Loving the Texas Lawman: Garrison
Mary Connealy
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
About the Author
Also by Mary Connealy
Copyright © 2018 by Mary Connealy
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All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
1
Long Pine, Texas
“And so, in the course of our studies, we’ll learn how we can use kindness as an effective response to anger.” Trudy Jennings looked out at the sea of eyes intently watching her and felt a moment of pride. All of her students seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say.
A snort from Ben Garrison turned into a cough.
All except one.
Garrison reached for his black Stetson, which he’d set politely on the desk at the beginning of class, put it on, and pulled it low over his eyes while his shoulders shook.
Trudy clenched her jaw and attempted a tight smile, ignoring his childish antics. “We’ll find out that turning the other cheek doesn’t necessarily invite a second slap.”
This time, even with his hat pulled low, he grabbed a handkerchief out of the inside pocket of his blazer and covered his grinning mouth. What was the man’s problem?
She’d been putting up with his nonsense for nearly three hours during this one-night-a-week class. Her patience was gone. “What is it this time, Detective Garrison?”
“Nothing, Miss…uh, Dr. Jennings.” He coughed again. “Got a little cold is all.” He choked on the word cold. His shoulders shook with laughter. Between the hat and the handkerchief, he very conveniently covered his whole face.
Trudy ran a finger around the turtleneck collar of her beige sweater to let out steam. The fact that the man was seriously trying to control himself only made it worse.
During the ice-breaker Trudy scheduled for the first fifteen minutes of class at the beginning of each semester, Ben Garrison had introduced himself as a Long Pine police detective. Detecting what, she wondered. Kindergarteners cheating at tag? She’d nicknamed him Cough Man after the first half hour.
“I’m…fine.” His broken reassurance wasn’t cooling her temper.
She finished her overview of how passive intervention could assist in anger management while she fought to manage her own anger.
Mr. Garrison cleared his throat suspiciously a couple of times. He sat there, slumped down, his face mostly covered by his broad brimmed hat. He wore dark pants and a white shirt with snaps, a cowboy style. A black blazer, too, and a pair of black Tony Lama boots. He said earlier he’d come straight from work.
“That’s it for today. Class dismissed.” She dropped her glasses in the inside breast pocket of her brown tweed blazer and ran a hand over her ponytail, pulled tight and held in place at the nape of her neck by a rectangular gold clip, nearly invisible in her golden blonde hair.
As the youngest tenured professor at Bella Vista Christian College, she did her best to appear mature and in control. She dressed to support that image, right down to her glasses, which were plain glass. Her baby blues worked just fine, thank you very much.
All the seniors in the Psych Department needed her class to graduate and they knew it. That helped her keep things under control. But it looked like this semester Mr. Garrison wasn’t going to make that easy.
As her students filed out, she turned her back on the emptying room to pack her briefcase. The letter she’d tucked in with her other papers caught her eye. Turning it over, she wondered why Mr. Watson hadn’t followed her advice.
She flipped the envelope open and slid the lined notebook paper out. This wasn’t his first pathetic cry for help. He’d been writing nearly all summer since he’d approached her to counsel him and his estranged wife.
Over the months, his handwriting had deteriorated to an almost unreadable scrawl and his desperation grew with each letter, this one had an almost threatening tone. She re-read it with a sense of dread as he raged at her, demanding help.
‘You’re the only one who can help me. You WILL help me!!! I won’t stop, I won’t! I’ll keep coming until you give me what I want. You’ll give me what I want or I’ll take it!’ R Watson
The words filled a full-sized sheet of white printer paper. Some were two inches tall, underlined, scratched out and rewritten. Exclamation points. A signature that was next thing to illegible. The T that was crossed in Watson slashed through his whole name twice, obliterating it.
He’d come to her office a few times then, when she refused to see him anymore, he began writing letters. He’d sent one daily for two weeks. Each had a more fanatical tone. The paper was torn in places under the heavy lines of ink that spoke of a violent temper. All of it went together to chill her blood.
A hand closed on her shoulder.
She shrieked and whirled around. Cough Man stood inches behind her.
She staggered back. He backed away quickly. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” All of his buffoonery gone, replaced with sharply intelligent, observant eyes that went right to her letter. The oversized, darkly written words visible.
She noted his instinct to protect, the cop eyes flicking from the note in her hand to her eyes.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mr. uh…Detective Garrison. A little..uh, that is…fine.”
“No, you’re not.” His Texas drawl sharpened and he quit studying her and turned those suspicious cop eyes to Watson’s note. “What’s that?”
Some reflex made her quickly fold the letter and hold it away from him.
“I said I’m fine.” She spoke too sharply.
His blue eyes flickered between her face and the letter. There was none of the school-boy antics about him now. He was all homicide detective.
And he knew there was more. With an expression that said he didn’t like it, he shrugged. “Okay, um…I came up here to…to…I,” he threw his hands wide. “I apologize, Dr. Jennings, for my behavior in class. It’s just that your lecture…”
He shook his head, then shook it harder and jammed one hand into his short, dark curls and knocked his hat off his head. He caught it and held against his belly, running his hands along the brim. “Today of all days…”
She controlled the urge to smooth the mess he’d made of his hair. He’d really be good looking if he wasn’t such a pest. The lines around his analytical blue eyes were too deep for a man his age. She heard the sincerity in his apology and the exhaustion behind it.
Today of all days. She wondered what had happened, thought of the letter in her hand and could relate.
“Your remarks on anger management just caught me on a bad day. If I’d turned the other cheek to the guy I arrested today I’d be dead.” He shook his head and looked through her into the day he’d just
had. “That’s the reason, but it’s no excuse. My behavior in class was inexcusable.”
Trudy had to admit it was a genuine apology. She’d had a lot of badly behaved students who never managed one of those. Of course, most of them were fifteen years younger than Detective Garrison.
“Honest, if I get sent to the principal’s office and they call my mom in, I’ll never live it down at the precinct.” His blue eyes sparked with good humor, and that eased some of the cynical lines etched on his face. “Especially since Mom and Dad are on a cruise to Alaska and won’t be home for two weeks. Slow time at the ranch.”
“You’re from a ranch family, Detective Garrison?” Her eyes flickered to the black felt Stetson he now held in both hands. This was Texas, plenty of people wore Stetsons, and they weren’t all cowboys.
“Yep, my family’s been ranching in Texas since before the Civil War. Dozens of Garrison cousins own land between here and Fort Worth.”
“I envy you a large family, Detective. I hope you appreciate them.”
“Don’t you have a big family?”
It was too personal a question, and a real answer held too much pain. She said, “One great aunt retired to Florida.”
Then she changed the subject. “Why aren’t you ranching?”
“My branch of the family leaned more toward the military and law enforcement. But the ranch I grew up on is still home.” Detective Garrison gave her a full-on smile.
She blinked at the pure wattage of it.
“I can see it now, a chopper picking up mom—better known as Hangin’ Judge Janet Garrison.”
“Your mom is called…” Trudy swallowed and looked a little closer at Detective Garrison. How upset would the judge be if she expelled Sonny Boy here from school? “She got that name for being stern with her children?”
“Well, no. That’s not where she got it but it works at home, too. She got it on the job. She’s really a judge. She’s a sweetie compared to Dad. You’ve gotta be tough to ranch in Texas. A chopper will have to pick them up off the deck of the ship and bring them back to Fort Worth to get me out of the principal’s office.”
Tempted to smile at the man who had to be thirty-two or three…or five, she tightened her mouth. “Well, since we don’t have a principal, Cough…uh…Mr. Garrison, you’re probably in the clear. Apology accepted. I’ll see you next week in class. Don’t forget to read my book ‘Tru Intervention: Anger Management’.”
Becoming a professor and establishing tenure at Bella Vista at such a young age was due to the success of her series of pop-psychology self-help books. She and many others across the country used them as textbooks. They were considered light-weight, she knew that, but they held Biblical wisdom. Few people noticed the source, but they were drawn to the wisdom.
“We’ll be reviewing some new models for a passive, loving approach to people with rage issues.”
A smile curved his lips but he quickly suppressed it. “Passive approach to rage issues.” He cleared his throat. “Got it.”
He turned far too quickly, settled his hat on his head with smooth, practiced ease, and left the room at a brisk pace.
Trudy could almost describe it as running.
She heard him coughing in the hall.
She crushed Watson’s letter in her hand, then her shoulders slumped.
It was going to be a long semester.
Throwing the letter in her briefcase, she snapped it shut, gathered up her books and left the classroom. She had to lock the room and the whole building behind her. She was always the last one out on Monday nights and even the long August summer days were fully dark by ten o’clock. She flipped off each light she passed. The hallway falling dark seemed to pursue her. Her footsteps echoed in the empty building. She realized she was reacting to Watson’s unsettling note.
Stepping outside, the heavy glass door locked automatically with a muted click. She turned around to make sure it latched.
Pounding footsteps coming at her jerked her around. A dark shape in the murky street lights rushed at her.
She screamed and staggered back, hitting the glass door.
Strong hands grabbed at her shoulders, clawing her blazer. She squirmed against his grappling hands, staggered sideways and came up against brick. Forced against the building, she screamed.
The man made vicious barely human sounds as she struggled.
“I need you.” Heavy hands caught the lapels of her blazer. His sweaty cheek slid across her face. The stench nearly choked her. Shaggy black hair hung across his low forehead. Grunting with the effort of subduing her, he blasted her with fetid breath.
He pressed his face against hers as he growled, “Give me what I want, or I’ll take it.”
“Take…take anything you want. My briefcase…you can have it. My wallet—”
“I don’t want your money. I want you.” He shook her. Her books and briefcase tumbled to the ground, scraping her legs as they dropped. The man kicked the books aside and caught her on the shin with heavy boots.
“You’re coming with me.” His coarse voice crawled up her spine.
“No! Stop!” Jerking against his grip, she broke free again for a second. He caught her. The left side of her face smacked against the brick wall with a dull thud. Streaks of light exploded behind her closed eyes. She begged God to protect her.
“I won’t stop. Never.”
“Help!” Trudy screamed into the empty night.
The attacker slid his hands to her throat and cut off her scream.
2
The next second, Trudy was free.
She sank to the ground, and scrambled sideways on her hands and knees, sobbing as she moved away from her wild-eyed assailant. She looked over the man’s shoulder and saw what had happened.
Or, rather, who had happened.
Ben Garrison. One muscled arm was wrapped around the maniac’s neck.
All her terror faded as she looked into the policeman’s eyes, cold as ice, but with so much strength and competence, the cold glare actually warmed her.
“Are you all right, Dr. Jennings?” Detective Garrison’s arm tightened around his captive’s neck as if a negative answer from her would be taken out on her attacker.
“Yes.” Trudy’s head swam and her knees shook until she didn’t know if they would hold her. She scrambled to her feet, leaning heavily on the building. “I’m f…fine. He didn’t hurt me.”
“You can’t do this.” The disheveled man said, struggling against Garrison’s arm. “I need her. She’s coming with me. She has to help me or I’ll…”
“I’m Detective Ben Garrison, Long Pine PD. This is resisting arrest.” Garrison switched his hold to a hammerlock. “You’re already in trouble for assault and attempted kidnapping. Her clothing is torn and, if you’ve got any priors, that’ll be enough to tag on sexual assault. If you want to make it worse by resisting arrest, I’m all for it.”
“No,” the man croaked.
The visceral satisfaction of hearing the man struggle to breathe went so deep, it shocked her. Her rage stiffened her scraped knees as she came closer to the two men, careful not to get within arm’s length.
“Do you know this man, Doctor?” the detective asked quietly, as if holding down the wriggling man took very little effort.
“You’re…you’re Ralph Watson.” Trudy recognized him in the dim light. She’d only met a few times last spring before she’d told her secretary to not let him into her office again. Then he was well-dressed. He’d been desperate to persuade her to take his case but he hadn’t come off as deranged.
But his letters had.
“Yes, I’m a patient of yours,” Watson said, jerking against Ben’s iron grip. “Let me go. I’m just talking to my doctor.”
“I am not your doctor.” With trembling hands, Trudy pulled her blazer onto her shoulders. “I specifically said I couldn’t help you, Mr. Watson. Dr. Pavil told me you never kept your appointment with him.” Trudy shook her head and her barrette swatted her in
the face.
She grabbed at her hair clip, and removed it. Heavy lengths of her hair had been ripped loose and dangled from the clip. She put her hand up to her cheek and felt wet, raw skin. She remembered scraping her face on the building. She pulled her fingers away from the tender spot and shuddered at the crimson stains on them.
Trudy looked at the distraught man. “You’ve been sending me letters. I’ve also gotten some strange unsigned emails. Are those from you, too?”
Watson’s sullen eyes narrowed and his jaw clamped shut.
Trudy took a half step back. She glanced at Ben Garrison and her courage returned.
The detective’s eyes focused on her bleeding face. In a voice that could be used to exterminate cockroaches, he said to Watson, “You’re under arrest.”
“I committed no crime,” the man whined. “I’m her patient.”
“She says you’re not.”
“I need your help, Doctor.” Watson reached for her but Garrison held him back. “You’re ruining my life. My wife said she’d only talk to you.”
“Keep quiet,” Detective Garrison ordered. “You’ve got the right to remain silent. I suggest you take that right seriously and shut up.”
The man ignored the order. “I didn’t do any of those things you’re accusing me of. I just need to talk to you, Dr. Jennings.”
The man wrenched his head toward Trudy, despite Detective Garrison’s hold on him. “I’d never hurt you. I need help to save my marriage. I need you to come with me. My wife said she’d talk to you and nobody else. She made me come here to get you.”
“You don’t get a woman to come with you by assaulting her in a dark parking lot. You’ve got the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney one will be…”
“You’re Tru Intervention,” the man went on, despite Garrison’s warning. His voice climbed higher because of the arm wrapped around his neck. “You wrote all those books. I’ve read them all. I know you can help me.”
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