For the Love of Jazz (22 page)

“Now he’s been a miracle two times over. He’s been the answer to my prayers.” Desmond’s eyes fell to his wide-palmed, long-fingered hands. The fingers flexed and spread before clenching into fists. With a slight chuckle, Desmond looked up. “My hands are starting to shake, you know. It was there for a while, but it’s gotten worse since…since that night. I’ve already done my last surgery.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sighing, Desmond leaned back into the navy blue leather, his head falling back to stare up at the ceiling. “So am I. I’ll miss this. But once a surgeon’s hands start to shake, that’s it.” With a negligent shrug of his shoulders, he straightened in the chair and folded his hands on the desk top. “There was a time when I hoped Anne-Marie would follow in my footsteps, be a cardiologist. But she’s found her niche, I must say.”

“She’s an excellent doctor,” Jazz said, remembering the follow up visit. Anne had handled the nervous Mariah like an old pro. “Kids love her.”

“My Annie is a very lovable person all around,” Desmond said, his eyes knowing. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk with you about.” The humor, the pride, the love all melted from his face, replaced by an achingly sad expression.

“I owe you an apology, Jasper. Not just for not questioning this, but for the crash that my son caused,” Desmond said, grief lining his face, weighing heavily on his shoulders.

“You had no reason not to believe an officer of the law,” Jazz responded in a flat voice, jamming his fisted hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Oh, hell. Don’t give me that, boy,” Desmond snapped. “I’ve seen cockroaches more capable than Larry Muldoon. And I was an idiot for not calling him out. I knew something wasn’t right.” Pausing, he ran a shaky hand through his salt and pepper hair.

“I knew it,” he repeated huskily. “But I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to think that Alex was responsible for the accident. It was easier to deal with when I had somebody to blame.”

Jazz turned away, focusing his stinging eyes on a weepy watercolor. “Doc, it’s all over now. Over and done with.”

“But my mistakes are still there. I should have believed in you. Some people did from the start.” Desmond looked down at a framed picture of Anne-Marie. Reaching out, he touched his fingers to the image of his daughter’s face. “And I should have, as well.”

Clamping the cigar in his teeth, Desmond raised his head, met Jazz’s eyes. “She did it the way she felt she had to, Jazz. For you. Not for herself, not for Alex. Not even for me. But for you. Muldoon wronged you and she wanted him to pay. Had she gone to you, you would have handed him his punishment. And she felt it was her responsibility.

“Don’t blame her for doing the same thing you would have done,” Desmond said quietly.

“She won’t talk to me,” Jazz burst out, shooting up out of his chair. “What in the hell am I supposed to do?”

“How about admitting you’re wrong?” Desmond suggested, raising a bushy, black brow.

“Damn it, she should have told me! Sharing my bed—”

Any discomfort Desmond might have felt faded at the stunned embarrassment that filled Jazz’s eyes and colored his dark face. Chuckling, he tapped out his half-finished Cuban as he said, “If you think I don’t see what’s been going on between you two, then you must also think I’m a fool.”

Jazz’s mouth opened and closed noiselessly and he finally gave up, jamming his hands in his pockets and turning away.

“Sharing your bed, sharing your life, that’s all the more reason for her to want to do right by you, Jazz. Your pride may be hurt, you not handling Muldoon personally. But Anne’s a modern woman; she wants a partner, not a man to protect her.”

* * *

The door to her office flew open, revealing Jazz standing there glaring at her, brows low over his eyes, hostility radiating from him. “I was wrong,” he growled. “You were right about my pride being hurt and I took it out on you.”

Leaning back in her chair, her calm face revealing nothing, Anne-Marie said, “Nice to see you, too, Jazz. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Nine days, twelve hours and forty minutes
, she thought.
But who was counting?

“Don’t give me that look,” he warned, pointing at her. “You and your dad, lifting that eyebrow, royalty facing the serfs.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Damn it, if you don’t want my apology, then just say so,” he shouted, storming into the tiny office. Eyes narrowed, he leaned forward and planted his hands on her neatly organized desk.

“An apology? Is that what this is?”

“Why in hell else would I be here?” he growled.

“Well, from the looks of it, I’d say you’re here to yell at me some more,” Anne-Marie replied, her eyes drifting down to the palms on her desk. “Usually apologies aren’t handled by barging into somebody’s office and yelling at them.”

Jazz’s eyes dropped to his hands, before glancing behind him to the interested audience just outside the door. Slowly, he took a deep breath and then blew it out.

“Can we go someplace private?”

Flicking her gaze to the staff that gathered just beyond her door, listening with obvious and unapologetic curiosity, Anne-Marie feigned indifference. “This is about as much privacy as I figure we are going to need. I’ve patients yet to see.”

“We need to talk,” Jazz said, keeping his voice low and calm.

She raised her solemn gaze to those outside her door, lifted that regal brow at them. As they drifted away, ears still straining, Anne-Marie lifted a silver-barreled pen and spun it idly between her palms. After a moment, when she was sure her voice would be composed, she said, “I needed you to believe in me, to try to understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

Looking at him, Anne-Marie said, “I know you are. And I can understand why you were upset, why you were hurt. I know I hurt your pride and I’m sorry it happened. But I did it the way I felt was right. The way that kept you out of jail.” Pausing, she nibbled at her lip, thinking, picking her way through her tangled emotions. “You would have gone after him, Jazz. And quite possibly killed him. That wouldn’t have gained you anything.”

“I was wrong, Annie. That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Jazz said.

“Apology accepted.” With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the open chart in front of her, the words blurring together while he stared at her lowered head.

“Then why aren’t you looking at me? Why don’t you stand up and come to me?” Jazz asked.

“There’s no reason. You think I spent all that time with you just to make up for the past sixteen years. With you feeling that way, it made me realize we don’t have what I was thinking, hoping, we might.”

“Don’t shut me out, Annie,” Jazz whispered, shoulders slumping as he turned away and pressed his hands against his eyes. “That was a damned fool thing to say. I don’t believe that’s what’s been going on between us.”

“What is going on between us?”

Raising his head, he met her eyes. “I don’t know. But I don’t want it to end like this. And I don’t want to go on the rest of my life wondering what might have happened if I wasn’t an idiot.”

She didn’t move at first, didn’t speak. Then she started towards him and slowly, he felt his heart start to beat again. He could breathe again. She slid her arms around his waist and he finally felt whole.

“I think maybe you should stop being an idiot so we can figure this thing out,” Anne-Marie suggested.

He could have laughed with relief, but he was too busy kissing her.

* * *

Tate’s voice echoed through the station house as he shouted at Jazz. “I’ve still got an unsolved attempted murder on my hands. And an unsolved murder. I’ve got to deal with Eleanor Park, and God knows, she is a full-blown lunatic. I ain’t got time to sit around babysitting you, Cousin.”

Eye to eye, snarl to snarl, Jazz responded to Tate’s comment with a sneer. “Babysitting?” Jazz shouted, poking Tate in the chest. “Boy, I hauled your chubby butt out of the fire more times than I can count. I don’t need a damned babysitter and I got a damned right to know what in the hell is going on with the investigation.”

“The hell you do. You’re no blood kin to him, thank God. And you’re neither a suspect or a witness. You’ll hear something when I have something to say,” Tate said, his voice cold and flat.

From the doorway, Marlie bit back a sigh of appreciation as Jazz responded with a rather rude suggestion. Tate’s response was, “Is that some sick fetish you picked up in the big city?”

How could there be two men that good-looking in one small town?

“They are something, aren’t they?”

Startled, Marlie turned her head and stared into the amused eyes of Dr. Anne-Marie Kincade. “Um, well, yes. I guess so.”

Chuckling, Anne-Marie said, “Girl, you got eyes. You can do better than that.” She propped one blazer-clad shoulder against the doorframe, her eyes resting on Jazz’s profile. “I know I’ve noticed it more than once myself.”

“They are gorgeous,” Marlie said under her breath, rolling her eyes at Anne-Marie’s friendly laugh.

“How long have you been in love with him?”

“I…I beg your pardon?”

With a nonchalant shrug, Anne-Marie said, “I’ve been in love with Jazz most of my life. I know the symptoms. Does he know?”

“Of course not,” Marlie replied, shoulders slumping. “It’s too pathetic to even think about.”

“I don’t think it’s pathetic at all.”

Turning her head, Marlie stared into kind, knowing eyes. “He’s the sheriff, the son of a good, decent woman and a man who died rescuing a woman he didn’t know from Eve,” Marlie said softly, shaking her head. “I’m the daughter of the town drunk and bully, and Momma, God bless her, was the town tramp. I barely managed to graduate from high school and he’s the town sheriff. It’s beyond pathetic.”

“I doubt Tate sees it that way,” Anne-Marie said. Making an impulsive decision, she linked arms with Marlie and called out, “Well, if that sight don’t just set my heart all aflutter.”

The shouting-getting-ready-to-turn-into-shoving-match halted and two identical, dark pair of eyes turned their way. Each pair of eyes lit and traveled over the attractive pair in the doorway. All silver and blonde and dark blue eyes, Marlie wore a simple pink blouse tucked into white denim shorts. And Anne-Marie, ebony hair and emerald green eyes, with her confident smile and elegant clothes.

Both men felt their hearts stutter in their chest as they backed away from each other.

“Marlie and I ran into each other and thought you two would join us for lunch,” Anne-Marlie said, none too subtly dragging Marlie forward. “It’s Saturday, after all. Tate surely you know what they say about all work and no play.”

“Now, Doc Kincade, you and I both know the job of serving the public isn’t one that runs on a forty-hour work week,” Tate drawled before looking at Marlie.
She was so damned pretty
, he thought.
And not a good actress at all
. The nerves and embarrassment in her dark blue eyes was every bit as apparent as the humor in Anne-Marie’s green ones. “Marlie, how are you?”

“I…I’m fine, Tate. Thank you,” she murmured, apparently giving up on the attempt to free her arm from Anne-Marie’s. Her cheeks turned fiery red when Jazz said, “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I turn down the chance to spend an afternoon with a couple of lovely ladies.”

Marlie’s eyes darted away as Jazz captured Anne-Marie’s free hand and brushed her cheek with a soft kiss. “How are you holding up, Miz Muldoon?” he asked, raising his head and smiling gently at her.

“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. McNeil,” she said softly.

“Mr. McNeil?” he repeated, a smile lighting his face. “Hell, Marlie. We’re family, in a distant, convoluted sort of way. You can call me Jazz.”

It was the first time that Anne-Marie knew of that he referred to the Muldoon family with anything other than hate and bitterness. But she knew Jazz; he was too kind to dislike Marlie simply because she was unfortunate enough to be born into the Muldoon family. “So, are you two coming to lunch or what?” she asked, tipping her head back and smiling at him.

“Only if I can sit next to the pretty doctor,” Jazz answered. Tossing his cousin an irritated look, he said, “You can stay here and work your ass off, Tate. We can finish this later.”

“Nothing to finish,” Tate responded amiably. “You think I’m going to let you loose on these two ladies?”

* * *

“What was that all about?” Anne-Marie asked, glancing in her rearview mirror before backing out of the parking space. Just ahead of her, Tate and Marlie were pulling away from the curb.

“What?”

“That shouting match between you and Tate. Or maybe it wasn’t a match. You were doing all the shouting.” Looking at him sideways, Anne-Marie asked, “Was it about Larry Muldoon?”

Sighing, Jazz said, “It was about the whole damned thing. Your dad, Larry. I’m tired of being in the dark.”

“It’s a job for the law, Jazz. Not you.”

“It concerns me every bit as much it does Tate. More, because it affects you.”

“And why does that matter so much?” she asked quietly.

“Because I love you,” Jazz said, turning his head to look at her.

Her foot slammed down on the brake and she stared at him, her cheeks unusually pale.

“Ex…excuse me?”

“You’re blocking traffic,” Jazz responded mildly.

“What did you say?” she demanded, throwing the car into park and turning to him while cars stopped behind her and a passerby stopped to stare with avid interest.

One shoulder raised and lowered in a casual shrug. “I said, I love you.” Turning his head, he stared at her with blank eyes. “Is there a problem with that?”

“How…” She paused, licked her lips, cleared her throat. “How long?”

“Seems like my entire life.”

“Are you talking like, real love, or the brother-sister kind of love?”

“You’re not my sister and I’m not your brother,” he answered. She looked mighty nervous, he decided. Mighty scared. Why was that?

Softly, she whispered, “The real kind?”

“For more than half my life,” he told her, reaching out and brushing a stray lock of hair back from her face. “Is there a problem?”