The Judge and the Gypsy

by Sandra Chastain

  But Judge Webber was proving to be an enigma. By reputation he was a man who stood firm, a man who stood for probity and made no compromises. She knew from both research and personal experience that nothing could sway him once he’d made up his mind. His deafness to Tifton’s appeal for leniency was proof of that.

  Tifton, in his naïveté, hadn’t considered the consequences of his actions. He believed that the judge, like everyone else in his life, would fall victim to his charm and accept his story that it wasn’t his fault; that it was all a mistake. Tifton exaggerated when it suited his purposes, but he didn’t lie. Nevertheless, Judge Webber weighed the facts and made the decision to make an example of Tifton. And then Tifton was dead.

  “You know my name,” Savannah said quietly. “What shall I call you?”

  “My friends call me Rasch.”

  “Is that what I am—a friend?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m not yet sure what you are.”

  “Then until you decide, I shall call you Crusader. And you shall call me Savannah, for that’s how I’m known by everyone.”

  “Then everyone is your friend?”

  “No,” she answered, “not everyone. I, too, have enemies.”

  Rasch heard the hint of bitterness in her voice. He could identify with that; he, too, felt animosity toward the people who wished him harm. But this darkly beautiful woman? What enemies could she possibly have? Was there a jealous lover in her past, or perhaps a woman whose lover she’d stolen?

  No, that seemed wrong. Her beauty undoubtedly enchanted other women’s lovers, but without any intention on her part to beguile them. She exuded an integrity that suggested she would find all meanness and cruelty abhorrent. She was like a statue he’d seen in a museum. From one side the porcelain figure was strong and pure. Viewed from the other side, her lips were tinged with pain, and her eyes stared with unseeing weariness.

  “I think I’ll call you Gypsy,” Rasch remarked. “It suits a woman of mystery and intrigue.”

  Savannah shivered. He was too close to the truth. She glanced out the window and saw how the land fell sharply away from the road, cutting into a chasm of sky that seemed endless. They were so high that a cloud of fog shielded the bottom until they came to a spot where the valley below spread out below like an orange-and-yellow Chinese silk fan.

  “It’s beautiful here,” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  But Rasch’s words were not in response to the panorama of the valley below, but the raw beauty of the woman who shared his vision.

  Once again he wondered who she was, and what she planned to do. That she’d stalked him was obvious. She’d gone to some trouble to appear on his balcony. Next she’d beckoned to him in the smoky street only to disappear before he could reach her. Then she’d resurfaced in the lights of his truck on a deserted road, miles away from Atlanta.

  Rasch was a keen observer of people; he’d had years of experience as a judge to hone his powers of perception. She was definitely stalking him, and he couldn’t recall when he’d been more fascinated. He wanted very much to know what Savannah really wanted from him.

  He’d accepted her ploy that she needed a ride. He’d known that she was manipulating him when he bought the boots and clothing. She obviously knew nothing about hiking, and he’d long since decided that she was alone. There would be no friends waiting at the park, just as there was probably no friend being sent for help for the disabled truck, if indeed it was disabled.

  A judge was always on the alert for malcontents, for the disgruntled victims of the legal system intent on getting even, but after a quick search of her gear when he was stowing their goods, he hadn’t found any weapons. She was up to something; he just didn’t know what. He surprised even himself by his decision to play along. Sooner or later he’d learn what she wanted, then he’d decide what action to take.

  For now he allowed himself to be caught up in her spell. She’d come to him out of the mists with nothing except a meager backpack. Surely all of this couldn’t be an attempt to seduce him. He was no stranger to women. He could be enticed into bed without any elaborate charade so long as the woman understood the ground rules of his life: no promises, no involvement, no future.

  Rasch Webber had set a course for his life that didn’t include the distraction of marriage and a family. A man had to channel all his energies toward his goals, and Rasch had found in the law an all-consuming career. Nor did he seek to unburden his innermost secrets to a wife. Rasch alone knew that he’d survived a dreadful childhood by reading about Superman and other action heroes who believed in justice and truth. As a small boy, viewing the world from the section of town where pimps and drug dealers were the role models, he’d made up his mind that one day he’d be one of the good guys he read about. And Gypsy? What was she?

  A voyager, that was the name Savannah had given herself, a woman on a quest. He could believe that even if he didn’t know what she was seeking, or understand her ability to communicate with animals. He didn’t know much about the so-called new-age beliefs. He only knew there was something mysteriously Old World about his passenger.

  Yes, the name Gypsy suited her better than Savannah.

  Still, Rasch would bet his last dollar that she was more in touch with the present than with the future, or the past. There was a shimmering vibrancy about her that was almost tangible. Her lithe body, with firm, full breasts and slim but curvaceous hips caused a stirring deep in his loins, and her stunning face, with its sultry beauty, mesmerized his attention.

  Catching her full lower lip between perfect white teeth, she glanced over the incline. “Are we going higher, Crusader?”

  “Oh, yes. The park and the start of the trail are just ahead. Once we check in and register our destination, it will be midday. I plan to move on to the top of the ridge before camping for the night. Others prefer to sleep in the facility at the falls provided for trail walkers, and get an early start the next morning.”

  “Getting started early suits me fine too. I’m eager to get on the trail,” Savannah told him.

  “Ah, but what about your friend? He—or she—might not agree.”

  “Then I’ll go alone.”

  “That wouldn’t be a good idea, Savannah. It isn’t safe on a trail for a woman alone, even an experienced camper. The rangers prefer that hikers go in pairs.”

  “But they can’t physically stop me, can they?”

  “No, I suppose not, unless you’re drinking, or there is some potential for physical or legal liability.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Savannah replied with a Mona Lisa smile.

  Rasch parked in the designated area and helped Savannah from the truck as he looked expectantly around. There were no friends waiting for Savannah, just as Rasch had suspected. “Looks like there’s only us.”

  “Looks that way.”

  The ranger on duty came out on the porch and greeted them. “Hi. It’s been a while, Rasch. Who’s your friend?” He glanced down at Savannah’s bare feet and lifted his eyebrows in amusement.

  “Her truck broke down a ways back. She plans to hike the trail.”

  “This part of the trail is pretty rough. Have you walked it before?”

  “Er, no.” Savannah followed the ranger and Rasch inside. She was beginning to get a sinking feeling that her plans were about to fall apart, just when success had seemed imminent.

  “That probably isn’t a smart idea, ma’am, not even for an experienced camper. Maybe you ought to join a group.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” Savannah said, her voice soft but determined, “but I can make it. Where do I sign?”

  The ranger indicated the register signed by all those walking the Appalachian Trail. There was a place for time of departure, destination, and expected time of arrival. By keeping such a record, the authorities could sound the alarm if anyone failed to show up in due time.

  Rasch had hung back, letting Savannah struggle with her lie. He decided that he’d p
unished her long enough. Now he stepped forward. “Never mind, Paul, I’ll look after her. She can come with me.”

  The ranger looked relieved. “Well, that’s good of you, Rasch. What’s the plan?”

  “I’m going to meet Jake at Bly Gap and drive on into Asheville. Should take about ten days.” He filled in the log.

  The ranger turned the page and handed it to Savannah for her signature. “And you?”

  “The same. Thank you for your concern, Ranger. The judge says that Nightshadow Ridge is a good place to camp.”

  The ranger gave Rasch an odd look as he replaced the register on the counter. He assembled the usual camping brochures and maps and handed them to Savannah. “Well, I hope the weather stays good for you. Glad to have you, Ms.”—he glanced back at the register—“Ms.—”

  “Savannah.” Savannah cut the ranger off, stuffed the papers into her backpack, and started up the trail with more determination than sense of direction.

  “Wait, Savannah,” Rasch called out. “If you’re traveling with me, I lead—that is, if you think you can keep up.”

  “I can go anywhere you go,” she said, and he knew that she would.

  There was no challenge in her voice, simply a statement of fact. He nodded and started up the trail, setting a fast pace. She watched him, allowing herself to notice the graceful way he moved, the confidence, the sheer physical beauty of the man. How could he be so appealing and yet be her enemy?

  Walking in the woods, feeling the warmth of the sun, listening to the sound of Rasch’s jeans rustling crisply as he walked, made it easy to imagine how glorious this time together could be if things were different, if they were just a man and his ladylove out for an afternoon promenade.

  They walked along in silence for a while before Rasch slowed his pace and spoke. “Talk to me, Savannah. Tell me what interests you other than chipmunks and a crusty old loner like me.”

  Savannah frowned. “You’re not old. A little crusty, maybe, but hardly a curmudgeon. I like honest people who work hard and try to make the world better in some way.” People like you, she mused, then wished the thought hadn’t slipped into her mind.

  “I agree about making the world better,” Rasch said, “but I’m afraid that I see fewer and fewer people trying to accomplish that.”

  “Maybe you aren’t looking hard enough.”

  “I’m looking, they just aren’t there.”

  Though Rasch had slowed down, he still moved along at a steady clip. Savannah tried to follow without breathing heavily, but her ears were popping. She opened her mouth wide and closed it again, trying to rid herself of the full feeling that had settled in her head.

  “Here, try some of this.” Rasch stopped, pulled a pack of gum out of his pocket and handed it to her.

  She took it, glancing at the brand with a smile. “Red-hot cinnamon? Somehow I’d have guessed that you were a wintergreen man, or perhaps peppermint.”

  “Just proves that looks can be deceiving,” he said, and gave her a smile that tore at the protective cover with which she’d so carefully insulated herself.

  “My sentiment exactly,” she managed to say as she unwrapped the stick of gum and popped it into her mouth.

  “Unwrap one for me, too, will you?”

  Unwrapping the gum wasn’t a problem, but putting it between his lips and sliding it into his mouth was an experiment in self-control. When his lips brushed the end of her fingertips, she felt the current flare between them. She drew back and looked quickly away, her cheeks warm, her heart pumping wildly. What was happening?

  “Thanks,” Rasch said, his voice oddly low.

  She could feel his eyes on her for a long moment, then he turned his attention back to the trail, this time picking up his rapid pace again, as if he were in a hurry to get somewhere, or away from somewhere.

  By the time he stopped again, for water and a snack of trail mix, it was late afternoon, and Savannah’s emotions were strung as tight as the high wire on which she and Tifton had performed for so many years. Tifton. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying desperately to focus on Tifton and her reason for being alone on this mountain with the man she’d sworn to punish. So far, the only one being punished appeared to be herself.

  Savannah knew that she had nine and a half days left.

  She had nine and a half days to make Judge Horatio Webber need her.

  Nine and a half days to give this stranger love … and then vanish from his life forever.

  Three

  Savannah slid out of the straps of her backpack and plopped down on a tree stump. She could hear the rush of water somewhere in the thick growth of rhododendrons beyond the trail. In the spring this would be a fairyland. Now it was dotted with confetti-colored leaves and pine straw, like some crazy quilt of red and orange and brown.

  “We have about another hour’s walk,” Rasch said. “That is, if you still think you can keep up with me.”

  “Of course I can,” she answered, and pushed herself quickly to her feet. Suddenly she felt as if she were touching the ground after having been in the air for hours, practicing, rehearsing, pushing herself and Tifton to new heights. After a particularly daring move there was always a moment of disorientation when the thrill subsided and reality intruded again.

  Suddenly Rasch was beside her, holding her by both elbows, peering into her eyes. “Are you all right?”

  She raised her eyelids and caught the concentration of his gaze. For just a moment she felt the weakness intensify. She closed her eyes, fighting off the dizzying effect of his nearness, and took a deep breath.

  “I’m fine. It’s the altitude, I guess.”

  “Don’t you like heights?”

  He thought she had acrophobia? If the situation weren’t so ridiculous, she’d laugh. She, one half of the Flying Gypsies trapeze act, afraid of heights? Still, for now it was important that he not suspect who she was.

  “It isn’t that,” she said slowly. “For some reason I feel a bit light-headed. Just give me a moment to find my mountain-climbing legs, and I’ll be as ready as you.”

  Ready? That was a phrase with which Rasch could identify. Right here, in the wilderness, with a woman he didn’t know, he was as ready as he’d ever been. But what he was ready for wasn’t climbing mountains, or trading heated touches, or fishing for information. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed to release this highly desirable woman and step away from her.

  “Better put on those jeans and boots,” he said sharply. “Climbing a mountain barefoot in a skirt isn’t the best way to travel.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said automatically. Removing her clothes now was an action she didn’t even want to consider.

  “Well, if you step on a snake, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Rasch picked up her knapsack and held it while she threaded her arms through the straps.

  “Snakes don’t scare me.”

  “What does scare you, Savannah?”

  “People,” she replied immediately. “People hurt more people than animals ever will.”

  Rasch frowned. Savannah could be so open, so forthright—he liked this aspect of her—and yet she hid so much of herself from his scrutiny. He wanted to know all of her, dammit … he wanted to know her in every sense of the word, in every fiber of her being.

  “Let’s go.” His voice was gruff, and he knew that he was being unreasonable by not giving her more time to get used to the altitude.

  Savannah forced herself to allow Rasch to adjust the placement of the straps on her backpack, his fingertips setting off pinwheels of sensation. Any more touching, and she wouldn’t have to do any climbing. She could attach herself to him magnetically and be carried along.

  “Do you know a lot about snakes?” she asked, as much to cover her confusion as to make conversation.

  “Enough, I suppose. Why, are you on speaking terms with them too?”

  Savannah shrugged her shoulders, trying to get the backpack arranged comfortably. “I really do
n’t talk to animals. At least not consciously. It’s a mental thing.”

  “Well, let’s hope that you speak mental bear, too, because we’re in bear country up here, and I didn’t bring my gun.” Rasch took a long look at Savannah, then shook his head before he turned and started off through the woods. He was satisfied with her knapsack, but her dress still bothered him. It wasn’t so much that her attire was inappropriate as that it was distracting to him. Or perhaps it was the graceful curves of her femininity that were so disconcerting.

  “Bears? Do you think we’ll meet any?”

  “After what’s happened to me in the last twenty-four hours, nothing would surprise me, Savannah.”

  Rasch pushed a limb away and held it back for Savannah to precede him. She drew even, stopped, and looked at him for a long moment, then passed by, her skirt swishing against his legs like feathers. He fell in behind her, allowing her to lead the way. The occasional trill of her ankle bracelet echoed through the trees as if it were speaking a language of its own.

  They climbed steadily for a time, listening to the lyrical sound of the mountain stream in the distance. The late afternoon heat enveloped them, and perspiration dripped down Rasch’s forehead. It was October, for God’s sake, not the middle of June, but the damp, humid air created steam.

  Ahead, Savannah seemed little touched by the climate. There were leaves and puff-ball seeds caught in her dark hair. Her feet, sure and certain, moved lightly along the trail. She appeared to have gotten her second wind as she stepped over logs and debris, as if she knew where they were going and was eager to arrive.

  Then suddenly she stopped.

  Rasch stumbled, barely halting before he plowed into her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Listen,” she said softly.