Protector

by Diana Palmer

  “It’s my shoulder, not my legs,” he muttered.

  “We have rules,” the nurse pointed out. “Besides that, I like rolling you around. It makes me feel in control.”

  He muttered something under his breath.

  “What was that?” she queried.

  “I said I’m not going to be reclassified as freight,” he replied.

  She laughed.

  Minette jumped out of the truck and opened the passenger door for him.

  “I am not an invalid,” he said angrily. He started to get in the truck, but as Minette moved to help him, her loafer caught on the curb and she fell.

  “Damn the luck!” Hayes said angrily. He reached down to lift her.

  “No!” she exclaimed, and the nurse echoed her. “Don’t you dare try to lift me with your arm in that condition!”

  He was saying something under his breath, and it wasn’t “crackers and milk.”

  “I’m all right,” Minette said, catching her breath. She winced as she moved her foot. “I’m so clumsy!”

  “We can get you into X-ray,” the nurse began worriedly.

  “I just turned my ankle,” Minette assured her. “I do this all the time. You’d think a grown woman would be able to walk by herself, wouldn’t you?” she laughed breathlessly.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” the nurse said, looking agitated.

  Minette gave her a long look. “I’ve never sued anybody in my life,” she assured her.

  The nurse laughed. “I suppose we’re all twitchy about accidents these days. I’m glad you’re all right. But if that starts to act up later, you come back,” she added firmly.

  “Yes, Nurse.” Minette waited until Hayes was strapped in before she closed his door and went around, slowly, to get in under the steering wheel. The nurse was standing on the curb when they left.

  “You’ll see a doctor if that isn’t better by tonight,” Hayes told her.

  She made a face. “Not you, too.”

  “Yes, me, too. Little accidents can have big repercussions.”

  “I suppose. But it’s really okay. Just sore.”

  “We’ll see.”

  She glanced at him as she drove. “No complaints about that therapy today?”

  He shrugged, wincing when it hurt. “Not so many, no. They really know their business in there. And the heat treatments are pretty great.”

  She laughed. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

  His cell phone rang suddenly. He dug it out of the holder on his belt. “Carson,” he answered professionally. He frowned. “You sure? Okay. Come on over. We’re—” he glanced out the window “—about five minutes from Minette’s place. Just a sec.” He turned his head. “Is it okay if my investigator comes over to discuss my case?”

  She was surprised, and pleased, by his courtesy. “Of course it is.”

  He nodded. “She says come on over, Yancy. I’ll wait for you in the living room. Sure. Thanks.”

  He hung up, looking pensive. “They think they’ve got something.”

  “Quick work,” she replied. She glanced at him. “I get an exclusive when you break the case,” she pointed out. “Because the shooting is being investigated on my property.”

  He chuckled. “Always playing the angles, huh, kid?”

  “I’m not a kid,” she reminded him. “I’ll be twenty-six just before Christmas.”

  “Which isn’t that far off, either.” He sighed. “I guess you decorate around Thanksgiving?”

  She nodded. “The kids are always so excited when the tree goes up. We light it on Thanksgiving night.”

  “I haven’t had a Christmas tree in years. No point, since there’s just me at the house.”

  “There’s Mrs. Mallard,” she said.

  He made a face. “She comes in to clean three times a week. If I put up a Christmas tree she’d think I’d lost my mind and she’d quit.” He scowled. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to persuade a woman to clean a house that contains a six-foot-long iguana?”

  “Probably weeks,” she mused, and laughed.

  “Months,” he replied. “And I’m not going through that again.”

  “I’ll bet she has a Christmas tree at her house,” she said.

  He didn’t say a word.

  “She’s got six grandchildren. At least two of them go to her house every year with their families for dinner on Christmas Eve. Of course she would have a tree up.”

  “Well, I’m not putting one up.” He stared at her pointedly.

  “You do what you like at your own house,” she said. “But at my house, we put up a tree.”

  He made a rough sound in his throat.

  “My goodness, I just realized, Thanksgiving is next Thursday,” she exclaimed as they pulled up in front of the big Victorian house. “I’ve got to start getting things together.” She glanced at him with a twinkle in her dark eyes. “I’ll have to buy the tree and get it situated before then.”

  He glared at her. “I am not helping you put up a tree.”

  “I never asked you to,” she said haughtily. “You’d probably drop all the decorations and break them out of spite.”

  “Wrap a rope around it. That’s decorative.”

  “We have decorations that go back to when I was a kid,” she said. “And some that belonged to my great-grandmother. Aunt Sarah keeps them in a cotton-lined box.”

  “My skin’s itching. I think I’m allergic to celebrations.”

  She laughed. “Well, you can’t go home yet,” she said. “So I guess you’ll just have to cope with a holiday.”

  “I’ll stay in my room. You can slide toast under the door,” he said.

  She grinned. “Not a chance, Hayes. You’ll survive,” she added when he looked hunted. “You might even enjoy yourself.”

  “I don’t like turkey.”

  “We’re also having ham.”

  He hesitated.

  “Sweet potato soufflé,” she added. “Poached apples. Dressing with homemade giblet gravy. Homemade rolls...”

  “Stop,” he groaned. “I’m starving.”

  She grinned. “You still want me to shove a piece of toast under your door?”

  “I might sacrifice myself for homemade rolls. I don’t remember the last time I had one.”

  She just laughed.

  * * *

  They got to the house and Minette opened his door for him, but she was limping.

  “I knew you should have seen the doctor,” Hayes said, concerned.

  “It’s just wrenched,” she argued.

  “Here. Lean on me. You won’t hurt my arm,” he said with a long-suffering expression, “it’s the other one that I got shot in. Come on.”

  She gave up. He was warm and very strong, and it felt good to have his arm around her waist, all that exciting masculinity so close that her skin tingled even through her clothing. He helped her up the steps.

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, meeting them at the door with a frown.

  “She tripped on the curb at the hospital,” Hayes began.

  “Wrenched the ankle, did you? Come on. I’ll soak that for you right now before it swells any more. Hayes, do you need me to help you upstairs?” she added with a smile.

  “No, thanks, Sarah, my investigator’s on his way over. They’ve got a break, they think. I asked if it was okay. I should have asked you, too...”

  “You’re home,” Sarah replied easily. “Family doesn’t have to ask if visitors can come over. Now you come with me, young lady,” she added, turning back to Minette before she saw the expression that washed over Hayes’s face.

  He hadn’t been part of a family since his father’s death. It felt odd, to be considered part of Minette’s. He turned slowly and went into the living room. He dropped into the big armchair and leaned back into its cushy softness. He was tired from the unfamiliar exertion and still weak form his ordeal. He didn’t like admitting that. He was a big, strong, tough lawman.

  Righ
t.

  * * *

  Minette let Sarah put her foot in a tub of warm water with Epsom salts in it. “Takes the swelling right down,” she was assured.

  “I fell like a sack of sand,” Minette sighed. “I’m so clumsy!”

  “Runs in the family. Your poor mother, God rest her soul, was exactly the same. Remember the time she caught her sleeve on the doorknob out front and ripped it right off?”

  Minette laughed. “I’d forgotten that.”

  “So you come by the gift honestly.”

  “Are you going shopping before you pick up the kids?” Minette asked the older woman.

  “Yes. Anything you need?”

  “Next Thursday’s Thanksgiving.”

  “So it is. I’ll stock up on cranberry sauce and flour and yeast today. Probably better to get the turkey and ham next Monday so we can thaw the turkey for a couple of days in the fridge,” Sarah said, thinking aloud.

  “We’d never manage to cram it in the freezer,” Minette said. “Freezers should be designed by women,” she added irritably.

  “Tell me about it.”

  * * *

  Out front, a car drove up.

  “I’ll bet that’s Hayes’s investigator,” she told Sarah. “Can you go let him in?”

  “I can let him in,” Hayes said from the hallway. “It’s my shoulder, not my leg.”

  Minette made a face at him. He made one back.

  Yancy was blond and dashing, very married, with a six-year-old son. He grinned at Hayes. “Looking better there, boss,” he commented.

  “I wish I was back at my office,” Hayes said heavily. “Come on in.”

  “You want coffee, Yancy?” Sarah called.

  “I wouldn’t turn down a cup, Sarah, thanks,” Yancy replied.

  “Be just a minute. Hayes, she still got you hooked on that fancy European coffee?”

  Hayes burst out laughing. “Yes. Sorry.”

  “No problem, I’ll fix you a cup of it. Does Yancy want to try a latte?”

  “Just plain black coffee, thanks.” Yancy held up a hand. “I’m not into those fancy ones.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing, does he, Hayes?” Minette called out.

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Hi, Minette,” Yancy said, frowning as he saw her sitting in the kitchen with her foot in a pan of water. “What happened to you?”

  “I was doing my superheroine imitation and I fell down,” Minette said with utter disgust. “I guess I’ll have to give back the cape, now.”

  Yancy burst out laughing.

  “Just a turned ankle,” Minette added. “Feels better already. Aunt Sarah’s a magician.”

  “I practiced on your mother, darling,” she told the younger woman with a grin.

  “Well, get better,” Yancy said.

  “Thanks.”

  * * *

  Yancy followed Hayes into the living room. He was more somber when they were alone.

  “Company’s coming,” he told Hayes, lowering his voice. “Cy Parks said they’re moving in on that property that adjoins his.”

  “Not another fake honey distributor,” Hayes groaned, alluding to a former owner who’d pretended to sell honey while he stocked his barn full of bales of marijuana.

  “Actually,” Yancy said quietly, “it seems to be a legitimate operation. Horses. Purebred horses. Very expensive. He races them in the Kentucky Derby. He’s putting up a barn that uses green power and the horses will live better than a lot of people do.”

  Hayes frowned. “A legitimate operation.”

  Yancy held up a hand. “Legitimate horses,” he agreed, nodding. “But the owner has been charged twice with drug trafficking and walked out of court a free man both times.”

  “Damn! It’s El Jefe, isn’t it?” Hayes asked through his teeth.

  “The very same.”

  “Maybe I’d better get better life insurance and invest in a suit of body armor.”

  “We’re almost positive that he’s not the one who had you shot,” Yancy corrected. “It was the other, Mendez. El Ladrón. The guy’s got an attitude problem. Anybody crosses him or causes him trouble, he puts them down. He’s worse than Lopez ever dreamed of being,” he added grimly.

  “Cy Parks could write you a book on that guy.”

  “Him and half the mercs in town, not to mention a couple of DEA agents,” Yancy agreed. “Lopez died in a mysterious yacht explosion very near Dr. Micah Steele’s old house in the Bahamas, as I recall.”

  “Micah was never officially involved.”

  Yancy’s eyes twinkled. “So they say. Convenient location, however, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Actually—” Hayes began.

  “Actually the word on the street was that Micah was up to his ears in it,” Minette said, pausing in the doorway. “And sanctioned.” She smiled angelically. “Nothing gets past a good reporter.”

  “You mention that in public, and you could be wearing concrete overshoes,” Yancy mentioned wryly.

  She put her hand on her heart. “I never tell what I know. Empires would fall.”

  Hayes was studying her with real interest. That hair invaded his dreams at night. It was the most beautiful curtain of pale gold he’d ever seen. With her black eyes and peaches and cream complexion, she was lovely. Her face wasn’t conventionally pretty, but when she smiled, she glowed. He smiled idly at the picture she made, in her nicely fit blue jeans and that long pullover sweater with its turtleneck.

  “Is my nose on crooked?” she asked him.

  He chuckled. “I was just thinking that pale yellow suits you,” he mused, indicating her sweater. He shook his head. “Your hair is amazing.”

  She flushed. “Thanks. I think.”

  “Oh, it’s a compliment, in case you weren’t sure,” Hayes added. He glanced at Yancy. “She can cook,” he said. “And I mean, cook! She even makes her own bread. I swear, I’ll dream of the food here every night long after I’m back home.” He winced. “Eating my own bouncy biscuits and burned eggs.”

  “Why don’t you hire a cook?” Yancy asked him. “Your stomach would love you for it.”

  “Andy,” Minette said, venturing a guess.

  Hayes sighed. “She’s right. I’d try to hire a cook, the cook would walk into the living room and see Andy perched on the sofa watching television, and walk right back out again.” He shook his head. “I had this electrician come to replace my ceiling fan. Andy was sprawled on the marble coffee table—it was summer, and he was hot. Well, the electrician thought he was a ceramic piece. You know how still Andy can be,” he added, and Yancy nodded. “So, the electrician’s up on his ladder, twisting wires together, when Andy notices that the ladder’s higher than the coffee table.”

  “I can see where this is going,” Minette chuckled.

  Hayes nodded. “Andy started climbing up the ladder. I swear, the electrician actually jumped off the top rung and landed on the sofa. He was screaming like a kid in a sprinkler in midsummer.”

  “Did he finish fixing the fan?”

  “Nope. It took me ten telephone calls, but I did finally find a man who wasn’t afraid of reptiles to come and finish the job. He came down from San Antonio.” Hayes threw up his hands. “The electrician told everybody he knew, so now I can’t even get a plumber to come over if a pipe breaks!”

  “Most people would be unnerved by a six-foot lizard,” Minette pointed out.

  “Yes, but he’s like a cow, he eats vegetables,” Hayes moaned.

  Yancy pursed his lips. “Green scaly cow. Hmm.”

  “You hush,” Hayes said. “We’ve got bigger issues to deal with than my pet.”

  “He isn’t kidding,” Yancy said, grimacing. “A major drug lord is moving in next to Cy Parks.”

  Minette’s black eyes widened. “You mean, that rumor’s really true?”

  “It is,” Yancy said.

  “But, what if he’s the one who had you shot?” Minette asked Hayes, and her face was rigid with conc
ern.

  Hayes stared back at her with an odd tingling in his body. She was really worried about him. He met her eyes and held them, and the world seemed to go away for that space of seconds.

  Chapter 6

  Minette felt as if her legs were melting as she met Hayes’s dark eyes. She just stared at him.

  “It was the other one,” Yancy said.

  They both looked at him blankly.

  “The other drug lord,” he pointed out. “The one they call El Ladrón,” he emphasized. “We’re almost positive that El Jefe had nothing to do with it. He doesn’t believe in hired assassins.”

  “A drug lord with ethics?” Minette laughed nervously. She avoided Hayes’s searching eyes because her heart was beating her to death.

  “It would seem so,” Hayes agreed. “He even goes to church.”

  “I think I need a drink,” Minette teased.

  “Oh, no. You start drinking and the food around here goes to pot, I starve and go back to the hospital to beg for that green jell stuff that makes my stomach churn, and law enforcement in the whole county goes to the dogs. No drinking.”

  She burst out laughing. So did Yancy.

  “Okay. But you have to admit, he does seem like one strange drug lord.”

  “It gets more complicated,” Yancy said. “He raises thoroughbred horses.”

  “How very odd,” Minette said, frowning. “My mother used to talk about breeding thoroughbreds. Someone she knew was in the business. Funny, I’d forgotten that.”

  “You breed horses, too,” Hayes said.

  “Just palominos,” she said. “Archibald was the first. I fell in love with the breed because of him. They were going to put him down.” She made a face. “He killed a man.”

  “And you’ve got him here?” Hayes burst out.

  She held up a hand. “The man was beating him with a stool,” she said, wincing at the memory of what she’d been told. “Archibald was bloody and bruised, and he just took it, but the man had a stepchild, a little boy, and when the child protested what was being done to the horse, the man hit the boy with the stool, too. Archibald reared up and kicked the man in the head. It was all over, just that quickly.”

  “How did you end up with him?” Yancy asked, curious.