He let out a chuckle as he braked behind the big truck that was permanently blocking the driveway and went around it on the grass.
"I can't do that," she remarked, wincing as she saw the ditch barely two inches from the passenger-side tires. "I just know I'll run off into that gully if I try."
"With that attitude, you would." He pulled up at the front porch. It was strangely deserted. "Why does Cash hate models?" he asked her bluntly.
She hesitated. But her loyalty to Judd was stronger than her loyalty to Cash. "His stepmother was one," she told him. "She split up his family."
"Tough."
She nodded. "He can chew up ten penny nails, too," she offered.
He didn't smile. His hand reached out and tugged at a long wisp of blond hair that had escaped from her bun. "You should be wearing pretty clothes and hanging out at the mall."
She made an insulting noise. "Don't stereotype me."
His eyebrows arched. "Was I? I thought young women your age liked those things."
"I like bulls," she said. "Beautiful Salers bulls and young Hereford bulls, and crossbreed calves that other ranchers would envy, raised organically."
He shook his head.
"So do you," she pointed out.
He chuckled. "Maybe I do." He twisted the soft hair around his thumb and studied it. His whole face clenched. He hesitated, but only until he saw the quiet compassion in her expression. "This victim was just twenty-five," he said abruptly. "She was pregnant. She was lying in the dirt, off the highway in tall grass. She looked so alone, so vulnerable, so helpless, lying there nude except for a ripped blouse. She'd been stabbed repeatedly and mutilated as if the person who did it hated her femininity. I wouldn't have told her husband how bad it was, but the media reported every gory detail. He ended up being sedated in the hospital."
Ignoring the certainty that she shouldn't touch him, involuntarily her fingers touched the strong hand holding her hair. "You'll catch the guy who did it," she said firmly.
He cocked an eyebrow. "Guy?"
"She was found in a ditch, and the crime scene was ritualistic. Her hair was haloed around her head, she was lying with her face up and her eyes open in a spread-eagled position. There was a handful of dirt in her mouth. Everyone in law enforcement said that it had all the earmarks of a vengeance killing, as if the killer hated her. Could it be a serial murder? Most serial killers are white men between the ages of twenty and thirty-five, loners, they..."
"Good Lord!" he muttered. "How do you know that?"
"Cash has been keeping me posted and I've read all about the crime scene. I like to read about profiling, too," she said. "And there are lots of these real-life detective shows on TV about how murders are solved. Since I know somebody in the business of catching crooks, it doesn't hurt to know a little."
He laughed. "Not scared I'll come home in a box one night?"
Her fingers caressed his strong hand. "You can take care of yourself," she said softly. "You're quick-witted, and you don't trust people." She sighed. "But I do say a lot of prayers when you're working on a case like this."
He smiled tenderly at her. "That's nice."
She wrinkled her nose. "Just don't get shot, okay? Or if you do, get shot just a little."
"I'll do my best," he promised.
She searched his black eyes slowly. "My quality of life would diminish without you. Even if you marry some hotshot international model."
Both eyebrows went up. "Marry?"
"Right. Dirty word." She removed her fingers. "God forbid you should ever put on a ring that isn't attached to a grenade or something." She reached for the door handle.
He caught her by the nape of the neck and pulled her face firmly but gently under his. "I'm already married," he whispered, just as his hard mouth covered hers fiercely for a brief moment. He let her go and moved out of the truck while she was still recovering from the shock.
He opened her door and lifted her down by the waist, holding her in front of him for a few smoldering seconds. "Don't get too involved with Grier. We're not going to be married for much longer, but I'm still going to feel responsible for you. Grier is a real hard case. He's got a history I can't tell you about. You'd have a better chance of domesticating a wolf."
The part about not being married much longer was disturbing. She tried not to react. What was he saying, something about Grier...
"Cash is my friend," she said.
He drew in a long breath. "He's my friend, too. Sort of. Just...don't get too close to him. He's not quite what he seems."
She smiled up at him. "Okay."
His eyes searched hers hesitantly. They fell to her mouth and averted. He shook her, very gently, before he let go. "I worry about you, too, out here with just Maude and the boys. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to let Cash teach you how to target shoot. Nobody knows more about guns than he does." His chin lifted. "Well, except me," he added in that deep, honied tone that rippled down her backbone like velvet. His powerful body tensed just faintly. "Christabel, are you sure you don't want me to teach you to shoot a pistol?" he added suddenly.
"I don't want to impose on your free time, Judd," she said without making a point of it. "You work hard enough to deserve a little relaxation."
"Are you trying to tell me something?" he asked curiously.
"Not a thing, actually. Except that I know you like to spend your free time with Miss Moore."
His eyes narrowed on her face. "Are you jealous?" he asked in a slow, soft tone, as if he'd only just thought of it as a possibility.
She caught her breath. Her heart was running away, and she couldn't risk betraying how she felt. She didn't want to trap him by making him feel sorry for her.
"It's a paper marriage, Judd, you said so yourself. You can do whatever you like," she added bluntly. She didn't dare add that she was investigating cut fences and poisoned cattle, and that Cash was the only person she could talk to about it. "Let Cash teach me to shoot the pistol. He likes spending time with me."
Now the pause was long and heated. He didn't say another word. But he breathed with such control that she knew he was furious. She didn't know why. It was obvious that he was smitten with Tippy Moore, so why should he care if she got shooting lessons from Cash? Maybe it was a male thing. There were so many male rituals that women never quite understood...
"I won't come in," he said curtly. "I'll see you next week."
"Sure. Thanks for the ride."
She didn't look back as she mounted the porch. She went straight in the front door and tripped over a power cord, falling headfirst into a chair and ruining a scene she didn't realize they'd been shooting.
"Oh, that's just perfect, after the sixteenth take!" the assistant director, Gary Mays, bit off furiously, while the star, Ranee Wayne, and two minor actors in the scene gaped at him. “You stupid, clumsy woman...!"
Christabel pulled herself up with the help of the cameraman and righted herself quickly. She stomped right up to the assistant director and glared up at him. "You listen to me you half-assed, bad-tempered, would-be tyrant, this is my damned living room you're standing in! I've been walking around here on eggshells for days, trying to keep out of the way, and it's not my fault that this place is wired like a minefield with electrical cords! There wasn't even a sign up that said you were working in here! If you want privacy, you make a sign and you use it when you're shooting! And keep a civil tongue in your thick head when you talk to me, do you understand me?"
The assistant director gasped and stumbled over words as the actors, the sound man, the cameraman, and the support crew chuckled audibly.
There was another laugh behind her, deep and slow and appreciative.
"She's got a temper, Gary," Judd told the assistant director. "It doesn't pay to make her lose it."
"So I see." Gary laughed, but without any real humor. "Sorry, Miss Gaines," he murmured reluctantly.
She nodded curtly. "That'll do." She gave Judd a curious glance
, because she hadn't expected him to come into the house. She didn't know that he'd seen her fall and had rushed back in the door to make sure she wasn't hurt. Now, he just looked at her, with an oddly shimmering look in his black eyes.
"We'll put up a sign next time," Gary said, turning away.
"You okay?" Judd asked quietly, moving closer to study her.
She nodded, flattered by his concern. "Just unsettled. I hit light."
He nodded, too. But the way he looked at her was different. New. Unfamiliar.
She puzzled over that look all night long, and never did figure it out.
Tippy Moore was furious, and she didn't pull any punches. She was waiting for Crissy the next morning before the big generators were turned on.
"You tell that...that...small-town excuse for a policeman that I'll wear whatever shoes I like!" she gritted, her green eyes blazing.
Crissy's eyes popped. "Excuse me?"
"I can so walk in them," Tippy continued, unabated. "And he can just not talk to me from now on, forever! I was only being friendly, God knows why!"
She was too surprised to answer. The other woman was fuming.
"I wasn't flirting with him!" Tippy Moore continued. "I was trying to be civil. He made me feel like a case of measles! Well, I'm not interested in some small-town hick cop, not when I can have any man I like! You tell him that!"
Crissy found the woman's response to Cash's attitude curious, to say the least. "Cash doesn't like women," she said, trying to soften the blow. She couldn't tell the model why Cash reacted that way to her, it wasn't her business.
"He likes you" came the sharp reply, followed by a look that plainly shouted "God knows why."
"I'm just a rancher," Crissy said gently. "I don't dress up or flirt or threaten him in any way. We're friends."
The other woman was still angry. "I'll bet you were spoiled rotten as a kid," she muttered absently. "Pampered and fussed over and given anything you ever wanted. Daddy's little treasure," she added sarcastically.
Crissy's face tightened. "You don't get spoiled on a ranch, Miss Moore," she replied coolly. "There isn't time. Everybody pulls his or her weight, or the whole outfit goes on the skids."
"Why does Judd spend so much time here?" she asked.
Crissy's eyebrows arched. "He owns half the ranch. It takes both of us to keep it running, and the only money coming in is what Judd makes—and what we're getting to let you film the movie here."
"So that's why..." Tippy murmured slowly, and actually flushed. "I thought Texas Rangers made a lot of money. They're special."
"More special than you know," Crissy told her, feeling resentful and more than a little protective of her husband. "But they don't make princely salaries, and it takes a lot to ran a cattle ranch."
"Why doesn't he sell out?"
"Because I can't afford to buy him out," she said flatly. "This may not look like much to you, but it's been in my family, and Judd's, for over a hundred years. Neither of us would sell it unless we were starving."
"It's just a piece of dirt with a little grass on it."
Crissy's brown eyes narrowed coldly. "Family matters. Tradition matters. Duty and honor and responsibility matter. Money does not," she added flatly, and with an edge in her voice that was unmistakeable as she gave the model a long and insulting scrutiny.
Tippy lifted her chin haughtily. "Do you love Judd?"
"Judd is my business partner," Crissy began shortly.
"Good. See that you don't get any ideas about him," Tippy added. "I have plans for him."
"As what, your valet?" Crissy asked, too angry to choose her words. "Or do you just collect men as you go along and add them up by the presents you get? One man would never be enough for a woman like you, anyway, I imagine."
Tippy's face froze, her hands clenching at her sides. "You know nothing about me!"
"And you know nothing about me!" came the reply. "Don't ever warn me off Judd again. He and I have known each other since I was in patent leather shoes. Don't think you'll cut me out of his life on an acquaintance of a few weeks, Miss Moore. Judd may be diverted by a pretty face and figure, but he's not stupid. He can see right through the gloss to the ugliness."
Tippy's breath caught. Then she smiled coldly. "If this is a contest, you've already lost," Tippy drawled softly, green eyes flashing. "Judd will do anything I want him to. Money's tight, is it? Then how could he afford to buy me this?"
The model held up her hand and flashed an emerald ring that would have cost in the hundreds, if not thousands. Crissy felt sick at her stomach. Judd wasn't one to buy presents for women, except at Christmas, and that was always something useful rather than frivolous. He'd given Crissy a leather jacket last year. For him to buy something as expensive as that ring, he had to be head over heels in love with the woman.
Crissy didn't say another word. Her heart felt as if it had been shattered. She lowered her eyes and turned away, walking back to the house with her back as straight as an arrow.
Behind her, the redheaded woman grimaced and set her beautiful lips together hard. Tippy actually winced as she watched the young woman walk away with that steely pride visible in her very carriage.
Filming on the ranch ended after a few days, while the crew moved into town for a week to do some shooting there. Christa-bel had the house to herself temporarily—except for the equipment left in place that had to be walked around and the big trucks it belonged in.
Judd didn't come until the next Wednesday, and when he did, he had Tippy with him. Crissy had just saddled her horse and was leading him out of the barn when they drove up at the steps. She was packing a borrowed rifle in the scabbard slung from the pommel and wearing boots and denim jeans and jacket, with a weatherbeaten black Stetson pushed firmly on top of her blond hair.
"Where are you going?" Judd asked as he helped Tippy out of the vehicle. The model was wearing a green silk dress that looked simple and probably cost the earth. Compared to Christa-bel, she was dressed in a queenly manner. The dress matched the emerald and diamond ring Judd had bought her. Its sparkle in the sunlight hit Crissy right in the heart.
"I'm riding fence lines," Christabel told him without inflection. She didn't add that another fence had been cut. Nick had just phoned the house on his cell phone to tell her about it. He and the two part-time boys were still out there, waiting for her.
"In the middle of the day?" Judd asked, scowling as he checked the watch on his wrist. "We came to have lunch with you."
"You can have it with Maude," she told him, moving to swing gracefully into the saddle. "I've got work to do."
"Why aren't you in school today?" he persisted, bothered by her lack of animation.
"My math teacher had a sick child, and my English teacher canceled classes to go to a funeral."
He noted the rifle and scowled. "Why are you packing a gun?"
She gathered the reins close in her gloved hands and glared down at him. Tippy was standing close at his side. Too close.
"I always carry a rifle," she said. "The men spotted a wolf," she lied.
"You can't shoot it," Judd said shortly. "It's against the law."
"I do know that," she replied tersely, "but I can shoot at its heels and frighten it off if it threatens the cattle " Her face was flushed with bad temper.
"Have you eaten?"
Heavens, he was persistent. "I had breakfast," she told him. "I don't usually eat lunch anyway. I've got to go."
She turned the horse, without acknowledging or even looking at Tippy, and rode off before he had time for another word.
"I don't like this," he muttered. "Something's up. She's not herself."
The model clutched his arm and forced a smile. "I really could eat something, Judd," she said. "Come on. Teenagers have these mood swings. I did, when I was her age."
"She's twenty years old. Almost twenty-one."
That was a shock. Tippy had thought the woman was a lot younger. It altered h
er perceptions of her rival. The ring she was wearing had hurt Crissy. She shouldn't care, of course...
"That's still not very old," Tippy added. "She's at the age where she can get over things easily," she said, more for her own benefit than his. "Come on. Feed me."
He was watching Christabel ride away, and he felt empty. She hadn't met his eyes. She hadn't smiled at him. And why would she need a rifle? In fact, why was she riding fence alone?
He wanted answers. The minute he got Tippy back to the location set in town he was going to get them out of Christabel.
Crissy found their foreman Nick, and Brad, one of their three part-time men, kneeling beside a bull in the pasture where the new fence had been cut.
Fearing the worst, she swung out of the saddle and knelt beside the bull. It was a Hereford bull, but the best one she had. It was dead.
"Damn it!" she cursed.
"I'm sorry," Nick told her. "I thought these bulls would be safe. I should have known better."
"It's not your fault, Nick. But this time, I'm getting answers. I want a vet out here, right now, and a blood sample taken. If this bull was poisoned like the others, I want proof. I'll quit school and get a job to pay him if I have to."
"I'll phone the vet right now," Nick assured her.
She patted the young bull's head and could have cried. She'd had such hopes for him in their new crossbreed program. He looked so helpless, so vulnerable, like that. Involuntarily, she remembered what Judd had told her about the human murder victim.
She got up and went to the fence, checking where it was cut. The method was the same on the two previous cut fences. The same person. She sighed with helpless fury. Someone was trying to put them out of business. It had to be Jack Clark. But how in the world was she going to prove it?
Nick got off the phone and came back to her. “The vet said he'll be over about five. He'll phone me when he's on the way. We should get photos of the cut fence," he added. "I saved the other wire, just like you asked. That should be photographed, too. And you should tell Judd, or at least the sheriff's department," he said firmly. "It isn't safe for you to be riding out here alone, now, even with a rifle."
She knew he was right, but it hurt to admit it. Not that she was going to do what he said. "I'll get one of the men to ride fence with me from now on," she lied convincingly.
Books By Diana Palmer Page 340