Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  "How can he be engaged to you?" Cash asked curtly, scowl­ing at Tippy. "He and Crissy are still married, aren't they?" he asked Maude.

  "They're getting divorced," Maude said. "Didn't she tell you? I guess he's already started proceedings..."

  "They're...married?" Tippy exclaimed, paling. "Christabel is his wife?"

  "They've been married for five years," Maude confirmed mis­erably. "Never meant anything to him. It was just on paper, so he could take care of things when her dad went to jail."

  "I had no idea," Tippy said miserably.

  "Don't tell me it would have mattered," Cash said with drip­ping sarcasm.

  She gave him an angry glance. "It would have mattered," she replied coldly. "I don't date married men. Ever."

  His eyebrows went up. That was news.

  A tall, redheaded surgeon in green scrubs came out of the swinging doors that led to the operating room, looking around until he spotted Judd. He walked toward him, somber and un­smiling.

  "How is she?" Judd asked quickly.

  Copper Coltrain shrugged. "We've stopped the bleeding. The lung's reinflated. But she's lost a lot of blood and she's not in good shape otherwise, either. She's got bronchitis. It's going to complicate her recovery."

  "Bronchitis?" Judd repeated.

  "I thought she sounded hoarse," Maude agreed, "but she said it was just a little cold and she wouldn't go to the doctor." She grimaced. "She said she couldn't afford to. Her insurance doesn't have an outpatient clause."

  The minute the words were out, she regretted them. Judd's eyes closed and he looked tormented. Tippy looked at the hateful ring on her finger and cursed her own stupidity in talking Judd into buy­ing her that ring. Cash Grier just sighed with misery eating at him.

  "Where do we go from here?" Judd asked in a subdued tone.

  "We pray," Coltrain replied flatly. "I won't give you promises I can't keep. Right now, it's a toss-up. I'm sorry. I've done the best I can do."

  "I know that. Thanks," Judd said dully. "Can I see her?" he

  added.

  "She's in recovery," he replied. "It would be better to wait until we get her into a room in intensive care..."

  "I'll stay with her," Maude interrupted, just before Grier could say the same thing.

  "You can't. Not in intensive care. You can see her three times a day, for no more than ten minutes each time," he added firmly. "It's too serious. She has to be kept quiet. No upsets."

  Judd looked as if he'd die trying not to snap at the surgeon. But he finally just nodded defeatedly.

  Coltrain put a rough hand on his shoulder. "Don't borrow trouble. Take it one hour at a time. You'll get through this."

  "Think so?" Judd asked heavily.

  "I know so. I'll keep a close watch on her. Try not to worry." He nodded to the others and went back down the hall.

  Judd looked at the other three people with him. "I'm glad you're all here. But if anybody gets into that room, even for a minute, it's going to be me," he said shortly.

  Cash looked inclined to argue, but the expression on Judd's face made him back down.

  "If you want us to stay out here with you, I don't mind," Tippy said.

  "Same here," Maude added.

  "I'd rather you went home," Judd said. "I'm not leaving the hospital until I know something, one way or the other."

  "I'll give them a ride," Cash said. "Then I'll come back."

  Judd met the older man's eyes. He didn't argue. He didn't even speak. He just nodded. He didn't want to be alone, and he wouldn't have to pull his verbal punches talking about it to Cash. You just couldn't talk about gunshot wounds with civilians, most of whom had never seen one. Judd and Cash had seen their share. Judd turned and walked toward the intensive care unit.

  * * *

  "You took his guns away from him, didn't you?" Maude asked Cash when Cash pulled up in front of the house.

  He nodded. "They're locked up in my office." His expression was somber. "But there's still a pistol and a shotgun in the house somewhere. Crissy told me. You'd better get all the ammunition and lock it up somewhere."

  "The minute I get inside," Maude promised.

  Tippy glanced from one of them to the other. "You aren't se­rious," she remarked.

  Cash met her eyes. "If she were my wife, that's what Maude would be doing for me," he said flatly. "And yes, I'm serious. Maybe Judd hasn't realized it yet, but he won't have a life left if Christabel dies. It isn't logical, but it's what some men do when they're out of their minds with grief. We don't need an­other tragedy."

  "Amen," Maude said. She dabbed at her eyes. "Well, you should go and take Miss Moore back to town," she told Cash. "Not that I'll sleep. Are you sure I shouldn't stay with Judd tonight?"

  "I won't leave him," Cash assured her. "And I'll call you when I know something. I promise."

  "All right, then," Maude said. She gave Tippy a gentle smile. "You keep that sweater," she told her. "I'll get yours back and wash it and press it for you."

  "Thank you," Tippy said softly, and she smiled.

  Cash drove her to town. He didn't speak and neither did she. In fact, she sat with her arms folded tight over her chest, look­ing uncomfortable.

  "For a man-eater, you're surprisingly tame," he commented when he pulled up in front of her hotel.

  She gave him a cool look. "I've done some stupid things. I don't like myself very much right now." She shrugged. "Did you see what she did?" she added heavily. "She stepped right in front of the gun. She saw it coming. She didn't even hesitate. She must...love him very much," she added, almost choking on the words.

  "She does," he agreed, feeling the words and hating them.

  She glanced at him curiously. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

  "If I am, it's nobody's business except my own," he told her flatly.

  She sighed. "Now you're hostile again. Look, I have a hard time with men. A real hard time. Gary Mays, the assistant di­rector, has been driving me up the wall trying to get me into bed. Judd pretended to be interested in me, to keep him at bay, and I took it a little too seriously. That's all it was." She glared at him again. "I wouldn't have a man for life on a bun with sauce."

  His eyebrows arched and he looked at her intently. "That's just how I feel about women."

  She relaxed a little. Her eyes slid over him carefully. "I trust men in uniform," she blurted out. "Cops have gotten me out of some of the worst tangles in my life."

  He was beginning to get a picture of her that was disturbing. Far from the pose she affected on the job, she was shy and introverted and frightened of him when it was just the two of them, alone.

  "I have to go in," she said. "I hope Christabel will be all right. Judd, too."

  "Why don't you look Gary Mays right in the eye and tell him you'll have him up for sexual harassment if he doesn't back off?" he asked abruptly.

  Her eyes almost popped. "It wouldn't work."

  "It would. If you can stop a man, you can dominate him."

  "Interesting philosophy," she said.

  "Not mine. I read Juan Belmonte's autobiography. He was a famous bullfighter in the early 1900s. He said it works as well with men as it does with bulls. It does."

  "You'd know," she murmured dryly.

  "Yes. I would."

  She got out of the truck, a little slowly. "Thanks for the ride."

  He scowled and peered at her closely. "Can you see me?" he asked unexpectedly.

  She was surprised by the question. She smiled. "Sort of," she replied.

  "You're nearsighted and you won't wear your glasses," he guessed.

  She laughed. It sounded like silver bells tinkling. "And I can't wear contacts."

  He studied her. Despite the tragedy of the day, she piqued his curiosity. "You're a puzzle. I've said some things to you that I shouldn't have. You're not what I thought you were."

  She was watching him with new respect. "Neither are you," she said.

  "Think about what I said," h
e told her as he started the truck. "You don't have to take that sort of crap from an assistant di­rector. If you can't make him stop, let me know. I'll stop him."

  She shrugged and managed a smile. "I'll keep in touch with Maude."

  He nodded. He didn't say another word. Seconds later, he was on his way to the hospital.

  Judd sat alone in the chapel. They'd let him in for a handful of minutes to look down on Christabel's white, drawn little face. If he'd been able to get to a bar, he could have gone through a fifth of whisky afterward. It was shocking to see her like that. She was hooked up to half a dozen monitoring machines with a needle in her arm feeding her nutrients and apparently a nar­cotic for pain. There was a tube coming out of her side to drain her chest. Perhaps it was the same tube they'd used to reinflate the lung as well.

  Not since she was sixteen had she been so badly hurt, and even then it wasn't this serious. There hadn't been the risk that she could die from her father's brutal beating. This was different. She looked fragile and helpless and so alone. Her big dark eyes were closed. There were dark circles under them. When she breathed, he heard the slow rasp of fluid in her chest. Her lips were blue. She looked as if she'd already died.

  He'd touched her small hand with his big one and remembered the last thing she'd said to him before Clark showed up. Tippy had told her that he'd been disgusted with her, that he hadn't wanted her hanging on him, running after him with her heart on her sleeve. His eyes had closed with a shudder. If she didn't make it, her last memory of him would be one of pain and betrayal.

  It wasn't true. He wasn't disgusted. He lay awake nights re­membering the passion they'd shared. He missed her. It was like being without an arm or a leg. He'd told her he didn't want any­thing permanent. Now the choice might not be his anymore. He might be left alone, as he'd thought he wanted to be when he told her he was getting the divorce.

  Somewhere he remembered an old adage. Be careful what you want; you might get it. He looked at Christabel's still body and saw the end of everything he loved.

  A noise caught his attention. Grier was back. He sat down in the pew beside him, looking uncomfortable.

  "God's ticked at me," he told Judd on an audible sigh as he looked around him. "Maybe I'm jinxing her by being in a chapel at all."

  "God isn't vindictive," Judd replied heavily. "Usually He gives us a lot more leeway than we deserve."

  "Your father was a minister, Crissy said," he commented.

  Judd nodded.

  "Shooting John Clark was harder on you than you expected," he replied quietly.

  Judd glanced at him curiously. "Because my father was a minister?"

  "Because you were taught to believe that killing is always wrong." Grier's eyes went to the pulpit. "I wasn't. The first thing you learn in the military is the necessity of killing, and how to do it with maximum efficiency. Men won't kill another man close up unless they're taught to do it through muscle reflex. After a few weeks of training, killing is instinctive. I was a good student," he added, his voice cold in the silence.

  Judd's eyes narrowed. "It doesn't bother you?"

  "It didn't. Until I got mixed up with her," he added, smiling faintly. "She was the first woman in years who didn't look at me and see a killer. She has this annoying way of making you feel important, necessary, useful. She made me feel good just by smiling at me."

  Judd hated hearing that from his rival. "She's always been like that," he commented after a minute. "No matter how bad things get, she's always got a smile."

  "She made me think I could fit in here, if I tried," he replied. "I've never wanted to belong anywhere in my life until now."

  Judd stared at the other man with narrowed eyes. "I appreci­ate your company. But you'd better know that if she lives, she's never getting that divorce," he said abruptly.

  Cash stared back. "You won't fool her with pity," he returned. "She'll see right through it."

  Judd averted his gaze. He wasn't willing to share his deepest feelings with his only rival. "The only person I feel sorry for right now is myself. I'm the idiot who was supposed to be pro­tecting her. How the hell did she get shot?" he asked suddenly. "I know he wasn't trying to kill her. She didn't shoot his damned brother!"

  Cash hesitated, studying his hands. He couldn't tell Judd what he knew. Not yet. Not until they were sure she was going to live.

  "It will all come out eventually," Cash said noncommittally.

  He put his face in his hands with a long, unsteady sigh. "I'd give anything to go back and put things right," he said enig­matically.

  "You, and the rest of us," Cash said philosophically.

  It was a long night. The next morning a bleary-eyed Judd walked into the intensive care unit with a long face and a heavy heart. Christabel lay just as he'd seen her before. There was a new drip running, but her expression was as dead as it had been.

  He leaned down, brushing the hair away from her face. He winced at just the sight of her. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "So sorry, honey."

  Her long eyelashes twitched and her dark eyes opened. Her breathing was still raspy, and she looked like death on a warm­ing plate. But she seemed to see him.

  "Christabel?" he whispered.

  Her eyes fixed on his face, but she didn't react.

  "Can you hear me, baby?" he asked softly.

  She frowned and winced. "Hurts," she whispered hoarsely.

  His big hand trembled as it smoothed her hair, her face. "Thank God you're still alive," he said, his voice breaking de­spite his steely control. He bent and brushed his lips over her dry mouth. "Thank God, thank God, thank God!" he groaned.

  She blinked. She was barely aware of anything except the pain. "Hurts so much " she breathed and her eyes closed again.

  He let go of her reluctantly and pushed the nurse's call but­ton to tell her that Christabel was awake and in pain. Seconds later, a nurse breezed in, followed by a technician, and he was chased out with reassuring smiles. She was going to live. This was the hopeful sign they'd all been waiting for.

  Coltrain nodded in passing as he went in to check her. He came back out scant minutes later smiling. "She's going to be fine," he told Judd, clapping him on the shoulder. "It's just a mat­ter of time, now. You can stop holding your breath."

  Judd thanked him and then went down the hall and leaned against the wall trying to compose himself. He'd been in hell for so long that the relief was devastating. She would live. She was going to live. He brushed away the quick moisture in his eyes.

  Cash came up beside him, a question in his eyes.

  "She's going to make it," Judd said huskily.

  "Thank God," Cash said with heartfelt relief.

  "What about Clark?" he asked suddenly, having only just re­membered the man,

  "Patched up and in jail, probably for the rest of his life after the trial," Cash assured him. He was watching the other man closely. "I think you should know what Tippy told me," he added, hating to reveal it even now. It meant an end to all his own hopes.

  "Yes?" Judd prompted.

  "She saw Clark step out and aim the gun at you. She didn't have time to react, and neither did Crissy. She said Crissy real­ized you wouldn't be able to save yourself, and she deliberately stepped out in front of the gun."

  Judd's intake of breath was audible.

  “Tippy was devastated when she saw it," he continued. "She said she felt ten kinds of a fool for the trouble she'd caused be­tween the two of you, when she knew how much Crissy cared." He shook his head. "I wouldn't have told you if Crissy had died. But you should know. I'll go call Maude and give her the good news."

  He turned and walked away. Judd stood there like a statue, ab­sorbing the statement with a feeling of utter humility. Christa-bel had taken the bullet meant for him. She'd been willing to give her own life to save him. He'd never dreamed she cared so much. He was absolutely without words. Now he had to find a way to rebuild the bridges he'd burned. It wasn't going to be easy.

  Ch
ristabel drifted in and out of consciousness for the first few days after her body began the slow process of recovery from the wound, which had cost her part of the lower lobe of her lung and a piece of her spleen as well. Fortunately the bullet was in the destroyed tissue which had to be removed to stop the bleeding.

  She was moved into a semi-private room on the fourth day. After that, Judd never left her side. His second shooting in two weeks had landed him under administrative leave yet again, but he didn't care. It was opportune. His captain and his lieutenant had phoned twice already to check on Christabel's status. He had good co-workers. One of them from San Antonio was assigned to take his place temporarily in Victoria while Christabel recu­perated from her wounds. Ranch business had to be attended to as well, even though Judd hated the time he was required to spend away from her taking care of it. He delegated as much as he could to their foreman, Nick.

  Grier was also a constant visitor, but he was oddly subdued and kept well in the background. Marc Brannon and his wife, Josette, heard about the tragedy and came by to offer support. So did a lot of other prominent citizens. Tippy Moore also came by after work to check on the patient, bringing Maude with her. The actress had surprised a lot of people with her compassion, most notably Grier. He was an unintentional eavesdropper on a conversation she had on her cell phone. At first he thought she was talking to a man, be­cause her voice was soft and full of affection. Then she mentioned tests and grades and keeping out of fights with other boys, and he realized she was speaking to a child. It turned out to be her young brother, in a military school. She confessed it with odd reserve and then walked away before Grier could question her any more.

  When there were no visitors, Christabel was reserved with Judd. She didn't look him in the eye ever. She smiled when Grier and Maude came and managed to converse with them, even though she was frightfully weak. She was polite, if distant, with Tippy. But she was visibly uncomfortable with Judd.

  "You should go back to work," she told him one morning when the nurse's aide got her up and into a chair while her bed was re­made. "I'm only going to be in here for a few more days, the doc­tor says. Nick can handle things at home. I'm out of danger."