Hoping Reeva hadn’t noticed her stunned reaction, Jazelle slowly dried her hands on a dish towel. “I, uh, wonder why he’s coming to dinner.”
Reeva didn’t bother glancing in Jazelle direction. “No one has said anything that I’ve heard, but it’s clear to me that the guys are planning to ramp up their investigation into Joel’s death. I expect Joe believes another deputy would be a big help in the matter.”
“The late Sheriff Maddox ruled the case an accident and closed it years ago,” Jazelle mused out loud.
Reeva snorted. “Any person who believes Joel’s death was an accident needs their head examined. Ray Maddox ruled it that way because he had no proof it was anything else. And as the sheriff of Yavapai County, he had to follow the rules.”
Absently twisting the dish towel in her hands, Jazelle asked thoughtfully, “Joe and Connor can’t work on the case now, can they? I mean with it being closed and all.”
“Not while they’re on duty. But they can on their own personal time.”
“Oh. I see.”
Jazelle tossed the towel onto the cabinet counter then walked over to a china hutch where a set of Maureen Hollister’s better china was stored. Instead of opening the cabinet and pulling down the plates, she simply stood there staring into space.
Ever since Joseph and Connor had dropped by her house, she’d tried not to think about the blond-haired, blue-eyed deputy. But his sexy image had continued to pop randomly into her thoughts. These past few days, she’d been telling herself she’d never see the man again. She’d also been telling herself that never seeing him again was a good thing. He was a walking hunk of trouble. The sort she didn’t need. Yet the mere thought of seeing him tonight was enough to make her heart leap into a rapid flutter.
“Maureen says everyone should probably be gathered in the family room by six o’clock, so you might be getting the drinks ready as soon as you get the dining room set,” Reeva said. “I figure most will want margaritas, except for Holt.”
“Yes, I know, Reeva. He’ll want his bourbon and Coke over ice.”
From across the room, Jazelle heard Reeva let out a tired sigh. She glanced over her shoulder to see the woman press a palm to her forehead.
Forgetting the dishes, Jazelle walked over to the cook and put an arm around her slender shoulders. Reeva was seventy-three but Jazelle never thought of her as being elderly or feeble. She had the energy and strength of a woman half her age and there was hardly a wrinkle to be found in her light brown complexion.
“Reeva, are you getting sick?”
The cook dropped her hand from her forehead. “No, honey. I’m fine—just a little weary—that’s all.”
“Go over to the table and sit for a minute or two,” Jazelle ordered sternly. “I’ll get you something cool to drink.”
“We don’t have time for that! And I’m not sick,” she muttered crossly. “I really just want to curse a blue streak. That might make me feel better!”
Deciding Reeva wasn’t experiencing some sort of medical episode, Jazelle took a step back and studied the disgusted expression on the woman’s face. “What’s wrong? Are you tiring of all these special dinners and parties Maureen has been having here lately?”
“Hell no!” Reeva grabbed up a pepper grinder and twisted several turns over the hominy. “I have to cook whether it’s a special occasion or not. That’s my job, and I like it or I wouldn’t be doing it. I’m...sad and worried and mad, that’s what. My granddaughter called me earlier this afternoon.”
Reeva wasn’t one to talk about her family—not that she had many relatives to talk about. She’d been a widow since her husband died in the Vietnam War more than forty years ago and had raised their daughter, Liz, all on her own. Unfortunately, Liz hadn’t grown up to have the heart or morals of her mother. The woman had hated everything about her life in small-town Arizona and had moved to California, where she’d set out to climb the social ladder and find herself a rich husband.
Because Liz had been embarrassed to admit her mother was a house cook on a ranch, Liz told her friends that Reeva was a secretary for a law firm in Phoenix. Along this same deceptive path, Liz had found herself a rich husband and bore him a daughter. Predictably, the marriage hadn’t lasted. Nor had any kind of meaningful relationship with Reeva. The two women hadn’t spoken in years. However, the granddaughter was a different matter. Sophia called Reeva often, and had even made the trip from California to visit her grandmother on a few occasions.
“And?” Jazelle prodded Reeva to explain. “Is anything wrong?”
“Sophia had a miscarriage. She was nearly four months into the pregnancy. In my mind, I was already thinking of myself as great-grandmother. But it wasn’t to be.”
“Oh, Reeva,” Jazelle said gently, “why didn’t you say something earlier? You should’ve told Maureen you needed time off. I could’ve done the cooking. You’ve taught me plenty enough about preparing food to get by for a few meals.”
“Listen, honey, you know what it’s like to get bad news. You don’t fall apart. Women like you and me just buck up and keep going.”
There was plenty of truth to Reeva’s words. She and Jazelle had both gone through tough times. But that hardly meant they didn’t feel as much loss and pain as any other woman.
Jazelle frowned. “You don’t have to be a piece of steel all the time, Reeva. You are human, after all. Not a robot. And the Hollisters aren’t holding a whip over your head.”
Reeva’s dark eyes leveled a pointed look at Jazelle. “Other than Sophia, the Hollisters are the only family I have. And I think the same thing goes for you. We don’t work here because it’s easy, but because we’re a part of something big. And we’re loved.” She turned back to the stove and pushed a wooden spoon through a pot of simmering Spanish rice. “I’ll be all right, honey,” she added, her voice gentling. “You go on and get things ready.”
Time was ticking on and Jazelle still had a jillion things to do before dinner was served. Including changing out of her stained work shirt and jeans and into the cotton dress she’d brought to work with her.
Early this morning, she’d snatched the first thing she’d come to in her closet and tossed it into the back seat of her truck, along with a duffel filled with Raine’s favorite toys. If she’d known then that Connor Murphy was coming to Three Rivers tonight, would she have tried to find something a bit more flattering to wear? Probably not. It would take far more than a nice dress to catch the deputy’s attention. And even if she could get a second glance from him, she didn’t want or need that kind of distraction in her life.
Holding on to that determined thought, Jazelle returned to the china hutch and quickly began to pull out the dishes. “I guess Sophia’s fiancé was disappointed about the miscarriage. They’re planning to be married soon, aren’t they?”
The curse word Reeva muttered only came out of the woman’s mouth whenever she was really aggravated.
“I should’ve already told you about that—he left about a month or so ago. Accused Sophia of intentionally getting pregnant after he’d told her he didn’t want any kids. Said a kid would only hamper his chances to work his way into an executive position.” She let out a contemptable snort. “I hope Liz is happy now. She’s managed to drag Sophia down with all her so-called airs. Now, Sophia doesn’t have the baby or the bastard who was supposed to love her.”
Jazelle was trying to think of some sort of reply to Reeva’s outburst when she heard the woman sniff. The heartbreaking sound brought tears to Jazelle’s eyes. Reeva’s gruff manner was only her way of covering up her pain and worries. In truth, the woman was as soft as a marshmallow and, next to Raine, Jazelle loved her as much or more than she’d ever loved anyone.
“Guess it was supposed to end this way, though,” Reeva added.
Jazelle glanced over her shoulder to see the cook slapping homemade tortillas onto a grill. “T
hings happen for a reason, Reeva. And we have to believe it will all work out for the best.”
She’d barely gotten the words out when the sound of footsteps announced a third person entering the kitchen. Jazelle glanced over to see Maureen, looking lovelier than usual in a blue shirtwaist dress that went all the way to her ankles. Her chestnut hair was swept into an elegant French twist, while turquoise-and-silver earrings dangled from her ears.
The Hollister matriarch must’ve sensed the tension in the air because she stopped abruptly in the middle of the room and looked from one woman to the other.
“What’s wrong in here? It feels like a tomb.”
“Nothing,” Reeva said flatly. “We’re just running a bit behind, that’s all.”
Maureen glanced questioningly over at Jazelle. “I noticed the dining table is empty,” she remarked. “Do I need to help you two with anything?
Now wasn’t the time to explain that Reeva was having a bit of an emotional meltdown. Maureen could hear about that later. “No! I’m headed there right now, Maureen.” She grabbed up a stack of plates and hurried toward the swinging door that led into the dining room. “And I’ll bring the drinks to the family room in just a few minutes.”
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Connor was sitting in a leather armchair, gazing around the enormous den of the Three Rivers Ranch house. Each time Connor had actually been inside Joseph’s family home, he’d been a bit awed by the sheer size and workmanship of the house.
With tall ceilings, tongue-and-groove walls painted soft, neutral colors, and planked cypress flooring, the house really couldn’t be called lavish, but it was definitely beautiful and warm. Obviously, it had been built back in an era when most of the carpentry work had been painstakingly done with hand tools. A remarkable feat, considering the ornate corner moldings and wide beams supporting the ceilings.
The furniture was all leather, including two couches in dark burgundy and three stuffed armchairs in a warm, butterscotch color. Spotted cowhide rugs were scattered here and there across the rich patina of the floor, while enlarged photos of ranching scenes decorated the walls. A large fireplace stretched across one corner of the room, while a modest-size TV sat in the opposite corner.
With so many family members living in the same house, Connor doubted it was ever quite enough for anyone to watch a TV program without distractions. But Joseph had told him that his brothers and their families all had upstairs suites so everyone could have their privacy.
Connor had grown up in a two-bedroom shotgun house with gray asphalt siding and a tiny concrete square for a porch. He’d worn jeans purchased from a discount store and his boots hadn’t been replaced until holes appeared in the bottoms of the soles. But as kids, he and Joseph had never considered the differences in their background as important. And now that they were grown men, they still didn’t.
“Tag, I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.”
Connor turned his head in the direction of Chandler’s voice to see a tall, dark-haired cowboy entering the room. The man took off his hat and placed it on a wall table near the open doorway before he reached to shake the veterinarian’s hand.
“Sorry, I’m running a bit late,” he said to Chandler. “About the time we were ready to leave the house, Emily-Ann had a bout of nausea.”
“Oh, poor thing. Is there anything I can do? You know I’m good with doctoring horses, but I’m even better with pregnant women. Just ask Roslyn,” Chandler joked.
The other man laughed. “Thanks for the offer, Doc, but she’s feeling a bit better now. She’s gone upstairs to be with the rest of the girls.”
By now Joseph had risen from his seat on the couch and motioned for the two men to join him. “Come here, Tag,” he called out. “I want you to meet someone.”
Connor left the chair and walked over to the three men, where Joseph proceeded to introduce him to the tall cowboy.
“This is Taggart O’Brien, our new ranch foreman. He’s been with us a few months now. Ever since Matthew married my sister, Camille, and moved to Red Bluff,” Joseph said then pointed his thumb toward Connor. “And, Tag, this is Connor Murphy. He’s been a Yavapai deputy sheriff for as long as I have. And a good friend since we were kids.”
“Which is a hell of a long time,” Connor said with a laugh. He reached to shake hands with the man. “Nice to meet you, Taggart. So you’re the Texan who took Matthew’s place. I’ve heard lots of good things about you from Joe.”
Taggart chuckled. “Nobody could take Matthew’s place, but I’m doing my best. And just call me Tag—everybody does.”
Voices suddenly sounded behind them and Chandler glanced over his shoulder. “Here comes Jazelle,” he announced. “If Holt doesn’t keep her cornered, we’ll finally get something to drink.”
The group of men parted just enough to give Connor a view of the housekeeper pushing a cart loaded with glasses and bottles over to a wet bar that stretched across a far corner of the room. This evening she was wearing a dress that wrapped across the front of her body and tied at the waist. The fabric was a gold and bronze pattern; the colors making the blond hair coiled in a knot atop her head appear to be an even richer shade of honey.
Knowing he was staring, but unable to tear his gaze away from the young beauty, he watched her park the cart then hand Holt a squatty glass filled with dark liquid. The horseman grinned and gave her shoulders a one-armed squeeze. How would that feel, Connor wondered, to be that close to her? He’d definitely like to find out.
While he was fantasizing, Joseph nudged his shoulder forward. “Let’s go see what Jazelle has to offer. I can promise you she makes a mean margarita. But if you’d prefer gin instead of tequila, she makes a delicious Salty Dog.”
Mentally shaking himself, Connor said, “You know me, Joe. I’m not picky when it comes to alcohol.”
“I’ve hardly forgotten the fact,” Joseph joked. “Put a glass of anything eighty proof in your hand and a woman hanging on your arm and you’re a contented fellow.”
Connor had heard this kind of teasing from Joseph for years and he’d always laughed it away. But for some reason tonight, he didn’t much feel like laughing. In fact, Connor didn’t much appreciate being thought of as a womanizer.
What the hell was wrong with him? He was a womanizer. And at this point in his life, he was far too old to start changing his ways.
With that determined thought, Connor followed Joseph across the room to where Jazelle was handing out drinks to Chandler and Blake. Once the two brothers drifted away from the bar, she looked around and her brown eyes instantly collided with Connor’s. The contact was a jolt to his senses.
“Hello, Jazelle,” he said.
Connor watched her lips part, her brows arch slightly beneath the wisp of hair falling onto her forehead. Now that he was standing only an arm’s-length away, he could see that she’d darkened her lashes and dabbed a bit of cherry color on her lips. But that was the only bit of makeup he could detect. Not that she needed it. Her skin was dewy and flawless.
Her cheeks flushed with a pretty pink color. “Hello, Connor, Joe. What would you two guys like to drink?” she asked.
“I couldn’t miss one of your margaritas,” Joseph said with a grin. “You know how I like mine.”
“Right. No salt, with a lime wedge,” she said.
As Jazelle deftly put the drink together, Connor’s gaze swept over her lovely face. Her smooth skin had him thinking of a piece of caramel candy. The soft kind that melted sweet and delicious on his tongue. And those berry-colored lips—somehow he knew they would taste even better than they looked.
“What would you like, Connor? You don’t have to drink a margarita. I have all sorts of other choices.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand over the bottles and glasses lined up on the wet bar.
She could serve him a glass of half-soured milk
and, in his muddled state of mind, he’d think it was perfect. “Uh, just fix something you think suits me,” he told her.
Her brown eyes slid over his face and Connor felt a slow burn spread through the pit of his stomach.
“You might not like it,” she warned.
“Don’t worry about that, Jazelle,” Joseph told her. “As long as it gives him a buzz, he’ll be happy.”
The corners of her lips tilted slightly upward and Connor tried to remember if he’d ever seen a sexier sight. “Don’t listen to Joe. He’ll have you thinking all kinds of bad things about me.”
Joseph laughed. “I expect Jazelle has already been thinking a bunch of bad things about you and she’d be right about every one of them.”
Connor frowned at him. “Aw, now, Joe, give me a break. I haven’t been to a Hollister dinner in long time. Be nice to me.”
Chuckling again, Joseph playfully swatted his shoulder. “I’m just kidding. You stay here and get your drink. I’m going to go talk with Tag.”
Joseph walked away and Connor tried not to notice that he and Jazelle were the only two people in this far corner of the room. Otherwise, he might not be able to manage to utter one sensible word.
The idea was hilarious. Since when had he ever been tongue-tied around a woman? Not ever. But he was feeling damned close to it now.
“So what do you think about the ranch house?” she asked as she poured some sort of pink liquid into a metal shaker.
“It’s huge and impressive. The workmanship is a marvel. Especially when you consider it was built in the 1860s. Sort of makes me feel like I’ve stepped back in time.”
“The house is full of history. Just like the ranch.” She added lime juice and sugar to the pink stuff, stirred it and then poured in a hefty amount of tequila. “Except for adding the bathrooms and indoor plumbing, everything has been maintained just as it was built.”
Her Man Behind the Badge Page 4
