Marshall's Law

by Denise A. Agnew

  “What kind of sounds exactly?” he asked.

  Her chair made an obnoxious protest as she turned it so she could observe his purposeful stride. Eight big steps one way, eight big steps back. Eight big steps one way, eight big steps back.

  “I’m going to get hypnotized watching you do that. Would you mind taking a seat?”

  He increased his pace. “I think better this way.” He came to an abrupt halt, leaned against the wall, cocked one booted foot across his ankle and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops.

  She gulped. Good thing he wore that flannel shirt. If he’d stood there in that tight T-shirt—

  “What kinds of sounds?” he asked, jerking her back to the real world.

  She couldn’t say it. Come on, Dana. You aren’t a blushing teen talking to a boy in high school. Spit it out.

  When she didn’t answer fast enough, he walked toward her and rested his hands on the arms of her chair. She leaned back, inhaling a quick, startled breath.

  “What are you trying to hide from me? Maybe you know something about the sounds?” The query came filled with subtle, sensual nuances that caused his voice to vibrate in his chest and made her tingle in places that shouldn’t be tingling.

  In defense she crossed her arms. “Of course I’m not hiding anything.” When he glared, she took the plunge and elaborated. “You have heard people having sex before, haven’t you, Marshall? Gasps. Sighs.” She shrugged. “Grunts. Moans. She said it’s like people having sex, and they never get to…you know.”

  A thunderstorm seemed to build in his eyes, but not the kind that promised rage. The type that guaranteed sinful, daring pleasures. She’d never seen a man look at her this way. Predatory and intense all at once, ready to eat her alive. No mistaking that look.

  His lips parted and she stared at his mouth.

  “No, I don’t know,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

  A tiny, rebellious corner of her almost refused to speak. What could he do to her anyway? Spank her?

  A hot blush swept into her face. Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. Marshall’s devouring gaze cruised over her face. His attention landed on her lips.

  Crazy arousal spiraled through her, and she leaned forward until they almost touched noses. Dana couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so out of control and so turned on all at once. Hell, she’d never felt this way before. “These…these horny ghosts or whoever they are never get to finish—”

  “Coming?”

  Her entire body felt like it might go up in flames. Oh man! Why couldn’t he have said something like climaxing? Did he have to use a word that described the nitty gritty?

  “Yeah. That’s it,” she said, licking her lips and swallowing hard. She slumped in the chair.

  He backed up so fast, it was like someone had poked him with a live power line. Returning to his desk, he settled down. “What else?”

  Glad he’d moved on to another subject, she turned her chair around. When she glanced at him she wanted to curse. The damned man looked as cool as a glacier. No sign at all that he’d appeared less than two minutes ago like he might go thermonuclear.

  “Apparently a day or two later she heard noises outside the house. Rustling bushes, thuds, thumps. Things like that.”

  “Could have been the wind.”

  “That’s what I thought. Then she heard my uncle, my long dead Uncle Brent, talking to her after she went to bed.”

  “Dreams?”

  “Maybe.”

  After a lengthy pause he asked, “That’s all she told you and your mother?”

  “She said things moved around the house. She’d get up in the morning and things weren’t where she’d left them the night before. Nothing major, just items she always left in a certain place.”

  “Like a toothbrush?”

  “Her dental floss, actually.”

  “Whatever.”

  His gruff tone didn’t surprise her, but she hadn’t recovered from the meltdown she’d experienced a few minutes ago. Her brain felt like oatmeal processed through a blender. Frustration, excitement and fear all made grits out of her thought processes. At least when she let them. All you gotta do is imagine him ugly. He has a huge wart on his nose and—

  She forced herself to focus. “It isn’t much to go on, and from what Mom has described to me, all of these things could be the wind, hallucinations, loneliness. Who knows what? Anyway, I needed a vacation, so I said I’d visit Aunt Lucille and see if I could figure out what is going on.”

  He snatched a pen from the holder again and started an annoying tap on the blotter. Her head throbbed, and she wondered if she should have gone to the doctor. At least she wouldn’t be here now with this pain-in-the-patootie, flannel-wearing, boot-stomping, hairy beast of a man.

  “There is one thing that has me worried, though. I’m wondering if maybe all her troubles are my fault,” she said.

  He scowled. “Why would you think that?”

  “There’s a scene in my book that corresponds to the occurrences she’s described.” Dana winced, wondering if she could regurgitate the words without turning another shade of crimson. “The heroine in Shades of Darkness hears people having sex in her basement.”

  This time he really did look disbelieving. “Let me guess. On a heart-shaped bed.”

  She pointed at him with an affirmative index finger. “You got it.”

  Seconds passed while he contemplated the top of the desk. When he looked up she didn’t see amusement, but inquisitiveness. So she continued.

  “She’s had the bed forever. She’s only been in the new house awhile and decided that she wanted to move the monstrosity into the basement.”

  “Then you wrote the scene where the heroine hears people having sex, and then after Lucille reads your book she hears the same thing in her basement.”

  “Why would she hear it months and months after she read the book?”

  Marshall’s big shoulders rose and then dropped. “Never can tell how people’s minds work.”

  “So has Aunt Lucille called the cops out to her house?”

  “Three times. I investigated once, two other cops investigated the other times.”

  “I’d have thought an Undersheriff had far more important things to do than go out on prowler calls.”

  “Generally I do. But I like Lucille, and we’re friends.”

  Dana didn’t want to like his answer, but she did. “I’m impressed, Marshall.”

  She wanted to find Aunt Lucille, alive and in one piece, call her friend Kerrie and collapse on a bed and sleep. Preferably not a heart-shaped bed. She’d have dreams all night.

  A small smile escaped to her lips, and then she stood. “I’ve got to go. It’s been one long day, my head is killing me, and your coffee tastes like motor oil.”

  She didn’t get far. A wave of sickening dizziness assaulted her, and she gasped. As she reached for the chair back, she closed her eyes.

  “What the—” Marshall came around the desk in a rush.

  Before he could reach her, the lights went out.

  Dana Cummings will probably sue me. And Sheriff Pizer will have my ass for lunch. The thought ran through Marshall’s head as he paced the waiting room. He jammed his hands into his pockets and stalked behind a row of chairs. Several people in the waiting room threw him curious glances.

  CNN played on the small television tucked high into a corner. A reporter squawked about some social injustice in a land most people hadn’t heard of.

  Marshall didn’t care. In his world one person mattered right this moment. Worry made him wonder if he’d lost his mind during his dip in the river.

  A flash of Dana, running along as he dragged her through Lucille’s house, came into his mind. She’d had a strange courage all wrapped up in her fear. Timid but brave. Soft but resilient. He shook his head and stared out of the window. Way to go, Marshall. Trying to get in trouble again? Aren’t two broken hearts enough?

  “Brennan?” The soft query issued from th
e end the hall, and he spun around.

  Jenny Pizer. Sheriff Pizer’s twenty-two-year-old daughter would make most men pause on a street corner, then walk right in front of a speeding car. Most men. Not him. Spirals of long, blonde hair flowed down her back and touched her hips. Her green cat eyes sparkled with interest, but not with warmth. Her smile always looked seductive and promised pleasures untapped. He’d never entertained the idea of asking her out; her youth and immaturity had hit him square between the eyes.

  Marshall didn’t say anything, and she strode toward him. He noticed her long, black wool tunic and matching leggings that curved along her long legs. She was petite and pretty. Yeah, a nice piece of work, but not for him.

  He’d tried two lithe, succulent blondes like Jenny before and both experiments had almost ripped out his heart. As she strode toward him, he assumed she’d been on volunteer status in the executive director’s office. She wouldn’t work a position requiring that she get her hands dirty, but hobnobbing with big wigs appealed to her.

  “Evening, Jenny.”

  “Good evening.”

  Jenny’s murmur of greeting drifted like soft snow, and he knew more than one man had probably heard that purr against his ear. Gossip said half the males in town had touched, tasted and taken her. He didn’t need to listen to talk to know what people said rang true. Marshall had seen her in action trying to seduce men at parties.

  Not that you’ve been to many parties lately, old boy. No, he hadn’t in the last few months, feeling himself close up in ways he didn’t understand. Time went by and he didn’t see light breaking over the horizon anytime soon.

  “Brennan?”

  He realized she’d been talking to him and he’d missed what she’d said. “Sorry. I drifted off.”

  Her mouth twitched. “Thanks.”

  “Sorry.” He hated saying it again.

  “I heard you saved a life today.” She pushed back a wide swath of curls from the side of her face. “Two lives. A boy and a woman. A burglar, no less.”

  “I didn’t save the woman. She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when the tornado hit and I was there too.”

  “Lucille Metcalf’s house?”

  Tension seeped along his shoulders, and he felt a deep ache start in one muscle. He rolled his shoulders to relieve the tightness, but it didn’t work. “Your father tell you that?”

  A tiny smile curved her full mouth. “Word gets around quick at our house.” She reached up and brushed her fingers over his shoulder. “Were you hurt? Is that why you’re here?”

  Impatience drew his mouth into a hard line. “The woman passed out in my office. She’s in the examining room right now.”

  “So?”

  So? He felt the cold blast like refrigerated air. “I feel responsible.”

  “Oh? So she’s a suspect? I mean, Dad said something about her trying to break into Lucille’s house.”

  “She’s Lucille’s niece.”

  “Lucille’s niece tried to break into her house?” The incredulous tone added to her cool façade, an icy beauty that he knew would freeze a man if he got close. “That’s despicable.”

  “Guess your father didn’t tell you the whole story.” He wondered if she’d run to the gossips in town and spill the information. “She’s just visiting her aunt, and the key her aunt left for her didn’t work. No burglary involved.”

  “Oh.”

  Jenny’s habit of tagging “oh” onto many of her sentences grated on his nerves. He didn’t have the inclination or the desire to have nice-nice conversation with her.

  “We haven’t seen you around the house much lately,” she said.

  What could he say? “I’ve been busy.”

  “You’re always busy.”

  Jenny’s words sounded hard and final. He’d known from the moment she came into view a few years back as a teenager that she wanted something from him. He’d seen it coming for a long time and tried to ignore it. Her subtle smiles and touches, designed to seem casual, held a blatant message. Marshall didn’t want her or want her to like him. After all these years she hadn’t taken the hint.

  “Yeah, I am. And I’m always going to be busy, Jenny.”

  “I’m just trying to be friendly. I admire a man who saves lives.” She attempted a smile and it looked more like a leer before she dipped her head. A cascade of curls covered her expression for a moment. “I’ve always admired you.”

  When Jenny looked up, her shy grin had transformed to pure seduction. Her gaze devoured his face, shoulders and down until her message came through like a bullhorn. She liked his body. She wanted his body.

  He said nothing, aware of their location. He filled his mind with the realization that Dana Cummings had looked at him like that when he’d stripped off his shirt. A quicker look, but there, nonetheless. No way, Marshall. Dana Cummings doesn’t want you anymore than you want Jenny. You imagined it all.

  Jenny started to turn, then looked back. “You’re a hard man, Brennan. I hope someday you learn to soften up. If you don’t, you might regret it.”

  With that parting shot she left. Relief made its way through his body like a sinuous snake, traversing his veins and relaxing him. Marshall glanced at his watch and impatience renewed. Too long. If he didn’t hear news about Dana soon, he’d march into the examining room and find out for himself.

  “Did you scare the ever loving stuffing out of that girl, Brennan Marshall?”

  Dana heard her aunt’s strident voice before she saw her. Not quite awake, not quite unconscious, she listened to the conversation.

  “Lucille—”

  “Don’t give me any flack, young man.”

  “She’s a lot tougher than that. I doubt she scares easily.”

  “You don’t know the kind of effect you can have on people when you get all puffed up like one of those…those…those puffer fishes.”

  “What?”

  Marshall’s baffled question made Dana smile. Ah, yes. That’s Aunt Lucille. So urbane. So witty.

  “If you guys are going to argue, can you keep it down?” Dana asked, opening her eyes and glancing around her hospital room. “I seem to have some sort of hangover.”

  The small, private room, painted an unusual soothing blue, surprised her. Fancy that. This place was almost better than her hotel in Casper, by golly by George.

  Lucille squealed and grabbed Dana’s left arm so hard, Dana echoed her aunt’s exclamation with another noise. “Ow!”

  Tall, well-proportioned, and youthful looking for a seventy-year-old woman, Aunt Lucille pressed Dana’s arm again and gave her a teary-eyed smile. Lucille’s bright lime pants suit hurt Dana’s eyes. Marshall stood at the foot of the bed, wary observation and concern in his gaze.

  “Hi, Aunt Lucille. Where were you hiding during the storm? I came to the house, your car was in the garage, I couldn’t get inside the house, and…” She took a quick look at Marshall. “This guy showed up.”

  “Oh, darling, I wasn’t hiding. My friend Linda had picked me up earlier for shopping and we were on the way home. We’d stopped at Mr. Kramer’s camera shop because I know he has a basement. When the tornado was over I came home and saw Bertha sitting there alone and then the back door was broken open and you weren’t there. I was never so frightened in all my life.”

  “I know. I mean, sorry about the door. Marshall here had to do some quick thinking.”

  Aunt Lucille gave him a bleary smile. “Thank goodness for Marshall.”

  Amazing. Minutes ago Aunt Lucille reamed him for scaring the daylights out of me, and now she grinned at him like a schoolgirl. Ohmigosh. Aunt Lucille isn’t falling for the big doofus, is she?

  Marshall approached the other side of the bed at a crawl, almost as if he expected Dana to bite. Come to think of it, I just might nip him if he gives me any more flack.

  Dana smiled instead, deciding to lure him into a false sense of security. “So sheriff, what brings you here?”

  His worry appear
ed to dissipate and transform into annoyed. When he didn’t speak, Dana glanced at Lucille. “He never shuts up.”

  Marshall glared. “Is she delirious? Maybe I should have Eric come back in here.”

  Aunt Lucille’s face creased into wrinkles as she smiled. She patted Dana’s hand. “She’s going to be fine.” She touched Dana’s brow with warm fingers, then closed her eyes. “Oh, yes. She’s getting better already. She’s just had a humdinger of a day and needs rest.”

  Dana had seen her aunt do this before, and glanced over at Marshall. He didn’t look surprised. “She’s doing a scan.”

  Marshall started pacing. He put his hands on his hips.

  Lucille’s eyes popped open, and she took her hand away. “Hmm. I think I know what’s wrong. It’s more than exhaustion and injury. You’re having trouble with your writing. Of course, I knew that already. This is something else.”

  Marshall stopped his infernal pacing. “She has a concussion, that’s what’s wrong.” He crossed to the side of the bed. “When you fainted you collapsed so fast, I almost didn’t catch you in time.”

  Even with a leftover headache, the idea of him holding her sent unwelcome bolts of pleasure through Dana’s stomach. Oops. Can’t have that, now can we? “Don’t worry, Marshall. I’m not going to sue.”

  He plowed onward. “You could have cracked your skull wide open. Now you understand why I wanted you to see a doctor.”

  Dana gave him her best nonchalant face. “Jeez, I’ll bet you’re fun to wake up to in the morning.”

  Silence covered the room, and Dana had the distinct pleasure of seeing his face turn red. Somehow, she didn’t think embarrassment could be the cause. Nope. This time he looked ready to string her up and fry her over a pit of hot coals.

  “Brennan is a dear, but he can be scary sometimes.” Aunt Lucille squeezed her arm again. Dana thought she might have a bruise there if she kept it up.

  “Oh, give me a break.” Marshall made that male rumbling sound that women recognize as universal. “I wanted her to go to the hospital, but no. She blew it off. Now she’s lying in this bed.”

  He jammed both hands through his hair and looked like he might let out a Tarzan-inspired yell of frustration. When he waved a dismissing hand and stomped out, Dana didn’t experience the satisfaction she’d expected.