Kelton's Rules (Harlequin Super Romance)

by Nicholson, Peggy

  “Upstairs on my bed. I didn’t want to leave either of them alone, so after I fed them…” And washed their various scrapes, then applied a bag of frozen blueberries to Kat’s black eye and a bag of green peas to Sky’s fat lip and bruised cheek. And heard their side of the story. She slid to the edge of her seat, bringing the footrest down. “Have you eaten yet? No? Then come have leftovers. I scrounged your beans to make vegetarian chili.”

  His stomach growled at the invitation. With a rueful laugh, he rose quickly enough to haul her up from the recliner’s depths. “Sounds wonderful. I was ready to settle for Raisin Bran this time of night.”

  She promptly reclaimed her hand. “So you talked with the Jarretts?”

  While she moved around the kitchen, turning on the heat under the pot of chili, laying bread and butter out on the table, then pouring two glasses of orange juice, he sat down and told her. “I also spoke with Joe Sikorsky, Pete’s father, who’s one of Jarrett’s hands. They were just headed into Trueheart to find us when I arrived.

  “Ben had already pried the story out of his kid, that he’d been fighting with a girl, and he was pretty well mortified, as was Joe. Wanted me to know he’d already taken the matter in hand. The boys are going to write letters of apology to Kat and Sky tomorrow, then that’s the last we’ll hear of ’em till September. They’re confined to the ranch for the rest of the summer.

  “But the real punishment is that they won’t be riding on roundup this fall, when the herds are moved down out of the high country. For a junior cowboy, that’s a fate worse than being staked out for the ants.”

  “Surely that’s too harsh.” Abby set a bowl of chili in front of Jack, then settled across from him. “Because I’m afraid Sky started the fight—or at least escalated it from words to violence.”

  “Mmm.” He nodded, digging into the chili. “Sounded that way to me, too. But Sam’s fourteen and Pete’s sixteen and they’re both sizable kids. They should’ve been mature enough to back down—and somebody did break Sky’s glasses. And once Jarrett heard that Kat had a black eye, he was adamant. Code of the West says boys don’t sock girls, no matter how provoking they are.”

  “Well…it sounds as if they were trying not to. Kat apparently waded right in to help Skyler, and the punch she took was probably aimed at him, not her.”

  Jack groaned and shook his head. “Hardly matters at this point. The damage is done and Jarrett doesn’t strike me as one to back down once he’s laid down the law.” Jack spooned up another bite of chili—fiery and flavorful—and sat, musing as he swallowed.

  “Now it’s my turn to be judge and jury. What do I do with my little prizefighter? It’s not fair for girls to smack boys when they’re not supposed to hit back, and if Kat tries that again with some kid who’s got less restraint, she’ll come home with more than a shiner.

  “Meantime she’s supposed to be grounded already because of the welding fiasco. I’m running out of options here. I cut off her allowance three weeks ago when she broke Jodi O’Malley’s window with her slingshot. So what do I do this time? Can’t give her away. Can’t shoot her.”

  “Sleep on it,” Abby advised. “At least that’s what I plan to do.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed wearily. “This was a long day.” He finished the chili and stood. “Thanks for feeding me, Abby. That hit the spot. And thanks for taking care of Kat while I vented.”

  “My pleasure.” She frowned and looked down at her hands clasped around her glass. “But, Jack, there’s one thing. You don’t think those kids really found DC and…hurt him? That’s what started this fight, you know, their saying—”

  “Oh, Abby, no!” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “That was just teasing. Rough, mean teasing, I’ll grant you, but only that. Just boys being boys.”

  “You’re sure?” She blinked, then blinked again as tears gathered along her lashes. “He’s such a big timid softy, and Sky really loves him. If anything happens to him…”

  “Nothing will.” Reaching down, Jack traced a big knuckle along her cheek, brushing tears away—a gesture that pierced her with its unexpected gentleness. “We’re going to find him safe and sound tomorrow, I promise you.”

  “I guess…” She yearned to lean her head against that comforting warmth, but turned aside, breaking the contact. “No, I’m sure you’re right.” She managed a shaky smile, although she couldn’t meet his gaze. “Thanks. As you said, it’s been…a long day.”

  A long, long painful year.

  “Yeah.” Jack stood beside her for a moment, then moved on. “Guess I’ll collect my slugger so you can get some rest.”

  AT DAWN Jack woke up as refreshed as an eighteen-year-old, with a hard-on to match. He contemplated himself with wry bemusement—the outer man might have no problems with celibacy, but the inner one had his own ideas. The least you could do is let me in on our dreams, buddy.

  Donning a terry-cloth robe, he shuffled down the hall, cautiously turning all corners till he’d deflated to workaday size. Luckily, Kat, usually an early riser, was sleeping in.

  Safe at last behind the bathroom door, he used the facilities, then set out his razor and shaving cream. Some Saturdays he didn’t bother, but today, considering…

  Abby. Abby next door. A wave of tactile, not visual, memory washed over him, raising goose bumps, hardening him all over again. I was dreaming about Abby? He shifted a step to peer through the window beside the sink, which would have overlooked her backyard but for the tree in the way.

  Drifting out of focus, his eyes wandered through the intervening greenery, but still his dream stayed locked up tight. A sense of happiness…an impression of luxurious warmth and exuberant motion lingered. With no accompanying pictures.

  Something moved beyond the branches and his gaze sharpened. He sucked in his breath.

  Through a gap in the leaves, he could see a ragged patch of Abby’s backyard—and a woman standing on her head. “You gotta be kidding me!” He closed his eyes, then looked again, but the hallucination persisted.

  Abby still balanced there, upside-down—a column of pointed toes and slender bare legs, banded by a pair of silky blue jogging shorts, then a body-clinging black tank top, with a pile of pale hair puddled around her braced forearms and the blanket she rested on. Jack reminded himself to breathe. Holy smoke, woman!

  If he wasn’t still dreaming, he should march straight over there. Grasp those slender ankles and nibble her toes. After which he’d lick his way slowly down those luscious calves toward—

  He blinked as she broke the stand, one leg descending gracefully, followed by the other. She folded into a kneeling position, then sat upright, her smile in profile like a dolphin’s serenely mysterious curve. She braced her hands and rolled backward, vanishing from view beyond the foliage.

  Jack groaned and gripped the window frame. Come back here!

  She didn’t. He stared hungrily at the patch of vacant blanket for a minute more, then refocused on his own hands clutching the sill. Jack Kelton, officer of the court—and voyeur. Was he technically a voyeur if he was peeking out through his own window rather than in through a neighbor’s? That was more Fielding’s area of expertise, not that he’d ever ask. This was one of those moments a man hugged to himself.

  He wanted another.

  Two minutes in which his eyes watered with the need to blink, then he was rewarded by a hand, palm-up, fingers relaxed, beckoning gracefully, horizontally beyond the leaves, then gone. A teaser.

  Jack scowled to himself and shifted back to the mirror. Slapped on shaving cream, made two careful swipes of the razor and then was drawn irresistibly sideways to check the gap in the tree.

  Zip. Maybe she was done with whatever she was doing?

  No, the blanket was still in place.

  He went back to his shaving. None of his business if his next-door neighbor cavorted in her own backyard, clothed or mother-naked.

  “Divorce Crazies,” he muttered, scraping carefully under his nose. She’d fit rig
ht in when she reached Sedona.

  Being a man of iron will, Jack managed not to peek again till he was ready to step into the shower. This time Abby stood squarely in his leafy spy hole, pushing air. Her hands flowed, her body revolved slowly from right to left; she pushed again. Tai Chi? Or possibly another of those Oriental forms of self-defense. He’d known several divorce clients who took up martial arts, come to think of it—and come to think of it, all of them female.

  Jack grimaced. That’s right. He’d forgotten. Maura had done a stint of kung fu, hadn’t she, that first month when he’d taken on her case? Once they’d started seeing each other, she’d dropped it in favor of more intimate acrobatics.

  Why do you all do it? he wondered, watching Abby sweep her hands slowly skyward in a graceful arc. Was it just a hobby to fill in the gap where there used to be a husband? Or was it a way to feel secure?

  Any guy could have told them a more effective way to fill that empty feeling: buy a motorcycle.

  But do they ever listen? Jack turned the water on, adjusted it to a cooler temperature than he normally used, and stepped under the spray.

  “ANYBODY HOME?” Abby called, although she could hear Kat chattering in the kitchen. So she wasn’t too early; the Keltons were awake and about.

  “Yep! We are.” Kat darted to the screen door. She glanced over her shoulder, to where Jack sat at the table with a folded newspaper beside his plate. “See, Dad? I told you they’d be up. Come on in, Abby.” She shoved the door wide.

  “Oh, Kat!” Abby exclaimed in dismay. “You’re half a raccoon.” Her delicate little face was marred by a bruised-bandit mask, out of which gleamed a bloodshot, swollen eye.

  “Like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky,” Kat agreed proudly. “After he won the fight.”

  “We watch only the classics,” Jack confided with a grimace, rising and setting his plate in the sink.

  “Now can I go see Sky?” Kat added her plate to the stack and jittered around her father.

  “Teeth, jam off the chin, hair brushed, and then you can. And don’t forget shoes.”

  “Huh! Like I would.” She danced out of the room, followed by the sound of bare feet thumping double-time upstairs.

  The adults exchanged rueful grins. “Don’t know why they keep searching for the secret to nuclear fusion,” Jack said. “If they could harness kid power instead…” He tapped the half-full pot resting in the coffeemaker. “Care for a cup?”

  “Thanks, I’m all set. But I was wondering if you’d had a chance to take my poster by the copy shop yesterday? I know you were probably rushed off your feet, yesterday being Friday and all, but I thought I’d…”

  Ignoring her apologetic babble, Jack strolled across to another counter, where he picked up a typing-paper box. “Fifty copies, as ordered. Let me get the jam off my face, and I’ll be ready to help you hang ’em.”

  “Oh, Jack, you don’t have to—”

  “Nope, but it won’t take any time at all. And you owe it to your cat to take advantage of our hard-won local knowledge. I know where the biddies gather and the geezers stop for coffee. Kat knows where the kids roam.”

  “Sure do!” Kat shot between them and banged out the back door.

  Abby was hopelessly obligated to him already. He’d even saved her neck last night. Better not to go any deeper in his debt. “I don’t like to bother you.”

  “Bother?” Something about his smile seemed the tiniest bit strained. “Ms. Lake, when you’re a bother…I’ll let you know.” Jack placed the box in her hands. “I’ll be over in a few.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  ABBY RETURNED TO HER YARD to find Kat and Sky rummaging through the bus in search of Sky’s bike, which naturally was at the bottom of their jumble of household goods. “Oh, Skyler!”

  Call her superstitious, but Abby felt it was bad luck to unload the vehicle. Packed, her whimsical crimson bus was a symbol, a promise that this was only a short detour on the road of her life. As soon as Whitey fixed it, she could start it up and they’d drive away.

  But let Sky drag out half their treasures and strew them around, and maybe they’d stick, here in Trueheart. A space rocket took a certain thrust to escape the earth’s gravitational pull; Abby didn’t need her unpacked possessions exerting their own inertia, holding her to this place.

  It was too late now. Here came the bike, tipsy-turvy down the front steps of the bus, preceded by Sky and followed by Kat, then the girl dashed away to collect her own. “Helmet,” Abby said sternly, and Sky ducked into the bus again to the sound of more tumbling boxes.

  When Jack joined her a short while later, he was just in time to see Whitey’s truck backing away down the drive.

  “There goes five-hundred dollars,” Abby murmured grimly as she waved. “He and Chang wanted a check to begin their hunt for used parts.”

  “Whitey’s good for it, Abby—rock-solid—if that’s what you’re worrying about.”

  “Oh, I never doubted that for a minute. He’s a sweetheart. I’m just…worried.” Five hundred for parts and that was only for starters. Add to that Whitey’s labor, plus Maudie Harris’s rent for the house. She’d spent a twentieth of her year’s allowance in less than a week! “Mathematics and I never did get along.”

  “I had some thoughts on that,” Jack said easily. “But first, why don’t we get this cat-finding show on the road?”

  In the end it was decided that Kat and Skyler would cover the near end of Trueheart, including all three school buildings, while the adults would take the northern half of the valley, plus all outlying landmarks. Equipped with tape, tacks, posters and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, the bicycle corps pedaled away, while Jack and Abby climbed into his Jeep.

  As they drove across town Jack said, “Thanks for lending her those glasses.”

  Abby had set aside her own misgivings about unpacking to dig out her favorite pair of sunglasses, the ones with wacky daisy-yellow-and-red-polka-dot frames that any child could love. “I thought she might wear them rather than explain where she got the shiner to everyone she meets.”

  He gave her a warm smile. “Well, I damn sure prefer she hides that eye, even if she doesn’t. I feel like a failed dad, letting my kid get socked.”

  “Don’t be silly! You weren’t there.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It happened on my watch. Till she’s twenty-one, it’s all my watch, and I wonder if it even stops there.”

  “I know what you mean,” Abby said softly. “I remember hearing once that having a child is like having your heart wandering around outside your body.”

  “Brrr. Too true to contemplate. Why don’t we hang a poster…here.” Jack braked the Jeep beside an oak tree at the corner of Main Street and Golden Eagle.

  After that they worked their way west along Main, tacking a poster to the door of the sheriff’s office, which was closed. “When Joel returns, he’ll move it inside to the board where he keeps his Most Wanted posters,” Jack assured her.

  They posted another portrait of DC on the community bulletin board outside the volunteer fire department shed, then stopped in at the town’s lovely little stone library to put one on the bulletin board in its foyer. Abby was introduced to the librarian, old Mrs. Wimbly, who promptly issued her a library card, in spite of Abby’s protests that she’d only be in Trueheart for a week. “You never know, dear, do you, and of course I’m sure you’d never abuse the privilege?” Her plucked eyebrows climbed toward her fluffy blue hairline.

  Trapped into admitting that she certainly would not, Abby meekly accepted the card—saving her glower for Jack after they escaped.

  “Open only on Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays and Sundays-after-twelve,” he reminded her with a grin. “And don’t believe that sugar-coating for a minute. If you ever forget to return a book, she’ll track you to the ends of the earth.”

  The vet’s office was closed with a sign hanging on the door that announced that Dr. Kerner was out at Kristopherson’s ranch, if anyone had an emergency. So they
taped a poster of DC to its frosted glass. “Big animal vet,” Jack told her, “though in a pinch he’ll treat a dog or a baby or a run-over skunk. And he has three cats himself, so he’ll keep an eye out for yours.”

  Next down the line was Hansen’s General Store, where Josie Hansen gave DC’s poster pride of place on the front of her counter—but only after Abby submitted to an extended inquisition concerning her origins, intentions, vocation and views about snowmobiles and the N.R.A. “I was waiting for her to pull out her fingerprint pad,” Abby fumed as the screen door banged behind them.

  “Your father painted portraits?” Jack repeated, licking his ice-cream cone.

  “However did she pry that out of me? I don’t talk about myself to strangers.”

  “Like it or not, within five minutes nobody’s a stranger to Josie,” Jack consoled her. “The world lost one of its great investigative reporters when she married a storekeeper in Trueheart. But Josie also saves time. Now you won’t have to explain yourself to anybody in town.”

  “Not that I was planning on explaining myself.” But her own scoop was melting, so Abby licked a drop of garish yellow as it slid down the cone. “Oh… What flavor is this?”

  “Haven’t a clue, but you’d better eat your share. Josie features only one special flavor at a time, and her customers have to finish the batch before she’ll make another.” He tasted his own scoop. “Hmm, lemon?”

  “And banana,” Abby decided, licking again.

  “With—aha—peppermint candy, which probably means she had a shipment of hard candy that wasn’t selling, so she threw it in. You’ll find the special tends to evolve later in the week, after she inventories her shelves.”

  He led her down to a park below Main Street, where Abby settled on a swing to finish her cone while Jack stood beside her. “This is charming!” A pack of children even younger than Sky were shrieking and splashing in the shallow, meandering little creek. And the park was graced by a Victorian-era bandshell, pretty as the topping on a wedding cake, trimmed with latticework and lacy white gingerbread. A banner draped from its eaves promised a brass band concert next Saturday.