by Diana Palmer
She told herself that it was a start. All she had to do was convince him that smiling
used fewer muscles than scowling did, and that laughter was good for the soul. It
might change his life.
HE TOOK HER TO JACOBSVILLE via Houston. The plane trip was uncomfortable, even
though he'd purchased first-class tickets, against her wishes. He hadn't wanted
people to stare at her. There were fewer people to do it in the front seats, and the stew
ard and stewardess were discreet.
Tippy still felt the aftereffects of her concussion—confusion and headaches—and
some chest congestion from the bruised ribs. He'd worried about flying her out, but
after examining her the doctor had told Cash it would be better to fly than subject
her to hours in a car even with frequent stops.
Judd Dunn met them at the Jacobsville airport. He met Tippy with a grimace and
then a smile.
"I know, you think it looks bad, but you're going to be your old self again in no
time," Judd assured her with a dark-eyed smile. He was out of uniform and Cash
noted it. "It's my day off," he reminded Cash. "I've left Lieutenant Palmer in charge."
"Palmer and not Barrett?" Cash remarked, because the men were both veterans
and capable leaders.
"It's Barrett's day off, too," Judd replied, and then cleared his throat. "He had
something to do."
Cash stopped dead beside Judd's big SUV, with Tippy's suitcases dripping from both
big hands. "No," he said at once. "No, you wouldn't. You wouldn't send Barrett over
to paper my house...!"
Judd looked highly offended. "I'm a police officer. In fact, I am an assistant chief of
police," he added haughtily, with a grin at Tippy. "I would never do anything illegal."
"If I find one sheet of toilet paper, anywhere on my newly planted grass..."
Cash began.
"Did you know he had such a suspicious mind?" Judd asked Tippy as he helped her
up into the tall vehicle and gently into her seat.
"If you answer that, I'll make you liver and onions for supper," Cash said
laconically as he stowed the luggage in back and then hopped up into the back
seat.
Tippy glanced over her shoulder at him, wincing when the movement hurt her
ribs. "I hate liver and onions!"
"I know." Cash smiled at her.
Judd chuckled as he started the big black vehicle and started out of the airport parking lot.
They pulled into the graveled driveway at Cash's house. It was a simple clapboard house, painted white with black shutters and a sprawling front porch with a swing and a rocking chair. There were rosebushes all around the porch, along with seedlings that were just sprouting in the flower bed.
Cash helped Tippy out of the SUV while Judd carried the suitcases to the porch.
"Don't you put a foot in my seedbeds," Cash warned.
Judd stopped with one big, booted foot in midair and glanced at him. "What
seedbeds?"
"The ones you're about to step on!" Cash muttered. "I planted zinnias in that one, and a mix of bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush, marigolds and daisies in the other one."
"You like to garden?" Tippy asked him softly.
He looked down into her wide green eyes and felt the world tilt. She had lovely eyes. Even in her bruised, cut face, they were exotic and fascinating. "I like getting dirt on my
hands."
Tippy was equally lost in his eyes, feeling tingly all over from the intensity of his gaze. She wanted to move forward, to step right up against him and let his arms close around her. It wouldn't have done her ribs much good, but it was a temptation she hated having to resist.
"That's just what that drug dealer said when we arrested him last year," Judd
said without looking at the two people nearby. He'd avoided the flower beds and
stuck the suitcases on the edge of the porch. "He planted two kilos of cocaine in
his flower bed." He grinned. "I'll bet he was hoping it would grow."
Cash dragged his eyes away from Tippy's. "His mistake. He got ten years."
"Sadly, he'll be replaced. In fact, he already has been. Our new crack dealer has
relatives in power in the city. You don't know that, of course," Judd cautioned
her.
"Oh, I don't know anything," Tippy agreed at once. "Ask
anybody."
"Stop that," Cash chided, touching his finger to the tip of her nose. "You're plenty
smart enough."
Tippy smiled and flushed a little. Her eyes clung to Cash's like ivy.
Judd would have agreed that Tippy was no fool, but he felt keenly that he was
trespassing in things that didn't concern him. At least Tippy and Cash seemed to be
getting along well enough. That was a start.
"Christabel says you can both come to supper whenever you want to," Judd offered.
"Tonight, if you like."
Tippy hesitated, looking up at Cash.
"She's had a hard few days, and the plane trip was no picnic, even if they were
smooth flights," Cash told Judd. "But we'll take you up on it next week."
"Thank Christabel for me, too," Tippy added gently. "I know it would be an
imposition for her to have company with two infants."
"They're not quite infants anymore," Judd chuckled. 'They're crawling." "Already?" Cash exclaimed. "Jessamina, too?" Judd glowered at him. "She has a brother. His name is Jared." "I know that," Cash replied. "But he's yours." He swaggered. "Jessamina is mine. You wait and see."
Judd almost bit his tongue in two not suggesting that Cash could ask Tippy for a daughter of his own. The loss of their baby had devastated Cash. Apparently it had wounded Tippy as well, because her eyes clouded at the talk of Judd's children.
But she recovered quickly when she remembered Cash's pet. "Your snake!" she exclaimed. "Is it.. .in there?" she added worriedly. "Don't worry," he said patiently. "I figured you'd go nuts with a snake in the house, so I gave Mikey back to Bill Harris." "Thanks," she said, and meant it. "I have to get home. But we should go inside first," Judd said quickly.
"All three of us?" Cash asked hesitantly.
"Definitely all three of us."
Judd went up onto the porch and opened the door.
"That's breaking and entering, Dunn," Cash admonished.
"It isn't if you have the permission of the owner."
"I'm the owner, and you don't," Cash rejoined.
Judd only chuckled.
They walked inside to a dining-room table piled high with food. There were covered casseroles, platters of ham and cheese, a huge salad, homemade biscuits and at least five
desserts.
Lieutenant Barrett, slim and dark-headed, was holding a big bag, grinning. "Just made it in time, chief," he told Cash. "We had all the wives baking today, so you wouldn't have to cook when you came home. We know how you like Julia Garcia's biscuits and homemade preserves, too, so we had her put in a jar of blackberry jam and some grape jelly and a whole pan of biscuits. He's not as bad as the Hart brothers," he told Tippy, "but that's a man who really appreciates a fluffy biscuit."
"Lieutenant Garcia's wife makes the best ones around,"
Judd added. "Thanks," Cash said, taken aback. "I didn't expect this." "You've had a long week," Judd said simply. "We thought you'd be too tired to cook." "I am. What about Miss Jewell?" he added. "She'll be over as soon as she's got her things together," Judd said. "She said it would be about an hour from now. She's sort of a practical nurse who sits with sick people," he told Tippy. "Sandie Jewell is in her fifties, and she loves to cook. You'll like her. She saw your movie in the theater and thought it was grand. She'll pump you for information about the actor who was in it with you, though
. She's a real fan of Rance Wayne." Tippy smiled. "Okay," she said. "I'll try not to tell her too much about him, so she can keep her illusions." She touched her bruised face self-consciously. "Nobody's going to believe I was ever in a movie if they see me like this." "Cuts and bruises fade, Miss Tippy," Lieutenant Barrett said gently. "You're going
to be fine." 'Thanks," she said shyly. "Well, let's be off," Judd told Barrett. "I
didn't see your car," Cash mentioned to Barrett. "That's because I dropped him off
with the food before I went to pick you up," Judd confided with a grin. "We didn't want
his car to tip you off too soon."
"It was a surprise," Cash admitted, and he smiled. "Thanks. Tell Mrs. Garcia those preserves won't be wasted, or the biscuits either. I'll enjoy them."
"If you're quick enough, you will," Tippy said impishly. "I love biscuits with
blackberry preserves. My grandmother used to make them for me when I was
little."
"We'll leave before hostilities ensue," Judd said. He gave them both a wink. "Let's not have any calls about altercations from the neighbors, okay?" "I never altercate," Cash said, deadpan. "I hear it causes blindness." Tippy had to hold her ribs to keep them from killing her while she laughed until tears stung her eyes.
Cash grinned at her and then left to walk Judd and Barrett to the SUV. He WAS BACK LESS THAN five minutes later. He didn't tell her what he'd said to them, about the threat from Carrera's former employee and the risk of a hired killer coming after Tippy. But they knew to keep a close vigil on the house when he wasn't in it. He was also going to keep loaded guns around the house, in an unobtrusive way. He was also going to keep Tippy from knowing that in addition to sitting with sick people, Mrs. Jewell was a former special deputy with the local sheriff's department. Her son was a police officer who worked for Cash. The woman could handle a pistol almost as proficiently as Cash himself, and she was afraid of nothing on earth. If there was trouble, she'd keep Tippy safe when he wasn't around, until help came.
"This was so nice of them," Tippy murmured, looking over
the loaded table. "I'm not used to this much food at one time."
"You need protein to help you heal," he pointed out. "Don't
worry about any extra pounds. You've lost enough lately that
you can afford to put on a little."
She turned toward him and looked up at him, birdlike. "Do you think I'm too
thin? Honestly?"
He drew in a slow breath. "Your figure isn't my business," he
said, as gently as he could. "I brought you here to protect you..."
She'd withdrawn mentally even before he got the words out.
She smiled. It was a plastic smile. "I know that," she said. "I
was just making conversation. Now where's that jam?"
Cash watched her take out paper plates and utensils from the sack that was
included and remove lids from the plastic food
containers.
"This looks wonderful," she murmured. Inside, her heart was breaking in two. She'd
had hopes, dreams, that she couldn't put to rest, all about Cash. But he didn't want her
permanently, and she had to find a way to face that. He might find her attractive,
desirable, but that was surface stuff. He didn't want commitment. And she did.
"This looks like squash," she murmured.
Cash made a terrible face. "Where's my gun?"
She gave him a superior look. "Squash is a noble vegetable. Indians gave it to the
white man. You have Native American ancestry. Therefore, you should love squash."
"The Indians only gave it to the white man to get rid of it," he said right back.
She laughed, putting a big spoonful of the delicious-smelling casserole on her
plate. She brought it up to her nose and sniffed. "Mmm," she murmured.
"Yuch," he replied, moving away from the evil thing.
They filled their plates quickly and quietly. There had been no food service on either of the planes, unless you could call peanuts food. Cash poured sweetened tea from a jug into glasses filled with ice he'd found in his refrigerator. He put the jug of tea back in it. "I'm glad they made tea for us. I love it," he commented as they sat down in adjoining chairs to eat.
"I'm not allowed sweet tea when I'm on the job," she said. "Calories."
"All food has calories," he retorted.
"Yes, but sugar has the nutritional content of cardboard."
"No wonder you're so slender."
"It isn't lack of food that does that, it's the pace." She shifted. The movement was still uncomfortable. "Filming is a torturous process. An action film like this one has all sorts of physical demands, from martial arts to stunts..." She recalled the fall, and the loss of her baby, and the explanation faded away.
He glanced at her lost expression. "Don't do that," he said gently. "Looking back doesn't solve any problems, it only causes new ones. Nothing you do can change what happened."
She lowered her fork to some potato salad and lifted it to her lips. "I was never pregnant before."
"It would have killed your career," he said curtly.
"They could have filmed around me," she said simply. "It wouldn't have been that hard. In fact, Joel actually wrote a pregnancy into one script when his leading lady announced her good news in the middle of filming." He glanced at her curiously. She didn't sound like a woman who couldn't balance work with motherhood. In fact, she made
it sound easy. She noted his close scrutiny and laughed. "Don't worry, you're perfectly safe. I can't even remember the last time I tried to get a man pregnant." She'd waited until he took a big sip of tea to say that. Predictably, the tea was airborne immediately.
She laughed while he cursed. She handed him two napkins and watched him mop up his white T-shirt. "Sorry," she said. "Couldn't resist it. You did look so somber." He gave her a long look. "I don't get mad. I get even." She chuckled. "I'll take my chances. It was worth it." He lifted the tea to his lips again with a secret smile. Whatever her residence brought, it wasn't going to be boring.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SANDIE JEWELL WAS FIFTYISH, tall, slender and dark-eyed, with wavy light brown hair cut short and a beaming smile. Tippy liked her at once. She was nobody's idea of the matronly female.
She checked Tippy's medication to make sure she kept it on schedule, although it was only antibiotics and a tablet that helped keep her lungs clear. She hurried Tippy off to her bedroom after supper, because she needed to rest after the long trip.
When Tippy was comfortably settled, Sandie closed the door and went into the
kitchen to talk to Cash. "Is she resting?" Cash asked, offering her coffee, which she accepted. "She's tired," Sandie replied, "and there's a little more congestion in that lung. I'm
going to get her up and walking in the morning, and fill her full of fluids to thin the
secretions. Lord, she looks like a walking car accident victim!" she added, shaking her head. "I'll never understand what makes a man do that to a woman." "We've both seen enough cases of domestic abuse," Cash agreed. "She has to be watched all the time. If Stanton does send a hired gun out here after her, we can't risk being surprised. I tucked your .45 in its case into the bathroom closet, up high, behind some towels. It's loaded." "Thanks. If I have to use it," she told him, "I won't miss." He smiled. "I know that. I appreciate you staying with her, Sandie. There's nobody I trust more." "You going in tonight?" "Thought I might..."
Just as he spoke, the phone rang. He picked it up quickly, before it disturbed Tippy. "Grier," he said at once. "Chief, you'd better come over here," one of his officers said hesitantly. 'There's some trouble." "What sort?" he asked. "Two of our patrol officers just made an arrest for drunk driving. They brought the perp in, handcuffed, and did a breath test. He failed. They're filing a citation. He's hopping mad and threatening to have their jobs." "Who is he?"
There
was a pause. "State Senator Merrill." Cash took a long breath. This was any police officer's worst nightmare. Most politicians would fire any officer who dared to arrest them. Certainly, they'd do their best to make the arresting officer quit. Cash had seen it happen in a dozen cities over the years. "The acting mayor phoned and told me to fire the arresting officers on the spot," the watch commander added.