Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  "She what?" she exclaimed, startled.

  "Had a drug habit," he repeated. "That's what she told me. It was an expensive habit, and your father got tired of trying to support it. He loved her, but he couldn't make the sort of money it took to keep her high. It wasn't clothes and jewelry and par­ties. It was drugs."

  She felt as if she'd been slammed to the floor. She moved her hands over her face and pushed back her hair. "Oh, Lord!"

  "She was still using when she walked in on Mike and his friends holding you down," he continued.

  "How long had she been using drugs?" she asked.

  "A good five years," he replied. "Starting with marijuana and working her way up to the hard stuff."

  "I had no idea."

  "And you didn't know that Mike was her dealer, either, apparently."

  She gasped.

  He nodded grimly. "She told me that when I went to see her, too. She still can't talk about it easily. Now that she has a good grip on reality, she sees what her life-style did to you. She had hoped that you might be married and happy by now. It hurt her deeply to realize that you don't even date."

  "She'll know why, of course," she said bitterly.

  "You sound so empty, Leslie."

  "I am." She leaned back. "I don't care if the re­porter finds me. It doesn't matter anymore. I'm so tired of running."

  "Then stand and deliver," he replied, getting to his feet. "Come back to work. Let your leg heal. Let your hair grow out and go back to its natural color. Start living."

  "Can I, after so long?"

  "Yes," he assured her. "We all go through peri­ods of anguish, times when we think we can't face what lies ahead. But the only way to get past it is to go through it, straight through it. No detours, no cam­ouflage, no running. You have to meet problems head-on, despite the pain."

  She cocked her head and smiled at him with real affection. “Were you ever a football coach?''

  He chuckled. "I hate contact sports."

  "Me, too." She brushed her short hair back with her hands. "Okay. I'll give it a shot. But if your cousin gives me any more trouble..."

  "I don't think Matt is going to cause you any more problems," he replied.

  "Then, I'll see you on Thursday morning." "Thursday? Tomorrow is just Wednesday..." "Thursday," she said firmly. "I have plans for tomorrow."

  And she did. She had the color taken out of her hair at a local beauty salon. She took her contact lenses to the local optometrist and got big-lensed, wire-framed glasses to wear. She bought clothes that looked professional without being explicit.

  Then, Thursday morning, cast and crutches not­withstanding, she went back to work.

  She'd been at her desk in Ed's office for half an hour when Matt came in. He barely glanced at her, obviously not recognizing the new secretary, and tapped on Ed's door, which was standing open.

  "I'm going to fly to Houston for the sale," he told Ed. He sounded different. His deep voice held its usual authority, but there was an odd note in it. "I don't suppose you were able to convince her to come back...why are you shaking your head?"

  Ed stood up with an exasperated sigh and pointed toward Leslie.

  Matt scowled, turning on his heel. He looked at her, scowled harder, moved closer, peering into her upturned face.

  She saw him matching his memory of her with the new reality. She wondered how she came off, but it was far too soon to get personal.

  His eyes went over her short dark hair, over the feminine but professional beige suit she was wearing with a tidy patterned blouse, lingering on the glasses that she'd never worn before in his presence. His own face was heavily lined and he looked as if he'd had his own share of turmoil since she'd seen him last. Presumably he was still having problems with Carolyn.

  "Good morning, Miss Murry," he murmured. His eyes didn't smile at her. He looked as if his face was painted on.

  That was odd. No sarcasm, no mockery. No insolent sizing up. He was polite and courteous to a fault.

  If that was the way he intended to play it...

  "Good morning, Mr. Caldwell," she replied with equal courtesy.

  He studied her for one long moment before he turned back to Ed. "I should be back by tonight. If I'm not, you'll have to meet with the county com­mission and the zoning committee."

  "Oh, no," Ed groaned.

  "Just tell them we're putting up a two-story brick office building on our own damned land, whether they like it or not," Matt told him, "and that we can accommodate them in court for as many years as it takes to get our way. I'm tired of trying to do busi­ness in a hundred-year-old house with frozen pipes that burst every winter."

  "It won't sound as intimidating if I say it."

  "Stand in front of a mirror and practice looking angry."

  "Is that how you did it?" Ed murmured dryly.

  "Only at first," he assured the other man, dead­pan. "Just until I got the hang of it."

  "I remember," Ed chuckled. "Even Dad wouldn't argue with you unless he felt he had a good case."

  Matt shoved his hands into his pockets. "If you need me, you know the cell phone number."

  "Sure."

  Still he hesitated. He turned and glanced at Leslie, who was opening mail. The expression on his face fascinated Ed, who'd known him most of his life. It wasn't a look he recognized.

  Matt started out the door and then paused to look back at Leslie, staring at her until she lifted her eyes.

  He searched them slowly, intently. He didn't smile. He didn't speak. Her cheeks became flushed and she looked away. He made an awkward move­ment with his shoulders and went out the door.

  Ed joined her at her desk when Matt was out of sight. "So far, so good," he remarked.

  "I guess he really doesn't mind letting me stay," she murmured. Her hands were shaking because of that long, searching look of Matt's. She clasped them together so that Ed wouldn't notice and lifted her face. "But what if that reporter comes back?"

  He pursed his lips. "Odd, that. He left town yes­terday. In a real hurry, too. The police escorted him to the city limits and the sheriff drove behind him to the county line."

  She gaped at him.

  He shrugged. "Jacobsville is a small, close-knit community and you just became part of it. That means," he added, looking almost as imposing as his cousin, "that we don't let outsiders barge in and start harassing our citizens. I understand there's an old city law still on the books that makes it a crime for anyone to stay in a local place of lodging unless he or she is accompanied by at least two pieces of lug­gage or a trunk." He grinned. "Seems the reporter only had a briefcase. Tough."

  "He might come back with a trunk and two suit­cases," she pointed out.

  He shook his head. "It seems that they found an­other old law which makes it illegal for a man driv­ing a rental car to park it anywhere inside the city limits. Strange, isn't it, that we'd have such an un­usual ordinance."

  Leslie felt the first ripple of humor that she'd ex­perienced for weeks. She smiled. "My, my."

  "Our police chief is related to the Caldwells," he explained. "So is the sheriff, one of the county com­missioners, two volunteer firemen, a sheriffs deputy and a Texas Ranger who was born here and works out of Fort Worth." He chuckled. "The governor is our second cousin."

  Her eyes widened. "No Washington connec­tions?" she asked.

  "Nothing major. The vice president is married to my aunt."

  "Nothing major." She nodded. She let out her breath. "Well, I'm beginning to feel very safe."

  "Good. You can stay as long as you like. Per­manently, as far as I'm concerned."

  She couldn't quite contain the pleasure it gave her to feel as if she belonged somewhere, a place where she was protected and nurtured and had friends. It was a first for her. Her eyes stung with moisture.

  "Don't start crying," Ed said abruptly. "I can't stand it."

  She swallowed and forced a watery smile to her lips. "I wasn't going to," she assured him. She moved
her shoulders. "Thanks," she said gruffly.

  "Don't thank me," he told her. "Matt rounded up the law enforcement people and had them going through dusty volumes of ordinances to find a way to get that reporter out of here."

  "Matt did?"

  He held up a hand as she started to parade her misgivings about what he might have learned of her past. "He doesn't know why the man was here. It was enough that he was asking questions about you. You're an employee. We don't permit harassment."

  "I see."

  She didn't, but that was just as well. The look Ed had accidentally seen on Matt's face had him turning mental cartwheels. No need to forewarn Leslie. She wasn't ever going to have to worry about being hounded again, not if he knew Matt. And he didn't believe for one minute that his cousin was flying all the way to Houston for a cattle sale that he usually wouldn't be caught dead at. The foreman at his ranch handled that sort of thing, although Leslie didn't know. Ed was betting that Matt had another reason for going to Houston, and it was to find out who hired that reporter and sent him looking for Leslie. He felt sorry for the source of that problem. Matt in a temper was the most menacing human being he'd ever known. He didn't rage or shout and he usually didn't hit, but he had wealth and power and he knew how to use them.

  He went back into his office, suddenly worried de­spite the reassurances he'd given Leslie. Matt didn't know why the reporter was digging around, but what if he found out? He would only be told what the public had been told, that Leslie's mother had shot her daughter and her live-in lover in a fit of jealous rage and that she was in prison. He might think, as others had, that Leslie had brought the whole sordid business on herself by having a wild party with Mike and his friends, and he wouldn't be sympathetic. More than likely, he'd come raging back home and throw Leslie out in the street. Furthermore, he'd have her escorted to the county line like the reporter who'd been following her.

  He worried himself sick over the next few hours. He couldn't tell Leslie, when he might only be wor­rying for nothing. But the thought haunted him that Matt was every bit as dogged as a reporter when it came to ferreting out facts.

  In the end, he phoned a hotel that Matt frequented when he was in Houston overnight and asked for his room. But when he was connected, it wasn't Matt who answered the phone.

  "Carolyn?" Ed asked, puzzled. "Is Matt there?"

  "Not right now," came the soft reply. "He had an appointment to see someone. I suppose he's for­gotten that I'm waiting for him with this trolley full of food. I suppose it will be cold as ice by the time he turns up."

  "Everything's all right, isn't it?"

  "Why wouldn't it be?" she teased.

  "Matt's been acting funny."

  "Yes, I know. That Murry girl!" Her indrawn breath was audible. "Well, she's caused quite enough trouble. When Matt comes back, she'll be right out of that office, let me tell you! Do you have any idea what that reporter told Matt about her...?"

  Ed hung up, sick. So not only did Matt know, but Carolyn knew, too. She'd savage Leslie, given the least opportunity. He had to do something. What?

  Ed didn't expect Matt that evening, and he was right. Matt didn't come back in time for the county commission meeting, and Ed was forced to go in his place. He held his own, as Matt had instructed him to, and got what he wanted. Then he went home, sitting on pins and needles as he waited for someone to call him—either Leslie, in tears, or Matt, in a tem­per.

  But the phone didn't ring. And when he went into work the next morning, Leslie was sitting calmly at her desk typing the letters he'd dictated to her just before they closed the day before.

  "How did the meeting go?" she asked at once.

  "Great," he replied. "Matt will be proud of me." He hesitated. "He, uh, isn't in yet, is he?"

  "No. He hasn't phoned, either." She frowned. "You don't suppose anything went wrong with the plane, do you?"

  She sounded worried. Come to think of it, she looked worried, too. He frowned. "He's been flying for a long time," he pointed out.

  "Yes, but there was a bad storm last night." She hesitated. She didn't want to worry, but she couldn't help it. Despite the hard time he'd given her, Matt had been kind to her once or twice. He wasn't a bad person; he just didn't like her.

  "If anything had happened, I'd have heard by now," he assured her. His lips pursed as he searched for the words. "He didn't go alone."

  Her heart stopped in her chest. "Carolyn?"

  He nodded curtly. He ran a hand through his hair. "He knows, Leslie. They both do."

  She felt the life ebb out of her. But what had she expected, that Matt would wait to hear her side of the story? He was the enemy. He wouldn't for one second believe that she was the victim of the whole sick business. How could she blame him?

  She turned off the word processor and moved her chair back, reaching for her purse. She felt more de­feated than she ever had in her life. One bad break after another, she was thinking, as she got to her feet a little clumsily.

  "Hand me my crutches, Ed, there's a dear," she said steadily.

  "Oh, Leslie," he groaned.

  She held her hand out and, reluctantly, he helped her get them in place.

  "Where will you go?" he asked.

  She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Something will turn up."

  "I can help."

  She looked up at him with sad resignation. "You can't go against your own blood kin, Ed," she re­plied. "I'm the outsider here. And one way or an­other, I've already caused too much trouble. See you around, pal. Thanks for everything."

  He sighed miserably. "Keep in touch, at least." She smiled. "Certainly I'll do that. See you." He watched her walk away with pure anguish. He wished he could make her stay, but even he wouldn't wish that on her. When Matt came home, he'd be out for blood. At least she'd be spared that confron­tation.

  Chapter Nine

  Leslie didn't have a lot to pack, only a few clothes and personal items, like the photograph of her father that she always carried with her. She'd bought a bus ticket to San Antonio, one of the places nosy re­porters from Houston might not think to look for her. She could get a job as a typist and find another place to live. It wouldn't be so bad.

  She thought about Matt, and how he must feel, now that he knew the whole truth, or at least, the reporter's version of it. She was sure that he and Carolyn would have plenty to gossip about on the way back home. Carolyn would broadcast the scan­dal all over town. Even if Leslie stopped working for Matt, she would never live down the gossip. Leaving was her only option.

  Running away. Again.

  Her hands went to a tiny napkin she'd brought home from the dance that she and Ed had attended with Matt and Carolyn. Matt had been doodling on it with his pen just before he'd pulled Leslie out of her seat and out onto the dance floor. It was a silly sentimental piece of nonsense to keep. On a rare oc­casion or two, Matt had been tender with her. She wanted to remember those times. It was good to have had a little glimpse of what love might have been like, so that life didn't turn her completely bitter.

  She folded her coat over a chair and looked around to make sure she wasn't missing anything. She wouldn't have time to look in the morning. The bus would leave at 6:00 a.m., with or without her. She clumped around the apartment with forced cheer, thinking that at least she'd have no knowing, pitying smiles in San Antonio.

  Ed looked up as Matt exploded into the office, stopping in his tracks when he reached Leslie's empty desk. He stood there, staring, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

  With a sigh, Ed got up and joined him in the outer office, steeling himself for the ordeal. Matt was ob­viously upset.

  "It's all right," he told Matt. "She's already gone. She said she was sorry for the trouble she'd caused, and that..."

  "Gone?" Matt looked horrified. His face was like white stone.

  Ed frowned, hesitating. "She said it would spare you the trouble of firing her," he began uneasily.

  Matt still hadn't managed a coh
erent sentence. He ran his hand through his hair, disturbing its neat wave. He stuck his other hand into his pocket and went on staring at her desk as if he expected she might materialize out of thin air if he looked hard enough.

  He turned to Ed. He stared at him, almost as if he didn't recognize him. "She's gone. Gone where?"

  "She wouldn't tell me," he replied reluctantly.

  Matt's eyes were black. He looked back at her desk and winced. He made a violent motion, pressed his lips together, and suddenly took a deep audible breath and with a furious scowl, he let out a barrage of nonstop curses that had even Ed gaping.

  "...and I did not say she could leave!" he finished at the end.

  Ed managed to meet those flashing eyes, but it wasn't easy. Braver men than he had run for cover when the boss lost his temper. "Now, Matt..."

  "Don't you 'Now, Matt' me, dammit!" he raged. His fists were clenched at his sides and he looked as if he really wanted to hit something. Or someone. Ed took two steps backward.

  Matt saw two of the secretaries standing frozen in the hall, as if they'd come running to find the source of the uproar and were now hoping against hope that it wouldn't notice them.

  No such luck. "Get the hell back to work!" he shouted.

  They actually ran.

  Ed wanted to. "Matt," he tried again.

  He was talking to thin air. Matt was down the hall and out the door before he could catch up. He did the only thing he could. He rushed back to his office to phone Leslie and warn her. He was so nervous that it took several tries and one wrong number to get her.

  "He's on his way over there," Ed told her the minute she picked up the phone. "Get out."

  "No."

  "Leslie, I've never seen him like this," he pleaded. "You don't understand. He isn't himself."

  "It's all right, Ed," she said calmly. "There's nothing more he can do to me."

  “Leslie...!" he groaned.

  The loud roar of an engine out front caught her attention. "Try not to worry," she told Ed, and put the receiver down on an even louder exclamation.

  She got up, put her crutches in place and hobbled to open her door just as Matt started to knock on it. He paused there, his fist upraised, his eyes black in a face the color of rice.