all my life I've been making up stories in my head, waiting for the time I could write them down. All my life experiences have added to the cartons of ideas stored in my head. I was the first female sports reporter on a college newspaper, managed rock bands and country singers, worked in retail, worked for newspapers, worked in public relations for two universities. Now I live in the beautiful Texas Hill Country with my husband and our three cats. Our children are all grown and are my biggest supporters.

  Visit Judith at www.judithrochelle.com

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