Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  Her tomboyish nature had disturbed her invalid mother, who said that Christabel should be learning how to dress and set proper place settings instead of throwing calves for branding and grooming the horses in the rickety stable. Christabel paid her no attention, and went right on with her chores. She felt that she had to hold up her part of the responsibility for the ranch some­how, and helping with the daily chores before and after school and on weekends was her way of doing it. Judd noticed, at first with amazement, and then with affectionate indulgence.

  He did care about her, in his way. But it wasn't the way Christabel wanted him to care. She had a terrible premonition about the change the movie company's arrival the following month was going to make in her dreary life. Judd had already stated his intention of getting an annulment in November. What if he fell head-over-heels for the internationally famous model that most adult men drooled over? She couldn't help thinking that the model might find him equally attractive. Judd was a dish. She started to roll over and put the pillow over her head. Plenty of time for those worries after she got through the com­puter class exam at school on Monday. The exam! How could she have forgotten! She reached for her alarm clock and set it for an hour earlier than usual. A little last-minute cramming never hurt anybody.

  She got through the exam and her other classes and went home to do chores. She'd just finished grooming her mare—the same one she'd managed to save from her father's brutality when it was just a filly—when she heard a car drive up.

  Maude had gone to the store, so she went to see who it was. She was surprised to find a black and brown Jacobsville police car sitting there. A tall, well-built man in uniform with his thick black hair in a ponytail turned at her approach and came down the steps with a hand on the butt of his .45 automatic in the hol­ster on his well-laden duty belt, sharing space with a leather am­munition clip holder, along with leather baton, aerosol, flashlight and knife holders.

  It was Cash Grier, the assistant chief. Crissy had seen him just once, but she'd heard a lot about him. He was like Judd, she sup­posed, all business and stone-faced.

  On a wicked impulse, she put both hands high over her head. "I confess. I did it!" she called. "I robbed Jacobsville Savings and Loan, and the money's in the barn. Go ahead, get a rope!"

  He stopped and his eyebrows rose. His chiseled, very disci­plined mouth in between the full mustache and the small goatee turned up at both sides and his dark eyes twinkled in a swarthy, scarred face.

  "Suit yourself. Lead me to a tree," he replied.

  She grinned. It changed her face, made it radiant. She rubbed her dirty right hand on her equally dirty jeans and extended it. "Hi! I'm Christabel Gaines. Everybody calls me Crissy except Judd."

  He shook the hand. "What does Judd call you?" he asked.

  "Christabel," she said on a sigh. "No imagination, and he hasn't got a sense of humor. If you don't want to arrest me, why are you here? We're not even in your jurisdiction. The city lim­its sign is four miles thataway." She pointed.

  He chuckled. "Actually, I'm looking for Judd. He left a mes­sage for me. I understand there's a movie company coming out here to film and they need on-site security from some of my off-duty officers. I'd volunteer," he added, "but they'd worry me to death trying to get me to play the lead in their movie. I'm good-looking, in case you haven't noticed," he added with a wicked grin.

  It took her a minute to get it, then she burst out laughing.

  "Are you going to be in it?" he persisted with a grin.

  She nodded. "I'm going to play a lilac bush next to the porch steps. I understand the makeup will take all day."

  He chuckled. She was a real charmer, and pretty to boot. He liked her personality. It had been a long time since a woman had appealed to him so much at a first meeting.

  "I'm Cash Grier, the assistant police chief," he introduced himself. "I guess you figured that out already. What gave me away—the patrol car?"

  "It does stand out," she remarked. "Very nice."

  "We like to think we have the sexiest patrol cars in Texas " he agreed. "I look good in a police car," he added.

  Her dark eyes gazed up into his. "Let's see."

  "Oh, no," he replied. "It's too much for some women. We'll have to work up to letting you see me in the car." He lifted both eyebrows and his eyes twinkled. "I look pretty good over a cup of coffee, too."

  It was a hint, and she took it. "Okay. Let's see "

  Before they got into the house, the ranch truck pulled up with Maude in it. She got out and pulled a sack of groceries out from beside her. Her green eyes went from the patrol car to the tall uniformed man. She turned to Christabel and glared. "Well, what have you done now?"

  "This is Cash Grier, our new assistant police chief. He says he looks good over a cup of coffee," she told Maude. "I'm going to let him prove it."

  She gave Grier a speaking look. "I've heard about you. They say you play with rattlesnakes and send wolves running."

  "Oh, I do," Grier assured her genially. "I like a spoon to stick up in my coffee," he added.

  "Then you'll be right at home, here. That's how Crissy makes it."

  "Here," he said, taking the burden out of her arms with a flair. "Women's lib be damned, no dainty little woman should have to carry heavy packages up steps."

  Maude caught her breath and put a hand to her heart. "Chivalry lives!" she exclaimed.

  He leaned down. "Chivalry is my middle name," he informed her. "And I will do almost anything for a slice of pie. I have no pride."

  Maude chuckled, along with Crissy. "We have a nice pie left over from yesterday, if Judd didn't eat it all. He's a fanatic on the subject of apple pie."

  "There's some left, because I made two," Crissy told Maude. "Come along, Mr. Assistant Police Chief, and I'll feed you."

  Grier stood aside to let Maude go first. "Beauty before titles," he said with a grin. "And please don't tell my superior that I'm susceptible to bribes."

  "Chet Blake is, too," Maude informed him. "I hear he's your cousin."

  He sighed as he followed the women into the house. "Nepo­tism rears its ugly head," he agreed. "But he was desperate, and so was I."

  "Why?" Crissy asked curiously.

  "Don't be rude," Maude chided. "He's barely got in the house. Give him some coffee and pie. Then grill him!" she added with a chuckle.

  Grier had two slices of pie, actually, and two cups of coffee. "You're a good cook," he told Crissy while he sipped at his sec­ond cup.

  "I learned early," she replied, twirling her cup around under her hands. "My mother was an invalid until her death. I learned to cook when I was ten."

  He sensed a history there, and he wondered about her rela­tionship with Judd Dunn. He'd heard rumors of all sorts about the odd couple who shared the D bar G Ranch.

  She looked up, noting the curious look in his dark eyes. "You're curious about us, aren't you?" she asked. "Judd's uncle and my father were partners in this ranch for ten years. Circum­stances," she said, boiling down the tragedy of her life into one word, "left us with a half interest each. I'm good with comput­ers and math, so I do most of the bookkeeping. Judd is good with livestock, so he takes care of buying and selling and logistics."

  "What happens if one of you gets married?"

  "Oh, but we already..." She stopped dead. Her eyes held ap­prehension and self-condemnation in equal parts.

  He glanced at her left hand with the man's signet ring cut down to fit her finger. His eyes lifted back to hers. There was keen intelligence in them. "I never tell what I know," he told her. "Governments would topple." He grinned.

  She smiled back at him. "You don't know anything," she in­formed him deliberately.

  His gaze was speculative. "Is it real, or just on paper?''

  "I was sixteen at the time," she replied. "It's just on paper. He...doesn't feel like that."

  His eyebrows lifted. "But, you do?"

  She averted her gaze. "What I feel doesn't matter. He saved more
than the ranch. He saved me. And that's all I'm going to tell you," she added when he stared at her. "In November I turn twenty-one and I'm a free woman."

  He pursed his lips and studied her face. "I'm thirty-eight. Years too old for you..." His voice trailed off, like a question.

  It had never occurred to her that a man would find her at­tractive. Judd treated her like a sore foot. Maude ordered her around. Boys at school were interested in the pretty, feminine girls who flirted. Crissy was friendly but she didn't flirt or dress suggestively. In fact, she was much more at home around horses and cattle and the cowboys she'd known most of her life. She was shy with most men.

  She flushed. "I...I...don't interest men," she blurted out.

  He put his coffee cup down slowly. "Excuse me?"

  "Do you want some more coffee?" she asked, flustered.

  He was fascinated. The women who filed through his life had been sophisticated, as worldly as he was, chic and urbane and sensuous. They thought nothing of coming on to him with all sorts of physical and verbal sensuality. This woman was un­touched, uncorrupted. She had a freshness, a vibrancy, that made him wish he was young again, that he'd never had the experi­ences that had turned him bitter and cold inside. She was like a jonquil blooming in the snow, a stubborn flash of optimism in a cynical cold landscape.

  He frowned, studying her.

  The flush grew worse. "You're intimidating when you scowl. Just like Judd," she said uneasily.

  "Blame it on a jaded past," he said, biting off the words. He pushed his chair back, still frowning. “Tell Judd I've put a note on our bulletin board about the site security job. So far we've got over a hundred applications. We only have twenty cops," he added on a sigh. "My own secretary signed up."

  "Your secretary?"

  He nodded, pushing the chair back under the table slowly. "She says if they hire her to do security, they'll have to give her a badge and a gun, and she can arrest me anytime she feels like it if I make her work late."

  She laughed in spite of herself. He'd gone far away for a minute there, and she'd felt uncomfortable.

  "Are you a bad boss?"

  "I'm temperamental."

  It showed, but she wasn't going to say so.

  "Thanks for the coffee and pie," he said quietly.

  "You're very welcome."

  He turned and went down the hall. His back, she noted, was arrow-straight. He walked with a peculiar gait, a softness of step that was vaguely disquieting. He walked like a man who hunted.

  He got to the front steps and turned so suddenly that she went off balance and had to catch one of the porch posts to save herself.

  "Do you like pizza?" he asked abruptly.

  She was still reeling from his sudden stop. "Uh, yes."

  "Friday night," he persisted, dark eyes narrowed. "There's a band. Do you dance?"

  "I do," she said.

  "What will Judd do, if you go out with another man?"

  She was uneasy. "I...well, I don't really know. I don't think he'd mind," she added. "It isn't that sort of relationship."

  "He may mind having you go out with me," he said flatly. "He knows more about me than most people do around here."

  She was shocked and intrigued, "Are you a bad man?"

  Something terrible flashed in his dark eyes. "I have been," he said. "Not anymore."

  Her face softened as she looked at him. She wondered if he realized how much his eyes gave away. There were nightmares in them.

  She let go of the post and moved a step closer to him. "We all have scars," she said, understanding what Judd had been saying to her that day in the kitchen. "Some show, some don't, but we all have them."

  His eyes narrowed. "Mine are deep."

  She began to smile. "Mine, too. But all of a sudden, I don't mind them so much. They seem less conspicuous."

  His broad chest rose and fell. He felt light. "Funny. So do mine." He smiled.

  "The only place that serves pizza and beer and has a dance band is Shea's Roadhouse and Bar, out on the Victoria road " she told him. "Judd never goes there. I'm afraid he won't like me going there."

  "I'll take care of you," he told her.

  She sighed. "People have been taking care of me all my life, and I'll be a grown woman in less than two months." She stud­ied his face. "I have to learn how to take care of myself."

  "Funny you should mention it," he said, and his eyes softened. "I wrote the book on self-defense for women."

  "Not that kind of taking care," she muttered.

  "I'll teach you, just the same. Ever shot a gun?"

  "Judd taught me to shoot skeet," she told him. "I'm hell on wheels with a .28 gauge. I have my own, a Browning." She didn't add that he hadn't taken her shooting in years.

  He smiled, surprised. Many women were afraid of shotguns. "Imagine that!"

  "Do you shoot?"

  He gave her a look that reduced her height by three inches.

  "You're a police officer. Of course, you shoot," she muttered.

  "Eb Scott's got a nice firing range. He lets us use it for prac­tice. I'll teach you how to shoot a pistol FBI style."

  "Can you ride?" she asked.

  He hesitated. "I can. I don't like to."

  He was probably a city man, she guessed, and hadn't had much to do with horses or ranching.

  "I don't like pistols," she confessed.

  He shrugged. "We can't like everything." He looked down at her with mingled emotions. "I suppose I really am too old for you."

  Cash, who was four years older than Judd, thought she was too young. Maybe Judd did, too. That would explain, as noth­ing else did, the hesitation he showed in getting involved with her. It hurt.

  "On the other hand," he murmured, misreading her look of disappointment, "what the hell. That movie star who's a grand­mother just married a man twenty-five."

  Her eyes brightened and she grinned. "Are you proposing? After only two slices of apple pie? Gosh, imagine if I cooked you supper!"

  He burst out laughing. He hadn't laughed like this in a long time. He felt as if all the cold, dead places inside him were warming.

  "Imagine," he agreed, nodding. "Pizza, Friday night," he added.

  "Pizza and beer," she corrected.

  "Beer for me, soft drinks for you," he said. "You're not legal yet. You have to be twenty-one to drink beer in Texas."

  "Okay, I'm easy—I'll drink bourbon whisky instead," she agreed.

  He gave her a sardonic look and went down the steps. He hes­itated and looked up at her. "How many people know you're married?"

  "A handful," she said. "They also know that it's a business arrangement. It won't damage your reputation."

  "I don't have a reputation to damage anymore," he replied. "I was thinking of yours."

  Her face broke into a smile. "How nice of you!"

  "Nice." He shook his head as he opened the door of the pa­trol car. Static was coming from the radio. "I can think of at least a dozen people who would roll on the floor laughing if they heard me called that."

  Her dark eyes twinkled. "Hand over their numbers. I'll phone them!"

  He grinned at her. "See you Friday. About five?"

  She nodded. "About five."

  He drove off with a wave of his hand and Crissy went back into the kitchen, where Maude was standing by the sink look­ing worried.

  "What's your problem?" Crissy asked her.

  "I overheard what he said. You just agreed to go out on a date."

  "Yes. And your point is?"

  "You're married, darlin'," Maude reminded her. "Judd is not going to like this."

  "Why should he mind?" she asked reasonably. "He's said often enough that he doesn't want me for keeps. It's just a busi­ness arrangement."

  Maude didn't say a word. She was remembering the look on Judd's face when she'd walked into the kitchen unexpectedly and found Crissy sitting on his lap. Crissy hadn't noticed any­thing different, but she had. She turned back to her chores. Judd wasn't goi
ng to like this.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Judd drove up in the yard Friday afternoon in his big black SUV, just an hour before Christabel was expecting Grier to pick her up. She was nervous. Worse, she was dressed to the teeth, and Judd noticed.

  She'd left her blond hair undone, and it flowed like golden silk down to her waist in back. She didn't wear a lot of makeup, just powder and a light lipstick, but her eyes looked larger, a liq­uid brown that dominated her face and soft little chin. She was wearing a slinky black skirt with black high heels fastened around the ankle, displaying the sexy arch of her little feet. The black vee-necked blouse she had on was unusually tight, em­phasizing her small, firm, rounded breasts in a way that made Judd ache in all the wrong places. A wide fringed black Span­ish mantilla completed the outfit. It wasn't expensive, and it was old, but it was sexy. He wasn't used to seeing Christabel dressed like that. And suddenly he wondered why she was, and why she wouldn't look him in the eye. He knew from long experience that she was hiding something.

  He propped a big booted foot on the bottom step of the porch and his narrow eyes fixed on her face.

  "All right, spill it," he said tersely. "Why are you dressed like that, and why did you come running out the minute you heard me drive up? Are we going on a date, and you forgot to tell me?" he added.

  She lifted her eyes and glared at him. The sarcasm hurt. "Wouldn't that be the day?" she asked with equal sarcasm. "As it happens, I'm going out dancing."

  He didn't react for several seconds. Then sudden anger hard­ened his lean face. "Dancing? With a man?"

  She straightened. "Yes. With a man." Her smile was provok­ing in the extreme. "Go ahead, Judd, tell me you haven't touched another woman since we married. Tell me you don't date "

  The expression on his face was impossible to read. He moved up the steps, towering over her. "Who is he? Some boy from school?"

  She realized with a start that what had seemed harmless and fun was becoming shameful and embarrassing. Her face colored.