And when she had become a liability instead of an asset, it had dictated that he dump her and ruin her life.
“Jobs aren’t that important,” he disagreed. “Doing the right thing is. Being able to live with what you’ve done is. People are very important.”
He sounded as if he believed what he was saying a hundred percent. Too bad she couldn’t be as sure. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe in him. But James had taught her better.
“I didn’t find anything last night.”
“So am I crazy, deluded, or an outright liar?”
Taut lines formed at the corners of his mouth. “I’m beginning to think you might be deluded. Just because James and your parents let you down doesn’t mean everyone else will. I’m not like him, Crystal. I told you that.”
“All I have is your word. I have no proof.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You know what? If you asked James to describe himself, he’d swear he’s honorable. ‘A man of integrity. A man who understands the meaning of a promise.’ That’s part of his campaign material. But I know from firsthand experience that he has no honor, no integrity.”
For a moment he simply looked at her, then slowly he grinned. “Go out to my dad’s with me today and he’ll tell you what kind of man I am. So will my stepmother and my brothers and about a hundred other Ravencrests.” After another moment, his grin faded and the intensity returned. “What did he do to you?”
Her throat tightened, and her voice grew thick with unshed tears. “He destroyed me.”
“You’re not destroyed. You have a new home, a new life, an aunt who loves you dearly. People who want to be friends with you. People—one, at least—who want a whole lot more. You’re destroyed, Crystal, only if you let him win. If you let him force you into a miserable little existence, afraid to trust anyone, even yourself, then you’ve lost.”
Nice sentiment…if she could embrace it. She wasn’t sure she ever could.
To avoid responding, she asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I’m going back out to the clearing this morning. I thought I could use a little company.”
Disappointment streaked through her, settling like a rock in her stomach. When would she learn? Just because he acted concerned and held her when she’d cried and was sexually attracted to her, didn’t mean he was any different from James. He wanted something from her, and he would use whatever means necessary to get it—blackmail, coercion, seduction. He would say all the pretty words, do all the right things, but in the end, he would hurt her the same way James had.
Stiffly, she walked away from him, going to the closet, staring at the garments there as if picking exactly the right one was a matter of life or death. “Sorry,” she said stiffly. “I’m not going back there again.”
She wasn’t aware he had crossed the room until he reached over her shoulder and took a lavender sweater from its hanger. “Wear this. I like the color.” Then, without missing a beat, he went on. “For the record, Crystal, I wasn’t planning to invite you. I came to ask Winona to go with me.”
Embarrassment warmed her face again. She felt bad that she’d automatically expected the worst, but at the same time she was disappointed that it wasn’t a desire for her company that had brought him back.
Almost as if he’d read her mind, he said, “Don’t get me wrong. If I were going anyplace else, doing anything else, I would be more than happy to invite you along. But not to the clearing. Not after yesterday.”
She took a pair of jeans from a hanger, then turned, clasping the clothes to her chest. “What makes you think I would go anyplace else with you?”
His grin came slowly. “Because you’re attracted to me, even if I am one of the ‘so-called good guys.’ I am, you know. One of the good guys.”
She didn’t know. That was part of the problem.
“I’ll make you a promise, Crystal. I won’t ask you to go back to that clearing or to have anything further to do with the Montgomery case. If you have another vision, or if you come to me, fine, but I won’t ask you. I promise.”
Her gaze shifted from his face to the hand he’d offered, then back to his face. He looked so sincere… But she’d witnessed James’s sincerity when he’d looked into the television cameras and said she was unstable, bitter and vindictive. He’d been so damned sincere that she’d practically believed him herself. People who knew her well had believed him.
But James was a snake, a politician, a natural-born liar. Could Sloan match his talents?
Warily she placed her hand in his. “If you’re lying…”
His callused palm rubbed against hers as his fingers tightened. “It’s easy enough to keep track. If I ask for your help, then I’ve broken my promise. If I don’t, then I haven’t. Simple.” Slowly he released her hand and headed for the door. “Get dressed. Come have breakfast with us.”
Oh, yeah, Crystal thought as the door closed behind him, his plan was simple. Only time would tell—time in which she could become even more attracted to him. Time in which he could become important to her. If he broke his promise then, it would hurt so much more.
If he broke his promise then, he might finish what James had started. He might destroy her.
And if he didn’t? If she could trust him? If she could count on him to be honest and honorable? He might undo the damage James had done.
He just might save her.
Five
Tuesday afternoon found Sloan sitting at one of several desks available for deputies’ use in the sheriff’s department, doing his least favorite part of the job—writing reports. The computer made the process easier—he remembered the days of two-fingered, correction-tape typing—but he’d still rather be doing anything else.
Sheriff Rafe Rawlings rapped on the corner of the desk on his way to his office. “Come on back when you get a chance.”
Sloan answered affirmatively without taking his eyes off the screen. He’d investigated two burglaries that day, as well as one case of vandalism, had transported a prisoner a hundred and fifty miles to Helena and another seventy miles farther to the state mental hospital in Warm Springs for observation—and this had been a light day compared to yesterday. Last night he’d gone home three hours late, too tired to even think straight.
But not too tired to think about Crystal. She’d been on his mind nonstop for the past week. He’d been thinking a lot about her skittishness, about how badly she’d been hurt before, how vulnerable it had made her, how easily she could be hurt again. After a stern warning from Winona on Sunday—“That girl’s delicate and she’s been betrayed by everyone she ever trusted, so don’t you go adding to her pain”—he’d examined his feelings and motives for wanting to get close to her. He’d decided on the way back from Warm Springs this afternoon that his motives were pure.
Well, he clarified with a grin, not exactly pure. One glance at her in that thin cotton top and shorts last Sunday morning had filled him with all kinds of impure thoughts—and he’d gotten a whole lot more than one glance.
His intentions were honorable, he rephrased it. Unlike James Rich-man, he wasn’t ambitious enough to plot ways to use her to further his career. He wished to God she’d never had that vision of Christina so it wouldn’t be between them now. He just wanted her. To spend time with her, make love to her, have kids with her, grow old with her.
It sounded silly, he knew. There was so much about her he still didn’t know, so much about him she’d shown no curiosity about. But his instincts said this was the woman he’d been waiting for, and he always trusted his instincts.
Finishing up the last report, he filed it, then went to Rafe’s office. Though they’d been friends all their lives, he knocked and waited for a response before entering. “Friendship” ended the moment he put on his badge and wouldn’t come into play until he took it off at the end of the day. During those hours, their relationship was purely professional.
“Have a seat,” Rafe said, nodding toward the battered chair in front
of his desk. He continued to fiddle with his computer for a moment before shoving the keyboard away in disgust. “Damn thing’s acting up again. You can say what you want about ’em, but at least a typewriter never ate my reports. So…how’s it going?”
“Okay. I found most of the stuff stolen from the Smiths’ house in the woods about a quarter mile down the road. I set up out there for a while to see if anyone came back for it, but I got called away, so I took it with me. Mr. Smith will be in soon, if he hasn’t come already, to make a complaint because I wouldn’t give the stuff back to him then.”
“It’s only because you’re Cheyenne. A white deputy would have done the right thing,” Rafe said dryly. Like Sloan, Rafe was half Cheyenne. He’d experienced his share of bigotry.
“And caught the burglar while he was at it,” Sloan agreed.
“Anything new on the break-in at the church?”
Sloan shook his head.
“How about the Montgomery case?”
For a moment Sloan debated how to answer. He had nothing concrete to offer, so he wouldn’t be out of line to brush off the question, but that wasn’t the way he worked. Still, he’d made a promise to Crystal, and he would do his best to keep it without being out-and-out dishonest. “Winona Cobbs came to see me a while back, to tell me about a vision involving Christina. I’m trying to check it out, but so far I haven’t found anything to support it.”
“What kind of vision?” Rafe’s expression was unreadable. Whether he believed in ESP and premonitions was anyone’s guess. On most subjects, he kept his opinions to himself.
Sloan related the bare bones of the vision, then added, “Winona thinks it has something to do with Christina giving birth.” The old lady had said so at the clearing yesterday, and it had made sense to Sloan. The blood-soaked dress, the agonizing pain, the fear she was dying—childbirth could account for all three. When his cousin Roy’s wife was in labor with their third kid last year, she’d threatened to remove vital parts of his anatomy, and she’d been in a hospital, under a doctor’s care, and knew what to expect. How much worse would it be for a first-time mother alone in the woods?
Winona had also said that Christina, if dead, hadn’t died in the clearing. When Sloan had asked why her impressions were so different from Crystal’s, she’d merely shrugged. Parapsychology wasn’t an exact science, she’d said. How could it be, when it dealt with the mind, with spirits and auras and otherworldly mysteries?
“What do you think happened to her?” Sloan asked. He’d heard theories from everyone but Rafe. Most people thought Christina had run away. Some thought she’d been taken against her will; a few believed she was punishing her family for their lack of attention.
“I don’t know,” Rafe replied. “At first I thought it was a play for attention. She got so needy after her mother died, and Ellis refused to take time away from business to take care of her. Now, though…” He shrugged, then glanced at his watch. “Hey, Raeanne told me to invite you for dinner Friday. She said for you to bring Becky.”
Sloan had been so preoccupied with Crystal that he needed an instant to remember the last woman he’d dated. Becky Masters was nice enough, but he’d known from their first date that nothing would come of it. She’d been looking for a husband, and he’d been looking for a distraction from Crystal, whom he hadn’t even managed to meet yet. Neither of them had found what they’d wanted.
“I don’t think Becky’s new boyfriend would appreciate me borrowing her for the night. But if the invitation stands without her, I’ll be there. I might even be able to round up a date somewhere.”
“You’d better. If you don’t, Raeanne will feel it’s her duty as a happily married woman to set you up with someone, and being a public defender, most of the women she knows are cops, lawyers and/or criminals.”
Since none of the three held any interest for him, Sloan dryly replied, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Seven o’clock, our house.”
Sloan nodded in acknowledgment as he left the office. Maybe he could sweet-talk Crystal into going on the pretext that, if she was going to live in Whitehorn, she needed to meet some people. Of course, the fact that one of those people was the sheriff might not sit well with her, but what better way to prove that she was wrong in her blanket distrust of law-enforcement types than to introduce her to some of them?
With his shift long over, he clocked out and headed home. His apartment complex was on the west side of town and bore the improbable name of The Chalet. Other than a few faux architectural details on the building that housed the office and clubhouse, there was nothing to set it apart from every other apartment complex he’d ever seen. The buildings were typical construction, two stories painted dark brown, with doors opening onto breezeways both upstairs and down. The pool was kidney-shaped and too small to actually swim in, the grounds were planted with the standard low-maintenance shrubs and trees all the other complexes used, and the parking lots were too crowded.
But it was home, he thought as he let himself in. It was a good place for having an early dinner, watching a little TV, then getting to bed early to make up for all those long miles behind the wheel.
He tossed the mail onto the counter, then went into the bedroom, hitting the play button on the answering machine as he began undressing. There was a call from Amy, confirming his father’s dinner invitation, and another from his cousin Shelley asking if he was available to provide a fourth on a double date with her boyfriend’s aunt who was visiting in town. He was wondering just how old her boyfriend was, or how young the aunt was, when the next message started.
“Deputy Ravencrest,” Winona Cobbs said cheerfully. “We were wondering if you might be available to join us for dinner this evening. I’m sorry for the short notice, but the idea just now occurred to me—I mean, us. There’s no need to call back. If you can make it, just show up sometime between six and seven. And if you can’t…well, maybe next time.”
As the machine clicked to a stop, he removed his gun belt, left his pistol on the bed and hung the belt over the back of a chair. His badge went on the dresser, his uniform into the dry-clean pile on the closet floor. It was amazing how quickly a man’s mood could change. Sixty seconds ago he’d really wanted to be in bed by nine; the past two days had been exhausting. Now, faced with that choice or dinner with Crystal…. Well, hell, who needed sleep?
Not that he kidded himself for a minute that Crystal was part of, or even aware of, Winona’s invitation. He thought about calling the old woman back and telling her he would accept on the condition that she tell Crystal first. So far, she’d sprung him on her niece twice without warning, and neither time had Crystal been the least bit prepared.
But if she was prepared, she might do something Crystal-like, such as choose tonight to venture into Whitehorn and sample the nightlife. Much as he liked Winona, he didn’t want to have dinner alone with her while Crystal was out attracting other men.
By the time he’d showered and dressed, it was coming up on six. He slipped his .45 into a holster, which he clipped onto his belt at the small of his back, then shrugged into a shearling jacket, grabbed his Stetson and left.
Though the Stop-n-Swap was closed for the day, there were lights on inside and Crystal was visible through the plate-glass windows, tallying the day’s receipts. He ignored the Closed sign and tried the door. As he feared, it readily swung open.
Neither the bell nor his footsteps distracted her from her counting, but she was aware of him. Without glancing his way, she said, “Hello, Deputy.”
“Miz Cobbs. You should keep that door locked after hours. You never know who might wander in.”
She made a notation on the bank form, then looked up. “Speak for yourself. I knew it was you.”
“Winona decided to not surprise you this time?”
“Aunt Winona hasn’t said a word about you. I knew. You know…” Waggling her fingers, she did a fair imitation of spooky movie music, then swept stacks of bills, coins and checks int
o the vinyl bank bag, zipped it and deposited it in the small safe under the counter. When she was done, she leaned on the counter. “Does that make you uneasy?”
He mimicked her position, lacing his fingers together so they were almost touching hers. “I don’t know. Do you know what I’m thinking right now?” Deliberately he called up the real image that had tormented him for three days, her wearing those thin cotton nightclothes, and the fantasy image it had inspired of him removing those thin cotton nightclothes. She was so slender, so delicate, in his image, with perfect breasts and narrow waist and long legs, with her hair tousled and her eyes smoky.
Her cheeks reddened, and she couldn’t meet his gaze any longer. She tried to sound carelessly scornful. “What single, attractive man doesn’t think about sex? If you want to test me, try something a little less clichéd.”
“That wasn’t sex, sweetheart. It was you.” Before she could argue, he covered her hands with his and quickly went on. “You think I’m attractive?”
“What? Does the ego need a little stroking?”
“Oh, darlin’, if you’re going to stroke, I can think of something that needs it far more than my ego.”
She tugged her hands free, straightened and gave him an annoyed look, but he knew, as surely as she had known it was he who’d walked through the door, that she wasn’t really put out. “What did you mean when you asked if Winona had decided not to surprise me?”
He straightened, too. “She invited me for dinner. But I won’t stay if you don’t want me to.”
“It’s her house. She can invite anyone she wants.” With a burst of energy, she yanked the bag from the trash can next to the safe, tied up its top, then picked up another bag and came around the end of the counter.
He sidestepped to block her way. “I mean it. I’ll leave now. Just tell me to go.”
She stood there, wearing faded jeans and an ivory sweater that was comfortably too big, looking as if she knew she should say one thing when she really wanted to say the opposite. He didn’t know which was which, though. Was she going to ask him to stay when she really wanted him to go, or would her defenses send him away when some part of her wanted him to stay?
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