Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  "Not a thing in this world, baby doll," he drawled. "Except that Edna just saved you from ab­solute ruin and you don't even know it."

  Leslie stared into Matt's dancing eyes with obvi­ous confusion.

  "Never mind," he chuckled, sipping his coffee. "One day when we know each other better, I'll tell you all about it."

  She sipped her coffee and smiled absently. "You're very different since you came back from Houston."

  "I've had a bad knock." He put his cup down, but his eyes stayed on it. "I can't remember ever being grossly unfair to anyone before, much less an employee. It's hard for me, remembering some of the things I said and did to you." He grimaced, still not looking straight at her. "It hurt my pride that you'd let Ed get close, but you kept backing away from me. I never stopped to wonder why." He laughed hollowly. "I've had women throw themselves at me most of my adult life, even before I made my first million." He glanced at her. "But I couldn't get near you, except once, on the dance floor." His eyes nar­rowed. "And that night, when you let me touch you."

  She remembered, too, the feel of his eyes and his hands and his mouth on her. Her breath caught au­dibly.

  He winced. "It was the first time, wasn't it?"

  She averted her eyes.

  "I even managed to soil that one, beautiful mem­ory." He looked down at his hands. "I've done so much damage, Leslie. I don't know how to start over, to begin again."

  "Neither do I," she confessed. "What happened to me in Houston was a pretty bad experience, even if I'd been older and more mature when it happened. As it was, I gave up trying to go on dates afterward, because I connected anything physical with that one sordid incident. I couldn't bear it when men wanted to kiss me good-night. I backed away and they thought I was some sort of freak." Her eyes closed and she shuddered.

  "Tell me about the doctor."

  She hesitated. "He only knew what he'd been told, I guess. But he made me feel like trash." She wrapped both arms around her chest and leaned for­ward. "He cleaned the wound and bandaged my leg. He said that they could send me back to the hospital from jail for the rest."

  Matt muttered something vicious.

  "I didn't go to jail, of course, my mother did. The leg was horribly painful. I had no medical insurance and Jessica's parents were simple people, very poor. None of us could have afforded orthopedic surgery. I was able to see a doctor at the local clinic, and he put a cast on it, assuming that it had already been set properly. He didn't do X rays because I couldn't afford any."

  "You're lucky the damage could even be re­paired," he said, his eyes downcast as he wondered at the bad luck she'd had not only with the trauma of the incident itself, but with its painful aftermath.

  "I had a limp when it healed, but I walked fairly well." She sighed. "Then I fell off a horse." She shook her head.

  "I wouldn't have had that happen for the world," he said, meeting her eyes. "I was furious, not just that you'd backed away from me, but that I'd caused you to hurt yourself. Then at the dance, it was even worse, when I realized that all those quick steps had caused you such pain."

  "It was a good sort of pain," she told him, "be­cause it led to corrective surgery. I'm really grateful about that."

  "I'm sorry it came about in the way it did." He smiled at her new look. "Glasses suit you. They make your eyes look bigger."

  "I always wore them until the reporter started try­ing to sell an idea for a television movie about what happened. I dyed my hair and got contacts, dressed like a dowager, did everything I could to change my appearance. But Jacobsville was my last chance. I thought if I could be found here, I could be tracked anywhere." She smoothed her skirt over the cast.

  "You won't be bothered by that anymore," he said. "But I'd like to let my attorneys talk to your mother. I know," he said, when she lifted her head and gave him a worried look, "it would mean res­urrecting a lot of unpleasant memories, but we might be able to get her sentence reduced or even get her a new trial. There were extenuating circumstances. Even a good public defender isn't as good as an ex­perienced criminal lawyer."

  "Did you ask her that?"

  He nodded. "She wouldn't even discuss it. She said you'd had enough grief because of her."

  She lowered her eyes back to her skirt. "Maybe we both have. But I hate it that she may spend the rest of her life in prison."

  "So do I." He touched her hair. "She really is blond, isn't she?"

  "Yes. My father had dark hair, like mine, and gray eyes, too. Hers are blue. I always wished mine were that color."

  "I like your eyes just the way they are." He touched the wire rims of her frames. "Glasses and all."

  "You don't have any problem seeing, do you?" she wondered.

  He chuckled. "I have trouble seeing what's right under my nose, apparently."

  "You're farsighted?" she asked, misunderstand­ing him.

  He touched her soft mouth with his forefinger and the smile faded. "No. I mistake gold for tinsel."

  His finger made her feel nervous. She drew back. His hand fell at once and he smiled at her surprise.

  "No more aggression. I promise."

  Her fascinated eyes met his. "Does that mean that you won't ever kiss me again?" she asked boldly.

  "Oh, I will," he replied, delighted. He leaned for­ward. "But you'll have to do all the chasing from now on."

  Chapter Eleven

  Leslie searched his dark eyes slowly and then she began to smile. "Me, chase you?" she asked.

  He pursed his lips. "Sure. Men get tired of the chase from time to time. I think I'd like having you pursue me."

  Mental pictures of her in a suit and Matt in a dress dissolved her in mirth. But the reversed relationship made her feel warm inside, as if she wasn't com­pletely encased in ice. The prospect of Matt in her arms was exhilarating, even with her past. "Okay, but I draw the line at taking you to football games," she added, trying to keep things casual between them, just for the time being.

  He grinned back. "No problem. We can always watch them on TV." The light in her eyes made him light-headed. "Feeling better now?" he asked softly.

  She nodded. “I guess you can get used to anything when you have to," she said philosophically.

  "I could write you a book on that," he said bit­terly, and she remembered his past—his young life marked with such sadness.

  "I'm sure you could," she agreed.

  He leaned forward with the coffee cup still in his hands. He had nice hands, she thought absently, lean and strong and beautifully shaped. She remembered their touch on her body with delight.

  "We'll take this whole thing one step at a time," he said quietly. "There won't be any pressure, and I won't run roughshod over you. We'll go at your pace."

  She was a little reluctant. That one step at a time could lead anywhere, and she didn't like the idea of taking chances. He wasn't a marrying man and she wasn't the type for affairs. She did wonder what he ultimately had in mind for them, but she wasn't con­fident enough of this new relationship to ask. It was nice to have him like this, gentle and concerned and caring. She hadn't had much tenderness in her life, and she was greedy for it.

  He glanced suddenly at the thin gold watch on his wrist and grimaced. "I should have been in Fort Worth an hour ago for a meeting with some stock producers." He glanced at her ruefully. "Just look at what you do to me," he murmured. "I can't even think straight anymore."

  She smiled gently. "Good for me."

  He chuckled, finished his coffee and put down the cup. "Better late than never, I suppose." He leaned down and kissed her, very softly. His eyes held a new, warm light that made her feel funny all over. "Stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

  Her eyebrows rose. "Oh, that's cute."

  He nodded. "You never put a foot wrong, did you?"

  "Only by being stupid and gullible."

  His dark eyes went even darker. "What happened wasn't your fault. That's the first idea we have to correct."

  "I was madly infa
tuated for the first time in my life," she said honestly. "I might have inadvertently given him the idea...."

  He put his thumb against her soft lips. "Leslie, what sort of decent adult man would accept even blatant signals from a teenager?"

  It was a good question. It made her see what had happened from a different perspective.

  He gave her mouth a long scrutiny before he abruptly removed his thumb and ruffled her short dark hair playfully. "Think about that. You might also consider that people on drugs very often don't know what they're doing anyway. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time."

  She readjusted her glasses as they slipped further on her nose. "I suppose so."

  "I'll be in Fort Worth overnight, but maybe we can go out to dinner tomorrow night?" he asked speculatively.

  She indicated the cast. "I can see me now, clump­ing around in a pretty dress."

  He chuckled. "I don't mind if you don't."

  She'd never been on a real date before, except nights out with Ed, who was more like a brother than a boyfriend. Her eyes brightened. "I'd love to go out with you, if you mean it."

  "I mean it, all right."

  "Then, yes."

  He grinned at her. "Okay."

  She couldn't look away from his dark, soft eyes. It felt like electricity flowing between them. It was exciting to share that sort of intimate look. She col­ored. He arched an eyebrow and gave her a wicked smile.

  "Not now," he said in a deep, husky tone that made her blush even more, and turned toward the door.

  He opened it. "Edna, I'll be back tomorrow," he told his secretary.

  "Yes, sir."

  He didn't look back. The outer door opened and closed. Leslie got up with an effort and moved to the office door. "Do you want me to clean up in here?" she asked Edna.

  The older woman just smiled. "Heavens, no. You go on back to work, Miss Murry. How's that leg feeling?"

  "Awkward," she said, glowering at it. "But it's going to be nice not to limp anymore," she added truthfully. "I'm very grateful to Mr. Caldwell for having it seen to."

  "He's a good man," his secretary said with a smile. "And a good boss. He has moods, but most people do."

  "Yes."

  Leslie clumped her way back down the hall to her office. Ed came out when he heard her rustling paper and lifted both eyebrows. "Feeling better?" he asked.

  She nodded. "I'm a watering pot lately. I don't know why."

  "Nobody ever had a better reason," he ventured. He smiled gently. "Mart's not so bad, is he?"

  She shook her head. "He's not what I thought he was at first."

  "He'll grow on you," he said. He reached for a file on his desk, brought it out and perched himself on the edge of her desk. “I need you to answer these. Feel up to some dictation?"

  She nodded. "You bet!"

  Matt came back late the next morning and went straight to Leslie when he arrived at the office. "Call Karla Smith and ask if she'll substitute for you," he said abruptly. "You and I are going to take the af­ternoon off."

  "We are?" she asked, pleasantly surprised. "What are we going to do?"

  "Now there's a leading question," he said, chuck­ling. He pressed the intercom on her phone and told Ed he was swiping his secretary and then moved back while Leslie got Karla on the phone and asked her to come down to Ed's office.

  It didn't take much time to arrange everything. Minutes later, she was seated beside Matt in the Jag­uar flying down the highway just at the legal speed limit.

  "Where are we going?" she asked excitedly.

  He grinned, glancing sideways at the picture she made in that pretty blue-and-green swirl-patterned dress that left her arms bare. He liked her hair short and dark. He even liked her glasses.

  "I've got a surprise for you," he said. "I hope you're going to like it," he added a little tautly.

  "Don't tell me. You're taking me to see all the big snakes at the zoo," she said jokingly.

  "Do you like snakes?" he asked unexpectedly.

  "Not really. But that would be a surprise I wouldn't quite like," she added.

  "No snakes."

  "Good."

  He slid into the passing lane and passed several other cars on the four-lane.

  "This is the road to Houston," she said, noting a road sign.

  “So it is."

  She toyed with her seat belt. "Matt, I don't really like Houston."

  "I know that." He glanced at her. "We're going to the prison to see your mother."

  Her intake of breath was audible. Her hands clenched on her skirt.

  He reached a lean hand over and gently pressed both of hers. "Remember what Ed says? Never back away from a problem," he said softly. "Always meet it head-on. You and your mother haven't seen each other in over five years. Don't you think it's time to lay rest to all the ghosts?"

  She was uneasy and couldn't hide it. "The last time I saw her was in court, when the verdict was read. She wouldn't even look at me."

  "She was ashamed, Leslie."

  That was surprising. Her eyes met his under a frown. "Ashamed?"

  "She wasn't taking huge amounts of drugs, but she was certainly addicted. She'd had something be­fore she went back to the apartment and found you with her lover. The drugs disoriented her. She told me that she doesn't even remember how the pistol got into her hand, the next thing she knew, her lover was dead and you were bleeding on the floor. She barely remembers the police taking her away." His lips flattened. "What she does remember is coming back to her senses in jail and being told what she did. No, she didn't look at you during the trial or afterward. It wasn't that she blamed you. She blamed herself for being so gullible and letting herself be taken in by a smooth-talking, lying drug dealer who pretended to love her in return for a place to live."

  She didn't like the memories. She and her mother had never been really close, but when she looked back, she remembered that she'd been standoffish and difficult, especially after the death of her father.

  His hand contracted on both of hers. "I'm going to be right with you every step of the way," he said firmly. "Whatever happens, it won't make any dif­ference to me. I only want to try to make things easier for you."

  "She might not want to see me," she ventured.

  "She wants to," he said grimly. "Very badly. She realizes that she might not have much time left."

  She bit her lower lip. "I never realized she had heart trouble."

  "She probably didn't, until she started consuming massive quantities of drugs. The human body can only take so much abuse until it starts rebelling." He glanced at her. "She's all right for now. She just has to take it easy. But I still think we can do something for her."

  "A new trial would put a lot of stress on her."

  "It would," he agreed. "But perhaps it isn't the sort of stress that would be damaging. At the end of that road, God willing, she might get out on parole."

  Leslie only nodded. The difficult part lay yet ahead of her; a reunion that she wasn't even sure she wanted. But Matt seemed determined to bring it about.

  It was complicated to get into a prison, Leslie learned at once. There were all sorts of checkpoints and safety measures designed to protect visitors. Les­lie shivered a little as they walked down the long hall to the room where visitors were allowed to see inmates. For her, the thought of losing her freedom was akin to fears of a lingering death. She wondered if it was that bad for her mother.

  There was a long row of chairs at little cubicles, separated from the prisoners' side by thick glass. There was a small opening in the glass, which was covered with mesh wiring so that people could talk back and forth. Matt spoke to a guard and gestured Leslie toward one of the cubicles, settling her in the straight-backed chair there. Through the glass, she could see a closed door across the long room.

  As she watched, aware of Matt's strong, warm hand on her shoulder, the door opened and a thin, drawn blond woman with very short hair was ushered into the room by a guard. She went forward
to the cubicle where Leslie was sitting and lifted her eyes to the tense face through the glass. Her pale blue eyes were full of sadness and uncertainty. Her thin hands trembled.

  "Hello, Leslie," she said slowly.

  Leslie just sat there for a moment with her heart beating half to death. The thin, drawn woman with the heavily lined face and dull blue eyes was only a shadow of the mother she remembered. Those thin hands were so wasted that the blue veins on their backs stood out prominently.

  Marie smiled with faint self-contempt. "I knew this would be a mistake," she said huskily. "I'm so sorry..." She started to get up.

  "Wait," Leslie croaked. She grimaced. She didn't know what to say. The years had made this woman a stranger.

  Matt moved behind her, both hands on her shoul­ders now, supporting her, giving her strength.

  "Take your time," he said gently. "It's all right."

  Marie gave a little start as she noticed that Matt was touching Leslie with some familiarity, and Leslie wasn't stiff or protesting. Her eyes connected with his dark ones and he smiled.

  Marie smiled back hesitantly. It changed her lined, worn face and made her seem younger. She looked into her daughter's eyes and her own softened. "I like your boss," she said.

  Leslie smiled back. "I like him, too," she con­fessed.

  There was a hesitation. "I don't know where to start," she began huskily. "I've rehearsed it and re­hearsed it and I simply can't find the words." Her pale eyes searched Leslie's face, as if she was trying to recall it from the past. She winced as she compared it with the terror-stricken face she'd seen that night so long ago. "I've made a lot of mistakes, Les­lie. My biggest one was putting my own needs ahead of everybody else's. It was always what I wanted, what / needed. Even when I started doing drugs, all I thought about was what would make me happy." She shook her head. "Selfishness carries a high price tag. I'm so sorry that you had to pay such a high price for mine. I couldn't even bear to look at you at the trial, after the tabloids came out. I was so ashamed of what I'd subjected you to. I thought of you, all alone, trying to hold your head up with half the state knowing such intimate things about our lives..." She drew in a slow, unsteady breath and she seemed to slump. "I can't even ask you to for­give me. But I did want to see you, even if it's just this once, to tell you how much I regret it all."