Books By Diana Palmer

by Palmer, Diana

  "What things?" he asked instead.

  She drew in a steadying breath and turned. Her eyes were just faintly red, but she was calm and resolute. "I want you to buy me out."

  It was the last thing he'd have expected her to say. He was bereft of speech for several long seconds. "What?"

  "I've decided that I don't want to spend the rest of my life try­ing to raise beef, despite the Japanese deal," she said calmly. "I've got a little money saved. I don't want to go back to the vo­cational school. I want to go to college."

  "All right," he said. "I'll talk to Murchison at the bank. You can live at the ranch while you commute..."

  "You misunderstand me," she interrupted. "I'm going to school in San Antonio, not here."

  She was going to leave. He wouldn't see her again. The ranch that had been their primary link would be his alone. She would live in another town, work in another town. She wouldn't be here when he came to look at the books, check the livestock, pick out the culls. He wouldn't see her at all, even with Grier. The thought paralyzed him.

  "I'd like to leave at the end of the month," she added. "If you can't tie things up by then, it doesn't matter. Arrange it however you like. I'll sign any sort of papers."

  He scowled ferociously. Something was very wrong. She loved the ranch. It had been in her family for three generations. She'd hated even sharing it with him, at first. Now she wanted to leave it for good. Why?

  "Maude said you had something to tell me," he said. "Was this it?"

  "Yes," she said, grateful that Maude hadn't been more forth­coming with him. San Antonio wasn't far enough, but it was a good jumping off point. She'd go there and then find someplace else to escape to, before she started showing.

  "Christabel," he began.

  Before he could organize his thoughts, he heard a siren and a very loud, racing engine. They both turned in time to see a Ja-cobsville police car come roaring down the dirt road, leaving a huge wake of dust. Grier, damn him!

  Grier slammed to a stop and barely took time to cut off the siren and the lights before he got out and strode quickly toward Christabel.

  "You okay?" he asked abruptly, ignoring Judd altogether.

  She felt a wave of relief. Now Judd couldn't pump her for in­formation. "I'm okay," she said. "I just needed a quiet place to think."

  Grier wasn't buying it. His eyes narrowed and he stared at her doggedly. "I'll follow you back to the ranch," he said.

  Christabel let out an angry sigh. "I don't need a keeper!"

  "The hell you don't," Grier ground out. "Look where you've parked!"

  "I'm a good foot off the bank!" she argued.

  Grier held out his hand. She glared at him, but she gave him her truck key.

  "I'll move it back. What are you doing out here?" he asked Judd belatedly.

  "Talking to my wife," he returned with mocking arrogance.

  "I'm not your wife," Christabel choked. "I'm just the hired help."

  Grier wisely left them alone and went to move her car.

  "What the hell does that mean?" Judd demanded.

  She wouldn't look at him. She wrapped her arms tight around her chest. "I'm cold."

  He glanced at her bare arms and his voice softened. "No won­der. You aren't even wearing a sweater."

  She ignored him, watching Grier whip the truck around with easy expertise.

  Judd's sigh was audible. "We need to sit down and talk..."

  She met his eyes evenly. "I have nothing to talk to you about ever again," she said solemnly. "Talk is just words. They don't mean anything."

  His jaw tautened. "You saw me with Tippy," he said gruffly. "I can explain."

  "What do you care what I think?" she asked evenly. "I'm not part of your life. I never was."

  He winced. "Christabel..."

  "Crissy! Let's go! You'll catch cold standing out here!" Grier said shortly.

  She forced a smile for him. "Look who else isn't wearing a jacket," she accused gently.

  Grier looked as if he'd die keeping his mouth shut, but he did.

  She shrugged. "Okay. I'm coming."

  Judd's big fists were clenched at his sides. "Wait a minute."

  She looked up at him. "Your life is your own business now. I won't interfere. I'll expect the same courtesy from you."

  "Damn it!"

  "You saved the ranch, Judd," she said quietly. "You saved me, too. You've sacrificed five years of your life just keeping me sol­vent. I'll never forget what I owe you. But I don't expect you to go on making sacrifices for me," she added huskily. "If anyone ever deserved a little happiness, it's you. I'm...glad you have Tippy, waiting for you. I won't stand in your way."

  She moved back from him, like a shadow merging with the forest, and her attention went to Grier, who was holding the dri­ver's door open for her. He handed her the truck key.

  "Okay, I'm going home," she told Cash, making a face at him and laughing.

  He smiled back. "Don't speed."

  "I never speed."

  "Ha!"

  She got into the truck and drove off. She didn't look at Judd as she passed him.

  Judd stalked over to Grier, who was getting back into his pa­trol car. "She isn't divorced yet," he said in a blatant challenge.

  Grier gave him a cold look. "She might as well be, for all the notice you take of her lately."

  "How could I take notice of her when I can't come to my own ranch without tripping over you! Besides, my relationship with Christabel isn't your business."

  Grier only smiled. "We'll see about that." He started the po­lice car.

  "What do you know that I don't?" Judd asked abruptly.

  Grier hesitated uncharacteristically. "Ask her. Better yet, ask Maude. That's how I found out."

  Before Judd could persist, Grier drove away.

  But Judd wasn't giving up. He knew something was going on, and he had a sinking feeling that he was involved. He followed Grier to town and right into the police station.

  The Jacobsville Police Department shared a building with the fire department. The men were almost interchangeable. Many started out as firemen and trained as policemen later, and vice versa. It was a good group of kindhearted men. Most were family men. Some were loners. A lot were ex-military.

  Even among the loners, Grier stood out. At first he made the men uncomfortable. Later, he made surface friendships, es­pecially after the other officers learned that they could always depend on him in a pinch. It didn't take very long for his past to catch up with him, in whispers that stopped whenever he entered a room. He raised eyebrows wherever he went, espe­cially when some of his wilder escapades were embroidered even more. So very soon, he resumed his old role as a perma­nent outsider.

  He didn't really mind so much. He had the glamour of dan­ger to attract women when he was interested—which wasn't often these days—and that same aura kept most men from try­ing him in fights. There was always the exception.

  In fact, one was just walking in the door, mad as hell and de­termined to get to the bottom of a mystery he didn't like.

  Grier knew he couldn't save the situation with words. Dunn was too much like him. The two men had backgrounds that should have made them fast friends. Instead, they were always in competition.

  Judd closed the door behind him and pulled down the shade that the former assistant police chief had used to shield himself from prying eyes while he did his exercises on his lunch hour.

  Grier used the shade rarely. Judd was obviously putting it in place to keep the curious men from getting involved in a per­sonal conflict.

  With a sigh of resignation, Grier stood up and started unbut­toning his uniform shirt and loosening his tie.

  "Can't you fight dressed?" Judd asked sarcastically.

  Grier lifted a corner of his mouth and kept working buttons. "I haven't got a clean replacement for this. I don't want to get blood on it."

  "Mine, or yours?" the other man asked.

  "Either. You're wearing a w
hite shirt," Grier pointed out.

  Judd didn't reply this time. He took off his gunbelt, weapon and all, and laid it on the desk, dropped easily into a balanced stance and waited.

  "We don't have to do this," Grier tried one more time.

  "No, we don't," Judd agreed in a deceptively pleasant tone. "Tell me what she's hiding and I'll go back to my office."

  "Can't do that," Grier replied. "I gave my word."

  Judd shrugged his broad shoulders. "Then, it's my way or the highway," he said, and as he spoke, he stepped forward and threw a lightning punch at the other man.

  Grier's reputation wasn't based on exaggeration. He ducked, whirled, and caught Judd with a spinning heel kick worthy of Chuck Norris.

  Judd went down, but he was like a cat on his feet. He popped up again, wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, and smiled. That smile was all too well-known in Ranger circles. Grier had one just like it.

  Grier almost ducked in time, but a roundhouse kick caught him in the stomach, followed by a back roundhouse that sent him over a chair.

  The loud noises, even during lunch, drew attention. Grier's door opened just as the assistant chief made a dive at Judd and carried him over the desk and onto the floor.

  Somebody yelled "Fight!" and there were suddenly blue uniforms everywhere, getting a ringside seat. Grier was certain he heard somebody taking odds, but his ears were ringing from Judd's latest punch. Damn, the man hit hard!

  He matched Judd's next swing with a jump kick that threw him into the wall. While he was trying to recover, Grier spun and caught him in the side of the head with a graceful high kick that was pure poetry to watch.

  Judd landed with equal grace and bounded back onto his feet. The two men, well matched in size and skill, eyed each other as they moved toward each other. Hand blows were dodged or blocked, kicks were avoided or blocked. Thuds of contact were sharp and harsh. Both men were getting bruised, and both were bleeding.

  Grier got in another unexpected kick by feinting with a punch. Judd took the blow, but spun and backhanded Grier into his own desk.

  The crowd was getting louder, and apparently, larger.

  Grier glanced toward their audience with narrowed dark eyes almost as black as Judd's. "You're going to get me fired," he growled at Judd.

  "Fat chance, Chet's your second cousin." Judd shot a light­ning heel kick that unbalanced Grier so that he fell beside the desk. "Get up!" he muttered when the other man hesitated.

  Grier did, but with a blurring sweep of his powerful leg that almost unbalanced Judd. But Judd recovered quickly, swung the other man up by one arm and gave him a hip toss that landed him squarely across the one comfortable chair in the office in a winded sprawl.

  It was going to be a draw, no matter how it came out, Grier surmised. He and Judd were too evenly matched for one to put the other down. Worse, Grier himself had taught Dunn quite a few of those lightning moves. He stayed put in the chair, rub­bing his jaw.

  "Don't stop now," Judd said in a soft, angry tone, his black eyes glittering. "Get up and let's finish it."

  "Not me," Grier told him amusedly. He chuckled, shaking his head. "I know when to quit."

  "Get up!"

  Grier's eyebrows rose. "Better reconsider that. If I get up, I'll arrest you for assault on a police officer. You'll be handcuffed, fingerprinted, booked and locked up, and I'll call the newspa­per myself to give them the scoop. Think how that will look to your captain, much less the brass in Austin!" he added with twinkling dark eyes.

  Judd was furious. He didn't want to give up this easily. He hadn't learned anything. "She says she wants to sell me her half of the ranch and move to San Antonio. I'm not leaving here until you tell me what's wrong with her," Judd persisted stubbornly. "One way or another," he added darkly.

  Grier knew that if he didn't tell him, Judd would go back to the ranch and start on Crissy. That could be dangerous. She was already obviously very upset. Knowing her as he did, he could imagine that she was making all sorts of wild plans to escape Jacobsville by now. She could easily lose herself in San Anto­nio. That wouldn't do, not in her condition.

  "All right," Grier said finally, with a heavy sigh. "I'll talk. But not in front of witnesses," he added, glaring at their audience. "Out, or you'll all be pulling double shifts at the grammar school crossing!"

  They left vapor trails exiting the door and the windows. Grier got to his feet slowly, feeling bruises rising all over him. Judd Dunn's face looked like a relief map of west Texas. Along with the cuts, it was turning interesting shades of purple. Grier could imagine that he didn't look much better. His jaw hurt.

  "Now, why couldn't you just have told me in the first place?" Judd asked brusquely.

  "I thought you might feel sorry for me and go away."

  Judd laughed coolly. "Dream on."

  Grier shrugged as he shouldered into his uniform shirt, but­toned and tucked it in, and put his tie back on. "I imagine that Christabel wants to go to San Antonio because it's big and she can get a bus or a train out of there to anywhere without much risk of discovery until it's too late."

  Judd scowled as he put his gunbelt back on. "She said she wanted to go back to college."

  Grier perched his tall frame on the corner of his desk and gave Judd a patient look. "She thinks you want Tippy," he replied. "She's going away so that she won't get in the way of your hap­piness."

  "I never said I wanted to marry Tippy," he said defensively.

  "It's none of my business, of course. But I'd be happy to see you marry her and get out of Crissy's life. I'll marry Crissy and spoil her rotten."

  Judd's pride was choking him. He couldn't bear to think of Christabel with this man, not in even the most innocent way. "She's my wife," he ground out. "Until that changes, she's mine."

  "I understood her to say that you'd started divorce proceed­ings."

  "Not yet," Judd gritted.

  "It's just a matter of time, surely? You're the one who's pushed it from the beginning."

  That was true, and it hurt. Judd had made so many stupid mis­takes. It was incredible that a man of his experience couldn't manage to sort out his own feelings for a little slip of a girl whom he'd known most of her life.

  "We're getting off the subject," Judd said evasively. "Why does she want to run away?"

  Grier sighed. "You can't guess, of course."

  "It can't be because of you," he said mockingly. "Or she'd be fighting to keep her half of the ranch."

  "No," Grier agreed quietly. "She's a wonderful young woman. I'd give a lot to be the man in her life, but that hasn't happened. I'm not even in the running."

  For one, long, horrified moment, Judd wondered if there was some other man. But then he realized it was impossible. Then if it wasn't Grier, and she was running...

  "You can't count, can you?" Grier drawled. "You've been back from Japan for about two months. She came home starry-eyed and hopeful, and then she lapsed into depression that hasn't lifted since, because you've avoided her like the plague. Now, suddenly, she's avoiding you."

  "I noticed," Judd said. "You're not telling me anything I don't already know!"

  "I am, if you'd listen," Grier returned, folding his arms across his chest. "Think. Why does she want to run away? Why is it important that she gets someplace where you can't see her?"

  It should have been clear much sooner than this. It hit him be­tween the eyes like a baseball bat. She was trying to hide be­cause her body was changing. Because she was...

  "She's...pregnant?" Judd almost choked on the words.

  Grier just nodded. "That's what Maude says. She's had morn­ing sickness for two weeks and none of her clothes fit any­more."

  The other man's face went white. She hadn't been taking birth control pills. She felt guilty because of it. She'd avoided him. She'd seen him with Tippy in the barn. But Christabel didn't know that it had only been a stage kiss and now she was determined not to get in the way of his happiness, not to ruin his chance
s with a child he didn't even know about. Maybe she thought he wouldn't want it, either.

  He dropped onto the sofa and sat there, quiet, brooding, shell-shocked.

  "Babies are nice," Grier said. "I'm just at the age where I think about them a lot. I can live anywhere. If you want Crissy to go, I'll tag along. Maybe she'll give in one day and marry me. I'll adopt the child and love him as if he were my own."

  Doors were closing. Somewhere along the way, Judd had lost Christabel and the baby in a bleak, sad future.

  He looked up at Grier with nightmares in his eyes. He'd worshipped freedom. The thought of spending his life with a woman, having a family, had been utterly terrifying to him. He was uncertain. He'd lived alone, worked alone, been alone, most of his adult life. He hadn't want ties, responsibilities. He'd hated the thought of living in a cage. But then she got shot, taking a bullet meant for him, and his whole attitude had changed. He'd done everything in his power to show her how much he cared, but she'd gone cold on him and started clinging to Grier. It had hurt. Couldn't Christabel see that? How could she believe he pre­ferred Tippy to her?

  What sort of life would he have if he let Christabel leave town, and Grier went with her?

  "If I were you—and thank God I'm not—I'd go home and think about this real hard," Grier told him with faint amusement. "You haven't got a lot of time."

  Judd didn't snap back. He looked at Grier as if he really didn't see him at all. He got to his feet, vaguely aware of bruised places that were uncomfortable and cuts on his face that felt wet.

  "A few small adhesive bandages wouldn't come amiss," Grier prompted.

  "Look in a mirror, Grier," Judd told him.

  "I can't stand to. If I look half as bad as you do, I'm wearing a paper sack to work tomorrow."

  "That's cute," Judd growled as he strode toward the office door. "You'll be lucky if you have a job tomorrow, when Chet Blake sees this office."

  "Oh, I'll tell him you did it all," Grier assured the younger man with a grin.

  "Try it."

  "The first thing you need to do something about is your sense of humor," Grier pointed out. "To say nothing of your poor skills in diplomacy."

  "Your idea of diplomacy is a cocked pistol," Judd pointed out.