Loving the Texas Lawman_A Texas Lawman Romantic Suspense

by Mary Connealy

  Tru turned to him, her eyes as wide as a deer’s caught in an eighteen-wheeler’s headlights. “I did yell at you, didn’t I? That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

  “If you cry, I swear I’ll pull this truck over and tan your backside. Then you’ll have a reason to cry.”

  “You will not.”

  “Probably not,” Ben admitted.

  The watery glaze left her eyes as they narrowed. “I thought we were working on turning the other cheek.”

  “You’re working on it. I’m not.” Ben pulled into the university parking lot and pulled to a stop. “You know, we’ve been talking about all the wrong things on this drive.”

  Tru reached for the door handle.

  He was disgusted with himself for getting sidetracked by Attila the Bee. “I need to tell you about Watson.”

  Her hand froze. “What about him?”

  “We should have arrested him last night. He’s got priors. He’s done jail time for two violent offenses, both against girlfriends.”

  “He beat them?” Tru’s manicured fingertips released the handle.

  Ben nodded. “In public. He got a felony conviction both times because other people testified. Both women were going to let it slide.”

  “He said he was married and she left him.” Tru’s voice trembled.

  “He is married and she did leave him.” Ben had an uncharacteristic moment of sympathy for kind-hearted Tru. He knew what he had to tell her next would be upsetting. He reached over and patted her arm. He felt like a bull moose trying to comfort an abandoned duckling. One wrong move and he’d crush her.

  “His wife left the hospital last April with a broken arm, a broken rib that punctured her lung, her nose and cheekbone shattered, and two black eyes. She went directly from the hospital to a battered women’s shelter.”

  “Did she file charges?”

  “She started to, but realized Watson fell under the three-strike rule.”

  “His third felony,” Tru said. “Which means life.”

  “She refused to put him away. Now, because of her spineless, misplaced act of kindness, Watson is running around loose, free to come after you.”

  “Because he wants his wife back,” Tru muttered.

  “The wife he beat to a pulp. And because of your spineless, misplaced act of kindness, he’s free to hassle you some more, wait around for his wife to surface, or pick a new lady friend to beat up. Somebody needs to get this guy off the streets.”

  Tru turned to him. She was listening at last. She was going to do the right thing. He sighed with relief.

  “This man sounds like a classic case of moral poverty. I am not going to be the next in a long line of people who take advantage of him.”

  “Moral what? Poverty? Take advantage? Of what, for Pete’s sake?” Ben felt like a boiling pot with the lid clamped tight, and he was just about ready to blow.

  “When a child isn’t given the advantage of loving, capable parenting, when a child grows up in surroundings that are fatherless, jobless, and Godless, then he’s set on a path for just the kind of behavior Watson is manifesting.”

  “Manifesting?” Ben was tempted to shake her, which was something Watson might do. But Watson would do it for no good reason. With the kind of garbage that was coming out of Tru’s mouth right now, Ben thought he could get off on a self-defense plea.

  “The solution to the violence we see in Ralph,” she continued, “is not incarceration but intensive therapy, rock-solid moral support and, most of all, love.”

  “Ralph?”

  “Ralph Watson is his name.”

  Now she’s on a first-name basis with a wife beater? “I know his name.”

  “We disrespect him by calling him Watson.”

  “That’s fair. I definitely disrespect him.”

  “For me to press charges…”

  Ben watched Tru touched her fingertips with feather-light gentleness to her bleeding heart. “When the man is so desperate and, if he’s telling the truth…”

  “Which he isn’t.” Ben had no doubt he was lying.

  “Which I believe he is, then approaching me last night was a cry for help.”

  “There was no one crying in that parking lot but you, Tru-blue. He grabbed you.” Ben reached over and turned her chin so he could see her scraped cheek. “He hurt you.”

  “He wants to change, Ben.” She pulled away.

  “He left you terrified and bleeding.” Ben’s jaw tightened when he looked at her wounded face.

  “He loves his wife.” Tru shook her head as if she were talking to a mentally-challenged fourth grader. “He knows he’s been wrong.”

  “He ripped out a chunk of your hair.”

  “No, that happened because…

  “Okay, okay. So Little Goody Tru Shoes isn’t going to press charges. Got it. Watson falls into your ‘No Jerk Left Behind’ program. You know what? You’re just as bad as all those women he’s been beating.”

  “I am not as bad as them.” There was dead silence in the truck for a few moments. Then Tru added, “And they’re not bad.”

  “So, they should have just stayed in there and taken their lumps from poor, misunderstood, amorally-infested Ralph, until they loved him into changing or died, whichever came first?”

  “Manifested, not infested. And Moral Poverty is the correct term. And no, of course they shouldn’t stay and be beaten. A woman can’t stay in an abusive situation. She has to get herself to a safe place and work on the relationship from a position of strength. But he’s not going to beat me. He wants me to help him.”

  “But he did beat you. You have bruises all over your body.” Ben blew out a long breath, shaking his head. “He wants your help, but you sent him to someone else.”

  “That’s how I helped him. I sent him to Dr. Pavil. Ralph most likely has a drug or alcohol addiction. Chances are good he is unemployed and not even looking for work anymore. I imagine he is living in abject poverty and is, in all probability, illiterate.”

  “He’s an author.” Ben thought of the report he’d been faxed at home that almost made him choke on his Wheaties this morning. “He made five hundred thousand dollars last year on royalties from three books.”

  “And poverty just adds to the pressure his marriage is under and goads his temper. So you see…” Tru stopped talking and leaned toward Ben and erupted. “He made five hundred thousand dollars last year?”

  “Yep, in royalties alone. And he has every year for the last eight. I understand there are advances too. Besides that, he’s smart with investments. He has a fat stock portfolio of blue chippers. Big into Muni Bonds. He lives in a place nicer than yours, Tru-blue. That’s what his wife ran from.”

  “What kind of books does he write?”

  Ben leaned over until his nose almost touched hers. “Whatever the voices in his head tell him to write.”

  Tru jerked away from him and cracked her head on the door behind her.

  Ben forgot he was angry. “You all right?”

  Tru rubbed her head, and Ben reached over to help.

  Her hair drizzled like golden silk under his finger. And she smelled just the same as last night. A smell that Ben would like to declare illegal anywhere near him because he was getting addicted as surely as if it was a street drug.

  He moved away from her.

  “I’m fine.” She smoothed her neat blond ponytail.

  Ben nodded. She was, indeed, very, very fine. “Go to work, Tru-Blue. When’s your last class?”

  “I’m finished at four-thirty today.”

  “No more night classes?”

  “Just the Monday night class.”

  “And all your classes are in the Psycho Building?”

  “Yes. And it’s not the Psycho Building.”

  “I’ll be here waiting at four-thirty.”

  “Okay.” Tru opened the door, got out of the truck and turned back. “No, you won’t.”

  “Don’t argue with me, Tru. I’m your door-to-door escort s
ervice until I’m sure this nut is going to leave you alone.”

  “This nut is not going to bother me.”

  Ben could almost see her brain working as she thought that over.

  She finally added, “And he’s not a nut.”

  “You’re stuck with me. You kick up a fuss about it, and I’ll tell the president of the university you’ve got a stalker, and I want you put on a leave-of-absence until the matter’s resolved.”

  “Lloyd won’t put me on leave on your say-so.”

  Ben arched one eyebrow. “I can be pretty persuasive.”

  She grunted. “Persuasive? You’re obnoxious.”

  “Where’s that soft answer when you’re dealing with me, Tru-Blue? You let Watson pound on you. The giant killer bee pushes you around. Even Eleanor bullies you, although in a loving way. But me? You’re mean to me.”

  She gave Ben that sad, on-coming-semi look again. “You’re right, Ben. I’m so sorry. Of course, you can take me home. It’s so nice of you to want to protect me. Please forgive me.”

  Ben laughed in her face. “Not persuasive, huh?”

  Tru’s teeth clenched.

  “I got you to ride home with me last night, didn’t I?”

  “Yes, but that was because…”

  “And I got you to ride back with me this morning, didn’t I?”

  “My car was here, what was I supposed to…”

  “And I’m picking you up at four-thirty, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean…”

  Ben reached across the seat and grabbed the handle of her door. “Good girl. I’ll see you at then. Don’t wander around the campus alone. Don’t stay in an empty building. And don’t keep me waiting.” He slammed the door in her face.

  “Ben Garrison,” she yelled through the closed door. “I don’t need a ride home and I wouldn’t…”

  Ben’s window slid down. He said with the best false sincerity he could manage, “Are you mad at me, Tru?” He did his best to look worried and hurt.

  Ben could actually see her melting. He tried to think of a way to toughen her up, except with him. He wanted her to be marshmallow soft for him.

  “I’m sorry I’m so irritable this morning, Ben. I keep taking it out on you, and I apologize.”

  “See you at four-thirty, Tru-Blue.” He grinned so she’d know he got her again.

  Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t say, “Don’t bother.”

  He laughed all the way to the precinct.

  He couldn’t help liking Tru Jennings.

  7

  Trudy couldn’t stand Ben Garrison.

  She scowled all the way to her office.

  “What happened to your face?” Her secretary Ethel stood from behind her desk, her eyes flicking back and forth between the scrape on Trudy’s face and the frown on her lips. Trudy realized one was as unusual as the other.

  Ethel whipped around her desk and adjusted her thick bifocals to get a good close look.

  Trudy’s first instinct was to tell her secretary to mind her own business. She battled for control of her temper, something she’d never had to do before she met Ben. Of course she’d met Ralph Watson about the same time, she felt like this was Ben’s fault but it might be more complicated than that.

  “I had a run-in last night with the brick wall outside this building. A man came up to me in the dark and frightened me, although he just wanted to talk.” Trudy ran one hand down her upper arms. She’d worn a long-sleeved sweater today, despite the Texas August heat. Short sleeves would have shown the shocking bruises.

  “Have you seen a doctor? I remember once, I’d just had my first baby, and I was walking the floor at night and, in the dark, I tripped over a rattle my no-account husband Jeeter had left on the floor.”

  “Jeeter would be your first husband?” Trudy’s head throbbed on the side where the building had slapped her.

  “Second. Stanley was first, but he was in and gone so fast,” Ethel snapped her fingers as if to dismiss the man, which it appeared she had. “I rarely speak of him.”

  Trudy had only heard about Stanley a couple hundred times. He didn’t even begin to rank with Jeeter, or Ronnie, or Artie. Trudy thought that was all the marriages Ethel had managed in her sixty years. “I’m running late, Ethel. I’ve got to…”

  “I’ll hurry then. I tripped on the rattle, almost dropped the baby, and, trying to save myself, I whacked my face on the wall. Well, I screamed for…”

  Trudy started outlining the next chapter of Tru Intervention: Bullies. Her books were two hundred pages. At the rate she was writing, and if her insomnia hung on, she should be done with the first draft by the end of the week.

  “Then Archie said…”

  “I thought you were talking about Jeeter.”

  Ethel gave her a fussy look. She was a master of them. She plunked her hands on her non-existent hips. “Pay attention. This is the second accident. Archie was always late for dinner, so one time I took the frying pan and turned it…”

  Trudy thought about Ben’s overbearing behavior. He had no business ordering her to ride home with him. She had a good mind to be gone when he arrived. Except she couldn’t leave before her last class, which ended at four o’clock.

  Ethel’s tight gray curls quivered with annoyance. “So, Ronnie just stood there and laughed. Can you believe that?”

  Trudy thought they were still on Archie, but she knew better than to ask questions. “How rude.”

  “Well, that was Ronnie, all over. My knee still hurts when it’s going to rain.”

  Trudy had heard that tragic news a number of times.

  The office door whisked open. Gordan Wells stalked in wearing his full security guard regalia. Some of the security guards relaxed and dressed in blue jeans, but never Gordan. Of course, it was possible they didn’t make blue jeans big enough for Gordan.

  “I got special orders this morning to keep an eye on you, Trudy. The Long Pine PD called and…what happened to your face?”

  So Trudy had to listen to Ethel’s story about her many injuries again. She considered it direct intervention from God when the clock ticked toward time for her first class. “Well, I’ve got to run.”

  “Don’t you want to hear about the time Jeeter…”

  “You’ve never said what happened to your face.” Gordan followed her out of the room.

  Ethel was still talking as Trudy speed-walked down the hall, a few minutes early but excited to get somewhere that had students who were often very quiet. Many of them tried to sneak in a nap in the morning classes. She would appreciate their silence today.

  “I’m waiting right outside this door, Trudy. I’m not budging an inch.”

  “No, Gordan.” Trudy turned to the corpulent young man whose thick glasses would seem to disqualify him from any security detail. “You’re not expected to do that.”

  “No, problem. Glad to do it.”

  Trudy took a step toward the classroom. Gordan’s arm shot out, blocking her way as if a speeding train were bearing down on them. He whispered, “Let me go in first.”

  Trudy’s eyes fell closed and she shook her head. She looked up to see Gordan, all three hundred pounds of him, tiptoeing into the empty room. He looked behind the door. Trudy was relieved they didn’t issue weapons to campus security guards.

  Gordan checked the room thoroughly for hidden criminals.

  When he was satisfied, he stationed himself outside the door with his hands folded in front of him in die-hard, bodyguard fashion. “You can go in now. It’s safe.”

  Trudy rolled her eyes. A movement down the hall drew her attention.

  A man stood silhouetted against a glass door. Against the outside light, she couldn’t make out any features but she felt the heat of his gaze. Terror grabbed her just as Watson’s hands had last night.

  It was Watson. He spun around and darted out the door.

  Trudy turned to Gordan. He was still staring straight ahead and hadn’t noticed a thing. She grabbed his
arm. “Did you…?

  Gordan jumped, screamed like a nine-year-old girl and whirled around. “What? What happened?” He clawed at his belt like he expected to find a holster. He managed to pull a Chapstick out of his pocket. Fully armed, he said, “What is it?”

  Trudy looked from the Chapstick to Gordan’s sweet, chubby face. She looked back at the hallway. Empty.

  Now that the man was gone, she wasn’t quite sure what she’d seen. She shuddered and stared at that door, willing herself to regain her composure and think. In the end, she had to admit she wasn’t sure if it was Watson or a janitor. “I just don’t know,” she whispered.

  “Don’t know what?” Gordan noticed what he was holding and clenched his fist around the tube, as if hoping she hadn’t noticed it wasn’t a gun.

  Even if it were Watson, he was just trying to contact her again. She sniffed in disgust. The man could just phone my office for an appointment like a normal human being.

  “Don’t know what?” Gordan repeated.

  Trudy breathed in and out until she controlled her fear. The first student appeared through the glass entry door where Watson—or the janitor, as the case may be—had disappeared.

  “My class.”

  “You don’t know about your class?” Gordan put on some Chapstick.

  “That’s what I said, Gordan. But now that I think about it, of course I know about my class. I’m teaching from a book I wrote, for heaven’s sake.” She smiled and went into her room.

  Trudy got through the day, thankful for students and good-hearted but weak-minded bodyguards. At three fifty-five, she dismissed her last ‘Abnormal Psych 402’ session of the day and headed for the sanctuary of her office.

  Ethel was gathering up her purse. “I’ve got to leave early, Trudy.”

  Which was fine with Trudy. Ethel was mostly for decoration anyway. Trudy did all her own paperwork and answered her own phone most of the time. Ethel always had something that took precedence over her secretarial work, like lunch, or family emergencies, or her fingernails.

  “I’ve filled out the forms for my quarterly employee evaluation. I signed them for you and sent them to the dean’s office.”

  Trudy couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “Did you say you forged my signature?”