Her Man Behind the Badge

by Stella Bagwell

  Mesmerized by the graceful movement of her hands, Connor watched her edge the rim of a glass with lime juice then dip it in coarse salt. With that done, she flipped the glass over, filled it with ice then poured in the whole concoction. After she threw in a lime wedge, she offered him the frosty glass.

  “Here it is,” she said. “And don’t be bashful. Tell me if you’d rather toss it in the trash can.”

  Him bashful? Good thing Joseph hadn’t heard her remark, Connor thought. He’d be laughing himself silly.

  Grinning, Connor took the glass. “I’m afraid I’m just a plain ole beer kind of guy, Jazelle. You’ll have to tell me what this is.”

  She smiled at him and Connor felt like a kid who’d just been handed an unexpected Christmas gift. What was it about this woman? Her smile was like an iridescent light circling him with warmth.

  “It’s a Paloma,” she told him. “Are you going to try it? Or just hold it?”

  He sipped the drink then purposely cast her a bland look. “It’s okay.”

  Her expression turned to a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. “Really? Just okay?”

  He chuckled. “Sorry. I just had to tease you a bit. Actually, it’s delicious. Thank you for going to the trouble of making it.”

  “That’s my job.”

  She was politely saying she hadn’t done anything special for him. But Connor wanted to think otherwise.

  “Where did you learn bartending skills?” he asked.

  A faint smile touched her lips. “Not in a bar, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything of the sort. You don’t look like the bar type,” he said and felt a wave of heat wash up his neck. “Uh, not that I’m acquainted with the type—all that much.”

  The smile on her face deepened enough to cause a dimple to appear in her cheek and Connor decided he’d never seen a more enchanting woman. Or had one make him feel so downright goofy.

  “No,” she said slyly. “I’m sure you rarely see the inside of a bar.”

  He took a long sip of his drink and realized the pink liquid she’d put in it was grapefruit soda. He’d never really cared for the stuff, but the sugar softened the tartness and the tequila was already working on his senses. Or was she the one that was tilting his faculties? Either way, Connor knew he needed to leave the housekeeper’s company and go join the menfolk. But he didn’t want to. Not yet.

  “Wrong. I couldn’t count the times Joe and I have been called to break up bar fights.”

  “That sounds like a hazardous job.”

  He supposed it would sound dangerous to her. To Connor, it wasn’t nearly as bad as vehicle crashes or domestic violence calls. “Well, when you have intoxicated people going at each other with fists and knives or guns, anything can happen. But most of the time we make arrests without incident. Just another day at the office, so to speak.”

  Her brown eyes were regarding him closely and Connor wondered what she was thinking. That she didn’t like lawmen? Or just didn’t like him?

  What Jazelle is thinking about you hardly matters, Connor. From what Joseph says, she doesn’t want any man in her life. And you’d be asking for trouble to think you might change her mind.

  She said, “Well, I learned how to mix drinks from Reeva. She’s the cook here at Three Rivers. Years ago, when she was very young, she worked in a bar and grill. That’s where she learned and now she’s taught me. Not that I ever plan to work as a bartender.” She shrugged and gave him a half smile. “But a person never knows what he or she might have to do to survive.”

  Connor realized he wanted to ask her all sorts of things. He wanted to know all about her wants and wishes. Not just for now, but far into the future. Where did she want to be five or ten years from now? Still here on the ranch or married to some man who would take her far away from the Arizona desert?

  “I don’t think you need to worry about your job security,” he said, thinking she must’ve served him some kind of magical potion. He’d never been interested in a woman’s personal history or, for that matter, her future plans.

  She suddenly cleared her throat and fastened the lid tightly over the ice bucket. “I might if I don’t get back to the kitchen. Please excuse me.”

  Connor watched her leave the den before he slowly walked back over to where the other men had taken various seats on the leather furniture.

  Joseph gestured to an empty space next to him on the long couch. “Mom says dinner is running a tad late, and Vivian and Sawyer haven’t gotten here yet, so you might as well get comfortable while we wait.”

  With his glass in hand, Connor carefully eased down onto the couch. “I heard Tag say his wife upstairs. Where are Tessa and the kids? Didn’t they come with you?”

  “Except for Mom, the women of the family decided to eat upstairs with the kids.”

  “Sounds like they don’t like you men’s company,” Connor joked.

  Joseph chuckled. “Think about it, Connor. There are two sets of twins, my two babies and Chandler’s two. Plus two teenagers—Nick and Hannah. With ten kids around the dining table, I doubt we could hear ourselves think, much less talk.”

  Connor shook his head. “Why anyone would want to be a parent is beyond me.”

  “One of these days, you’ll figure it out,” Joseph told him then gestured toward the glass in Connor’s hand. “What did Jazelle make for you?”

  “A Paloma. I’d never heard of one, but it’s very good.”

  One of Joseph’s brows took on a clever arch. “Wow. She only makes those for special guests. Like cattle or horse buyers. You must rank up there with the VIPs.”

  “Not hardly. Since I’m rarely out here for dinner, I think she wants me to be impressed with —the Hollister hospitality.”

  Joseph rolled his eyes with disbelief. “Oh, is that it? Well, enjoy your Paloma. Maybe you can talk her into making you another.”

  Connor chuckled. “I’m not even going to try.”

  But before the night was over, he was going to do his damnedest to talk to her again.

  Chapter Four

  “You were right, Reeva. Each time I’ve taken something to the dinner table, the men have been talking about Joel’s death and something about the auction barn at Phoenix,” Jazelle said as she gathered dessert plates from the china hutch. “I wonder what that’s about—the Phoenix part, I mean.”

  “I’m only guessing, but Joel went down there on a regular basis. He liked to watch the cattle sell and sometimes he’d buy a few cows or steers. Mostly to put down on Red Bluff. Maybe they’re thinking Joel had trouble with someone at the sale barn. Maureen doesn’t talk that much about it to me. And I’m not going to ask her. She’ll tell us when she’s ready.” Reeva glanced over her shoulder at Jazelle. “Did you whip up the whipping cream for the cobbler?”

  “Yes. It’s already chilled,” Jazelle told her as she placed the dishes on a rolling cart alongside a pan of apple cobbler and a large glass bowl layered with strawberry shortcake. “After I serve everyone at the dining table, I’ll take dessert upstairs. I need to check on Raine to make sure he’s not causing problems. And I want to see Johnny and Jacob.”

  She pushed the loaded cart out of the kitchen and entered the dining room just as Gil was saying, “I’ve made at least five trips there in the past six weeks and I’ve not made any headway. Most of the employees have changed since Joel attended the auctions. A few vaguely remembered him, but none recalled seeing him with a woman.”

  The last part of Gil’s remark caught Jazelle by surprise. Joel with a woman? What could that be about? The man had supposedly been the epitome of a family man.

  As Jazelle made her way to the end of the table where Maureen was seated, the Hollister matriarch was saying, “There has to be a way of figuring out who she was. Joel used to be friends with a rancher from down around Cave Creek
and they often met up at the sale barn. He might remember the woman or know of her.”

  “That was Ben Grady, Mom.” Blake spoke up. “We’ve already thought of him. I tried calling him, but his wife informed me that he’d passed away last year.”

  “Oh. That’s sad news. In more ways than one,” she said. Realizing that Jazelle was standing near her shoulder, she looked up. “Oh, Jazelle, you have dessert?”

  The woman certainly didn’t appear to be distressed over the idea of Joel being linked to a woman, Jazelle thought. But the connection could’ve been anything other than a romantic one. And besides, Maureen was definitely growing very close to Gil, who was Joel’s older brother. Could be the retired detective was taking away all the grief and pain she’d endured over her husband’s death.

  Jazelle nodded. “Take your pick. Apple cobbler or strawberry shortcake.”

  Maureen said, “I’d prefer the cobbler, but the shortcake has less calories. At least that’s what Reeva tells me, so give me a small dish of it.”

  Holt, the third Hollister brother and fourth sibling of the family, was quick to tease. “Mom, if you’d help me all day in the horse pen, you wouldn’t have to worry about extra calories.”

  “Ha! I spend plenty of hours in the saddle,” she retorted and then grinned and winked at Gil, who was sitting kitty-corner from her. “Not falling out of it like you, Holt.”

  Everyone laughed while Holt groaned loudly. “Mom, you’re getting mean in your older years. Especially to me, when you know I’ve always been your favorite son.”

  “Favorite or troublesome?”

  Grinning, Holt looked up at Jazelle. “Tell them, Jazelle. I’m your favorite Hollister brother, aren’t I?”

  She gave him an indulgent smile. “Always, Holt. That’s why I hide the bourbon bottle from you.”

  Wailing loudly, he plopped his fork down on the table. “Not you, too, Jazelle. You’ve cut my heart to pieces.”

  She handed the dessert to Maureen. “I’m only teasing, Holt. You know that. Of course you’re my favorite.”

  The teasing banter didn’t let up as Jazelle continued to move on down the long table. However, by the time she reached Connor, the subject had changed to Chandler, who was taking a roasting for having the reputation of always being late.

  Chandler defended himself. “Tag tells me that doctors are supposed to be late.”

  Sawyer chuckled. “Roslyn says you were very nearly late to your own wedding.”

  “That’s because one of Holt’s overdue mares had to have a C-section. I couldn’t leave her just because the preacher was getting impatient.”

  “Not to mention Roslyn,” Holt joked.

  While more laughter sounded around the table, Jazelle looked down and locked gazes with Connor. “Would you like dessert?” she asked, trying to ignore the crazy flutter in the pit of her stomach.

  “Thanks, I’d like the cobbler. I’m like Holt—I’m not worried about the calories.”

  The man was all lean muscle and she doubted he had to work himself up into a lather at a gym to keep his fit physique. No, he looked like a natural to her.

  “You’re a lucky man.”

  The corners of his lips tilted upward. “Are you going to have dessert?”

  “After I have my dinner.”

  “You’ve not eaten yet?”

  Doing her best to avoid eye contact with the man, she said, “I don’t eat until everyone else is finished. It’s the way of my job.”

  She ladled a hefty amount of cobbler onto the small plate and dolloped several spoons of whipping cream over the top. As she leaned across his right arm to place the dessert in front of him, she caught the faint scent of sage and spices. The masculine mixture suited him perfectly, she thought. As did the gray shirt that molded to his broad shoulders and made his sky-blue eyes appear even more vivid.

  At that moment, those eyes looked up at her and Jazelle let out a long, silent sigh. She could only hope that Connor Murphy wasn’t invited to any more Hollister dinners. Otherwise, she was going to suffer a mental breakdown.

  “Thank you,” he murmured.

  Somewhere in the depths of his eyes she spotted a gleam that sent a finger of heat trailing down her spine. Was he honestly trying to flirt with her? No. The guy probably had more girlfriends than he knew what to do with. He didn’t need the attention of a single mom who was so overworked she was too exhausted to dream about romance, much less have one.

  “You’re welcome,” she said then hurriedly moved on down the table before anyone noticed she was lingering at Connor’s chair.

  * * *

  Much later, after coffee had been served in the den and the conversation had turned to subjects other than the investigation of Joel’s death, Connor excused himself from the group and went in search of a restroom.

  He’d just left the facilities and was headed back down a hallway toward the den when Jazelle, carrying a huge tray, stepped through a door. As she walked toward him, Connor went to meet her.

  “That’s far too heavy for you to carry,” he told her as he noted the tray laden with desserts. “Let me help you.”

  “That isn’t necessary. I do this all the time.”

  She started to step around him but Connor wasn’t about to let her get away that easily.

  “Maybe you do, but you don’t have to while I’m here to help. Where are you taking it?”

  “Upstairs to the women and kids.”

  He pulled the tray from her grasp. “I’ll carry it. Just show me the way.”

  “Really, Connor, I’m not a weakling. You should go back to the den—with the men.”

  She was clearly trying to get rid of him, but Connor didn’t let it put him off. In fact, he decided he rather liked the challenge.

  “The men aren’t missing me. They’re talking cattle and horses. And I don’t know much about either.”

  She cocked a brow at him. “What do you know about? Collaring crooks and breaking up bar fights?”

  He grinned. “Someone has to do it. And I’m fairly good at it. Just ask Joe.”

  She seemed unimpressed, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise. She was used to being around the Hollister men. Compared to them, Connor was just a regular guy with a modest amount of money and skills.

  “I’m sure you are,” she said and then gestured down the hallway. “Well, if you think you have to help, then we’ll go in this direction. About a third of the way down the hall, we’ll turn left and take the stairs,” she told him.

  “I passed the staircase earlier when I was headed to the bathroom,” he told her as they began to walk down the wide corridor. “This house has three floors, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s right. We’re going to the third. I think that’s where everyone is gathered.”

  “You couldn’t possibly clean this house by yourself. Do you?” he asked as they strolled onward. “You’d never have time to do anything else.”

  “Katherine and Roslyn both help, especially with laundry and things of that nature. And on certain days, another lady comes in to do some of the deeper cleaning. The kitchen requires the most work,” she admitted. “Here on the ranch there’s no such thing as light meals like toast for breakfast or sandwiches for supper. Maureen expects full meals to be served. Reeva also makes pastries for Blake’s and Holt’s offices at the barns. I usually take those down to the ranch yard about six in the morning, or earlier if they’re expecting buyers.”

  They had reached the stairs and, as they began the climb side by side, Connor was acutely aware of her nearness. She smelled like some sort of flower that acted on his senses like an aphrodisiac. And, though she’d probably already taken thousands of steps today, she moved with a sensuality that took his thoughts on a slow, erotic journey.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he tried to focus on their conversation. “Sounds lik
e a lot of work to me. Do you enjoy it?”

  She looked over at him and Connor could detect a bit of surprise on her face. What was that about? he wondered. Hadn’t a man ever asked her about her job or whether she liked it?

  “A long time ago, before Raine was born, I used to think I wanted to do something else. But that got put aside. Now I can’t imagine being away from the ranch. You see, it’s home to me. More than the home you visited the night of the Wallaces’ break-in.”

  “Why do you feel that way? Because that house is a rental?”

  She laughed so enthusiastically that Connor actually felt uncomfortable. What was so funny? He’d thought his question was perfectly normal.

  “Oh, Connor, don’t you know?” she asked. Spotting the frown on his face, her expression sobered. “Renting—owning—has nothing to do with it. Here, I’m surrounded by people who love me. That’s what makes a home.”

  He stifled a groan. Every word that came out of her mouth reminded him that she was exactly the sort of woman he didn’t need or want in his life. He wasn’t about hearth or home or giving his devotion to only one woman. Being that hobbled would be akin to torture. And yet being in her company was rapidly becoming addictive to him.

  After a moment, he said, “I understand.”

  “Really? You don’t look as though you understand.”

  He tried not to sound annoyed. “Well, Jazelle, people like me live alone. We’re surrounded by four walls and quietness. We don’t know about loving and sharing and that sort of...thing.”

  Her brown eyes were suddenly full of somber shadows. “I’m sorry.”

  For him? Hell, no woman needed to feel sorry for him. He had everything he’d ever wanted. He was a contented man.

  Look, Connor, you’ve stepped into unchartered territory. You wouldn’t know the first thing about having a normal conversation with a real woman. The women you date never talk about love and, if they did, it wouldn’t be the kind that comes from the heart. They don’t care that your insides are coarser than grit sandpaper. All they want is a good time. You get what you sow.