Gun Shy

by Diane Saxon

  Regardless, the brand-new hospital wasn’t due to open until the following week, and she’d known there was only an admin function. A shame with all her delays, there was no longer any admin there to help her.

  “My phone was also stolen. It had all my contacts. I wondered if someone here could help me get a hold of the hospital administrator, otherwise I have nowhere to stay. She has the keys to an apartment for me.”

  Brown eyes narrowed in a quick study of her. “Sure. As you can see, I’m a little tied up.” The deputy raised her arm, and the handcuff linked around her wrist gave a loud rattle. The bald-headed man on the other end of them jerked his head up, blinked his red-rimmed eyes, and smacked his lips together. Drunk. From the look of him, he’d been in a traffic accident. Kate ran a brief assessing gaze over him. He didn’t appear to need the ER. She wasn’t about to get involved with someone else’s problems. She had enough of her own, but she couldn’t help the quick visual check she gave him.

  The deputy’s gaze met hers with the air of a cynic, someone who dealt with the drunk, the drugged, and the dead on a regular basis. Kate suspected her own expression often looked that way toward the end of her shift.

  “The sheriff is free if you want to poke your head around his door.” The slow, lazy drawl was in direct contrast to the intelligence in the woman’s eyes.

  “Thank you.” Kate smiled back at the young woman. So far, everyone she’d met in this foreign land had been so friendly. Apart from the muggers.

  Perhaps it was going to be a really good temporary transfer after all, and she wouldn’t be homesick if everyone was going to be this helpful and accommodating. Her lips curved in a brief smile until she stepped away from her case. The long grating slide of it down her leg took the top layer of skin along her shin with it.

  She clenched her jaw to stop the yowl from bursting out of her mouth. It didn’t matter how positive she was—fate was being a bitch.

  She bent over and man-handled the case into a corner next to the office the deputy had indicated. She was a strong woman. As long as she could keep the threatening tears at bay, she’d be fine.

  She pushed away the regret and the homesickness that had struck way too fast and tugged the jacket of her once smart black suit into place. The lines of it hung limp and lifeless from her body. A body which had become almost as limp and lifeless as the suit through lack of food. She glanced beyond her wrinkled skirt to the pale glow of her legs. Her tights had been the victim of the old wooden chairs in the airport police office, and she’d ripped them off on her quick visit to the ladies’ room before she’d jumped into the cab they’d paid for.

  She raised her chin and tucked the wayward strands of hair behind her ear. Nothing else could go wrong. Surely.

  With a brief knock, she pushed the door open, stepped inside, closed it behind her, and leaned on it. Exhaustion and the warm trickle of blood down her leg momentarily weakened her.

  Fully expecting to be greeted by an overweight, balding sheriff similar to the one she’d already encountered earlier that day, Kate’s heart gave a quick flutter at the sight of the cowboy in residence, legs crossed at the ankles and propped with ease on the desk in front of him. She trailed her gaze from the tip of his brown leather boots, up the length of him in genuine appreciation of the way his legs filled his faded-to-white jeans so every muscle was defined, all the way to his hands lightly resting on his flat stomach. Her gaze wandered higher. His broad shoulders filled his plaid shirt and leather jacket. Head tilted back against the leather seat, most of his face was covered by the black Stetson he had balanced on it, presumably so he could sleep. The only part visible was a square jaw covered in dark bristle.

  Her pathetically limp muscles rallied to stop her from slithering to the floor in a shameful pool of melted lust. She’d made a mistake, she must have come through the wrong door, because from the look of the man, this cowboy was no sheriff.

  She grappled for the door handle behind her, unwilling to rip her attention from him, and then froze as the sleeping cowboy raised his arm and with one lazy finger pushed the Stetson back to reveal his face. As impressive as his body, it was handsome enough to freeze her mid-move.

  A quick flash of surprise followed by a black-eyed stare pinned her to the spot.

  With a nervous lick of her lips, Kate summoned a weak smile.

  ∙•∙

  Shit. They’d sent him a stripper.

  Jack raked his gaze along the woman’s just-got-out-of-bed hair, followed it down her slender body dressed in a cheap, wrinkled suit to where her messy plait stopped at her hips. God, he hoped she was only a stripper and they hadn’t sent him a prostitute. He almost leaned forward to check out the rest of her shapely legs, but he didn’t want to make her think he was interested in any way. Not in a prostitute or a stripper. Whichever one she was; this was beyond a joke. He thought he’d reached an understanding with his grandmother, but from the look of it, she’d got together with his aunts and had managed to find another one.

  Perhaps this time they’d made a big mistake.

  He took his time as he studied the woman, noted with satisfaction the nervous way she licked her lips, but he’d caught the quick flash of awareness when his half-asleep gaze first met hers. It wasn’t ego, but at his age he recognized that look of admiration in a woman’s eyes. Under different circumstances, he may well have returned that interest, but as it was, he needed to get rid of her.

  It wouldn’t take long.

  With a roll of amusement, he squinted at the woman across the room. What would be the best way to achieve it without enlisting Bill’s help?

  Since the incident with the eighteen-year-old Lucy, he’d become a laughing stock. The little hoots of laughter and the sly digs from his deputies weren’t subtle. Couldn’t handle a kid, they snickered. Well he could handle this woman. He studied her a moment longer. She’d not been sent by his grandmother, he’d stake his life on that, but the boys may have clubbed together to send him a kiss-a-gram as a joke. From her willowy slenderness, she had to be a performer. Perhaps he should wait to see if she started to sing.

  With slow indolence, he trailed his gaze back up her body, deliberately resting his hands back on his stomach so he gave the impression of being relaxed. He wasn’t relaxed. His nerves jumped and twitched. He could call Bill in to get rid of her, but if he did, they’d have even more to laugh about.

  Damn, but they all thought he was frightened of women. They weren’t far wrong, but it was more that he was frightened of what he’d become for the right woman.

  There was no right woman. Not for him.

  He let his gaze continue to cruise over her.

  Fine boned, her delicate face would have been perfection if not for the tell-tale worn-off makeup, black smudges of tiredness and mascara swiped under her lazily hooded eyes. Her drawn features hinted she’d already put in a full day. She may not have the energy to sing. As long as they didn’t expect him to pay for the pleasure of her shimmying her hips. He wouldn’t put it past them to land him with the bill too. That was if she could bear to push herself away from the door long enough to shimmy. Perhaps a little stagger would be more likely, if he was lucky enough for her to stay upright.

  He tried not to laugh, but his lips twitched up at the edges, and the thick black flutter of her eyelashes warned that she’d noticed.

  The way she leaned against the door, she didn’t seem to be in any hurry to start. He’d be willing to give her a moment longer, but from the look of her, there was the distinct prospect she was about to fall asleep. Perhaps she needed an invitation. Or some music.

  “In your own time, sweet cheeks.”

  The flash of surprise in her vivid blue eyes almost made him laugh. Maybe he’d woken her up. From the look of her, she wasn’t on drugs, her skin was too perfect, too smooth and clear. But she could be in an alcoholic stupor.

  She pushed herself upright, and he couldn’t help the quick skim of his gaze over her body again. It wouldn�
�t harm if he had a little bit of fun. Then the joke would be on her, or more likely his deputies.

  Her lips parted, but before she could speak, he flicked a casual hand to indicate her breasts. “Do you have some of those pasties attached to your nipples?”

  An almost soundless gasp emitted from her lips. If that was a pretense at shock, she wasn’t a very good actress. Her mouth opened and shut as though she couldn’t get any words out. So he filled the silence for her.

  “I like the ones with dangling feathers.” He chewed his bottom lip as he made a deliberate study of her small, pert breasts, stifling the laughter bursting to come out. “I bet your little titties could swing them pasties in a great rhythm without creating too much jiggle. What color are they?” Her small squeak drew his attention back to her face as she jerked upright. He’d managed to shock her. Oh, this was good, this was priceless. “I mean the pasties, not your nipples, sugar.” Although with her pale skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair, he could almost hazard a guess at their peachy hue.

  Surprised she hadn’t taken off yet, he dragged his feet off the desk and let his boots smack on the wooden floor. It shouldn’t take much longer to get rid of her. He rubbed his hand across his mouth to smother another chuckle. Poor woman.

  He circled the desk, all the time keeping his attention on the pretty blonde with the huge blue eyes, while spurts of laughter snorted out his nose. “I bet they’re pink. That underage kid the other night, she had black pasties, but they weren’t feathered.”

  The woman in front of him slammed her mouth closed, and he hooted with laughter as the swallow hit her stomach.

  “Of course, she had matching panties as well. Do you have matching panties?” He took a few steps closer with every intention of flicking the switch on the radio he kept on the bookcase beside the door. “I have music, if that makes it easier to strip.”

  Eyes massive in her delicate face, she whipped her arm behind her back, wrenched open the door, and shot backward through it, slamming it shut behind her.

  Doubled over, he let the laughter roll out. He scrubbed away the tears streaking down his cheeks with the back of his hand and reached out to click the radio on anyway. Someone had just wasted the best part of their pay-check on the doll who wouldn’t strip. He snorted. Or jiggle. He sighed out the last of his laughter. Or sing.

  He jiggled out his own little dance on the way back to his desk and sat down again. With a last little chuckle, he drew the paperwork he’d yet to finish closer.

  ∙•∙

  Heart hammering, Kate grasped the door handle for a moment longer than necessary in case he attempted to come after her, before she turned to face the outer office. At least if he followed her, she had a room full of deputies who would surely arrest him. He probably was under arrest. The pervert. The sheriff must have left him in there alone. Perhaps the door should have been locked. The man handcuffed. She should let someone know.

  Panic-stricken, she sought out the female officer who leaned back against the wall, on a wooden chair she had tipped onto its two back legs.

  Words barely wheezed from Kate’s frozen lips. “I…”

  Almond-shaped eyes gave her a quizzical stare. “Ma’am?”

  She needed to pull herself together.

  Kate raised her fisted hand and stabbed her thumb in the direction of the door. “I think someone needs to make sure the pervert in there doesn’t get loose.”

  The woman’s dark-eyed gaze narrowed as she lowered her chair onto all four legs and unfurled her long limbs. Her prisoner was shackled to the wall. Maybe that’s what they should have done with the guy in the sheriff’s office.

  Kate didn’t care, she wanted to get out of there before the madman broke loose. She reached over and snagged her suitcase, flicking a desperate glance at the sheriff’s door as she headed for outside. She’d find another way to get help. Perhaps the British Consulate, wherever they might be. Doubtful they’d be in a backwater, but perhaps she could find somewhere that would let her use their telephone.

  “Ma’am. Is something wrong?”

  Just a moment’s hesitation was all it took before the faint strains of country music reached her. “No.” She gave a tight smile at the puzzled look on the young deputy’s face while fear skittered through her veins. “It’s fine, really. I don’t need anything. Nothing at all.”

  Before the deputy could take another languid step, Kate swung on her dodgy heel and flung open the outer door, taking a deep breath of humid night air.

  ∙•∙

  “What happened?”

  Jack glanced up. Bill’s normally smooth forehead was furrowed as she stared at him from the open doorway. Her dark gaze glowed. With a gusty sigh, he tossed the papers back on his desk and resigned himself to not finishing up his work. “You mean with the stripper?”

  “Huh?” Her slick black eyebrows shot up, her perfect mouth popped open.

  Nice innocent play, but Bill wasn’t much of an actress, she left the acting business to her brother. Her surprise was a little too natural. Perhaps she wasn’t in on the joke. A slide of discomfort nudged at him, but he gave a careless shrug. “She was still fully dressed when she left, so nothing happened.”

  “Jack?” Bill slipped inside the office, closed the door behind her, and paced to his desk. “What did you just do?”

  Doubt trickled through his mind. “The stripper, yeah?”

  “I thought that’s what you said.” Bill leaned her palms on his desk, her dark gaze never leaving his. “Oh, fuck.”

  “Oh fuck?”

  “Yeah. Oh fuck. I sent her in. She’s an English doctor. Mugged at the airport, no money, no phone, no credit cards. No way to contact the administrator at the hospital where she’ll be working.”

  The fast riptide of adrenaline shot him to his feet. “Oh, fuck.” Frantic, he patted his pockets, for what, he didn’t know, but it gave him something to do with his hands other than strangle himself.

  Bill clucked her tongue, her hard stare doing nothing to help. “Didn’t you think when you heard her British accent?”

  “She never spoke.” He hadn’t given her a chance.

  “She claimed you were a pervert. What the hell did you say to the poor woman?”

  Heat raced up his neck to flood his face. “Fuuuuucckkk!!” Underage women, pasties and nipples, that’s what he’d said.

  Desperate to get out, he skidded on the highly polished wooden floor as he charged around his desk and headed for the door. He snatched his Stetson from the top of the radio where he’d left it earlier and raced out, ignoring Bill’s snorted insult.

  “Asshole.”

  He was an asshole.

  If the entire department thought he was a failure with women before, just wait until they heard about this. And they would. It wasn’t possible for Bill’s rolling laughter to be ignored.

  He dashed through the main office and out the front door, checking both ways, but the woman was gone. He paused a moment, and a vision of her flashed clear in his mind now that the cynical scales had dropped from his eyes.

  He must have terrified her.

  Embarrassment coursed through his veins as his mind tortured him with what he’d said. He cringed as he scoured the sidewalk, unable to see far in any direction in the dusky light.

  How the hell had he made such a mistake?

  “Shit, shit, shit.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth and peered around. It didn’t help that she was wearing black. Wrinkled black from her long flight and subsequent mugging, not from an afternoon of debauched hard work.

  He narrowed his gaze and peered into the darkness, his eyesight adjusting to the murky light. A flash of movement along the sidewalk grabbed his attention. He set off at a jog, determined to catch up with her, slowing as he realized the figure he could see had come to a halt.

  With an air of the defeated, she sat on a battered suitcase, her hair shimmering golden in a pool of pale electric light from an all-night store.

  His heart trip
ped with relief. Careful on his approach, he slowed his step until he was within a couple of feet of her. “Hi, I’m sorry, I think I owe you an apology.”

  She whipped her head up, and her startled gaze met his. In a fluid movement, she came to her feet and crouched low with one of her shoes in her left hand held like she was about to stab him with it.

  He stifled the temptation to laugh as he flicked his fingers at the shoe. “I’d hate to have to arrest you for assaulting an officer with a stiletto.”

  She never so much as smiled, her blonde eyebrows twitched into a deep frown over eyes which blazed blue fury. “It’s not a stiletto.”

  The clipped British accent was a dead giveaway, if only he’d allowed her the chance to speak earlier. There was no fear in her voice, but she clenched her jaw hard enough so her teeth ground together.

  He’d talked down thieves, wife batterers, and the occasional murderer, so he couldn’t foresee a problem with this lady. The skill was to keep her talking. “What would you call it then?”

  Curious, he watched her shuffle the shoe from her left hand to her right and back again, as though it were a knife and she was some kind of frickin’ ninja.

  “A kitten heel.”

  This time the snort of laughter exploded from his nose. She pinned him with an ice-cold stare, evidently unamused.

  “It’s not going to look good on your rap sheet. Officer down, fatal kitten-heel injuries sustained.”

  Her brow cleared.

  “You do know my reputation as sheriff will be ruined.” He swore a smile curved her full lips. He took advantage and chanced a step forward. She backed up, raised the shoe in her hand, and rebalanced her weight. Interesting. She kept her weight on the balls of her feet, like she was ready to take flight, or take him on. There wasn’t a flicker of fear on her face, just total concentration. At a guess, she’d attended self-defense lessons.