by Diana Palmer
Her heart jumped just at the sound of his name, but she recovered quickly. “No. I haven’t spoken to him for a week or two, I guess.”
“There’s been some unpleasantness, shall we say, between Libby and Julie Merrill.”
Violet looked blank. “I wasn’t aware that they even knew each other,” she replied.
“They’re not even acquaintances,” Curt agreed. “But Julie wants Jordan, and Libby was getting in the way.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, Julie attacked Libby and Jordan didn’t stand up for her. Jordan made some nasty remarks to Libby.” He shrugged. “I’m not working for any man who bad-mouths my sister.”
“I don’t blame you one bit. Poor Libby!”
“She can take care of herself on good days,” he said. “But Julie has some unsavory friends. Sadly for her, she walked into Kemp’s office while Libby was there.”
“Excuse me?”
He smiled. “You don’t know, do you? There’s bad blood between Kemp and Julie. She had a party at her house eight years ago and invited Shannon Culbertson, who was all but engaged to Kemp at the time. There was a rivalry between Shannon and Julie for a class office at school. Somebody put something in Shannon’s drink. She died. Julie got the office.”
“She was poisoned?” Violet exclaimed, fascinated by this private look at her taciturn boss’s life. So he had a woman in his past after all. Was that why he didn’t have much to do with women now? It made her sad to think there was another woman in his life, even a ghost. How could a living woman compete with a perfect memory?
“She wasn’t poisoned. She had a hidden heart condition,” he corrected. “Anyway, she died. Kemp never got over it. He did his best to have Julie tried for it, but her father had plenty of money and plenty of influence. It was listed as a tragic accident with no explanation, and the case was closed. Kemp would hang Julie if he could ever find an excuse to get her in court.” He leaned forward. “Just between you and me, that might happen. Senator Merrill got busted for drunk driving. Now he and his nephew the mayor are trying to get the arresting officers fired—and Chief Cash Grier, too.”
Violet’s mind had to jump-shift back to the subject at hand. She was still taking in Kemp’s secret past, one that she hadn’t even expected. “That’ll be the day, when Chief Grier will let his officers go down the drain without a fight.”
“Exactly what most of us think,” Curt said. “Grier is hell on drug traffickers. Which brings to mind one other rumor that’s going around—that Julie has her finger in a nasty white powder distribution network.”
Violet whistled. “Some news!”
“Keep it to yourself, too,” he admonished. “But the point of the thing is, I was without a job and Duke said I could work for him.”
“Welcome aboard, as one refugee to another.”
“That’s right, you and Kemp had a mixer, too, didn’t you?” He smiled wryly. “Libby told me,” he added when she looked surprised. “But I heard it from three other people as well. You don’t keep secrets in a town like Jacobsville. We’re all one big family. We know all about each other.”
She smiled. “I suppose we do.”
“How’s your mother taking the exhumation?”
The smile faded. “She says it’s not bothering her, but I know it is. She’s very old-fashioned about things like that.”
He looked angry. “We feel the same way. But we had to let them exhume Dad, too. Nobody wants Janet to walk away from another murder.”
“That’s how Mama and I feel,” Violet agreed. “But it really is hard. Have you heard anything yet?”
He shook his head. “They say the results will take time. The state crime lab is backed up, so it won’t be a quick process. That will make it worse, I guess.”
She nodded. “But we’ll get through it, won’t we?” she added.
He smiled at her determination. “You bet we will.”
Blake Kemp was fuming. He’d been so busy with work that he’d forgotten the exhumations until Libby had actually asked him about them. He’d promised her that he’d get right on it. But the disturbing news had nothing to do with possible murders. It had to do with the fact that Curt Collins, Libby’s brother, was taking Violet to Calhoun Ballenger’s volunteer staff meeting at his ranch on the following Saturday.
He’d been worried about Violet letting Duke Wright turn her head, and here she was going on a date with a very eligible, upstanding member of a founding family of Jacobsville, Texas. Even Kemp couldn’t claim descent from old John Jacobs himself. Duke might have a lot of warts, but Curt was a fine young man with a promising future. And Violet was going to date him.
He didn’t understand his own violent opposition to that pairing. Violet was nothing to him, after all. She was just his ex-secretary. He had no right to care if she had a private life.
But he did care. The thought of her with Curt made him uneasy. He knew Calhoun Ballenger from years past. He frequently handled cases for him. He admired and respected the local feedlot owner. There was no reason he couldn’t get himself invited to that meeting. He just wanted to make sure Violet didn’t do something stupid, like falling into Curt’s arms at the first opportunity. It was his duty to protect her. Sort of. He picked up the phone and dialed Calhoun’s number, refusing to consider his motives in any personal way.
The meeting was riotous. There were people gathered around the big recreation room that Kemp hadn’t seen face-to-face in years. Some were frankly a surprise, because at least two of the county’s biggest Republican contributors were in the front row.
“Interesting, isn’t it?” Police Chief Cash Grier asked him with a grin, noting the direction Kemp was staring. “Ballenger’s crossing party lines all over the place. He’s well-known in cattlemen’s circles, and locally he’s the original hometown boy who came out of poverty to become a millionaire. He did it without any under-the-table dealings as well, I hear.”
“That’s right,” Kemp told him. “Calhoun and his brother, Justin, were the poorest kids around. They made their fortunes honestly. They both married well, too.”
“Calhoun’s wife was his ward, they say,” Grier mused.
“Yes, and Justin married a direct descendant of Big John Jacobs, the founder of Jacobsville. Between them, they’ve got six boys. Not a girl in either family.”
At the mention of children, Grier became quiet. He and his houseguest, Tippy Moore, a rising movie star, had lost their baby just before Tippy’s little brother was kidnapped and held for ransom. Tippy had traded herself for him, an act of courage that still made Grier proud. Their relationship was rocky even now, and Tippy was a potential victim of one of the kidnappers who’d eluded police in Manhattan.
Kemp glanced at him, aware of the older man’s discomfort. “Sorry,” he murmured. He knew about the baby because the story, a false and very unflattering one, had played out in the tabloids when Tippy had miscarried.
Grier let out a long breath. “I never knew I wanted kids,” he said quietly, not meeting Kemp’s gaze. “Hell of a way to find out I did.”
“Life evens out,” Kemp said philosophically. “You have bad days, then you have good ones to make up for them.”
Grier’s dark eyes twinkled. “I’m due about two years of good days.”
Kemp laughed without humor. “Aren’t we all?”
Grier’s attention was captured by someone behind Kemp. He pursed his lips. “Your ex-secretary sure has changed.”
Kemp was aware of his heart jumping at the statement. He turned his head and there was Violet. But she looked very different. She was wearing a neat little black skirt with a dropped-waist blue top that was cut modestly low in front. Her hair was around her shoulders, but it had frosted tips. She looked ten pounds lighter, and very pretty.
She noticed Kemp and her heart raced. Beside her Curt was watching the byplay with amusement, because Kemp couldn’t seem to help staring any more than Violet could.
“I need to talk to someone,” he told Vio
let. “Can you manage without me for a few minutes?”
“Yes!” She curbed her enthusiasm. “I mean, yes, that would be all right, Curt. Thanks.”
He chuckled, winked at her, and strolled off.
Kemp walked up to her. He was dressed in an open-necked shirt with a sports coat and navy slacks. He looked expensive, sophisticated, and good enough to eat. Violet could hardly keep her eyes off him.
He was having a similar problem. It was odd how much Violet had been on his mind lately. He saw her in the office even when she wasn’t there. He’d been uneasy since he’d seen her at her mother’s house, and they’d parted on a harsh note.
“Still like working for Duke?” he queried stiffly.
She shrugged. “It’s a job.”
His eyebrow jerked. “Your hair looks nice,” he murmured, reaching out to take a strand of it in his strong fingers. “I don’t like frosting as a rule, but it suits you. You’ve lost more weight, too, haven’t you?”
“It may look like it, but I haven’t really,” she replied, lost in a haze because of contact with him. “I’ve just been learning how to dress to make the most of what I have.”
His eyes slid up to meet hers. “That’s what life is all about, Violet,” he said gently. “Learning how to make do with what we’re given. You don’t need to lose any more weight. You look great.”
She flushed and smiled radiantly. “Do you…really think so?”
He moved a step closer, aware of pleasure centers opening all over his mind as he looked down at her. “Do you like trout?”
It was an odd question. She blinked. “Trout? Well, yes.”
“Why don’t you come over for lunch tomorrow? I’ll fry trout and make a pasta salad to go with them. You can take some home to your mother.”
Violet’s jaw dropped. She stood gaping at him while she tried to decide, quickly, if she’d lost her mind and was having hallucinations.
Four
Her lack of response made Kemp uneasy and provoked a sarcastic response. He’d thought she’d jump at the chance. “What’s the matter?” Kemp taunted. “Afraid to be alone with me outside the office?”
Violet gaped at him. “I am not…no…I don’t think…I didn’t say…” She cleared her throat. “I love trout. So does Mama.”
His eyes twinkled. So he hadn’t been wrong. She did still care about him. “So do I,” he replied. “I panfry it in butter and spices. I have my own herb garden, even in the winter.”
“It sounds delicious,” she said breathlessly.
He still had the strand of her hair in his fingers. They became caressing, and his deep voice dropped even lower. “Do you like cats?”
She nodded.
“You may have a little trouble with Mee and Yow at first, but they’ll get used to you.”
Violet felt as if she’d stepped off a precipice and solved the mystery of free flight. She was ecstatic. “I think cats are beautiful.”
“Mine are Siamese. They’re unique.”
She smiled slowly. “I’ll enjoy meeting them.”
He let go of her hair and touched her soft cheek with his fingertips. They seemed to tingle at the contact. “About one in the afternoon tomorrow suit you?”
She nodded, speechless.
“Know how to get to my house?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, and could have bitten her tongue for sounding so enthusiastic.
Kemp was eating it up. He knew it was a bad idea, encouraging her. At some point he was going to have to back away from her. He didn’t want commitment. Not yet. But Violet was soft to the touch and lovely to look at. He’d been without a woman in his life for a long time. He was lonely. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to have the occasional meal with her. Of course it wouldn’t. He was enjoying her rapt expression. She made him feel as if he could conquer the world. For once in his life he was going to jump in with both feet without counting the cost.
“Then I’ll expect you,” he added.
She smiled up at him, her blue eyes wide and soft and hungry. “I’ll look forward to it,” she said huskily.
“So will I,” he replied, and the smile faded for an instant as he searched her eyes for so long that she flushed and her breath rustled wildly in her throat.
“Kemp! Glad you could make it!” Tall, handsome Calhoun Ballenger moved forward to shake Kemp’s hand and greet Violet. “Kemp, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to. Violet, you don’t mind?”
“No, not at all,” she lied.
“Tomorrow, at one,” Kemp added before he walked away with Calhoun.
“Tomorrow,” she replied.
Curt had to ask her twice if she was ready to leave. She hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to Kemp any further, and he’d been called away suddenly to meet with a man who’d just been arrested. Before he left, he’d looked back at Violet with pale blue eyes that absolutely smoldered. She was still tingling an hour after he’d gone.
“What?” she asked abruptly, facing Curt. She flushed when he grinned. “Sorry,” she began.
“Oh, I’m not upset,” he replied, chuckling. “I’m glad to see that your ex-boss finally realized what he was missing.”
She flushed even more. “It’s not like that.”
“I’m a man, Violet,” he reminded her as they walked out to his car after making their goodbyes to their host. “I know a smitten man when I see one. Kemp’s got it bad.”
“Do you really think so?” she asked hopefully.
“I think so. Just go slowly,” he advised. “He’s pretty much a loner and he doesn’t play around.”
“I knew that already.”
He turned toward her, serious for once. “What I meant,” he said softly, “is that he’s more vulnerable than a man who plays the field. And everybody knows he’s not a marrying man, at least not visibly. You just step carefully, okay?”
“I will. Thanks for the advice, Curt.”
He shrugged. “Story of my life. I’m always someone’s big brother.”
She grinned. “One day some lucky girl will carry you off,” she promised.
He smiled back. “I hope it’s a few years coming. I’m no more ready to settle down than your friend Kemp is. At least he’s got a profession. I’m still drifting.”
“Libby said you wanted to open a feed store.”
He nodded. “It’s the dream of my life.”
“I hope you get to do it, Curt. I mean that.”
He opened the door for her. “So do I. You’re a nice girl, Violet.”
“You’re a nice man.”
He chuckled. “Well, I’m accommodating, at least. Calhoun had quite a crowd today,” he added when he’d climbed in under the wheel of his and Libby’s old pickup truck.
“A big one. And some big money, too. I think he just may beat Senator Merrill for the Democratic nomination.”
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised myself.”
Violet told her mother about Kemp’s invitation, and Mrs. Hardy grinned from ear to ear. “And how long have I been telling you that Mr. Kemp had more interest in you than a boss in his secretary?” she asked.
“It’s only to eat a trout,” Violet replied.
“He can eat trout by himself,” her mother said sagely. “It’s also interesting that Mr. Kemp, who never advertises his political affiliations, suddenly turned up at a campaign meeting.”
“He likes Mr. Ballenger.”
Mrs. Hardy pursed her lips. “I think somebody told him you were going to the meeting with Curt Collins.”
She gasped. “Really?”
“Sometimes a man doesn’t appreciate what he’s got until some other man wants it. Or he thinks another man wants it.” Mrs. Hardy’s eyes twinkled. “We’ll see, won’t we, dear?”
Violet colored prettily and suggested a television program.
She didn’t sleep. All night long, she saw Blake Kemp’s eyes drilling into her own, she heard his voice, felt the touch of his fingers on her face. She tried on everything in her
closet the next morning before she finally decided on a nice ankle-length sky-blue knit jumper with a white blouse under it and her embroidered denim jacket over it. She left her hair long.
“You look fine,” Mrs. Hardy said from her bed when Violet went in to say goodbye.
“Are you sure you feel all right?” Violet worried.
“I’m just going to have a lazy Sunday,” the older woman replied, smiling. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“All right. But if you need me…”
“The phone’s right here, darling.” Mrs. Hardy indicated it on the bedside table. “Now go and have a good time. I won’t expect my trout anytime soon, by the way, and I’ve already had my breakfast.”
“I’ll bring you back something nice,” Violet promised.
“Drive carefully.”
Violet kissed her. “Always!”
She stopped on the front porch and looked down at her black loafers, worn with knee-high hose. She grimaced, because one of them was scuffed. But, she reasoned, Kemp was going to be more interested in the rest of her than in her shoes. She straightened her purse’s shoulder strap over her shoulder and walked resolutely to her old but reliable car.
Kemp was on the front porch of his house when she drove up. It was a Victorian, with gingerbread patterned woodwork and a real turret room. The whole thing was painted white, brilliant and new-looking, and there was a porch swing and rocking chairs on the long, wide front porch. There were bird feeders everywhere. In the flower gardens flanking the porch, seeds were sprouting and rosebushes were putting out buds.
Violet took her purse and locked the car involuntarily before she pocketed her car key and walked up the steps.
“You like birds!” she exclaimed.
He laughed. He was dressed casually, as she was, in khaki slacks and a blue knit designer shirt darker than the shade of his eyes behind the metal rims of his glasses.
“Yes, I like birds. But so do Mee and Yow, so I have to make sure they’re both inside before I fill the feeders,” he said on a chuckle.
“I have bird feeders at our place, too,” Violet replied shyly. “I especially like the little birds, like the wrens and titmice.”
