by Diana Palmer
“What else did he say?” Garon asked. He was taking notes on his cell phone.
“I asked why he wanted my dad hurt and he said his bosses didn’t pay him to ask questions,” she recalled. She was going to add that he was wearing an expensive watch, and about that funny chiming sound she thought she’d heard, but she wasn’t certain that she hadn’t been confused by the chloroform the kidnapper had used on her. No use making wild statements. She needed to stick to the facts.
“That’s not much to go on, but it’s more than we had,” Garon said a few minutes later. “Thanks, Carlie.”
“You’re very welcome.” She got up. “I’ll just get the mail caught up,” she told her boss, rolling her eyes. “I expect that will last me a few hours..”
Cash chuckled. “No doubt. Hey,” he added when she reached the door. She turned. “I’m glad you’re okay, kid,” he said gently.
She grinned. “Me, too, Chief. Where would you ever get another secretary who didn’t hide in the closet every time you lost your temper?”
She went out before he could come back with a reply.
* * *
“ISN’T THIS LOVELY?” Lanette asked Carson as they did a lazy two-step on the dance floor.
“Lovely,” he said without feeling it.
“You’re very distracted tonight,” she said. She moved a little away so that he could see how nicely her red sequined cocktail dress suited her, exposing most of her breasts and a lot of her thigh in a side split. Her exquisite hair was put up in a nice French twist with a jeweled clasp that matched the dress and her shoes. She looked beautiful and very expensive. He wondered vaguely how she managed to afford clothes like that on a stewardess salary. And she never seemed to go on any trips.
“Do you work?” he asked, curious.
“I work very hard,” she said. She smiled secretively. “I was a stewardess, but I have a new job now.. I work in...personnel,” she concluded. “For a big corporation.”
“I see.”
“What do you do?” she asked.
He smiled enigmatically. “I work for a rancher in Jacobsville mostly, but I’m also a field medic.”
“A medic? Really?” she exclaimed. “That’s such a...well, I know it’s noble and all that, but it sounds just really boring.”
Boring. He was recalling several incidents, trying to treat men under fire and get them evacuated by helicopter or ambulance in trouble spots all over the world. Saving lives. “Maybe not as boring as it sounds,” he concluded.
She shrugged. “If you say so.” She looked up at him as they danced. “I heard on the news that there was a kidnapping in that town where your rancher boss lives. Was anybody hurt?”
“Carlie was frightened, but they didn’t hurt her.”
“Shame.”
He stopped dancing. “Excuse me?”
“Well, she’s a little prude, isn’t she?” she said cattily. “Doesn’t know how to dance properly, wears cheap clothes. My God, I’ll bet she’s still a virgin.” She laughed heartily at the other woman’s stupidity. This woman was annoying. He was beginning, just beginning, to understand how Carlie saw the world. She was blunt and unassuming, never coy, never shallow like this beautiful hothouse flower. Carlie was like a sunflower, open and honest and pretty. The fact that she didn’t sleep around was suddenly appealing to him. He hated the implication of that thought. He wasn’t going to get trapped. Not by some small-town girl with hang-ups.
“They say her father rescued her,” Lanette purred.
“Yes. That’s what I heard, too,” he said, without adding that he’d been in on the rescue. Not that he’d had much work to do. Jake Blair had done it all.
“One guy against two armed men,” she said, almost to herself. “It sounds...incredible. I mean, they were really tough guys. That’s what I heard, anyway.”
“Not so tough,” Carson corrected her. “Blair had them trussed up like holiday turkeys.”
She let out a rough breath. “Idiots,” she murmured. She saw Carson’s sudden scrutiny and laughed. “I mean, whoever planned that kidnapping was obviously not intended for a life of crime. Wouldn’t you say?”
“I’d say they’d better be on a plane out of the country pretty soon,” he replied. “The FBI got called in.”
She stopped dancing. “The FBI? That’s no threat. Those people are always in the news for doing dumb things—”
“The local FBI,” he interrupted. “Garon Grier. He was formerly with the Hostage Rescue Team. His brother is Jacobsville’s police chief Cash Grier. You met him at the dance.”
She nodded slowly. “I see.”
“So the kidnapper will not be sleeping well anytime soon,” he concluded.
“Maybe he’ll just have to step up his plans while the local FBI get their marbles together,” she laughed.
“That’s what bothers me,” he replied. “What nobody understands is why someone would try to kill a minister.”
“Loads of reasons,” she said. “Maybe he’s one of those radicals who wants everybody to take vows of chastity or something.”
“A political opinion shouldn’t result in murder,” he pointed out.
“Well, no, but maybe the people who want him dead aren’t interested in his opinions. Maybe it’s just a job to them. Somebody big calling the shots, you know?”
Somebody big. Big. Like the politician who was finishing out the Texas U.S. senator’s term and was campaigning for the May special election to earn his own term.
“What are you thinking so hard about?” Lanette asked.
“Work,” he said.
“Oh, work.” She threw a hand up. “We’re here to have fun. We could dance some more,” she said, sliding close to him. “Or we could go back to my apartment...?”
He felt like a stone wall. The thought of sleeping with her had once appealed, but now he felt uncomfortable even discussing it. He thought of all the men Lanette had bragged to him about, the men she’d had. Of course men bragged about their conquests. It was just...when she did that, he thought of Carlie. Carlie!
“Ow,” Lanette complained softly. “That’s my hand you’re crushing, honey.”
He loosened his hold. “Sorry,” he snapped.
“You are really tense. Please. Let me soothe that ache,” she whispered sensually.
“I want to dance.” He pulled her back onto the dance floor.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, just before daylight, he drove back down to Cy Parks’s place. He couldn’t sleep. He and Lanette had argued, again, about his coldness to her and about Carlie. She was venomous about the small-town girl.
Carson was angry and couldn’t hide it. He didn’t like hearing her bad-mouth Carlie. He was tired of the city anyway. He just wanted to get back to work.
Cy was working on a broken hoof on one of the big Santa Gertrudis bulls. He filed the broken part down while a tall African-American cowboy gently held the animal in place, soothing it with an uncanny gift.
“That’s good, Diamond,” the other cowboy murmured softly, using part of the pedigree bull’s full name, which was Parks’ Red Diamond. “Good old fellow.”
Cy grinned. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Eddie,” he chuckled. “That bull’s just like a dog when you talk to him. He follows you around like one, anyway. Nice of Luke to let me borrow you.” He glanced up at Carson. “You’ve been AWOL,” he accused. “Couldn’t find anybody to hold Diamond while I filed the hoof down, so I had to call Luke Craig and ask him to lend a hand. He sent Eddie Kells here. Eddie, this is Carson.”
Carson nodded politely.
Kells just grinned.
“Kells came down here to a summer camp some years ago that Luke Craig’s wife, Belinda, started for city kids in trouble with the law. Didn’t know one end
of a horse from another. Now he’s bossing cowboys over at Luke’s place,” Cy chuckled.
“Yeah, Mr. Parks here saved my life,” Kells replied. “I was in trouble with the law in Houston when I was younger,” he said honestly. “I was on Mr. Parks’s place trying to learn roping with his cattle, trespassing, and he caught me.” He let out a whistle. “Thought I was a goner. But when he saw how crazy I was about cattle, he didn’t press charges and Mr. Craig hired me on as a cowboy when I graduated from high school.” He smiled. “I got no plans to ever leave, either. This is a good place to live. Fine people.”
Carson studied the tall young man. He’d have thought that a place like this would have a lot of prejudice. It didn’t seem to be the case at all, not if Kells wanted to stay here.
“You Indian?” Kells asked, and held up a hand when Carson bristled. “No, man, it’s cool, I got this friend, Juanito, he’s Apache. Some of his ancestors ran with Geronimo. He’s hired on at Mr. Scott’s place. He’s been trying to teach me to speak his language. Man, it’s hard!”
Carson relaxed a little. “I’m Oglala Lakota.”
“I guess you couldn’t speak to Juanito and have him understand you, huh?”
Carson smiled. “No. The languages are completely different.”
“Only thing I can manage is enough Spanish to talk to some of the new cowboys. But I guess that’s what I need to be studying, anyway.”
“You do very well, too,” Cy told the young man, clapping him on the shoulder. “That’s it, then. You go down to the hardware and get yourself a new pocketknife, and put it on my account,” he told Kells. “I’ll call and okay it before you get there. Don’t argue. I know Luke sent you, but you should have something. That knife’s pretty old, you know,” he added. Kells was using it to clean under his fingernails.
“Only one I had,” Kells said, smiling. “Okay, then, I’ll do it. Thanks, Mr. Parks.”
They shook hands.
“Nice to meet you,” Kells told Carson before he left.
“I had a different concept of life here,” Carson told Cy quietly.
Cy chuckled. “So did I. Blew all my notions of it when I moved here. You will never find a place with kinder, more tolerant people, anywhere in the world.”
Carson was thinking of some of the places he had been which were far less than that.
“Sorry I didn’t get back in time to help,” he told Cy. “There’s a new complication. I need to talk to Jake Blair. I think I’ve made a connection, of sorts. I just want to sound him out on it.”
“If you dig anything out, tell Garon Grier,” Cy replied.
“Certainly.” He hesitated. “I’m going to be moving on, soon,” he said. “I’ve enjoyed my time here.”
“I’ve enjoyed having you around.” Cy gave him a cynical smile. “I was like you, you know,” he said. “Same fire for action, same distaste for marriage, kids. I went all over the world with a gun. Killed a lot of people. But in the end, it was the loneliness that got me. It will eat you up like acid.”
“I like my own company.”
Cy put a hand on his shoulder. His green eyes narrowed. “Son,” he said gently, “there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely.”
“I’m not lonely,” Carson said doggedly.
Cy just chuckled. “Go see Jake. He’ll be up. He never was a late sleeper.”
“You knew him before?” he asked slowly.
Cy nodded. “He was on special duty, assigned to support troops. We ended up in the same black ops group.” He shook his head. “The only person I’ve ever known who comes close to him is Cash Grier. Jake was...gifted. And not in a way you’d ever share with civilians.”
“I heard that from Rourke.”
Cy pursed his lips. “Make sure you never share that information with Carlie,” he cautioned. “You do not want to see Jake Blair lose his temper. Ever.”
“I’m getting that impression,” Carson said with a mild chuckle.
It was barely daylight. Carson knew it was early to be visiting, but he was certain Jake would be up, and he needed to tell him what he thought might be going on. Lanette had, without realizing it, pointed him in a new direction on the attempted kidnapping.
When he got to Reverend Blair’s house, he was surprised to find Carlie there alone. She seemed equally surprised to find him at her door.
She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. It was late February and still cold outside. In fact, it was cold in the house. Heat was expensive, and Carlie was always trying to save money. The cold had become familiar, so that she hardly noticed it now.
“What can I do for you?” she asked quietly.
He shrugged. “I came to see your father,” he told her.
Her eyebrows arched over wide green eyes. “He didn’t mention anything...”
“He doesn’t know.” He smiled slowly, liking the way her face flushed when he did that. “Is he here?”
“No, but he’ll be back...soon,” she faltered. She bit her lower lip. “You can come in and wait for him, if you like.”
The invitation was reluctant, but at least she made one.
“Okay. Thanks.”
She opened the door and let him in. Why did she feel as if she were walking into quicksand?
He closed the door behind him and followed her into the living room. On the sofa was a mass of yarn. Apparently she was making some sort of afghan in soft shades of blue and purple.
“You crochet?” he asked, surprised.
“Yes,” she replied. She sat down beside the skeins of yarn and moved them aside. Carson dropped into the armchair just to her left.
“My mother used to do handwork,” he murmured. He could remember her sewing quilts when he was very small. She did it to keep her hands busy. Maybe she did it to stop thinking about how violent and angry his father was when he drank. And he never seemed to stop drinking...
Carlie toyed with the yarn, but her hands were nervous. The silence grew more tense by the minute. He didn’t speak. He just looked at her.
“Would you mind...not doing that, please?” she asked in a haunted tone.
“Doing what exactly?” he asked with a slow, sensuous smile.
“Staring at me,” she blurted out. “I know you think I’m ugly. Couldn’t you stare at the— Oh!”
He was sitting beside her the next minute, his hands on her face, cupping it while he looked straight into her eyes. “I don’t think you’re ugly,” he said huskily. He looked at her mouth.
She was confused and nervous. “You said once that you liked your women more...physically perfect,” she accused in a throaty voice.
He drew in a breath. “Yes. But I didn’t mean it.”
His thumb rubbed gently over her bow mouth, liking the way it felt. It was swollen and very soft. She caught his wrist, but not to pull his hand away.
She hadn’t felt such sensations. It was new and exciting. He was exciting. She wanted to hide her reaction from him, but he knew too much about women. She felt like a rabbit walking into a snare.
She should get up right now and go into the kitchen. She should...
His mouth lowered to her lips. He touched them softly, tenderly, smoothing her lips apart so that he could feel the softness underneath the top one. He traced it delicately with his tongue. His hands on her face were big and warm. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones while he toyed with her lips in a silence that accentuated her quick breathing.
He hadn’t expected his own reaction to her. This was explosive. Sweet. Dangerous. He opened his mouth and pushed her lips apart. He let go of her face and lifted her across his lap while he kissed her as if her mouth was the source of such sweetness that he couldn’t bear to let it go.
Helplessly, her arms went around his neck and she kissed him back, with more enth
usiasm than expertise.
He could feel that lack of experience. It made him feel taller, stronger. She had nothing to compare this with, he could tell. He nibbled her lower lip while one big hand shifted down to her T-shirt and teased under the sleeve.
She caught his wrist and stayed it. “No,” she protested weakly.
But it was too late. His long fingers were under the sleeve, and he could feel the scars.
She bit her lip. “Don’t,” she pleaded, turning her face away.
He drew in a harsh breath. “Do you think a scar matters?” he asked roughly. He turned her face up to his. “It doesn’t.”
Her eyes were eloquent, stinging with tears.
“Trust me,” he whispered as his mouth lowered to hers again. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
His mouth became slowly insistent, so hungry and demanding that she forgot to protest, and let go of his wrist. He slid it under the hem of her T-shirt while he kissed her and lifted it, sliding his hand possessively over her small breast and up to the scar.
“You mustn’t!” she whispered frantically.
He nibbled her upper lip. “Shh,” he whispered back, and quickly lifted the shirt over her head and tossed it aside.
She was wearing a delicate little white lacy bra that fastened in front. Just above the lacy cup was a scar, a long one running from her collarbone down just to the beginning of the swell of her breast.
Tears stung her eyes. She hadn’t shown the wound to anyone except the doctor and a woman police officer. She tried to cover it with her hand, but he lifted it gently away and unfastened the bra.
“Beautiful,” he whispered when he saw the delicate pink and mauve mound that he’d uncovered.
“Wh...what?” she stammered.
His hand smoothed boldly over her delicate flesh, teasing the nipple so that it became immediately hard. “Your breasts are beautiful,” he said softly, bending. “I wonder if I can fit one into my mouth...?”
As he spoke, he did it. His tongue rubbed abrasively over the sensitive nipple while his mouth covered and possessed the pert little mound.
