by Diana Palmer
Obviously, she’d considered that herself, because she went pale.
“You have no apparent education, no manners, no culture, no consideration for other people. And you think a pretty face makes up for the lack of those attributes?” he asked. “Why don’t you take a good look in a mirror? You’re a lot less attractive to men than you think you are. And I’ve got your number, even if Judd Dunn hasn’t yet.”
“He gave me a ring,” she said through her teeth. “He’s crazy about me!”
“He’s crazy, all right,” he shot back. “You’d bankrupt him in two weeks and leave him bleeding on your way to a fatter wallet. You wouldn’t even look back to see if he died.”
“You know...nothing about me!” she choked.
“I know trash when I see it,” he countered with cold eyes.
Her lower lip trembled. She looked devastated. She couldn’t even manage a parting shot. She turned and walked shakily back to the set where the director was waiting, her back arrow-straight. But when she got to Joel Harper, she collapsed into his arms and cried like a child.
Cash’s lips flattened. “Theatrics,” he said harshly. “That woman is a prime manipulator. Judd’s out of his mind if he thinks she cares about him.”
“I know,” she said sadly. But she felt oddly sorry for Tippy. She’d never seen the poised, sophisticated woman in such a state. She’d been upset before when Cash was rude to her, but this time, she was genuinely devastated. Cash really did seem to hate her. Crissy wondered why his opinion was so disturbing to Tippy, when she seemed to dislike him just as much.
“I’ve got to get back to the office,” Cash told her gently. “Watch your back. I’ve made sure Nick knows to help. Don’t think Clark’s less dangerous in jail. I’ve seen men in worse trouble make bond.”
She sighed. “I’ll keep my pistol handy. You be careful, too,” she said with genuine concern.
He shrugged. “I’ve survived worse than the Clark boys,” he said, and smiled. “See you later.”
“Sure.”
He walked off without another glance in Tippy’s direction. But even with the competition the other woman gave her for Judd’s attention, she couldn’t help but feel bad for her. Cash had been brutal, and obviously his opinion mattered to the beautiful supermodel. Those tears had been real, even if Cash didn’t think so.
While the crew took a break, to give Tippy time for the makeup artist to repair the damage tears had done to her face, Crissy waited outside the trailer until the older woman emerged.
“What do you want, to gloat?” Tippy asked bitingly.
“A model broke up his parents’ marriage,” Crissy told her quietly. “That doesn’t excuse the way he is, but it helps explain it. He was in grammar school, and he loved his mother.”
She started to walk away, but a soft hand touched her shoulder lightly, just distinguishable enough to stop her.
“I’ve been a bitch to you,” the model said solemnly. “Why should you care if he cuts me up? In fact, what would you know about the real world, with your sheltered background?” she added bitterly.
Crissy met the beautiful green eyes evenly. “Do you think I live in some fairy-tale world of happy endings and perfect harmony? My father got drunk and almost killed me. My mother died. Judd and Maude are all I have in the world.”
She turned away and this time she didn’t stop. She probably shouldn’t have told Tippy that, but what Cash said was cruel. He’d never apologize, with his history. Funny, she pondered, that she cared about seeing the model in tears. She’d done nothing but give Crissy hell, and taken Judd away to boot. But Judd cared about the dreadful woman, and there was no way Crissy would ever be able to hurt someone Judd loved.
Behind her, the older woman stood frozen, rigid, hating the compassion in that soft voice, the understanding behind it. She’d thought that little Christabel Gaines had the perfect childhood. It was a shock to learn the truth, and it made her feel guilty. She looked at the expensive ring on her finger and measured it against Christabel’s ragged jeans and worn old boots. She went back toward the set with her pride around her ankles. She’d never thought of herself as a cruel woman before. It was just that Judd made her feel safe and he was overly protective of his little ranch partner, Miss Gaines. She couldn’t give him up. She couldn’t! He was all that stood between her and men who were dangerous to her. Men like Gary Mays, the assistant director and—most of all—Cash Grier. Despite Crissy’s compassion, they were rivals for the same man. And it was true, that all was fair in love and war.
* * *
The last two weeks before Christmas were hectic. Crissy was having final exams at school, and juggling study with ranch chores that seemed to be endless. The chaotic disarray of the film people crowding around her made her life difficult, and she grew more and more impatient. Maude kept out of the way, and Judd never came near the ranch unless it was to take Tippy back to town to her hotel. He was polite to Crissy, but the old easy affection between them seemed to be gone forever. It didn’t occur to her that Cash was usually somewhere around whenever Judd came to the ranch, and that Judd noticed.
She and Nick and the part-timers rode fence line, doctored pregnant cows, patched leaky roofs, pitched hay, hauled water, and did the thousand and one other daily chores that kept the ranch up and running. On one free day, she went all the way to Victoria shopping for a particular sort of sterling silver tie tack that Judd had mentioned he’d seen and wanted. It took half the day to locate it, in a small jewelry store. She brought it home triumphantly and wrapped it up. When she and Maude put up their annual Christmas tree in the living room, she tucked it in among the branches where it wouldn’t be too obvious. She got Cash a nice new wallet, having noticed how frayed his own was.
Cash’s visits had multiplied since Clark’s arrest. Crissy noted that Tippy Moore didn’t snipe at him anymore. She was oddly subdued when he was around. She kept out of his way and he ignored her completely.
“There’s fire in that smoke,” Maude commented one afternoon just after Cash had driven away.
“What smoke?” Crissy murmured, her head stuck in her textbook.
“That model and Cash Grier,” she replied. “Right now it’s smoldering, while they avoid each other. But put them together and it’s explosions all the way.”
“They hate each other,” Crissy said, surprised.
“Maybe. Maybe not.” She cocked her head, watching Crissy while she dried plates. “You and Judd both going to Japan?”
“Not until next year sometime, we haven’t even decided on a date. But it’s the best news we’ve had in a while.” She turned a page. “Judd and I have already decided that we’ll use some of the film money to replace that Salers bull. But some of our heifers had already been bred to him, and to that Hereford bull we lost, too. When we knew how many pregnant heifers we had, Nick called a man he knew who does artificial insemination, and we bought seed from a champion Salers bull. We had the remaining heifers serviced. So now we’ve got a champion calf crop to look forward to in the spring. That’s what the Japanese are interested in. No additives, no unnecessary antibiotics, grass-fed with only a minor mix of vitamins and supplements—none from animal parts—and pesticide-free.”
“As I recall,” Maude grinned, “Judd had to be talked into that organic approach.”
“He knew I’d done my homework when I suggested it. Now he’s glad, with this overseas deal cooking.”
Maude smiled at her warmly. “Child, you are a natural-born cattlewoman.”
Crissy grinned at her. “Just like my great-aunt Sarah,” she reminded the older woman, “who ran her own ranch long before it became popular for a woman to do it.”
“Judd’s proud of you,” she murmured, averting her eyes to the sink. “He doesn’t want you to give up school, no matter how hard finances get here.”
; “I’ll do what I have to,” she replied. “Listen, you keep that back door locked when it’s just us here,” she added. “One of the Clarks is in jail, but the other one isn’t.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“We can’t afford to let our guard down for a minute,” she added. “I even carry that pistol in the truck, under my seat.” She sighed worriedly. “It was a sad day for east Texas when the Clark brothers moved here.”
“Maybe they won’t be around too much longer,” Maude said.
Those words turned out to be prophetic. Four days after the cast and crew had gone home for the Christmas holidays, John Clark found himself jobless and with no way to afford a lawyer for his brother.
Thinking he’d get money the easy way, he put on a stocking mask and walked into the Victoria Commercial Bank and Trust on Christmas Eve with a shotgun, just before the bank closed early at noon. It was unfortunate for him that the security guard spotted him in time to call for help, and even more unfortunate that help came in the form of the Texas Ranger assigned to that county, Judd Dunn.
Clark fired the shotgun at the uniformed men and nicked the security guard, but not before he and Judd Dunn fired their sidearms. Neither shot missed. Clark went down. He didn’t get back up.
* * *
Judd drove up in front of the ranch house just about dark. It had been all over the six o’clock news about the attempted robbery and its aftermath. There was extensive footage of Clark lying on the floor in the bank lobby, covered with blood.
Maude had watched it with Christabel, but her sister had called and asked her to come over for the night because she didn’t want to be alone on Christmas Eve. Maude felt bad about leaving, under the circumstances, but her sister hadn’t been well. Crissy convinced her to go. Then she waited, and hoped that Judd would come to her for comfort.
Incredibly, he did!
Christabel went out to the SUV and waited for him to cut off the engine and get out.
He didn’t, for a minute. He stared at her through the dusty side window with eyes that hardly saw her. They were black, dead eyes.
She opened the door and tugged at the long sleeve of his clean white shirt. “I made coffee and fresh bread and a macaroni and cheese casserole. There’s apple pie for dessert. Come in.”
He cut off the engine and got out of the big vehicle like a sleepwalker. She noticed that his face was unusually pale.
Impulsively, she linked her small hand into his large one and led him into the house and down the hall to the kitchen. It was unusual for him to allow her to touch him. She got drunk on the freedom. It felt right, that big, lean hand so closely tangled in her fingers.
“Sit,” she said gently, nudging him into a chair at the small table, which was already set.
“You heard,” he murmured, putting his hat in an empty chair.
She nodded. She put nicely cooked vegetables and fresh rolls on the table in containers, along with the macaroni casserole.
She put a plate and napkin and utensils at both places, poured coffee in two cups, handed him one, and sat down. “Say grace, Judd,” she said softly.
He did, but with a rasp in his voice. He didn’t talk. She didn’t expect him to. It was too fresh, too traumatic, for words just yet. She knew that.
By the time they got to the pie, he was calmer and his big frame less rigid.
He smiled faintly. “You know how to handle me, don’t you?” he asked, glancing at her.
“I know you,” she said simply.
He drew in a long breath and finished his pie. He sipped his second cup of coffee, watching her across the rim. “No questions?”
Her eyes met his and she saw the pain and turmoil in them. “It would be cruel,” she replied.
He actually winced. He put down the coffee cup, hard. His mouth made a thin line. He couldn’t tell her. He wanted to talk. He needed to talk. But that bristling masculinity that was as much a part of him as his white shirt and silver Ranger badge made it almost impossible. He hated weakness. He couldn’t admit to it.
“You’re trained not to let things bother you,” she began slowly, meeting his eyes. “You have to be strong, so that other people can lean on you when there’s an emergency. You can’t break down or show emotion on the job, because you have to do the job. That’s why it’s so hard when things like this happen. You don’t want to admit that it hurts when you have to use that gun you wear, or that you’re torn up inside.” She searched his eyes, noting the surprise there. “But you’re very human, Judd, and you were raised in the church, so that makes it worse for you. I’m not going to probe, or pry, or offer platitudes. Work it out however you need to. But if you want to talk, I’ll always listen.”
His chest rose and fell heavily. “You and Grier,” he said dully, staring into his empty cup. “He actually phoned me to say I could talk to him if I needed to.”
She studied him with hungry eyes that she veiled with her lashes. “Cash has done a lot of terrible things over the years,” she replied. “He’s killed people. He knows how it is.”
His dark eyes searched hers. “Did he tell you about any of them?”
She shook her head. “He’s like you. He doesn’t talk about the things that hurt most. But I think he could tell you. I think you could tell him. I know you don’t like him, but he’s been kind to me.”
“Kind when I wasn’t,” he returned surprisingly. His eyes narrowed on her face. “He’s the sort of man who makes other men feel uncomfortable. He’s done everything, been everywhere. He’s cultured and rich and afraid of nothing on earth.”
She wanted to say, “But he isn’t you.” She didn’t dare. He was involved with a woman who made her feel inferior in every way. She wasn’t leading with her heart anymore.
She got up and poured more coffee for both of them.
He was watching her, noting the lines of strain in her face, the thinness of her young body, the condition of her faded but clean jeans and shirt and old boots. He grimaced, thinking about that ring on Tippy’s finger. He’d also forgotten to bring Christabel’s present down with him from Victoria, in the anguish of the day. He’d have to remember to tell her he had it, so that she wouldn’t think he’d deliberately not gotten her anything.
She sat down again. “I’m so tired,” she murmured. “I’ve finished exams, and I think I passed everything, but Nick and I have been making running repairs to fences and checking pregnant heifers all afternoon. If this Japanese deal works out, maybe we can hire one more full-time man, so I can get some rest!” she added facetiously.
But he didn’t smile. “You’re too young to have to shoulder this much responsibility,” he said.
Her eyebrows arched. “I’m half owner of this place, and I don’t work any harder than you do! In fact, I work less. I’m just a student. You have a demanding job.”
His face tautened. “Too demanding, right now,” he said through his teeth.
“How’s the security guard?” she asked to divert him.
“He’s out of danger,” he told her. “They’re still picking double-ought birdshot out of him, but he’ll make a good recovery. He may lose some use of his arm, though. Hell of a thing, he spotted the guy and called for backup, hoping we could take him without bloodshed. I was out on an investigation, not half a block from the bank. I ran all the way and got to the front door just as Clark was threatening a woman with the shotgun. The guard saw me slip into the front door with my sidearm out, and he went for his. Clark whirled. The guard and I fired simultaneously, but too late to avoid return fire. The guard was hit.” He looked absolutely haunted. “Clark went down like a sack of sand.” He frowned heavily. “People look so helpless when they die, Christabel,” he said under his breath. “Like big dolls. They lay there with everybody looking at them, invading their privacy, staring at them...and they can’t do
anything to protect themselves from all those gaping eyes.”
“He tried to kill someone,” she reminded him. “Can’t you think about what might have happened if you hadn’t shown up in time? If John Clark is like his brother, he might not have hesitated to shoot to kill.”
“That’s what I was afraid he was going to do,” he confessed. “The woman told us that she’d antagonized him by speaking up when he held the gun on her. He told her, in fact, that he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. We wondered if he meant that he’d killed already.”
She nodded. “Maybe he killed poor old Hob Downey, isn’t that what you think?”
“Yes.” He toyed with his coffee cup. “The news media jumped on his situation at once. Poor guy, his brother in jail, no money, no job. And the big bad cops shot him when he was only trying to get some money.”
She smiled sadly. “We live in bad times, Judd,” she said quietly. “The whole world’s upside down sometimes.”
“I phoned an attorney—the one the department uses—and had him tell me what to do next. Funny, I’ve been in the Rangers all this time, and I’ve never been involved in a fatal shooting.”
“You were lucky.”
He glanced up. “I guess I was. They don’t know who fired the fatal shot,” he added unexpectedly. “One of us hit low, the other hit high. It will take a ballistics test to determine who fired which shot, but the guard and I both carry .45 caliber weapons. It’s Christmas Eve, so the lab is closed. It will be Monday before they can do the examination. Clark’s autopsy will have to wait until then, too, I guess. Meanwhile,” he sighed, “I have to live with it.”
“You don’t aim to kill,” she reminded him.
“I aimed at his hip, to take him down the quickest way,” he said tersely. “But there was a river of blood from that area, bright red, arterial blood.” He ran a hand through his thick black hair. “If that was my shot, it went inside and hit the femoral artery.”
She wanted to say something comforting, but he was lost in the hell of his own thoughts.