by Diana Palmer
He bent and brushed his mouth softly over her lips, smiling as they parted for him now. “So are you,” he whispered, standing up straight. “I have to sign some contracts for Max. I’ll be back in a few minutes. TV control’s on the bedside table,” he indicated. “We have pay-per-view. Help yourself. I’ll have Mrs. Lewis bring you something to eat in a little while.”
“Mrs. Lewis? I thought she worked for the Hart brothers.”
“She did, but she had to retire just recently from doing heavy housework. Her arthritis got steadily worse and she had to leave them. But her doctor found a new drug that works. She still can’t do heavy work, but she cooks for me three days a week.”
She studied him curiously. “What do you do the other four days?”
He grinned. “I eat Italian.”
“We don’t have an Italian restaurant,” she began.
“Tony the Dancer can cook,” he told her. “He makes the best lasagna I’ve ever eaten.”
She laughed. “He doesn’t look like a cook.”
“He doesn’t look like a lot of things. Amuse yourself until I get Max out of here. I’ll be back soon.”
“Okay.”
He winked at her and closed the door on his way out.
“Are you out of your mind?” Max raged. “The girl’s poor! She’s just after your money!”
He slid his hands deep into his pockets and glared back at her. “And you discovered that after exchanging two sentences with her, did you?”
Her lips tautened. “You can’t get involved with the locals, Jared. You know that, and you know why.”
He cocked his head and stared at her intently. “Why are you here?” he asked abruptly. “I can sign contracts at your office in Oklahoma City if I have to. I can’t think of a single good reason for you to be underfoot.”
Her eyes avoided his. “You’re vulnerable right now. You might get involved with someone you’d walk away from if things were normal.”
“I pay you a king’s ransom of a retainer to look out for my business interests,” he said, emphasizing the business. “You start poking your nose into my private life and I’ll replace you with a man. After,” he added deliberately, “I send a letter of explanation to the Oklahoma Bar Association.”
Her anger was gone at once. She pulled herself together. “You’re right, I was out of line.”
“What contracts are we discussing, then?”
She seemed oddly disoriented. One hand went to her temple and she frowned. “You know, I can’t remember.”
“Then why don’t you go back to your office and think about it?” he suggested.
She sighed. “Okay. But it’s still not good sense to trust people you don’t know too far,” she added.
He didn’t reply.
She went into the living room and picked up her attaché case. She laughed self-consciously. “I really just wanted to see how you were,” she confessed.
“I’m fine.”
“Take care of yourself.”
He didn’t answer that statement, either. He just stared at her with dark, brooding eyes until she went toward the front door.
“You’ll call, if you need anything?” she asked at the door.
“If I need legal advice,” he emphasized, “I will.”
She grimaced. The door closed firmly behind her.
Jared stared into space as he wondered how he’d missed that possessiveness in Max. Had it been there all along, or was it just starting? She knew he didn’t want involvement. He’d said so. Why had she come? Had she been checking up on him and found out about Sara?
He turned toward his study, still deep in thought. She did have a point, about Sara. He knew almost nothing about her.
Tony the Dancer came in with a bag of groceries. He paused at the open study door.
“I met a stretch limo on my way back,” he told Jared. “Was it Max?”
He nodded.
“What was she doing here?” he asked.
“God knows,” Jared replied curtly. “Warning me off Sara, I guess.”
“I thought it would come to that,” Tony mused. “Max likes to live high, and she doesn’t make quite enough to suit her tastes.”
“Obviously. Her office had better be paying for that limo,” he added. “I’m not picking up the tab.”
“You should tell Arthur,” the other man advised, naming the elderly accountant who lived in and took care of the accounts.
“I will. You cooking?”
“Unless you want to try again,” Tony said warily. “I’m still trying to scrape the scrambled eggs off that iron skillet.”
“You didn’t say I had to grease it first,” he growled.
Tony just shook his head. “How’s the kid?” he asked, nodding toward the hall.
“She’s a grown woman,” Jared countered. “She’s fine.”
Grown woman? Tony wondered if his employer really thought that innocent in his spare bed was fair game. She put on a good front with Jared, but Tony could see through the camouflage, and he knew things that his boss didn’t. He wondered if he should mention what he knew to the other man, but the phone rang and Jared picked up the receiver. Tony thought it must be fate, and he went off into the kitchen to cook.
Sara fussed when Mrs. Lewis had to come all that way to serve her a bowl of soup and a salad.
“I can walk, honestly,” she protested gently. “You don’t have to wait on me.”
Mrs. Lewis just grinned as she slid the tray onto Sara’s lap. “It isn’t any trouble, dear. Tony will pick this up. I have to get back home. My sister’s coming over to visit.” She chuckled. “Tony’s making supper for you and the boss tonight. He walked in with enough Italian sausage and tomato sauce to float a battleship.”
Now Sara remembered that Tony cooked Italian dishes for his boss. The big man didn’t look like anybody’s idea of a chef. She said as much to the older woman.
Mrs. Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Danzetta is in a class of his own as a cook. I can do basic meals, but he has a flair for improvising. He saved me a plate of spaghetti just after I came to work here. It was the best I ever tasted.”
“I never thought of a bodyguard as being a cook,” Sara commented.
The older woman glanced at the open door and moved a little closer. “He wears an automatic pistol under his jacket,” she said softly. “I watched out the kitchen window while he was practicing with it. He stuck pennies in clothespins and strung the clothespins on an old wire that was used for a clothesline years ago. And in a heartbeat,” she added, “he’d picked off the pennies without touching the clothespins.”
Sara’s eyes grew wide. “I’m going to make sure that I never tick him off,” she murmured aloud.
“He’s pretty handy with martial arts, too,” Mrs. Lewis added. “He spars with Mr. Cameron.”
She hesitated with the soup halfway to her mouth in a spoon. “Mr. Cameron does martial arts?”
Mrs. Lewis nodded. “Tony said he’d never met a man he couldn’t throw until he started working here.”
“And here I thought Mr. Cameron hired Tony because he didn’t want to get his hands dirty.”
“Tony isn’t quite what he seems,” the older woman said quietly. “And neither is his boss. They’re both very secretive. And they know Cy Parks and Eb Scott.”
That was interesting, because Cy and Eb were part of a group of professional soldiers who’d fought all over the world. Several of the old group lived either in Jacobs County or in Houston and San Antonio.
“Well, that sounds very mysterious, doesn’t it?” Sara murmured as she sipped the hot liquid. “This is wonderful soup, Mrs. Lewis. I can’t make potato soup, but I love to eat it.”
The older woman beamed. “I’m glad you like it.”
Sara paused, thinking. “Mr. Cameron was in a huddle with Chief Grier at the symphony concert,” she recalled. “They looked very solemn.”
“Gossip says that a new group is trying to establish a drug smuggling ne
twork through here again.”
“That might explain the serious faces,” Sara replied. “Our police chief has solved a lot of drug cases, and made a lot of enemies to go with them.”
“Good for him,” Mrs. Lewis responded. “I hope they lock them all up.”
Sara grinned. “Me, too.” She shifted and groaned, touching her stomach under the floppy blouse she was wearing with jeans. “How can a little thing like an appendix cause so much trouble?” she wondered.
“You’re lucky you were able to get to a phone,” the older woman said gently. “People have died of appendicitis.”
Sara nodded. She looked around the pretty blue room. “Mr. Cameron and I agreed that we’d be each others’ families when we got sick, but I never expected to take him up on the offer this soon.”
“He’s a surprising person, isn’t he?” she asked. “He seems so cold and distant when you meet him. But he’s not like that at all when you get to know him. You wouldn’t believe what he did to Mr. Danzetta…”
“And you can stop right there while you still have work,” Jared said from the doorway. He sounded stern, but his eyes were twinkling.
Mrs. Lewis made a face at him. “I was only humanizing you for Sara, so she wouldn’t think you were really an ogre…” She stopped and clapped a hand over her mouth and blushed.
“It’s all right,” Sara assured her between mouthfuls of soup. “I did used to call him an ogre, but he improves on closer acquaintance.” She grinned at Jared.
He pursed his lips and looked pointedly at her mouth. She almost dropped her spoon, and he laughed softly.
“Well, if you don’t need me for anything else, I’m going home,” Mrs. Lewis told him. “Mr. Danzetta’s got stuff to make supper.”
“I saw the sack full of tomatoes and tomato sauce,” Jared replied. “He’s planted tomatoes out behind the house in what used to be a kitchen garden. Tomatoes, oregano, chives, sage and about twenty other spices I never heard of.”
“He doesn’t look like a gardener,” Sara commented.
Jared didn’t answer her. She didn’t need to know about Tony just yet.
“He planted poppies in the flower garden,” Mrs. Lewis said with obvious concern.
“He likes flowers,” Jared began.
“You don’t understand,” Mrs. Lewis persisted. “He didn’t plant California poppies. He planted the other kind.”
He frowned. “What’s your point?”
“We’re barely inside the city limits,” she said, “but the fact is, we are inside them. When they begin to bloom, Chief Grier will send one of his officers out here to pull them up.”
Jared didn’t mention that he’d like to see anyone do that with Tony watching. “Why?”
“They’re opium poppies,” Mrs. Lewis emphasized.
He whistled. “I’ll bet Tony didn’t realize it.”
“Better tell him,” Mrs. Lewis replied. “Before he gets in trouble with the law.”
He was going to say that it was way too late for that, but he didn’t dare. “I’ll talk to him,” he said.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Get better, dear,” Mrs. Lewis added with a smile for Sara.
“I heal fast,” Sara replied, grinning. “Thanks.”
Jared went out to make some phone calls and Sara finished her soup and dozed off. When she opened her eyes again, it was getting dark outside. She hadn’t thought about nightclothes, but it was obvious now that she’d arrived with only her purse and the clothes she’d had on when they transported her to the hospital. She didn’t have anything to sleep in.
There was a wonderful smell of spices drifting down the hall. Seconds later, Tony stuck his head in the door.
“You like spaghetti?” he asked.
“I love it,” she replied, smiling.
He smiled back. “I’m just about to take up the pasta,” he said. “It fell off the wall when I threw it there, so it’s got about two minutes left before it’s al dente.”
“Al who?” she asked.
He glowered at her. “Al dente,” he repeated. “Just right for the teeth. When you throw it at the wall and it sticks, it’s just right to…”
“What the hell have you done to my kitchen wall?” came a roar from down the hall.
“I have to check that the pasta’s ready!” Tony called to him.
Jared stomped down the hall, glaring at his bodyguard. “You’ve got streaks all over the damned paint!”
“They wipe off, boss,” Tony assured him. “Honest.”
“You couldn’t just stick a strand of it in your mouth and chew it to see if it’s ready?” Jared grumbled.
Tony’s eyebrows arched. “Who bit you?” he asked.
Jared’s face was like iron. He looked furious. “The bread’s burning.”
Tony rushed back down the hall without another word.
Jared glared at Sara. “Harley Fowler’s in the living room. He stopped by to see about you.”
“That’s nice of him.”
“Nice.” His green eyes were glaring. “I don’t have time to run a hospital complete with visiting hours,” he muttered.
She flushed with embarrassment. She hadn’t expected Harley to come looking for her.
Jared backstepped at her expression. She’d just had surgery and he was acting like a jealous boyfriend. He caught himself and tried to relax. It didn’t work. Harley was poaching on his preserves. “I’ll send him in. Don’t encourage him to stay long or drop in unexpectedly again without calling first.”
“I won’t,” she began, but he was already halfway down the hall before she got the words out. She felt terrible. She was imposing on him. She should never have suggested that they take care of each other when they got sick. It was apparent that Jared already regretted agreeing to it.
Harley didn’t look much better than Sara did. His lips were compressed and he was carrying his wide-brimmed Western straw hat.
“How’re you doing?” he asked.
She sighed. “I’m feeling much better,” she said.
“You don’t look it. Why don’t I phone Lisa and see if you can stay with her and Cy until you’re back on your feet?” he suggested.
“I really don’t need looking after,” she replied. She felt uneasy. “Harley, do you think you could drive me to my house?” she added in a low voice.
He scowled. “You’re not well enough to look after yourself, Sara. You won’t even be able to lift a gallon of milk until that incision heals.”
“I don’t drink milk and I want to go home.” She pulled herself off the bed, grimacing because it hurt. Jared had her pain capsules, but she’d be damned if she was going to ask him for them. It was clear that he didn’t want her here.
She moved to the foot of the bed. She’d forgotten that Jared had carried her down the hall. Walking it was going to be an ordeal, and she didn’t dare ask Harley to carry her, although she knew he would if she asked.
Harley’s arm shot out and caught her as she began to weave. “Here, you’re not able to do this, Sara,” he said firmly.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Jared walked right around Harley, picked Sara up and put her back in the bed. “Stay there,” he said shortly.
She flushed again. “I will not! I just asked Harley to drive me home.”
Jared felt his height decrease. “You’re not able to stay by yourself yet.”
“I am so,” she retorted.
Jared glared at Harley as if the whole thing was his fault.
“You’ll take her out of this house over my dead body,” Jared told the younger man. He said it very softly, but it was a threat. Harley had seen eyes like that over the barrel of a gun. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
“I’m in the way here,” Sara interrupted, sitting up. She winced and held her incision with her fingertips. “I’ve got frozen TV dinners and I need to get back and take care of Morris, anyway!”
“I fed the cat today,” Tony the Dancer said f
rom the doorway. He was wearing a huge white apron and holding a slotted spoon. He frowned. “Something wrong here?” he queried when he tallied up the taut faces.
“She’s trying to escape,” Jared muttered.
“Hey, don’t you listen to him,” Tony said firmly, pointing the spoon at Jared. “It was only the one time I dropped baking soda in the sauce by accident. This sauce is perfect. You don’t need to run away on account of my cooking.”
“You cook?” Harley exclaimed, looking at the tall, muscular man with the olive complexion and wavy black hair in a ponytail. He looked as dangerous as Jared Cameron. And Harley had reason to know what dangerous men looked like.
Tony glared at him. “Yeah. I cook. What’s it to you?”
Harley actually moved back a step. “Nothing at all!”
“Lots of men cook,” Tony said belligerently. He glanced back at Sara and frowned. She was near tears and she wouldn’t look at Jared. Tony’s threatening expression melted into concern. He moved to the side of the bed. “I made you a nice apple strudel for dessert,” he coaxed, “with freshly whipped cream.”
She bit her lower lip. “You’re so nice, Tony,” she said, trying to sound normal even as her lower lip quivered.
“Here, hold this.” Tony put the spoon in Jared’s hand and sat down beside Sara, tugging her gently against him so that he wouldn’t hurt her. A hand the size of a ham rested against her back, covering almost half of it comfortingly as he drew her head to his broad shoulder. “Now, now, it’s all right,” he said softly.
She bawled. Jared and Harley glared daggers at the big man, but neither of them said a word.
Harley shifted on his feet. “Sara, I’ve got to get back home. You call me if you need anything, okay?” he added with a speaking glance at Jared.
“I will,” Sara said in a thin, sad voice. “Thanks.”
“No problem. See you.”
He hated leaving her, but the whole situation was getting out of hand. That big fellow who cooked wasn’t going to let Jared Cameron hurt Sara in any way. Harley knew she’d be safe, or he wouldn’t have budged.
Jared walked out of the room behind him, totally disgusted, still carrying the spoon.