by Diana Palmer
“That’s sad, not to have family.”
“Do you have any?” she asked softly.
He averted his eyes. The question hurt, but she didn’t realize it. “No. Not anymore,” he said tautly. “Except for a cousin.”
He didn’t like remembering it. His grandmother had died years ago. He’d had a brother, but when he was in his teens, his sibling had died in a particularly horrible way, and not one he felt comfortable telling an innocent girl about. The others, well, he had a lot of guilt about the way they went, and the memories tore at his heart like talons.
“I’m sorry,” she said gently, touching his muscular arm.
He looked up, surprised at her empathy.
She shrugged. “You never talk about your past. I guess you have some memories that are pretty bad, huh?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Pretty bad.”
She drew her hand back. “I’ve never had the opportunity to make any real memories,” she said on a sigh. “I go to school and come home, do class work, eat, sleep, get up and do it all again, except in the summer.”
“I get up, work, eat, sleep, go to bed.” He chuckled. “I suppose there’s some sort of comfort in the routine. No great shocks. No big surprises.”
“It’s tedious, isn’t it?” she asked suddenly, surprising an odd look in his large brown eyes. “We don’t do much except go through the motions of living.”
He cocked his head. “You’re pretty clued in, for a sheltered little chick.”
“I listen,” she said simply. “I don’t have much experience of my own, but women talk. I overhear things I don’t really understand, but once in a while, a woman is nice enough to explain it to me without making it sound vulgar.”
Both thick eyebrows went up. “Now I’m intrigued.”
She cleared her throat. “It’s nothing I could talk about in mixed company,” she said, lowering her eyes.
“I see. It’s that sort of conversation, is it?” he teased.
She flushed. “Well, books and movies and television sort of hint at things, but you don’t really know, do you? It’s just secondhand.”
“So is hearsay evidence,” he mused.
“Now you sound like a policeman,” she accused.
His eyes narrowed. “And you’d know that how?”
“There’s this nice policeman who works for Chief Grier,” she said. “I have lunch in Barbara’s Cafe every Friday with Blake Kemp’s assistant. The policeman is usually having lunch there, too, with a couple of his friends. They sit next to us and we talk.” She laughed. “He’s really funny. I like him.”
He felt an unreasonable surge of jealousy. He fought it down and even managed a convincing smile. “Your age?”
“Oh, no, he’s closer to your age. At least, to what I think is your age,” she added, because Paul had never told her how old he was.
“Is he new here?”
She nodded. She leaned toward him. “There’s some gossip about him,” she said in a stealthy, mischievous tone.
“Is there? What is it?” he asked.
“You remember Kilraven, who was supposed to be working for the chief, but was really an undercover Fed?”
“I remember. He married Winnie Sinclair.”
She nodded. “Well, our policeman is apparently an undercover Fed, too, working on some mob-related criminal activity.”
Paul’s heart jumped. He had an inkling of what that might be, but he didn’t dare tell Isabel. He still had contacts inside—well, actually, on both sides of that issue—and he didn’t want to have to admit to them. He was still raw from the past, despite the years of distance.
“Know what it is?” he asked.
“No,” she returned. “He isn’t telling anybody about that. I heard all about it from Mr. Kemp’s paralegal, who’s friends with the chief’s secretary, Carlie Farwalker.”
He let out a breath. “Isabel, is there anybody you don’t know?”
“Well, Jacobsville is a very small town. And Comanche Wells, where we live, is even smaller. I’ve lived here all my life. I know everybody. Is it like that, where you come from?” she asked, curious. “I mean, did you come from a small town?”
He burst out laughing. “I came from Jersey,” he said. “Nothing small about New Jersey, kid.”
“But don’t you have neighborhoods there, where people live for a long time together?”
He thought back to his childhood, to the place he grew up. “I suppose we did. My grandmother had lived in the same house since she was married. She knew everybody in the neighborhood, and I mean everybody.”
“So it was like here?”
“Only if everybody here was Greek or Italian,” he said with a grin. “On my mother’s side, mostly Italian. My grandmother and her father were the only Greek blood in the family.”
“I guess you speak Italian, too,” she said softly.
“Italian, Greek and an odd little dialect of Farsi.”
“Farsi?” She frowned. “Our police chief speaks that. So does Wolf Patterson’s wife, Sara. In fact, he speaks it, too. They had some extraordinary arguments in Farsi before they married.” She grinned. “I heard about it from Bonnie, who works in the pharmacy in Jacobsville.”
“I’ll have to watch my back, so people don’t tell you girls anything about me,” he chided with twinkling brown eyes. But he wasn’t mentioning his time in Afghanistan in Special Forces.
“Nobody knows anything about you, Paul. You’re a mystery,” she said with a sigh.
The way she said his name made something inside him wake up. He didn’t want that.
“I don’t talk about my past. Ever,” he said absently.
“Oh? Were you, like, a hit man for the mob?” she teased with twinkling blue eyes.
His face tautened to steel. His eyes blazed for an instant, and he seemed made of stone.
“I was kidding!” she said at once, shocked at the reaction she’d provoked. “I’m sorry, really I am…!”
He forced the anguish out of his face. It wasn’t her fault. It was nothing to do with her. She’d simply made a joke, hitting a tender spot without even knowing it.
“No sweat,” he said, and forced a smile. “Hey, I’m Italian. We get too many mob jokes,” he added.
“Sorry,” she said again, her voice softening. “It was a dumb remark.”
“It’s okay.” He reached out and tweaked a long, curly strand of red-gold hair. It was the first time he’d really touched her. “I guess you get Irish jokes all the time, huh?”
“Irish?”
“You’re redheaded, kid,” he teased.
His hand in her hair was provoking some very unusual stirrings in her untried body, and she was trying to pretend she felt nothing. She wasn’t successful. Paul, with his greater experience, could see everything she felt. It flattered him, that she could find him attractive.
“Oh. Redheaded. Irish. I get it.” She laughed nervously. “No, it isn’t Irish. My father’s people were from Wales.”
“Wales!” He laughed. “I never knew a single person from Wales.”
“Me, neither,” she confessed. “I did try to learn a word or two of the language, but I think I sprained my tongue, so I never tried again.”
“Sprained your tongue.” He smiled and let his attention drift down her softly rounded face, over her lightly freckled straight nose, to the pretty bow-shaped mouth under it. His gaze lingered there for a long time. So long, in fact, that he heard her breathing change.
His eyes narrowed. His chest rose and fell quickly. It had been a long time since he’d felt this way; years, in fact, and he felt the stirring of his body with fascination and regret. But she was off-limits. Period. He didn’t dare touch her. Her father would string him up.
He let go of her
hair with a grin. “Better get some sleep, kid. I’ve got an early appointment.”
“Okay.” She jumped up from the bed, and then hesitated beside it, frowning. “Paul, you’re sure about the cameras? That there aren’t any around here?” She looked around worriedly.
“I swept the whole house myself twice,” he assured her. “No cameras. No bugs. Nothing.”
“All right, then.” She hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble with my father. We’re just friends, but if he saw us together like this… I mean, he might get ideas.”
“No cameras, no bugs,” he repeated gently. “On my honor.”
She smiled at him. “Okay.”
“Go to bed.”
She sighed and turned toward the door. She paused at the doorway. “And I’m sorry again.”
“For what?”
She made a face. “Bringing back bad memories for you. Good night.”
She was gone before he could protest, in a whirl of pink froth.
He lay awake in the dark, memories haunting him. Memories of blood. So much blood. Blond hair, darkened with it, spread on the bare floor, and a smaller form…
He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. Don’t think, don’t remember, it’s gone, it’s over. He closed his eyes. Eventually, he slept.
FOUR
Paul was restless after his conversation with Isabel the night before. He kept seeing her sitting close to him, her pretty pert breasts straining at the silky fabric of her nightgown, hard little points pushing up and out. She wanted him. She might not realize it yet, but he knew.
Sari didn’t know her body had betrayed her, but she remembered the way Paul had touched her hair, the way he’d looked at her mouth. She might be innocent, but she knew what he’d been thinking. He’d thought about kissing her. His eyes had clung to her lips like a bee to honey. It made her wild, thinking about how it would have felt if he’d moved toward her, just a few inches…
She stopped herself. If he ever moved toward her, her father would find out and fire him. He might do more than that. She kept remembering the cowboy who’d moved all the way to Arizona hoping Mr. Grayling wouldn’t come after him for trying to date Merrie.
“You’re so unsettled lately,” Merrie chided when they were alone in her room. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Daddy,” Sari said miserably. “We’re never going to have the opportunity to get married and have families.”
“That’s not quite true,” Merrie said miserably. “I overheard him talking to Paul. He said he’d find husbands for us.”
Sari clenched her teeth. “Oh, that’s just great. I can imagine what sort of man he’d have in mind!”
“So can I,” Merrie groaned. “But what can we do? If we try to run away, he’ll have his bodyguards catch us before we can get to the bus station or the airport. We’d never get away! He could have us brought back. He owns people in all sorts of shady professions.”
“Paul would help us.”
“Paul could be fired and hunted,” Merrie reminded her. “He’s just as vulnerable as anybody else who works for Daddy. I’d hate to see him gone,” she added. “He and Mandy are all we have!”
Sari nodded sadly. She and her younger sister exchanged despondent looks.
“We could try to run away,” Merrie suggested suddenly.
“Where? There’s no place on earth Daddy couldn’t find us.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Merrie said. “My friend Randall has an older brother who has this huge ranch in Wyoming. He’s almost as rich as Daddy. Randall said that if things got too bad, he could hide me up there. I know he’d let you go, too.”
Sweet Merrie. So kind. And so clueless. “Merrie, I have law school starting up in August,” she reminded her. “It might be practical for you to run, but I have responsibilities. If I want a career, this is the only way I can afford it. Daddy won’t even let us get part-time jobs!”
“Sorry,” Merrie said, grimacing. “I keep forgetting about law school.” She drew in a long breath. “I wanted to go to college, but it looks like a few art classes at Jacobsville Community College are going to be what I end up with.”
“Your paintings are exhibition quality,” Sari chided. “You do the most lifelike portraits of anyone I’ve ever known. Your landscapes are exquisite, whatever medium you work in. You have genius in your hands, Merrie. College won’t matter.”
“Thanks,” Merri replied. She hugged her sister. “I’m glad you think so.” She smiled wryly. “It’s just as well, really. I don’t see myself as a doctor or a lawyer. But you’ll be a natural,” she added with twinkling eyes. “Lawbreakers, beware! Assistant DA Sari Grayling will nail you to the wall with her legal briefs!”
Sari laughed. “As if!” she teased. “I talked to Mr. Kemp this week. He said I’d have a job waiting when I graduate law school, if I still want it.”
“If Daddy will let you take it,” Merrie said miserably.
“I’ll cross that bridge when water runs under it,” the older woman replied. “If worse comes to worst, I might let Mr. Kemp plead my case. Daddy respects him. Well, as much as he respects anybody.”
Merrie nodded. “You might marry.”
“And elephants might fly,” Sari returned whimsically.
“You must have thought about it. You love children so much,” she added softly. “Don’t you want a family?”
Sari hardened her heart. “It’s no good wanting something you can’t have,” she replied.
“You don’t know you can’t have it if you haven’t tried to grab it with both hands,” her sister argued.
Sari dreamed about Paul’s hard mouth on her own and got goose bumps. She rubbed her arms and laughed. Talk about the impossible dream!
“Are you cold?” Merrie asked, frowning.
“No. Somebody just walked over my grave,” she laughed, using the old folk saying.
“Don’t say things like that!” Merrie blurted out. She hugged her sister, laying her head on Sari’s shoulder. “Don’t ever say that. All we have is each other.”
Sari hugged her back tightly. “I know. I’m sorry. I was only kidding.” She didn’t add that she’d had an uneasy feeling lately, one that was puzzling as well as worrying. It felt as if she were sitting on top of a stick of dynamite, waiting for the fuse to run out. Which was absurd. Her life was as tranquil as a pond in the woods, without even a water skimmer to touch it.
She let Merrie go. “Stop worrying,” she chided. “I’m healthy and happy and I plan to live for years. At least long enough to get every single lawbreaker in Jacobsville behind bars!”
“That would take about two days,” her sister said with a droll smile. “I mean, there are like, what, two criminals in town and they’re both locked up.”
“Chief Grier finds more every day. We’re growing.”
“Yes, we actually had an increase of five people this year in our population!” Merrie exclaimed. “We’ll have to expand the water system!”
Sari picked up a newspaper and threw it at her.
“Overcrowding in the schools!” Merrie called after her as she left the room. “Increased traffic jams…!”
“I’m not listening!” Sari called back.
Soft laughter followed her down the staircase.
Paul was standing just inside the front door. He looked up. “What in the world was that all about?” he asked.
“We had a huge population increase, it seems,” Sari told him. “Merrie says we’ve gained five whole people in Jacobsville this year.”
“The jails will be full!” Merrie called over the banister.
“Will you go paint something, please?” Sari called back, exasperated.
“Paint a sign, telling people to move to Dallas,” Paul suggested.
Merrie laughed gleefully.
“Don’t you encourage her,” Sari told him firmly.
“I only told her what she could paint,” he defended himself.
“Paint a wildflower,” Sari suggested. “You’re great at those. Maybe a wildflower and a log. How about a morning glory curling around a dead stump in a forest clearing…”
“Great idea! Thanks!” Merrie rushed back into her room.
“Nice,” Paul mused.
Sari chuckled. “She really does draw well.”
“I know.”
“Merrie’s shy about her work. I wasn’t sure you knew that she painted.”
“I had her do a portrait of my grandmother,” he said, surprising her. “I had a few photos. She truly brought them to life.” He shook his head. “She should be showing her work in a gallery somewhere.”
“You never showed me the painting,” she said.
He hesitated. “I…sent it to my cousin, in New Jersey, for a Christmas present last year,” he explained. “My grandmother raised both of us. We were like brothers.”
“You never talk about him.”
He shrugged. “No reason to. We don’t see each other. We talk once in a while, maybe text when there’s something to say.”
“What does he do?”
He glanced at her. “Dangerous things. And that’s all I’m saying.”
She flushed. “Sorry.”
He caught her arm as she started to leave the room. “Don’t get your feelings hurt,” he said. “I can’t tell anyone. It’s not just you.”
She swallowed, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“And stop apologizing every second word,” he chided. “I notice that Merrie does the same thing.”
“We’ve done a lot of it, over the years,” she said.
He frowned. “Why?”
She averted her face. “I have to start the yeast for Mandy. She’s making homemade rolls and beef stew for supper.”
“Homemade rolls.” He closed his eyes. “I think I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he teased. “I can almost smell them. Nobody makes rolls like she does.”
