by Diana Palmer
been afraid for him.
He didn't say anything. He removed his pistol and its holster and put them away,
frowning curiously. "You're angry," she surmised. He didn't look at her. "I don't
know how I feel." "You could lie down on the sofa and tell me about your childhood,"
she suggested with a wicked little smile.
He cocked one eyebrow and gave her a long look. "If I lie down on a sofa, you're
going to be lying down on it first."
Her cheeks showed just a hint of embarrassment. "Bruised ribs," she reminded him.
"Oh, they'll heal," he replied. "Then look out." "It's no use, you've already said you
won't marry me," she said with a big grin. "I almost never play around on sofas with confirmed bachelors." "Spoilsport." He sat down in the easy chair next to the sofa with a heavy sigh and removed his
neat tie, unbuttoning the top buttons of his blue shirt to reveal a spotless white T-shirt underneath it.
"Want to talk?" she asked, without pushing too hard.
He frowned. "I've never had anyone to talk about things with," he said conversationally. "The one time I was married, my wife hated my job." She searched his eyes. "Something's upset you." "Will you stop reading my mind?" he demanded, slinging his tie onto the coffee
table.
"It isn't deliberate," she tried to explain. "And, if you want to know, it's more of a curse than a blessing. I can only read negative things, like danger and emotional unrest."
He leaned back and crossed his long legs. "You can tell when something's wrong with Rory, can't you?"
She nodded. "Since he was very small. I had it with my grandmother, too. I knew when she was going to die, and how." She shivered and wrapped her arms around her slender body. "I saw it in a dream."
"It must unsettle people when you tell them about it," he remarked.
She met his eyes evenly. "I've never told anyone. Not even Rory."
"Why?"
"I don't want to freak him out. I'm pretty sure he doesn't have the gift. My mother certainly doesn't," she added. "What will happen to her?"
"If she's involved, she'll serve time," he said. "Kidnapping is a federal offense."
She was quiet for a long time. "If they sent her to prison, maybe she'd dry out."
He smiled quizzically. "You don't think prisoners have access to alcohol and drugs?"
'They can't," she replied. "Not in prison."
He leaned back again and closed his eyes. He was tired. "Honey, you can get
anything you want in prison. It's another whole social structure, with its own hierarchy. Anyone can be bribed, for the right amount and the right reason."
"You're very cynical," she noted, still tingling from the endearment he probably hadn't even realized he'd used for her. They were all alone in the world, and talking like husband and wife. It made her feel warm all over.
"I know all about the world," he said wearily. "Most of the time, it's a dangerous, joyless place with few compensations for the pain of going through life."
"Family is a powerful compensation," she remarked.
He opened his eyes and looked at her coldly. "Family is more dangerous than the outside world." She knew that. It showed in her quiet, haunted eyes. He grimaced. He hadn't meant to attack her. It had disturbed him that she knew he
was upset. He never talked about the job, except to other people in law enforcement. Tippy knew too much about him, and he didn't trust her. He didn't trust anyone. She could see the future in his face. He would fight with every breath to keep her at arm's length, both physically and mentally. He didn't trust her not to hurt him.
"You even know what I'm thinking right now, don't you?" he growled.
She blinked and looked away. "I think something happened at work that made you angry, and you're holding it inside because there's nobody you can talk to about it. Nothing that happened to you personally," she added. "But to someone you like." It was like a small explosion when his hard-soled shoes hit the hardwood floor as he got to his feet and stalked out of the room. Tippy sighed. She didn't want to upset him any more, but it was dangerous for him to keep things bottled up. Stress was dangerous, even to a man of Cash's good health and
fitness. If only he could talk about his problems. She smiled to herself, remembering what he'd said about his mother and father and the turmoil of divorce. First his stepmother, then his wife, had betrayed him in the worst way. He could trust another man far easier than he was ever going to be able to trust a woman.
She got to her feet slowly. So much for her hopes. He was going to spend her whole convalescence pushing her away. It wasn't surprising, but it was painful. Without trust, no deeper emotion was ever going to develop.
With a slow gait, she went back down the hall to her room and pushed the door shut gently. She peeled off her robe and climbed into bed, producing her copy of the Plinys to read, because she still wasn't sleepy.
Five minutes later, there was a brief knock on the door and Cash came into the room with a tray. On it were a cup of hot chocolate and some ginger cookies.
"Don't get your hopes up," he muttered as he closed the door and put the tray down on the bedside table. "I'm not conceding defeat, and I'm not talking to you about work."
"Okay," she said easily. 'Thanks for the bedtime snack."
He stood up, looking at her with clinical interest. Her creamy shoulders were bare except for pink satin straps that held up her lacy pink gown. Her breasts were high and firm under it, and he remembered without conscious thought how it felt to put his mouth on them and make her moan with pleasure.
Tippy noticed his interest and pretended not to. She sipped the chocolate. "This is good," she commented.
"It's a packaged mix. I can't make it from scratch." He was wearing just the undershirt now, with his slacks. He looked worn.
She tried one of the ginger cookies. They were delicious.
"Mrs. Garcia sent them, along with the biscuits and preserves we had when we got here." "They're very nice." He took a long, sharp breath. 'Two of my patrol officers arrested a politician for
driving drunk. He's trying to have them fired, and the acting mayor, his nephew, is putting pressure on me to do it. He wants me fired as well."
She swallowed the rest of the ginger cookie. She was tingling all over. He actually was willing to talk to her about his job! It was a milestone. She had to fight tears. "He'll have his work cut out," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
He was pleasantly surprised at her confidence in him. "Yes, he will," he conceded. "I've gotten used to Jacobsville. Even if I'm still something of an outsider, I seem to fit in here."
"You like it," she said. He smiled faintly. "I like it a lot." He watched her eat another cookie. "You look pretty in pink. I thought redheads didn't wear it."
She smiled. "I don't, usually, but Rory gave it to me for Christmas, along with the robe."
"I thought so."
"I miss him."
"I'm sure you do," he replied. "But he's far safer in military school than he would be in New York. The minute school's out, we'll bring him here."
"Thanks," she said huskily. "He really likes you."
"He's a fine young man."
"Bristling with hero worship," she added demurely.
He chuckled. "He'll learn that idols generally have feet of clay."
"Not his," she said without looking up. "His is the genuine article."
He didn't speak for a minute. He knew she was telling the truth. But he didn't want her feel that way about him. She was overwhelmed with her first pleasurable experience of intimacy. She liked what he could make her feel. That was a result he was used to. His former wife had liked him in bed, too. But when she knew all about him, knew everything, she wasn't able to bear having him touch her. It was going to be that way with Tippy, too. She was attracted to an illusion, not a flesh and blood man.
"I'm going to bed. Need anything else?" he asked.<
br />
She looked up. He was solemn. It would do no good to ask questions. She only smiled. "No. Thanks for the hot chocolate and cookies."
"No problem. See you in the morning." He hesitated. "If you need anything in the night..."
"I know, Mrs. Jewell is right down the hall, and there's an intercom." She pointed to it on the bedside table. "She told me before she went to bed."
He nodded. He hesitated for a minute, as if there was something else he wanted to say but couldn't think what it was. Then he started for the door.
But he hesitated when he had the knob under his hand. He didn't look at her. "Thanks for waiting up," he bit off. Before she could recover from the shock and answer him, the door had closed behind him.
WITHIN THE NEXT DAY, it was all over city hall, and the collective police and fire departments, that the chief was going to stand by his officers, no matter what. Overnight, Cash went from an outsider trying to fit in, to family.
He was surprised by all the attention, because he was just doing what he considered to be his job. Nobody else was that cavalier about it. When people met on the street, the primary topic of conversation was Cash's fierce defense of his colleagues.
Sandie told Tippy that whether Cash realized it or not, he'd just become a hero in the eyes of the town. Tippy smiled, feeling already part of a big family.
CHAPTER TWELVE
CASH'S HOUSE was fascinating to Tippy, who'd never really lived in one before. Her mother had always had a beat-up old trailer. This house had a long front porch, a small back porch, huge rooms and an enormous bathroom and kitchen. It really did feel enchanted. It also had something else that appealed to her. Tippy was spending a long time in the flower-strewn backyard with its flowering bushes and tall pecan trees. Cash had a hammock strung on a metal stand, and Tippy loved to kick back in it and sway in the cool spring breeze. Her rib cage was still sore, and it was difficult to get into the hammock, but once she was there, she could rest back on the long cushion and it felt wonderful. She was breathing more easily, thanks to the volume of fluids Mrs. Jewell was pumping into her. The bruises had faded to yellow. The confusion and headaches weren't completely gone, but they were better. Her face still looked like a road map, but it stung less every day and it did look as though it was going to heal perfectly.
Mrs. Jewell had kept a disconcertingly close watch over her lately, and Cash was giving her worried glances when he was at home. Tippy sensed that something was wrong, but she couldn't get anyone to tell her what it was.
Tippy stretched and yawned widely, closing her eyes. The sun felt good on her face. She was wearing a green patterned sundress that left her arms and shoulders bare except for the thin straps that held it up. It reached to her ankles. Below them, her feet were bare. Her red-gold hair was loose, falling in waves around her face. She couldn't know it, but she made a pretty picture against the green lawn and mesquite trees that laced the backyard.
She didn't think about trouble in broad daylight. Mrs. Jewell was gone shopping and Cash was at work. It never occurred to Tippy that she might be threatened so close to home. But her neck began to tingle suddenly and she tensed, opening her eyes wide just in time to focus on Cash leaning over the hammock with a scowl.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, jumping. The sudden motion almost threw her out onto the ground. "Heavens, you scared me!" she gasped.
"Good," he said shortly. "One of your kidnappers is still running around loose, and you're the only person who can testify to the federal charges. No Tippy, no case. I can't be here all the time, and neither can Sandie. This is careless and dangerous, lying out here all alone in your condition. You aren't even armed!"
She swallowed hard as she stared up at him. "I'm bringing a bat out with me next time, that's for sure," she promised. Her heart was racing. She could barely speak.
Cash relented, just a little. His dark eyes swept over her face
quietly. "This house must be enchanted. You do look like a fairy, lying there," he said in a soft, fascinated tone.
"A battered fairy," she remarked, trying to laugh.
"Battered, nothing. Move over."
She did, startled, when he climbed into the hammock with her, positioning his
holster so that it didn't catch between the loops. He lay back, yawning, with his hands
behind his head.
"That's nice," he mused, closing his own eyes. "I put this thing up a month ago and I haven't had five minutes to spend in it yet. At least things have calmed down at city hall, for the moment."
"Is the senator still threatening to fire all of you?" she wanted to know.
"Of course. So is the acting mayor." He smiled drowsily. "But Senator Merrill's attorney isn't the sort to support illegal behavior. He's honorable, and he believes in the rule of law. Since he spoke to the mayor, there hasn't been a lot of conversation between us."
"There's still the hearing to face," she reminded him.
"Sure, but we're going to have some unexpected legal assistance, which nobody knows about except me." He glanced down at her, smiling mysteriously. "There's another aspect that I'm working on, as well, involving local drug trafficking."
She pursed her lips. "And someone locally is involved...?"
"Stop fishing," he said drowsily. "I never talk about surprises until they're ready."
"Suit yourself, then. But you won't let them fire you or the officers, right?"
"Right."
"Okay." She took his word for gospel, lying back with a long sigh. "I've never done this in my life," she murmured. "I never had a hammock, for one thing. For another, I never felt secure enough to relax at home."
His hand smoothed her long hair. "Did you have friends?"
"Not many," she replied. "One girlfriend, but she was afraid of Sam and she knew how mean my mother was when she drank. Mostly, I went to her house, until my mother decided that I was having too much fun." She closed her eyes, unaware of Cash's intent interest. "You know, she hated me from the day I was born. She was always telling me that I was a mistake, that she'd had unprotected sex by accident."
"That's a lovely thing to tell a child," he remarked coldly.
"I learned to do housework and cook at the age of eight, while she drank. I don't think I ever saw her sober. Then after Sam came into her life, she went on to hard drugs. I hated him," she recalled huskily. "At least I finally got the chance to fight back."
He rolled over. "Stanton told the authorities that you attacked him."
"He's right, I did," she replied curtly. "I'd had just enough martial arts training to land a few hard blows in his vulnerable spots before he came after me. It felt good. I had a balisong, too, but I never got to use it."
He touched her poor bruised face tenderly. "I added a bullet to the bruises you gave him," he said quietly. "When I finally got to you, I wished I'd hit truer."
She touched his hard mouth with her fingertips. "I feel safe with you."
His eyebrows arched.
"Not that way," she muttered. "I mean, I don't feel afraid of other people when
you're around."
"Nice of you to make things clear," he mused.
She shifted, wincing a little at the pressure on her ribs. "There's a lot of talk about the senatorial race," she said. "Mrs. Jewell thinks that the Ballenger man is going to win it."
"So do most other people. Senator Merrill's drinking notwithstanding, a lot of people think he's past doing the job. It isn't his age, it's his attitude," he added. "He's not in touch with his constituents, and he's depending on old families and old money to keep him in office. But the old families have lost much of their wealth, and their power. There's a new social structure, of which the Ballengers are part. Their name carries weight."
"You think Merrill will lose?"
"Yes, I do," he said. "Furthermore, the acting mayor is up against some stiff competition in the special city election in May. I don't think he's got a chance of going back in. Eddie Cane's already running ahead in the
polls. Everybody likes him. He was mayor once before. He's a good man."
"You'll be pleased if he defeats Mr. Brady, I don't doubt," she remarked.
"I will. Brady and at least one of the councilmen have their fingers in a particularly nasty little pie—you're not to mention that outside the house, either," he added firmly. "I never tell what I know," she promised. "Is it drugs?" "Yes. He's been trying to use the job to protect certain associates in the area. But it isn't working in Jacobsville."
"I heard about that from Mrs. Jewell," she confessed, smiling. "She says you've organized an interagency-team drug squad to root out distributors."
