Czytaj książkę: «Lawless»

1

It was a blistering hot day in south Texas, even for early September. Christabel Gaines was wearing a low-cut white top with faded blue jeans, a book bag slung casually over one shoulder. The top outlined her small, firm breasts and the jeans clung lovingly to every softly rounded line of her young body. The faint breeze caught her long blond hair in her pretty bow-shaped mouth, against her wide forehead and high cheekbones. She moved the strands away, her big, warm brown eyes amused at something one of the students with her was saying about a classmate. It was a long, dull Monday morning.

Debbie, a girl in her computer class, was suddenly staring past Christabel toward the parking lot. She whistled softly. “Well! I know what I want for Christmas,” she said in a loud whisper.

Teresa, another classmate, was also staring. “Hubba, hubba,” she said with a wicked grin, wiggling her eyebrows. “Anybody know who he is?”

Curious, Christabel turned around to see a tall, darkly handsome man walk gracefully across the lawn toward them. He was wearing a cream-colored Stetson, jerked down over his eyes. His neat long-sleeved white cotton shirt was fastened with a turquoise bola tie. His long, powerful legs were encased in gray slacks, his feet in gray hand-tooled boots. On his shirt pocket, a silver star in a circle glittered in the sunlight. Across his lean hips, a brown leather holster and gunbelt were fastened. In the gunbelt was a .45 caliber Ruger Vaquero pistol. He usually carried an automatic pistol, a .45 Colt ACP, but it was having a new custom handle and the Texas Ranger star added. Today also happened to be match day at the Jacobsville Gun Club’s Single Action Shooting Society, which he belonged to. The quick-draw-and-shoot group wore Western garb to meets. So it was convenient for him to wear the wheel gun to work just this once.

“What have you girls done?” one of the boys asked with mock surprise. “The Texas Rangers are after somebody!”

Christabel didn’t say a word. She just stared with the others, but her dark eyes twinkled as she watched him stride toward her with that single-minded determination that made him so good at his job. He was the sexiest, most wonderful man in the world. She owed him everything she had, everything she was. Sometimes she wished with all her heart that she’d been born beautiful, and maybe then he’d notice her the way she wanted him to. She smiled secretly, wondering what the other girls would say if they knew her true relationship with that dynamo Texas Ranger.

Judd Dunn was thirty-four. He’d spent most of his life in law enforcement, and he was good at it. He’d been with Company D of the Texas Rangers for five years. He’d been up for promotion to lieutenant, but he’d turned it down because that was more of an administrative job and he liked field work better. He kept that long, lean body fit by working on the ranch, ownership of which he shared with Christabel.

He’d been made responsible for Christabel when she was only sixteen. The D bar G Ranch had been run-down, flat-busted, and ready to crash and burn. Judd had pulled it out of the red and made it show a profit. Over the years, he’d put his own money into enlarging the crossbreed beef cattle herd they oversaw. With his canny business sense, and Christabel’s knowledge of computers, they’d been just beginning to show a small profit. It had allowed Christabel to work on her diploma in computer programming, and Judd even had an occasional spending spree. His last, a year ago, involved that cream-colored Stetson slanted over his dark brow. It was made of compressed beaver fur and it had cost him a paycheck. It did suit him, she had to admit. He looked rakishly handsome. Sadly, there hadn’t been any spending sprees this year. There had been a drought and cattle prices had dropped. Times were hard again, just when they’d been looking up.

Any other man would have noticed with amusement the rapt stares of Christabel’s two pretty companions. Judd paid them the same attention he’d have given pine straw. He had something on his mind, and nothing would divert him until he’d resolved it.

He walked right up to Christabel, towering over her, to the astonishment of her classmates.

“We’ve had an offer,” he said, taking her by the upper arm as impersonally as he’d have an apprehended felon. “I need to talk to you.”

“Judd, I’m only between classes,” she protested.

“This won’t take a minute,” he muttered, narrowing his black eyes as he searched for a secluded spot. He found one under a big live oak tree. “Come on.”

She was escorted forcibly to the tree while her companions watched with wide-eyed curiosity. Later, she knew, she was going to be the focus of some probing questions.

“Not that I’m not glad to see you,” she pointed out when he released her abruptly, away from prying ears, “but I only have five minutes...!”

“Then don’t waste them talking,” he cut her off abruptly. His voice was deep, dark velvet, even when he didn’t mean it to be. It sent delicious shivers down Christabel’s spine.

“Okay,” she conceded with a sigh. She held out her hand, palm-up.

He noted the signet ring—his signet ring—that she always wore on her ring finger. Although she’d had it resized, it was still too big for her slender hand. But she insisted on wearing it.

She followed his gaze and flexed her hand. “Nobody knows,” she said. “I don’t gossip.”

“That would be the day,” he agreed, and for just an instant, affectionate humor made those deep-set black eyes twinkle.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“It’s not a problem, exactly,” he said, resting his right hand lazily on the butt of the pistol. The Texas Ranger emblem was carved into the maple wood handle. The new grip for his automatic would have the same wood and custom emblem. The holster and gunbelt that held it were hand-tooled tan leather. “We’ve had an offer from a film crew. They’ve been surveying the land around here, with a representative from the state film commission, looking for a likely spot to site a fictitious ranch. They like ours.”

“A film crew.” She bit her full lower lip. “Judd, I don’t like a lot of people around,” she began.

“I know that. But we want to buy another purebred herd sire, don’t we,” he continued, “and if we get the right kind, he’s going to be expensive. They’ve offered us thirty-five thousand dollars for the use of the ranch for a few weeks’ filming. That would put us over the top. We could even enlarge our electric fencing and replace the tractor.”

She whistled. That amount of money seemed like a fortune. It was always something on a ranch, equipment breakdown or cowboys who wanted more money, or the electric pump went and there was no water. In between, the vet had to be called out to look at sick cattle, there were ear tags and butane for branding, and fencing materials... She wondered what it would be like to be rich and have anything she wanted. The ranch that had belonged jointly to his uncle and her father was still a long way from being prosperous.

“Stop daydreaming,” he said curtly. “I need an answer. I’ve got a case waiting.”

Her eyes widened. “A case? Which case?”

His eyes narrowed. “Not now.”

“It’s the homicide, isn’t it?” she asked excitedly. “The young woman in Victoria who was found with her throat cut, lying in a ditch with only a blouse on. You’ve got a lead!”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

She moved closer. “Listen, I bought fresh apples this morning. I’ve got stick cinnamon. Brown sugar.” She leaned closer. “Real butter. Pastry flour.”

“Stop it,” he groaned.

“Can’t you just see those apples, bubbling away in that crust, until it gets to be a nice, soft, beautiful, flaky...”

“All right!” he ground out, glancing around quickly to make sure nobody was close enough to hear. “She was the wife of a local rancher,” he told her. “Her husband’s story checks out and she didn’t have an enemy in the world. We think it was random.”

“No suspects at all?”

“Not yet. Not much trace evidence, either, except for one hair and a few fibers of highly colored cloth that didn’t match the blouse she was wearing,” he said. He glared at her. “And that’s all you’re getting, apple pie or no apple pie!”

“Okay,” she said, giving in with good grace. She searched his lean, handsome face. “You want us to let the movie company move in,” she added with keen perception.

He nodded. “We’re going to be short about a thousand dollars after we pay estimated taxes next week,” he told her quietly. “We’re going to have to buy more feed. The flooding wiped out most of our hay and corn crops, not to mention the alfalfa. I got the silo fixed, but not in time to help us out any this season. We’re also going to need more vitamin and mineral supplements to mix with the feed.”

“And we’ll have to buy supplemental feed or sell off stock we need,” she said, drawing in a long, wistful breath. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if we had millions, you know, like that television show they used to have that was set up around Dallas? We could buy combines and new tractors and hay balers...”

He pursed his lips and smiled at her enthusiasm. His dark eyes slid over her pretty figure, lingering involuntarily on her breasts. They looked like little apples under that clinging fabric and he got an unexpected and rather shocking ache from looking at them. He dragged his eyes back up to meet hers. “Wouldn’t you like some new jeans instead?” he asked, nodding toward the holes in hers.

She shrugged. “Nobody around here wears nice stuff. Well, Debbie does,” she amended, glancing back toward her classmate, who was dressed in a designer skirt set. “But her folks have millions.”

“What’s she doing in a vocational school?” he wanted to know.

She lifted her face. “Trying to land Henry Tesler’s son!”

He grinned. “He’s a student, I gather.”

She shook her head. “He teaches algebra.”

“One of those,” he agreed with twinkling eyes.

“He’s real brainy.” She nodded. “Real rich, too. Henry’s dad owns racehorses, but Henry doesn’t like animals, so he teaches.” She checked the wide, unfeminine watch on her wrist. “Oh, my gosh, I’ll miss my class! I have to go!”

“I’ll tell the film company they can come on down,” he said.

She turned to sprint back after her classmates, who were wandering toward the side entrance of the main building. She stopped and looked over her shoulder apprehensively. “When are they coming?”

“Two weeks from Saturday, to take some still photos and discuss the modifications they’ll need to make to set up their cameras.”

She groaned. “Well, tell them they can’t rev up their engines near the barn! Bessie’s in foal!”

“I’ll tell them everything.”

She studied him with admiration. “You do look really sexy, you know,” she said. “My classmate Debbie wants you for Christmas,” she added mischievously.

He glowered at her.

Her eyes sparkled. “It’s only three months away. Tell you what, if you buy me a see-through red nightie with lace, I’ll wear it for you,” she teased.

He refused to let himself picture her that way. “I’m 14 years older than you,” he pointed out.

She wiggled her ring finger at him.

He took four long steps and towered over her. “If you dare tell anybody...!” he threatened darkly.

“I don’t gossip,” she reminded him. “But there’s no legal or moral reason in the world why you can’t look at me in flimsy lingerie,” she pointed out, “whether or not people know we’re married.”

“I told you five years ago, and I’m telling you now,” he said firmly, “nothing of that sort is ever going to happen between you and me. In two months you’ll be twenty-one. You’ll sign a paper, and so will I, and we’ll be business partners—nothing more.”

She searched his black eyes with the familiar excitement almost choking her. “Tell me you’ve never wondered what I look like without my clothes,” she whispered. “I dare you!”

He gave her a look that would have fried bread. It was a look that was famous in south Texas. He could back down lawbreakers with it. In fact, he’d backed her own father down with it, just before he went for him with both big fists.

She glowered up at him with a wistful sigh. “What a waste,” she murmured thoughtfully. “You know more about women than I’ll ever know about men. I’ll bet you’re just sensational in bed.”

His lips became a thin line. The look was taking on heat-seeking attributes.

“All right,” she conceded finally. “I’ll find some nice young boy to teach me what to do with all these inconvenient aches I get from time to time, and I’ll tell you every sordid detail, I swear I will.”

“One,” he said.

She lifted both eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Two.”

Her hand tightened on the book bag. “Listen here, I can’t be intimidated by a man who’s known me since I wore frilly dresses and patent leather shoes...”

“Three!”

“...and furthermore, I don’t care if you are a...”

“Four!”

She turned on her heel without finishing the sentence and made a beeline for the side entrance. The next number would result in something undignified. She remembered too many past countdowns, to her own detriment. He really was single-minded!

“I’m only humoring you to make you feel in control!” she called back to him. “Don’t think I’m running!”

He hid a smile until he was back at the black SUV he drove.

* * *

The same week, Jack Clark, a man who worked for them, was caught red-handed with an expensive pair of boots he’d charged to their account. Christabel had found it on the bill and called Judd down to show it to him. They’d fired the man outright. She didn’t tell Judd that the man had made blatant advances toward her, or that she’d had to threaten him with Judd to make him stop.

A few days after he was fired, their brand-new young Salers bull was found dead in a pasture. To Christabel, it seemed uncannily like foul play. The bull had been healthy, and she refused to believe Judd’s assertion that it was bloat-causing weeds that had killed him and left four other bulls in the same pasture alive. After all, Jack Clark had vowed revenge. But Judd brushed off her suspicions, and even told Maude he thought she was trying to get attention, because he’d ignored her while he was dickering with the film people. That had made her furious. She’d told their foreman, Nick Bates, what she thought, though, and told him to keep an eye on the cattle. Sometimes Judd treated her like a child. It hadn’t bothered her so much before, but lately it was disturbing.

* * *

Judd turned up early Saturday morning two weeks later in his big black sport utility vehicle, accompanied by a second burgundy SUV which was full of odd people. There was a representative from the Texas film commission and a director whom Christabel recognized immediately. She hadn’t realized it was going to be a famous one. There was also an assistant director, and four other men who were introduced as part of the crew, including a photographer and a sound man.

She learned that the star of the film was an A-list actor, a handsome young man who’d sadly never been on a horse.

“That’s going to limit our scenes with your livestock,” the director told Judd with a chuckle. “Of course, Tippy Moore has never been around livestock, either. You might have seen her on magazine covers. They call her the Georgia Firefly. This will be her first motion picture, but she was a hit at the audition. A real natural.”

Judd pursed his lips and his black eyes lit up. “I’ve seen her on the cover of the sports magazine’s swimsuit issue,” he confessed. “Every red-blooded man in America knows who she is.”

Christabel felt uncomfortable. She glanced at Judd, all too aware of his interest, and could have wailed. They were married, but he took no notice of her at all. He was fond of her, he indulged her, but that was as far as it went. He hadn’t even kissed her when they were married. It was sobering to realize that in two months, it would all be over. She’d tried everything to make him notice her, even teasing him about a boy at school who wanted to marry her. That had been a lie, and he’d caught her in it. Now he didn’t believe anything she said. She studied his tall, sexy physique and wondered what he’d say if she walked into the study one night while he was going over the books and took off all her clothes.

Then she remembered the terrible scars on her smooth back, the ones her drunken father had put there with a short quirt when she was sixteen. She’d tried to save her poor horse, but her father had turned on her. She could still remember the pain. Her back had been in shreds. Judd had come to see her father on business that Saturday morning, when he was working at the Texas Ranger post in San Antonio. So much of the memory was hazy, but she recalled clearly how Judd had come over the corral fence after her father, with such silent menace that her father had actually dropped the quirt and started backing away. It hadn’t saved him. Judd had gone for him with those big fists, and seconds later, the drunken man was lying in the dirt, half insensible. He’d been locked in the tack shed seconds later.

Judd had picked her up in his arms, so tenderly, murmuring endearments, yelling hoarsely for Maude, their housekeeper, to call the police and the ambulance service. He’d put her in the ambulance himself and ridden into the hospital with her, while her invalid mother wept bitterly on the porch as her husband was taken away. Judd had pressed charges, and her father had gone to jail.

Never again, Judd had said coldly, was that man going to raise his hand to Christabel.

But the damage had been done. It took weeks for the wounds to heal completely. There was no money for plastic surgery. There still wasn’t. So Christabel had white scars across her back in parallel lines, from her shoulders to her waist. She was so self-conscious about them that despite her teasing, she’d never have had the nerve to take off her clothes in front of Judd, or any other man. He only wanted to get rid of her, anyway. He didn’t want to get married. He loved his job, and his freedom. He said so constantly.

But he knew who Tippy Moore was. Most men did. She had the face of an angel, and a body that begged for caresses. Unlike poor Christabel, whose face was passable, but not really pretty, and whose body was like the poor beast’s in the story of Dr. Frankenstein’s monster.

Judd and the director, Joel Harper, were talking about using one of the saddle-broken horses for a scene, and the advisability of having their foreman, Nick Bates, around during shooting.

“We’re going to need set security, too,” Harper said thoughtfully. “I like to use local police, when I can, but you’re out of the city limits here, aren’t you?”

“You could get one of our Jacobsville policemen to work here when he’s off duty,” Judd suggested. “Our chief of police, Chet Blake, is out of town. But Cash Grier is assistant chief, and he’d be glad to help you out. We worked together for a few months out of the San Antonio Ranger office.”

“Friend of yours?” Harper asked.

Judd made a rough sound in his throat. “Grier doesn’t have friends, he has sparring partners.”

Christabel had heard a lot about Cash Grier, but she’d never met him. She’d seen him around. He was an enigma, wearing a conservative police uniform with his long thick black hair in a ponytail. He had a mustache and a little goatee just under his lower lip these days, and he looked...menacing. Crime had dropped sharply in Jacobsville since his arrival. There were some nasty rumors about his past, including one that he’d been a covert assassin in his younger days.

“He knocked Terry Barnett through a window,” Christabel recalled aloud.

Harper’s eyes opened wide.

Christabel realized that they were staring at her and she flushed. “Terry was breaking dishes in the local waffle place because his wife, who worked there, was seeing another man. He caught them together and started terrorizing the place. They say he ran at Grier with a waffle iron, and Grier just shifted his weight and Terry went through the glass.” She whistled. “Took thirty stitches, they said, and he got probation for assault on a police officer. That’s a felony,” she added helpfully.

Judd was glaring at her.

She shrugged. “When you spend time around them, it rubs off,” she explained to Harper with a sheepish grin. “I’ve known Judd a long time. He and my father were...business partners.”

“My uncle and her father were business partners,” Judd corrected easily. “I inherited my uncle’s half of the ranch, she inherited her father’s.”

“I see,” Harper said, nodding, but his thoughts were on the film he was going to make, and he was already setting up scenes in his mind for a storyboard. He was considering logistics. “We’ll need someone to cater food while we’re working,” he murmured. “We’ll need to set up meetings with city officials as well, because some of the location work will be done in Jacobsville.”

“Some of it?” Christabel asked, curious.

Harper smiled at her. “We’re shooting some of the movie in Hollywood,” he explained. “But we’d rather locate a ranch setting on a working ranch. The town is part of the atmosphere.”

“What’s the movie going to be about?” Christabel wanted to know. “Can you tell me?”

He grinned at her interest. He had two daughters about her age. “It’s a romantic comedy about a model who comes out West to shoot a commercial on a real ranch and falls in love with a rancher. He hates models,” he added helpfully.

She chuckled. “I’ll buy a ticket.”

“I hope several million other people will, too.” He turned back to Judd. “I’ll need weather information—it’s going to cost us a fortune if we start shooting at the wrong time and have to hole up for three or four weeks while the weather clears.”

Judd nodded. “I think I can find what you need.”

“And we’ll want to rent rooms at the best hotel you have, for the duration.”

“No problem there, either,” Judd said dryly. “It isn’t exactly a tourist trap.”

Harper was fanning himself with a sheaf of papers and sweating. “Not in this heat,” he agreed.

“Heat?” Christabel asked innocently. “You think it’s warm here? My goodness!”

“Cut it out,” Judd muttered darkly, because the director was beginning to turn pale.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I was only kidding. Law enforcement types have no sense of humor, Mr. Harper,” she told him. “Their faces are painted on and they can’t smile...”

“One,” Judd said through his teeth.

“See?” she asked pertly.

“Two...!”

She threw up her hands and walked into the house.

* * *

Christabel was just taking an apple pie out of the oven when she heard doors slam and an engine rev up. Judd walked into the kitchen past Maude, who grinned at him as she went toward the back of the house to put the clothes in the dryer.

“I made you an apple pie,” Christabel told Judd, waving it under his nose. “Penance.”

He sighed as he poured himself a cup of black coffee, pulled out a chair and sat down at the small kitchen table. “When are you going to grow up, tomboy?” he asked.

She looked down at her dusty boots and stained jeans. She could imagine that her braided hair was standing out in wisps around her flushed face, and she knew without looking down that her short-sleeved yellow cotton blouse was wrinkled beyond repair. In contrast, Judd’s jeans were well-fitting and clean. His boots were so polished they reflected the tablecloth. His white shirt with the silver sergeant’s Texas Ranger star on the pocket was creaseless, his dark blue patterned tie in perfect order. His leather gunbelt creaked when he crossed his long, powerful legs, and the .45 Colt ACP pistol shifted ominously in its holster.

She recalled that his great-grandfather had been a gunfighter—not to mention a Texas Ranger—before he went to Harvard and became a famous trial lawyer in San Antonio. Judd held the record for the fastest quick-draw in northern Texas, and his friend and fellow Ranger Marc Brannon of Jacobsville held it for southern Texas in the Single Action Shooting Society. They often practiced at the local gun club as guests of their mutual friend Ted Regan. A membership at the club was hundreds of dollars that law enforcement people couldn’t usually afford. But former mercenary Eb Scott had his antiterrorism training school in Jacobsville, and he had one of the finest gun ranges around. He made it available at no cost to any law enforcement people who wanted to use it. Between Ted and Eb, they got lots of practice.

“Do you still do that quick-draw?” she asked Judd as she sliced the pie.

“Yes, and don’t mention it to Harper,” he added flatly.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Don’t you want to be in pictures?” she drawled.

“About as much as you do, cupcake,” he mused, absently appreciating the fit of those tight jeans and the curve of her breasts in the blouse.

She shrugged. “That would be funny. Me, in pictures.” She studied the pie, her hands stilled. “Maybe I could star in a horror movie if they put me in a bathing suit and filmed me from behind.”

There was a shocked silence behind her.

She put a slice of pie on a saucer and added a fork, sliding it in front of Judd.

He caught her hand and pulled her down onto his lap. “Listen to me,” he said in that deep, tender tone he used when little things were hurt, “everybody’s got scars. Maybe they don’t show, but they’re there. A man who loves you won’t care about a few little white lines.”

She cocked her head, trying not to let him see how it affected her to be so close to him. She liked the spicy aftershave he wore, the clean smell of his clothes, the faint whiff of leather that came up from the gunbelt.

“How do you know they’re white?” she asked.

He gave her a worldly look and loosened the tie at his collar, unbuttoning the top buttons of the shirt to disclose a darkly tanned chest with a pelt of curling black hair. She’d seen him without his shirt, but it always unsettled her.

He pulled the shirt and the spotless white undershirt under it to one side and indicated a puckered place in his shoulder, from which white lines radiated. “Twenty-two caliber handgun,” he said, drawing her hand to it. “Feel.”

Her hand was icy cold. It trembled on that warm, muscular flesh. “It’s raised,” she said, her voice sounding breathless.

“Unsightly?” he persisted.

She smiled. “Not really.”

“I don’t imagine any of yours are that bad,” he added. “Button me up.”

It was intimate, exciting, to do that simple little chore. She smiled stupidly. “This is new.”

“What is?”

“You never let me sit in your lap before,” she reminded him.

He was looking at her with an odd expression. “I don’t let anybody sit in my lap.”

She pursed her lips as she got to his collarbone. “Afraid I might try to undress you?”

His chest rippled, but when she looked up, his face was impassive. His eyes were glittery with suppressed humor.

“That wouldn’t do you much good,” he commented.

“Why not?”

One black eyebrow arched. “You wouldn’t know what to do with me when you got my clothes off.”