“Oh? Are you an ex-beauty queen?”
“Melisande, you she-devil, you know what I mean.”
Millie cleared her throat and gave him an indulgent look. “I’ll tell you something about Dinah. She served a year in prison for trying to protect her father, who was accused of embezzling. Rucker helped her clear her name. That’s the kind of trust and sharing that makes two incompatible people realize they belong together.”
Her attitude seeped down inside him and twisted his patience. So she didn’t think she could have that kind of relationship with a man like him. Anger clouded Brig’s voice. “And you don’t want to trust anybody, ’cause you’re so strong you don’t need anybody, right?”
Millie realized that she’d wounded him. But he had just wounded her, in return. “Right.”
“Helluva sad way to live a life. You might as well be a rock, for all the happiness you’ll get.”
She stood, her fists clenched. “I had a lot more happiness before you came along.”
He uttered several choice and colorful words. “Yeah. Lady deputy—unemotional, unbreakable, untouchable. Nobody wanted to touch you. It was too much damned trouble to get through that hide of yours. What are you gonna be ten years from now?”
“Independent!”
He leaped to his feet and pointed at her. “I’ve got it! You’ll stay here, you’ll get promoted to sheriff, you’ll get tougher and lonelier and sadder. Old spinster sheriff, lives all by herself in the middle of the woods, sorta peculiar, but she does a damned fine job—that’s what folks’ll say about you!”
“I don’t want to hear your thumbnail analysis of my future!”
“You’ll get some cats to keep you company, and everyone’ll notice how you talk to the cats as if they were children. You’ll get kinda picky and fussy and set in your ways. You’ll go to bed early ’cause there’s nothing else to do.”
“Be quiet!” she shouted.
“Your brothers’ll get married and have kids, and when you go to visit, the kids’ll be scared of you! Your brothers will feel sorry for their poor sis. There used to be something fresh and loving about her, but now she’s dried up!”
Millie shook with fury and anguish. He’d expertly probed her worst nightmare. “I’m leaving,” she said in a tormented whisper, and threw down the saw. “I’ll send Suds to pick you up at the end of the day.”
Brig tossed his hands into the air and yelled, “Good! Run from me! Run from the truth!”
She fought for composure, but she could barely talk. Suddenly tears slipped down her face. “I don’t run from the truth,” she said brokenly. “I carry it with me everywhere I go. But … you really know how to make it hurt.”
Millie wiped roughly at her eyes as she went to the ladder and climbed down. Stunned, Brig felt his anger drain away. He’d expected some fierce retort, not a wistful admission he was right. He’d just neatly ripped her apart, without even realizing it.
Seconds later, he heard her start the old convertible. She drove away from the cottage fast, without looking back.
Brig sank to his boot heels and ran a hand through his hair. His shoulders slumped. “Little Melisande, what have I done to you, love?” he whispered.
Five
She would not ache Inside any longer, she would not think about the bleak future Brig painted for her, and she would shut him out of her emotions. The morning following his tirade Millie felt the ugly residue of his words as if he’d stained her for life.
She sat at the front desk, her hands shaking and stomach tight as she tried to concentrate on Charlie’s report from the night shift. A Beatles medley was playing on the civilian radio under the desk; the song at the moment, “Yesterday.”
“How appropriate,” she murmured under her breath, frowning.
She heard the door from the cell block swing open, but refused to look up, hoping the footsteps coming toward her belonged to Suds.
“G’morning,” Brig said softly.
Humiliation combined with bittersweet determination to give her rigid control over her reactions. She raised her head slowly, her expression neutral except for one politely raised brow. He was leaning on the counter over her desk, a coffee mug in one big hand.
“Good morning. Do you need something?”
He looked troubled and tired. “Roof okay with you? The patching, I mean.”
“Fine. You do good work.”
“For a permanent fix you’ll have to have a carpenter and roofer come on.”
“I’ve already contacted someone.”
“I could do the work, if you want. Probably take two, three days. When I was about half-grown, I worked on a construction crew.”
She forced her voice to remain unemotional. “No, but thank you.”
He made a small sound of disgust, rubbed a hand over his weathered face, and squinted at her shrewdly. “I’d be cheaper than a contractor.”
“I don’t want you to do the work.” An edge of anger had crept into her tone, and she had emphasized each word.
“It’s foolish to let personal feelings stand in the way of money matters.”
“How ironic, considering that you’re well-known for giving charity concerts. I like being foolish. Indulge me.”
He slapped the counter top, all calm gone. “I’m tryin’ to indulge you, you little Tasmanian devil!”
“Then leave me alone. That’s all I ask.”
His expression fierce, he jabbed a finger at her. “You’re gonna make me bleed for the things I said yesterday, aren’t you?”
Millie blinked hard, surprised. Then she realized he was right. She wanted to make him apologize. She wanted to hear him say that none of his words had been sincere. But deep down inside, she would always know he’d told her the truth.
She shook her head, and the energy drained out of her. Millie propped her elbows on the desk, cupped her chin in her hands, and looked up at him sadly. “You only confirmed what I already believe,” she told him. “I’m glad you did it. I have to learn to live with the future.”
Frowning, he stared at her for a moment. Then fury lit his eyes. “Dammit!” He turned and hurled the coffee mug against the nearest wall. The mug cracked into several large pieces and black liquid trailed down the wall’s pristine gray wallpaper.
Millie stared at him wide-eyed as he whipped back toward her, fists clenched. He shook them in the air. “You wouldn’t have to plan on a lonely future if you’d just let your guard down!” he shouted. “You don’t know diddle about what makes a man think a woman’s sexy!” He took several deep breaths, opened his hands in a gesture of surrender, and shook his head. “I’ve had it. I’ve tried my best, and it’s a waste of time.” He gave her an icy look. “I’ll not bother you anymore, Melisande … excuse me, I mean Millie.”
With that, he turned and strode back into the cell block, slamming the door behind him. Feeling numb, Millie went to the shattered coffee mug. She knelt beside it and began picking up the pieces. Raybo’s office door slammed open and he stuck his head out, his phone glued perpetually to one hand.
“What kind of possum fight is goin’ on out here?”
She considered for a moment. The hollowness inside her could have filled the Grand Canyon. “Nothing. I made a mess.” He grunted and shut his door again. “Of everything,” she whispered hoarsely.
Brig was good to his word, leaving her alone, being nothing more than coolly polite to her for the next week. He continued to call her Millie, which upset her more each time he said it. One afternoon she was standing by the office-supply closet, taking inventory, when he strolled past with a stack of paperbacks in one hand.
“Whatd’ya think of Stephen King?” he tossed over his shoulder.
“Like him.”
“Me too. Been meanin’ to read his latest, but couldn’t get hold of a copy before I left Nashville.”
Her heart pounding with the prospect of doing something nice for him, she said quickly, “I’ll find it for you at the bookstore.”
>
He went into his cell without a backward glance and shut the door. “Not to worry, Millie,” he called. “I’ll have one of my friends send me a copy.”
She wasn’t a friend, then. She was just Millie, someone he didn’t want to care about anymore. She’d been chased by many men, but it had always seemed more like a burden than a compliment. She’d been grateful when they gave up.
This time she wanted to chase back. Disgusted with her mental meanderings, Millie wearily rested her head against the door to the supply closet and tried to absorb the inventory by osmosis.
She had night duty that Friday, and she arrived for work just as Brig finished a Chinese dinner. He and Suds were eating together in the deputy’s lounge, their feet propped on a square, Formica-topped table, cartons and cups spread around them in nonchalant disarray. A small television on the wall was tuned to female wrestling matches.
“Look at this silliness, Millie,” Brig instructed, pointing to the TV. He reached one long arm over and jerked a chair out for her. She sat down between him and Suds, eyeing Brig warily because she didn’t know what to expect.
Millie glanced at the television and saw a pair of athletic-looking women clad in leotards circling each other in a ring. “So? They’re making a living. I admire them.”
Suds sighed. “They’ve got everything a man could want.”
“Big muscles and lots of body hair,” Brig added.
Millie sniffed. “Very cute, wise guy.”
Suds chortled under his breath as he dumped his trash in a garbage can and headed for the door. “I’m gone for the night, Mel. Have a good one, Brig.”
“ ’Night, mate.”
Silence descended on the jail. Millie kept her eyes glued to the television while a tiny rivulet of perspiration ran between her breasts.
Brig leaned back even further in his chair and put both hands behind his head. “So it’s just you and me, love,” he said cheerfully. “All night.”
“I have paperwork to do.”
“Watch the wrestling with me awhile.”
Millie smiled grimly. “You think it suits my aggressive tendencies?”
“Well, yeah, but the main thing is that it shows how sexy a fightin’ woman can be. Look there.” He pointed to the screen. “I was only teasin’ about the muscles and hair. That tall girl is pure-blooded Cherokee Indian, and beautiful. Got a kick like a mule. And the men are goin’ wild over her.”
Millie listened to the studio crowd roar as a lithe, bronze-skinned young woman with long black hair gracefully kicked her opponent in the ribs. “I couldn’t do that,” Millie commented.
“Squeamish?”
“Legs are too short.”
He grinned slowly, and then he laughed. The rich, vibrant sound reminded her of all she’d lost with him; of all she’d never have. Millie rose quickly, feeling miserable and trying to hide it. “I’ll be up front, taking care of business.”
Brig rocked on the back legs of his chair, assessing her through slitted eyes. His voice was droll. “I can sleep easy, then, knowin’ that you’re lookin’ after me.”
She smiled thinly and left the room. What would he do if she went wild and ravished him? Would it be the end of her career as a deputy, or the beginning or her career as a wrestler?
Weekends were relatively tame in Paradise Springs, and it wasn’t unusual for a deputy to spend the night tossing paper airplanes at a geranium hanging across from the registration desk. Millie was surprised when the phone rang at two A.M.
She took the caller’s frantic message, then ran back to the cell block. The light was on in Brig’s cubicle, and she heard him playing the guitar. Millie slid to a stop by the door. He was stretched out on his bunk, the guitar resting on his stomach.
“I have to break up a domestic fight,” she told him. “Just wanted you to know.”
He got up quickly. “Let me go with you.”
“No, no, no.”
“I’ll stay in the car. Dammit, Melisande, it’s not safe for anyone to take on something like that without backup.”
So he still thought of her as Melisande. Millie was so stunned and so pleased that she stared at him speechlessly. Resistance melted inside her. “Only if you promise to stay in the car.”
He crossed his heart solemnly. “Swear on a kangaroo’s hop.”
“Is that considered binding by anything other than a kangaroo?”
Brig shrugged. “It’s the best I can do.”
She felt reckless. “All right, let’s go.”
The night wind gusted with the promise of thunderstorms. Lightning drew yellow streaks as crooked as a witch’s fingers clawing the sky. The Hideaway Trailer Park on the outskirts of Paradise Springs was a quiet, middle-class place ordinarily, but tonight it seemed sinister. Alarmed neighbors stood outside a sleek blue double-wide trailer, their clothes and hair whipping in the wind. After Millie cut the patrol car’s engine, she unlatched the restraining strap on her gun holster.
Brig was a large, soothing, and deceptively relaxed presence in the seat beside her. When she opened the car door, he didn’t offer any patronizing cautions, but instead said gruffly, “Hurry back.”
“Faster than a kangaroo’s hop,” she replied. Millie caught the white gleam of his smile before she left the car.
He watched her go up the steps to the trailer door, her curly blond hair buffeted, her small body swaying when the wind hit it. She knocked on the door and a stocky, disheveled woman threw it open. Millie stepped inside and shut the door behind her.
Brig cursed softly and dug his fingers into the car seat in order to keep himself from following her. In his culture men protected women, and this situation strained his tolerance to the breaking point. Besides, this wasn’t just any woman, this was Melisande, the most aggravating, stubborn, mixed-up woman he’d ever met. She didn’t know how to ask for help when she needed it—and that scared him.
He waited five minutes, then ten, his concern growing Fifteen minutes after she entered the trailer he heard a muffled scream. Brig was already out of the car when the trailer door opened. The interior lights silhouetted the stout husband of the brawling pair. He held a rolling pin in one hand. The milling neighbors hurriedly moved back from the threat.
Brig raced out of the darkness, leaped to the top doorstep, and broadsided the husband. Screams rose from the crowd. The man fell backward into the trailer’s living room, with Brig on top of him. Brig glanced around, saw no one else, and grabbed the front of the sweaty sport shirt his victim wore.
“Where’s the deputy, you bastard?”
The man was breathless from the fall. “Bathroom.”
Brig jerked the rolling pin from his hand and threw it under a couch. He vaulted to his feet and ran toward a hallway.
Millie lay on her back on the floor, her head propped against the open bathroom door. She held a hand to one eye. The wife crouched beside her, crying.
“Melisande!” Brig went down on his knees and grasped her head between his hands.
“I got hit in the eye,” she murmured with a hint of embarrassment. “It’s not that bad.”
He pulled her hand back and grimly studied the swelling purple bruise around her left eye. “I’ll kill him,” Brig muttered, and started to get up. Millie grabbed his shirt sleeve.
“No!”
“They can put me in jail for two more months, I don’t care! What kind of man hits a woman and a law officer?”
“It was m-me,” the woman interjected. She sobbed and raised a meaty fist. “I did it.”
Stunned, Brig stared at her. “Strewth” he said. Then his expression darkened. “What the hell were you doin’, whackin’ a deputy that way?”
“You’re a c-convict!” the woman said fearfully, noticing his outfit for the first time.
“It was an accident,” Millie interjected. She sat up, and Brig helped her stand. She cleared her throat in a warning way that told him her duty was more important than an injury, so he removed his arm from her shou
lders. As her eye swelled shut, she explained about the battle.
“Mrs. Brown had Mr. Brown trapped in the bathroom. I finally convinced her to let Mr. Brown come out, but when he did, there was a little scuffle and I was caught in the middle.”
“What’s this convict doing on the loose?” Mrs. Brown insisted, her voice rising. She backed away from Brig, clutching her hands to an ample bosom.
His eyes narrowed lethally and he made a growling sound. “Don’t make me chase you, me little peach. The prison doctor says I shouldn’t be provoked.”
Millie sighed and hurriedly told her, “He isn’t dangerous. I’m transporting him to a work detail.”
“In the middle of the night?” Mrs. Brown asked.
Millie faltered for a second and Brig took up the slack. “I do my best work in the dark.” His voice was wicked. Mrs. Brown took another step back.
“That’ll be enough,” Millie interjected quickly. She gave Brig a stern look. “Go back to the patrol car. On the double.”
Brig bit his tongue and nodded. She was in charge here, and the grim set of her mouth told him that his continued assistance would make her look bad. Besides, she had the situation under control. Brig realized how proud he was of her. It was hell for him to turn on his boot heels and leave her alone with the Browns, but he did it. Melisande’s dignity was all that mattered. And at that moment Brig knew how much he loved her.
Ten minutes later she came out of the trailer and told the crowd to go home, everything was fine. Her shoulders back and her chin up, she presented a picture of absolute command as she walked to the patrol car. Brig ached to reach for her when she slid into the driver’s seat, but people would see. She shut the door and locked her seat belt in place with quick, assured hands.
“How’s the shiner, love?”
Millie started the car and kept her eyes forward. “No sweat, mate.”
She drove down a dark, windswept two-lane road. When they were out of sight from the trailer park, she pulled onto a grassy, shoulder and rested her forehead on the steering wheel.
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