by Diana Palmer
Granddad stopped in the act of getting up. “What do I know already?” he asked.
“About the baby Becky’s carrying,” Rourke said, shocking Becky speechless.
Granddad went red. He scowled furiously at Rourke. “You blackguard! If I only had my cane, I’d thrash you!”
“You’ll have to start eating and get your strength back first,” the younger man said with apparent indifference. “And come home, too, of course.”
“I’ll come home all right,” he muttered. He glanced at a red-faced Becky. “How could you?!” he demanded. “Your grandma would roll over in her grave!”
She lowered her face, feeling faintly ashamed and embarrassed. Now everybody would know what she and Rourke had done. She was walking proof.
“Don’t do that,” Rourke said curtly, scowling at her. “A baby is nothing to be ashamed of. And you can stop, too,” he told Granddad, focusing his dark eyes on the old man before he could speak. “Becky and I both want this child. It got made too soon, but neither of us wants to get rid of it.”
“I should hope not!” Granddad shifted and grimaced, his pale blue eyes wary. “She won’t marry you, will she?” he asked and managed a grin. “You played her for a fool over Clay. She knows it.”
“I started taking her out partly because I wanted to keep tabs on Clay,” he said quietly, hating the admission even as he made it.
“Thought so.”
Becky wouldn’t look at him. She’d known that already, but it was painful to have it confirmed.
Rourke saw the wounded look on her pale, freckled face and was sorry he’d ever thought that way about her. His feelings for her had changed dramatically over the weeks they’d been dating, and now he regretted the way they’d started off. But it was much better to tell the truth, in the long run. She’d be more likely to believe him when he told her the real reason he wanted to marry her. But she wouldn’t believe anything he told her in her present angry state of mind, so it was going to take time. He had to win her trust all over again, make her see how he felt, before he made any confessions. And they had big priorities right now—Granddad and Clay.
Granddad, though, was rapidly becoming less of a problem—or more of one, depending on your point of view.
“I want out of here,” Granddad raged, and struggled to get his feet over the side of the bed, panting with the effort. He’d half starved himself trying to die, so he was weak. “I’ll be damned…if you’re going to get away with this.”
“With what?” Rourke asked politely as he gently restrained the old man and tried not to grin at the show of spirit.
“Compromising my granddaughter!” he said loudly.
“I didn’t compromise her, I…”
“Don’t you dare say it!” Becky gasped when she saw the look in Rourke’s mischievous dark eyes.
He shrugged. “All right. I was only going to tell him that you forced yourself on me.”
“I did not!”
“You’ve ruined my reputation,” Rourke said with a dogged expression, looking comically wounded, so that Mack stifled a giggle. “Stood me up to public ridicule. Everyone will think that I’m easy. Women will write my telephone number in public rest rooms. I’ll be attacked at work. And it’s all your fault. You knew how weak-willed I was!”
Granddad didn’t exactly know how to take that. In his day, if a woman displayed her ankle, it was considered indecent. Here were Rourke and Becky talking about a child they’d made together, and they weren’t even married. The only consolation he could find was that they both wanted the child. And there was something about the way Rourke looked at Becky, when she wasn’t watching.
He lay back down slowly, still smarting from the idea of Rourke moving in and taking over his household. But he felt more alive than he had since he’d gone to the hospital that horrible night Clay was arrested.
“Are you all right?” Becky asked gently.
He nodded and took a long breath. “My heart’s fine. They said I’d recover nicely. I’m sorry about the expense, Becky,” he added, a little ashamed now that he’d cost her this long confinement for nothing. He’d hoped he might die, but God seemed to have something else in store for him.
“Don’t worry about the money,” Becky said gently. “Everything’s all right.”
“That being the case, suppose we bail you out of this place Monday and take you home?” Rourke said, changing the subject. He didn’t want Granddad asking any more questions about paying the bill. Becky might start wondering about that nonexistent government assistance and find out that he was helping on the expenses. He didn’t want her told about that, or what he’d done for Clay, just yet.
“I want to go home, but you can’t hang around,” Granddad said firmly.
“Sorry, but I’ll have to,” Rourke said conversationally. “The house is falling apart. I’ve got painting to do, doors to fix, screens to put in…I can’t have my future wife living in a run-down house.”
“I am not your future wife!” Becky raged.
“It’s my house!” Granddad fumed.
“How do you stand it?” Rourke asked Mack with a theatrical sigh. “My God, you poor kid.”
Mack chuckled. He liked Rourke a lot, and he didn’t think Becky had a chance of getting away unmarried.
The arguing went on, but Rourke ignored them until they fell to talking about Clay and his trial. Mack went down the hall to the drink and snack machines in the waiting room with a pocketful of change Rourke gave him.
“Who is the Davis man that’s going to defend him?” Granddad wanted to know.
“A black attorney…” Becky began.
“Black?!” Granddad burst out.
“Black,” Rourke said in a tone that dared the old man to continue. “It isn’t a dirty word. J. Davis is one of the finest defense attorneys in the country. He makes in the neighborhood of half a million dollars a year, and he’s the best there is. He’s waiving his fee to defend Clay, so you might consider putting aside your prejudices for the duration of the trial.”
Granddad’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “We can agree to disagree on the matter of prejudice. I don’t imagine either of us is going to give an inch on our points of view. If you say this Davis man is a good lawyer, that’s all that counts. I don’t want Clay to go to jail.”
“He’ll do time,” Rourke replied quietly. “I hope you understand that. He broke the law. There’s no way he’s going to avoid some penalty for being involved in drug trafficking, and it won’t matter who defends him. The most damaging charge is the attempted murder rap, and there’s substantial evidence to connect him with it.”
“I don’t care about the evidence,” Becky said stiffly. “I know Clay, and he wouldn’t do something like that.”
Rourke didn’t think so, either, because of what Clay had told him. But he wasn’t going to share that information just yet.
“The drug dealing might be plea-bargained down to a lesser charge, however,” he continued as if Becky hadn’t spoken. “Considering it’s his first offense, he might not have to do hard time. I got a conviction on a cocaine dealing charge a few years ago. The perpetrator was sentenced to ten years, and he only did ten months. Anything is possible.”
“No chance of you refusing to press charges on the murder rap, for Becky’s sake?” Granddad asked solemnly.
“I don’t have the option,” Rourke replied. “And you know it.”
“I see.” Granddad tugged absently at the sheet, frowning. “I see.”
“If he turns state’s evidence against his cohorts, it will go easier on him,” he added. “And if we can connect them with the Dennis boy’s death, they’ll do some hard time.”
“What about Becky, if he does that?” Granddad asked worriedly. “People mean enough to wire a man’s car with a bomb might not stop at hurting a woman.”
“I realize that,” Rourke said. His dark eyes didn’t blink. “They’ll have to go through me to get to Becky. They won’t hurt her. I guarantee
they won’t.”
Becky glowed. He sounded very fierce and protective, and she lowered her eyes shyly when he glanced her way.
Granddad had noticed that attitude, too. He pursed his lips and smiled, but he didn’t let Rourke see him.
“Has Clay decided to do that?” Granddad asked.
“Not yet,” Becky said.
“Been to see him lately?”
She hadn’t wanted to have to answer that question, but she had no choice now. They were all looking at her.
“They’ve moved a man into the cell with Clay,” she said slowly. “He’s in for attempted rape. He…well, he didn’t actually say anything, but he looked at me in a way that made my skin crawl. I didn’t go back. I know Clay understood why. He didn’t like it, either.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rourke demanded. His blood ran hot through his veins, thinking about Becky in that kind of situation. That was one problem he could solve, and quickly, with one telephone call.
“How could I tell you?” Becky demanded hotly. “We haven’t spoken in weeks!”
“We’ve been speaking for two days,” he reminded her, just as hotly.
“You didn’t ask,” she said haughtily.
He glared at her. “Well, it won’t happen again. I’ll have him moved out of Clay’s cell and we’ll both go to see him.”
“Clay won’t like that.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t like you,” she said, frowning. “Surely you knew that? You turned him in, for heaven’s sake!”
Mack went pale and started to speak, but Rourke silenced him with a scowl.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “You can go to see him alone.” He knew Clay was doing what he was told, not letting Becky know that he had already been to see him and had gotten Davis to represent him. He was keeping secrets, but he wanted her in the dark until he was sure of her feelings. Gratitude was a poor substitute for love. The bad part was that she still blamed him for Clay’s arrest. That was a cross he’d have to bear forever, because he couldn’t tell her that Mack had turned his brother in. He wasn’t going to let Mack suffer for it.
“I didn’t know about his cell mate,” Rourke continued. “They must really be hurting for space. There have been a spate of drug arrests lately. Jails all over midtown and the metro areas are bulging. They’re even turning some petty criminals loose so they can keep the hard-core ones inside, in one county. We may have to do that in the not-too-distant future. The crowding is dangerous.”
“Why are there so many people in jail? Is crime increasing?”
“No. In fact, some crimes have actually decreased, including murder and rape. But we have overcrowded courts. Plenty of those people in jail are there waiting to be tried, like Clay. Sometimes their cases are called and one key witness can’t be found, or he’s forgotten the date, or he’s sick. The perpetrator goes back to jail then and the case has to be calendared again. You’d be amazed how many cases have to be continued or held over because the defense attorney or the public defender has something come up and can’t appear.” He shrugged. “It’s a problem everywhere. Nobody’s got a solution, except to build more prisons.”
“And that costs money,” Granddad interrupted, letting them know that he’d been listening. “Which hits the taxpayer right in the pocketbook.”
“True,” Rourke agreed. “But if you want a place to put the criminals, you have to pay to keep them in it. You pay for their upkeep. So do I. The alternative is to turn them all loose and hire somebody to protect your life and property. Not a very attractive prospect, is it?”
Granddad shook his head. “Ought to have public executions,” he said. “Somebody goes out and butchers half a dozen people and everybody says pity the poor criminal. How about the poor victim?”
“Well,” Rourke said, “the criminal justice system in this country isn’t perfect, but it’s the best in the world. While we’re blaming liberals, we can blame some special interest groups, too, who lobby to take the teeth out of laws like the Rico Statute, which allows us to confiscate illegal drug money and other ill-gotten gains.”
“Amen,” Granddad said heartily. “These days it seems like dirty politics is the rule, instead of the exception. Every day you hear of some other politician who’s done something unethical. Nobody cares about honor these days!”
“People do,” Rourke argued. “But they’re apathetic about it. Otherwise, why do only about a third of the people go to the polls to vote?”
“Beats me,” Granddad said. “I always voted. Becky does, too.”
“So do I,” Rourke said. “But until the silent majority starts getting really involved, nothing will change very much.”
Becky was beaming. Granddad was almost his old self again. Rourke had tricked him into fighting back to life.
The nurse came in to check Granddad’s vital signs and gasped audibly when she saw him sitting up in bed with color in his cheeks. She didn’t ask any questions, but she was smiling when she left the room.
Rourke herded Mack and Becky out of the room a few minutes later, with a promise to Granddad that he’d be back with Becky to bring him home Monday morning.
“How are we going to manage that?” Becky wanted to know. “I have to go to work.”
“So do I,” he said carelessly, digging in his pocket for his keys as they reached the car. “I’ll get off for an hour. So will you.”
“But there won’t be anybody at the house to look after him,” she groaned.
“Sure there will.” Mack grinned. “I can give him his medicine and talk to him. Then I won’t have to stay with Mrs. Addington. She’s real nice, but Granddad’s my buddy.”
She hesitated. “I don’t know…”
“Mack’s almost eleven,” Rourke reminded her when they were in the car driving back toward the farm. “He’s smart and he can keep his head. He has your telephone number at work. I’ll give him mine, too. He’ll do fine, so stop worrying. Okay?”
She gave in. It was just too much work, and she was feeling incredibly tired. She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Okay,” she murmured drowsily.
She was asleep when they got home. Rourke put a finger to his lips, gave Mack the key to unlock the door after he’d fished it out of her purse, and gently lifted her out of the car.
She woke up just as he was taking off her shoes in her own room.
“I went to sleep,” she murmured drowsily.
“You’ve had a long day,” he said gently. “And you tire easily. Now you just rest, little one.”
“What about Mack?”
“He’s gone over to visit his friend John. I said it was all right. Was it?” he added.
“Yes. John’s mother said it was all right any time.”
“You’re just worn out from overwork. A paper route,” he muttered, glaring at her from his superior height.
“Well, it was all I could get that would fit in with my regular job,” she said defensively.
His dark eyes went from her wan, freckled face to her slender body and back up again, seeing the gauntness in her cheeks, the dark circles under her eyes. “I shouldn’t have stayed away so long,” he said, his deep voice pleasant in the stillness of the room. “But relationships are difficult for me, even on good days. I’ve spent most of my adult life alone. It made me angry that you were more concerned about Clay than you were about me, especially when it was me he was accused of trying to murder.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Maybe putting your family first is natural. I don’t have any family, so I don’t really know. But I shouldn’t have allowed that resentment to make me desert you at a time when you needed someone.”
“I didn’t help by saying I was sorry the bomb didn’t work,” she said softly, searching his hard face. “I didn’t mean it. It hurt me that you spied on Clay to have him arrested. I guess that was the most damaging thing of all.”
His teeth ground together. It was the biggest stumbling block to their fut
ure together, and he couldn’t do a thing about it—not without incriminating Mack. He looked away.
“I’m not perfect, honey,” he said tersely. “I never claimed to be.”
She nodded. She lay back against the pillows with a tired sigh. “Thank you for what you did for Granddad,” she said softly. “But we can manage, now.”
“I’m glad to hear it. But you’re not managing without me,” he said stubbornly. He moved closer to the bed and stared down at her. “You don’t want me around. I understand that. But you need someone, and unless you can pull a man out of your pillowcase, you’re stuck with me. You can’t carry all this alone.”
“I’ve been doing it alone for years,” she protested hotly.
“You haven’t been pregnant for years,” he shot back.
“Rourke!” she began angrily.
He sat down on the bed and leaned over her, his dark eyes cutting into her hostile hazel ones. “I’ve never met anyone half as stubborn as you are,” he said under his breath. His eyes fell to her soft mouth. “Or as sweet. I’m lonely, Becky—so lonely.”
He knew how to turn the knife, she thought miserably as she felt his smoky breath mingle with hers. He brushed back the long strands of disheveled honey-brown hair from her face and bent to kiss her eyelids. Her heartbeat began to speed up and her breathing changed suddenly as his lips moved from her eyes to her cheeks and then, inevitably, down to her parted lips.
“Do you remember how it felt that night?” he breathed into her open mouth, hearing the whimper that came out of her throat as he whispered the explicit, arousing words. “Yes, you do, don’t you? You remember how we clung to each other on the floor, burning so hot that we didn’t mind the discomfort, blind and deaf to everything except the sweet, sharp pleasure of our bodies joining in that anguished rhythm.”
His hands slid down her throat and found her breasts, swollen under her top. She stiffened as his fingers circled them, burning up with the fever he was kindling.
“You bit me,” he whispered, lifting his head so that he could search her misty eyes. “And at the last, I remember being glad my windows were closed, so the neighbors wouldn’t hear you when you began to cry out under me.”
