Long, Tall Texans: Rey ; Long, Tall Texans: Curtis ; A Man of Means ; Garden Cop

by Diana Palmer

  “She just got married,” the female sergeant said loudly. “She says she wants to sing the ‘Wedding Song’!”

  The new arrivals blinked. They were all holding thick short glasses with barely an inch of liquid left. They grinned.

  “Okay!” one of them agreed. “Let’s go, marines! Da da da DUM, DA da da DUM…” He stopped and blinked at the others. “What are the words?”

  “Never mind,” Curt said, shaking his head. “It’s better your way. Come on, sweetheart, let’s sing the marine song.” He raised his voice. “‘From the halls of MontezuuuuuUHma…!’”

  Hands went over ears. Buttons were pressed. The elevator stopped and disgorged almost an entire company of marines.

  “Please,” the female sergeant pleaded. “Don’t ever sing our song again…!”

  The elevator doors closed on the plea.

  Curt burst out laughing. After a minute, so did Mary and the bellhop.

  * * *

  The bellhop opened the curtains, pointed out the wet bar, whirlpool bath and the closets and left with a nice tip.

  Curt locked the door behind him, turned around, and pursed his lips as he studied his pretty new wife in her nice oyster-white suit.

  “Reservations in the nicest hotel in the metro area,” she murmured with a beaming smile. “You sweetheart, you!”

  “Nothing’s too good for my best girl,” he said gently, walking toward her. “You were the prettiest bride in Georgia, and I love you to distraction.”

  “I love you, too,” she admitted, linking her arms around his neck. She sighed. “Thank God you didn’t go out in a hail of bullets. I’m so glad you’ve recovered with no residual damage. It was a wonderful wedding ceremony. And now, here we are, all alone together with no pending court cases and no fugitives to pursue.” She sighed again, although her expression was mischievous. “What shall we do with the rest of the day…?”

  His hard lips cut her off. He kissed her hungrily. Their courtship had been, largely, an old-fashioned one. It had been, as the saying went, a long, dry spell.

  Her lips parted eagerly. She reached up to hold him, feeling his body tauten with desire as she answered his long, slow kisses.

  The teasing stopped suddenly as he lifted her and carried her to the big, king-size bed. In between warm, lingering kisses, he got rid of the obstacles, including the ankle gun he was never without.

  “You wore a gun on our honeymoon?” she exclaimed, sitting up.

  He pushed her back down again. “It’s a precaution.”

  “Against what, for God’s sake?”

  “Intruders singing the marine hymn…come back here!”

  He turned her, and his mouth found all the warm, soft, secret places, making her body sing with delight. He liked the husky little sounds she made when his mouth covered her breasts and suckled them. He liked the way her long, elegant legs wrapped around the back of his, the way her body lifted to tempt him into intimacy.

  He wanted to take forever, but he was too hungry. His hands moved into more delicate persuasion, and she moved quickly to accommodate him. His mouth ground into hers as he possessed her, feeling her body ripple, feeling the faint hesitation as she accepted him.

  “It’s been…a long time,” she groaned.

  “You were married,” he whispered gruffly.

  “I was married when I was eighteen.”

  “Right.”

  “I was also divorced when I was eighteen.”

  “So?”

  “Are you really that thick?” she exclaimed, lifting in a sudden high arch when his mouth touched her in an unexpected place.

  The thought suddenly got through to him. He lifted his head fractionally to meet her shy eyes. “You mean, you haven’t, since you were eighteen?”

  “I’m old-fashioned,” she replied.

  He let out a ragged breath. “I love old-fashioned women,” he murmured, his eyes alive with feeling as they searched hers. His hips moved abruptly, and he smiled at her expression. “How old was he?”

  She swallowed. “Eighteen.”

  His body poised. “Eighteen.”

  “And I was his first girl.”

  He looked as if he’d swallowed the pillow. “Oh.”

  She moved experimentally. “Neither of us knew much, and I didn’t like it much, so I didn’t really miss it when we separated.” She moved again, gasping. “But I like it…with you. I love it with you!” Her nails scored gently down his back. “Could you do that again, what you did when I gasped?”

  “You haven’t stopped gasping,” he pointed out. “Not that I’m complaining!” No kidding. It would take a mortician half a day to get the smile off his face if he died right now. He moved away a little. “Okay. Is this what you want me to do…?”

  She really gasped then, and her hands became frenzied, holding on to him wherever she could reach while he taught her new ways to experience sensation. Somewhere in the middle of the lesson, it became fierce and urgent. She reached up toward him and felt her body explode into little tiny bits of flame. She sobbed endlessly, clinging, until she slowly became aware of the man straining against her in rough shudders, his breath jerking out breathlessly at her ear.

  Minutes later, the ceiling came slowly into focus above her. She felt drained, sensuously exhausted, and very proud of herself. Apparently, she was damned good at this, a natural, because he’d certainly enjoyed it. She could tell, even if she didn’t have a lot of experience.

  “I may give up law and do this from now on,” she murmured with her eyes closed. “I have definite potential!”

  He chuckled. “You can pin a rose on that!”

  She rubbed one leg slowly against his. “You have definite potential, too,” she said sensually. “Maybe we can stretch our honeymoon out by another four or five months?”

  He laughed out loud. “Now, that’s what I call incentive!”

  She rolled onto his chest and kissed him softly. “I want to keep the dog.”

  It was the last thing he expected to hear. His eyes almost popped. “You what?”

  “I want to keep Big Red. Your mom doesn’t really have room for him, but we could live in my house and fence in the yard and the garden, and he could have lots of space to run.”

  “Oh, no. Not the dog. Not that dog…!”

  “Please?” she murmured, kissing his chest. “Pretty please?” She kissed a hard nipple and started sucking on it gently. He was lifting up, and breathing hard, and even gasping by now. “Pretty please with sugar on it…?”

  “Okay, you can have the dog. That, and anything else you want,” he choked as he moved over her with intent. “Anything!”

  “The dog,” she agreed, reaching up to kiss him as he moved into possession. “And one…more…thing.”

  “What?” he panted.

  “Don’t ever…sing…the marine song again.”

  “Don’t…?”

  But she kissed him passionately and he stopped thinking or talking, in that order.

  * * *

  Three hours later, they lay sprawled together, totally exhausted and almost asleep. “You said we were rushing to catch a plane,” she reminded him with a grin. “What a fast plane it was!”

  “Very high-flying, too,” he murmured with a weary chuckle. He pulled her close and kissed her with his last ounce of strength. “Next time, we try for the sound barrier.”

  “Next time,” she agreed, closing her eyes.

  He was almost asleep when the phone rang.

  He picked it up, murmuring into the receiver. “Mmm-hmm,” he said. “Mmm-hmm. Ummh…what?” He sat straight up in bed. “You’re kidding!”

  Mary opened her eyes and watched him react to what was obviously shocking news. He spoke in monosyllables, finally laughing and wishing the other person luck and promising to speak to them later.

  He hung up the phone and lay back down, looking astonished.

  “What’s wrong?” Mary asked gently, leaning over him to trace patterns in the hair o
n his chest.

  “They didn’t want to waste the minister and the decorations in the church,” he said, dazed. “There was an audience, too. So they went ahead.”

  “They who?”

  “My mother and Agent Vicks,” he said on a sigh. “They got married!”

  “They did!” she exclaimed, wide-eyed.

  “I guess there are worse things than having two FBI agents in the same family,” he said, glancing up at her.

  She looked uneasy.

  “Yes?” he prompted.

  “You know Dad couldn’t come for the wedding, even though he sent us that nice tape of congratulations,” she offered.

  “Yes.”

  She cleared her throat. “He’s in Virginia.”

  “In Virginia.”

  She nodded.

  He frowned. “Where in Virginia?”

  “I think they call it Quantico?”

  “No. Oh, no. No!”

  She grimaced. “He’s been in law enforcement his whole life. Now he has a son-in-law in the FBI. He just wants to keep it in the family.”

  “He’s joined the FBI!” he exclaimed.

  She bent closer. “Well, yes. So now it’s really an agency family, isn’t it?” She wiggled her toes and smiled as she put her mouth gently over his. “And just yesterday, I got an application form…!”

  He rolled her over and moved closer with intent. “I don’t want to hear it,” he told her. “Not another word.”

  “But, Curt,” she teased, big brown eyes twinkling with humor.

  “We’ll catch ’em, you prosecute ’em. Deal?” he teased back.

  She chuckled. “I was only kidding,” she confessed.

  “But you have to admit, it would be the story of the century.”

  “We’ll have a bigger one, you wait and see.”

  * * *

  And they did. Twenty-five years later, their two sons and their daughter were all three inducted into the FBI as special agents on the same day, with their proud parents, and grandparents, for witnesses.

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-1391-3

  GARDEN COP

  Copyright © 2002 by Diana Palmer

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

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  When single dad Micah Torrance needs help with his young daughter, he hires beautiful Karina Carter to be her nanny. But the gruff rancher has his work cut out for him if he’s going to avoid falling in love forever.

  Read on for a sneak preview of WYOMING LEGEND, the next book in the Wyoming Men series from New York Times bestselling author Diana Palmer

  CHAPTER ONE

  She heard the cheers of the crowd, as if they were close by. Lights flashing from dozens of cameras in the spectator stands. Music, beautiful music. The sound of her skates on the ice made smooth by the Zamboni. The perfect lifts and tosses by her partner as they soared toward the gold medal in the world championships. The reviewing stand. The medal looped around her neck, the exultation as she faced the news media and shared her struggles and tragedies that had led her and her partner to the medal. Then, so soon, the new tragedy that had put her in the hospital just days before they were to start training new programs for the national championships, the next world competition, and then, if their luck held, the Olympic Games. The hope of that Olympic gold medal in pairs figure skating, however, was already fading in the distance. Her hopes and dreams, crushed as the surgeon labored to reduce the damage in her ankle. Gone. All gone. Hopes and dreams of medals, lost; like the dream as she awoke in her own bed, in her lonely apartment.

  Karina Carter went to the kitchen to make coffee. It still felt awkward to walk without the cast and supporting boot she’d sported for five months. She had sports therapy for the break, which was healing. But her partner, Paul Maurice, was forced to practice with another skater, one not in her class. If the woman performed well, he would break up his partnership with Karina—with her permission, of course—and prepare for the World Figure Skating Championships the following month. Sadly, that would mean that both he and Karina would sacrifice the Envelope—the stipend awarded by the United States Figure Skating Association to high level contenders. Paul and Karina had been in Tier 1, the highest level of all. But if Paul officially changed partners, which he hadn’t done yet, both he and Karina would lose their financial help.

  With that in mind, Karina was looking at job possibilities. Her expenses would be much less since she was out of competition, perhaps forever. She had a career decision to make and it was going to be a hard one. Paul understood. He’d always supported her, whatever she did. She hoped that his new training partner worked out, so that he could compete again in the figure skating events. If he worked hard, he and his partner would work their way through sectionals and nationals to the Olympics, almost a year away. But that no longer concerned Karina. She’d given up. Her doctor had convinced her that it was madness to get back on the ice. That suited her, because she was afraid to try to skate again. The fall had been nightmarish.

  There was a job interview later today, in Catelow, Wyoming, north of Jackson Hole and the small town where she’d been born. She’d lived with Paul’s family just after the tragedy that had cost her parents their lives. Her parents had been gone for three years now. They’d died, ironically, in a plane crash on their way home from watching their daughter compete in the last Olympic games. That tragedy had crushed her spirit. She and her partner had worked so hard. They’d won the nationals, and had a gold in world competition, but they’d placed only eighth in Olympics pairs figure skating.

  They hadn’t given up. That gold medal in world competition had fired them up, made them hungry for the events that would lead them back again to the Olympics. But the accident, in training of all things, had robbed Karina of any hope that she might participate again. Paul felt guilty because he’d thrown her so high in one of their signature moves; but she’d landed badly. It had been her fault more than his.

  Their new coach had comforted her. She needed several months to recuperate, after the surgery to repair her ankle. She’d be back. She needed to keep up with the physical therapy, see her sports doctor regularly, and then get back on the ice. She could do it, even if it took a whole year, which it might. The coach, an accomplished skater himself, insisted that one accident wouldn’t rob Karina of her chance at Olympic gold. After all, wasn’t she named for two famous figure skaters? Her name, Karina, was a combination of Katarina, for Olympic gold medalist Katarina Witt, and Irina, for Irina Rodnina, who’d won a record total of ten Olympic gold medals in her career. Both skaters were heroines of Karina’s late mother.

  Karina had smiled wanly at the coach’s optimistic outlook and said that she’d do her best. But at night came the fear, eating up her self-confidence. What if there was a physical reason that her ankle broke? After all, the same leg had suffered a compound fracture in the plane crash that had killed her parents. What if it happened again, and crippled her for life? Those beautiful high jumps, the Salchows, the Lutzes, the triples, sailing high in the air and spinning—they looked so pretty to people in the audience, but th
ey were the most dangerous part of figure skating. Many skaters had incurred life-changing injuries, some of them head injuries that meant they could never skate again. It was daunting. Although Karina was used to bruises and contusions—every skater fell now and again—the injury to the same leg was worrying.

  She’d lost her confidence during the months of her recovery. She was afraid to even go on the ice again. The fear kept her from trying. She’d been doing physical rehab for five months, six months the following week, so that she’d be able to walk again, at least. She held out no hope that she might skate once more. She wouldn’t heal in time for the world championships next month, at any rate. She’d need months more to get back into training and regain the ground she’d lost.

  Nationals would be held in January of the following year, just before the Olympics in Pyongyang, but she was sure that she’d never be involved in them ever again, or the competitions that added to the chances of being chosen for the Olympic games. Paul was trying out a new partner. Karina was afraid to try to skate again. It was so depressing.

  Her finances were iffy and she needed this job she was applying for, to tide her over until she could decide what to do with the rest of her life. Since she and Paul would lose the envelope, which was based on scores a skater earned and didn’t apply to new teams just starting, money was going to be a problem. She might go back to college. She’d done three years on her undergraduate degree in history. She had good grades and she wasn’t afraid of hard work. There were scholarships available and she knew how to apply for them. She might graduate and, with a bachelor’s degree, teach as an adjunct at a college. Sure. She might fly to Mars…

  It was a sad set of choices. She and Paul Maurice had been partners since they were ten years old. It wasn’t a romantic partnership, because he was like a brother to her. They were best friends and still kept in touch. Karina was godmother to the twin boys he had with Helga, another figure skater whom he’d met during the world competition five years ago. Karina loved the twins. She envied Paul and Helga their happy marriage and their children. But she was sure that it wasn’t for her, that kind of commitment. Not yet, anyway.