Her Kind of Hero (25 page)

He didn't like that assumption. His eyes began to glitter. “You shouldn't listen to gossip,” he said, his voice deadly quiet. “She was a spoiled little debutante who thought Daddy should be able to buy her any man she wanted. When she discovered that he couldn't, she came to work for a friend of mine and spent a couple of weeks pursuing me around Jacobsville. I went home one night and found her piled up in my bed wearing a sheet and nothing else. I threw her out, but then she told everyone that I'd assaulted her. She had a field day with me in court until my housekeeper, Tolbert, was called to tell the truth about what happened. The fact that she lost the case should tell you what the jury thought of her accusations.”

“The jury?” she asked huskily. Besides his problems with his
mother, she hadn't known about any incident in his past that might predispose him even further to distrusting women.

His thin lips drew up in a travesty of a smile. “She had me arrested and prosecuted for criminal assault,” he returned. “I became famous locally—the one black mark in an otherwise unremarkable past. She had the misfortune to try the same trick later on an oilman up in Houston. He called me to testify in his behalf. When he won the case, he had her prosecuted for fraud and extortion, and won. She went to jail.”

She felt sick. He'd had his own dealings with the press. She was sorry for him. It must have been a real ordeal after what he'd already suffered in his young life. It also explained why he wasn't married. Marriage involved trust. She doubted he was capable of it any longer. Certainly it explained the hostility he showed toward Leslie. He might think she was pretending to be repulsed by him because she was playing some deep game for profit, perhaps with some public embarrassment in mind. He might even think she was setting him up for another assault charge.

“Maybe you think that I'm like that,” she said after a minute, studying him quietly. “But I'm not.”

“Then why act like I'm going to attack you whenever I come within five feet of you?” he asked coldly.

She studied her fingers on the desk before her, their short fingernails neatly trimmed, with a coat of colorless sheen. Nothing flashy, she thought, and that was true of her life lately. She didn't have an answer for him.

“Is Ed your lover?” he persisted coldly.

She didn't flinch. “Ask him.”

He rolled the unlit cigar in his long fingers as he watched her. “You are one enormous puzzle,” he mused.

“Not really. I'm very ordinary.” She looked up. “I don't like doctors, especially male ones…”

“Lou's a woman,” he replied. “She and her husband are both physicians. They have a little boy.”

“Oh.” A woman. That would make things easier. But she didn't want to be examined. They could probably tell from X-rays how breaks occurred, and she didn't know if she could trust a local doctor not to talk about it.

“It isn't up to you,” he said suddenly. “You work for me. You had an accident on my ranch.” He smiled mirthlessly. “I have to cover my bets. You might decide later on to file suit for medical benefits.”

She searched his eyes. She couldn't really blame him for feeling like that. “Okay,” she said. “I'll let her examine me.”

“No comment?”

She shrugged. “Mr. Caldwell, I work hard for my paycheck. I always have. You don't know me, so I don't blame you for expecting the worst. But I don't want a free ride through life.”

One of his eyebrows jerked. “I've heard that one before.”

She smiled sadly. “I suppose you have.” She touched her keyboard absently. “This Dr. Coltrain, is she the company doctor?”

“Yes.”

She gnawed on her lower lip. “What she finds out, it is confidential, isn't it?” she added worriedly, looking up at him.

He didn't reply for a minute. The hand dangling the cigar twirled it around. “Yes,” he said. “It's confidential. You're making me curious, Miss Murry. Do you have secrets?”

“We all have secrets,” she said solemnly. “Some are darker than others.”

He flicked a thumbnail against the cigar. “What's yours? Did you shoot your lover?”

She didn't dare show a reaction to that. Her face felt as if it would crack if she moved.

He stuck the cigar in his pocket. “Edna will let you know when you're to go see Lou,” he said abruptly, with a glance at his watch. He held up the letter. “Tell Ed I've got this. I'll talk to him about it later.”

“Yes, sir.”

He resisted the impulse to look back at her. The more he discovered about his newest employee, the more intrigued he became. She made him restless. He wished he knew why.

 

There was no way to get out of the doctor's appointment. Leslie spoke briefly with Dr. Coltrain before she was sent to the hospital for a set of X-rays. An hour later, she was back in Lou's office, watching the older woman pore somberly over the films against a lighted board on the wall.

Lou looked worried when she examined the X-ray of the leg. “There's no damage from the fall, except for some bruising,” she concluded. Her dark eyes met Leslie's squarely. “These old breaks aren't consistent with a fall, however.”

Leslie ground her teeth together. She didn't say anything.

Lou moved back around her desk and sat down, indicating that Leslie should sit in the chair in front of the desk after she got off the examining table.

“You don't want to talk about it,” Lou said gently. “I won't press you. You do know that the bones weren't properly set at the time, don't you? The improper alignment is unfortunate, because that limp isn't going to go away. I really should send you to an orthopedic surgeon.”

“You can send me,” Leslie replied, “but I won't go.”

Lou rested her folded hands on her desk over the calendar blotter with its scribbled surface. “You don't know me well enough to confide in me. You'll learn, after you've been in Jacobsville a while, that I can be trusted. I don't talk about my patients to anyone, not even my husband. Matt won't hear anything from me.”

Leslie remained silent. It was impossible to go over it again with a stranger. It had been hard enough to elaborate on her past to the therapist, who'd been shocked, to put it mildly.

The older woman sighed. “All right, I won't pressure you. But if you ever need anyone to talk to, I'll be here.”

Leslie looked up. “Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“You're not Matt's favorite person, are you?” Lou asked abruptly.

Leslie laughed without mirth. “No, I'm not. I think he'll find a way to fire me eventually. He doesn't like women much.”

“Matt likes everybody as a rule,” Lou said. “And he's always being pursued by women. They love him. He's kind to people he likes. He offered to marry Kitty Carson when she quit working for Dr. Drew Morris. She didn't do it, of course, she was crazy for Drew and vice versa. They're happily married now.” She hesitated, but Leslie didn't speak. “He's a dish—rich, handsome, sexy, and usually the easiest man on earth to get along with.”

“He's a bulldozer,” Leslie said flatly. “He can't seem to talk to people unless he's standing on them.” She folded her arms over her chest and looked uncomfortable.

So that's it, Lou thought, wondering if the young woman realized what her body language was giving away. Lou knew instantly that someone had caused those breaks in the younger woman's leg; very probably a man. She had reason to know.

“You don't like people to touch you,” Lou said.

Leslie shifted in the chair. “No.”

Lou's perceptive eyes went over the concealing garments Leslie wore, but she didn't say another word. She stood up, smiling gently. “There's no damage from the recent fall,” she said gently. “But come back if the pain gets any worse.”

Leslie frowned. “How did you know I was in pain?”

“Matt said you winced every time you got out of your chair.”

Leslie's heart skipped. “I didn't realize he noticed.”

“He's perceptive.”

Lou prescribed an over-the-counter medication to take for the pain and advised her to come back if she didn't improve. Leslie agreed and went out of the office in an absentminded stupor, wondering what else Matt Caldwell had learned from her just by observation. It was a little unnerving.

 

When she went back to the office, it wasn't ten minutes before Matt was standing in the doorway.

“Well?” he asked.

“I'm fine,” she assured him. “Just a few bruises. And believe me, I have no intention of suing you.”

He didn't react visibly. “Plenty have.” He was irritated. Lou wouldn't tell him anything, except that his new employee was as closemouthed as a clam. He knew that already.

“Tell Ed I'll be out of the office for a couple of days,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

He gave her a last look, turned and walked back out. It wasn't until Matt was out of sight that Leslie began to relax.

T
he nightmares came back that night. Leslie had even expected them, because of the visit to Dr. Lou Coltrain and the hospital's X-ray department. Having to wear high heeled shoes to work hadn't done her damaged leg any good, either. Along with the nightmare that left her sweating and panting, her leg was killing her. She went to the bathroom and downed two aspirin, hoping they were going to do the trick. She decided that she was going to have to give up fashion and wear flats again.

Matt noticed, of course, when he returned to the office three days later. His eyes narrowed as he watched her walk across the floor of her small office.

“Lou could give you something to take for the pain,” he said abruptly.

She glanced at him as she pulled a file out of the metal cabinet. “Yes, she could, Mr. Caldwell, but do you really want a comatose secretary in Ed's office? Painkillers put me to sleep.”

“Pain makes for inefficiency.”

She nodded. “I know that. I have a bottle of aspirin in my
purse,” she assured him. “And the pain isn't so bad that I can't remember how to spell. It's just a few bruises. They'll heal. Dr. Coltrain said so.”

He stared at her through narrowed, cold eyes. “You shouldn't be limping after a week. I want you to see Lou again…”

“I've limped for six years, Mr. Caldwell,” she said serenely. Her eyes kindled. “If you don't like the limp, perhaps you shouldn't stand and watch me walk.”

His eyebrows arched. “Can't the doctors do anything to correct it?”

She glared at him. “I hate doctors!”

The vehemence of her statement took him aback. She meant it, too. Her face flushed, her eyes sparkled with temper. It was such a difference from her usual expression that he found himself captivated. When she was animated, she was pretty.

“They're not all bad,” he replied finally.

“There's only so much you can do with a shattered bone,” she said and then bit her lip. She hadn't meant to tell him that.

The question was in his eyes, on his lips, but it never made it past them. Just as he started to ask, Ed came out of his office and spotted him.

“Matt! Welcome back,” he said, extending a hand. “I just had a call from Bill Payton. He wanted to know if you were coming to the banquet Saturday night. They've got a live band scheduled.”

“Sure,” Matt said absently. “Tell him to reserve two tickets for me. Are you going?”

“I thought I would. I'll bring Leslie along.” He smiled at her. “It's the annual Jacobsville Cattlemen's Association banquet. We have speeches, but if you survive them, and the rubber chicken, you get to dance.”

“Her leg isn't going to let her do much dancing,” Matt said solemnly.

Ed's eyebrows lifted. “You'd be surprised,” he said. “She loves Latin dances.” He grinned at Leslie. “So does Matt here. You wouldn't believe what he can do with a mambo or a rhumba, to say nothing of the tango. He dated a dance instructor for several months, and he's a natural anyway.”

Matt didn't reply. He was watching the play of expressions on Leslie's face and wondering about that leg. Maybe Ed knew the truth of it, and he could worm it out of him.

“You can ride in with us,” Matt said absently. “I'll hire Jack Bailey's stretch limo and give your secretary a thrill.”

“It'll give me a thrill, too,” Ed assured him. “Thanks, Matt. I hate trying to find a parking space at the country club when there's a party.”

“That makes two of us.”

One of the secretaries motioned to Matt that he had a phone call. He left and Ed departed right behind him for a meeting. Leslie wondered how she was going to endure an evening of dancing without ending up close to Matt Caldwell, who already resented her standoffish attitude. It would be an ordeal, she supposed, and wondered if she could develop a convenient headache on Saturday afternoon.

 

Leslie only had one really nice dress that was appropriate to wear to the function at the country club. The gown was a long sheath of shimmery silver fabric, suspended from her creamy shoulders by two little spaghetti straps. With it, she wore a silver-and-rhinestone clip in her short blond hair and neat little silver slippers with only a hint of a heel.

Ed sighed at the picture she made when the limousine pulled up in front of the boardinghouse where she was staying. She met him on the porch, a small purse clenched in damp hands, all aflutter at the thought of her first evening out since she was seventeen. She was terribly nervous.

“Is the dress okay?” she asked at once.

Ed smiled, taking in her soft oval face with its faint blush of lipstick and rouge, which was the only makeup she ever wore. Her gray eyes had naturally thick black lashes, which never needed mascara.

“You look fine,” he assured her.

“You're not bad in a tux yourself,” she murmured with a grin.

“Don't let Matt see how nervous you are,” he said as they approached the car. “Somebody phoned and set him off just as we left my house. Carolyn was almost in tears.”

“Carolyn?” she asked.

“His latest trophy girlfriend,” he murmured. “She's from one of the best families in Houston, staying with her aunt so she'd be on hand for tonight's festivities. She's been relentlessly pursuing Matt for months. Some of us think she's gaining ground.”

“She's beautiful, I guess?” she asked.

“Absolutely. In a way, she reminds me of Franny.”

Franny had been Ed's fiancée, shot to death in a foiled bank robbery about the time Leslie had been catapulted into sordid fame. It had given them something in common that drew them together as friends.

“That must be rough,” Leslie said sympathetically.

He glanced at her curiously as they approached the car. “Haven't you ever been in love?”

She shrugged, tugging the small faux fur cape closer around her shoulders. “I was a late bloomer.” She swallowed hard. “What happened to me turned me right off men.”

“I'm not surprised.”

He waited while the chauffeur, also wearing a tuxedo, opened the door of the black super-stretch limousine for them. Leslie climbed in, followed by Ed, and the door closed them in with Matt and the most beautiful blond woman Leslie had ever seen. The other woman was wearing a simple black sheath dress with a short skirt and enough diamonds to open a jewelry store. No point in asking if they were real, Leslie thought, considering the look of that dress and the very real sable coat wrapped around it.

“You remember my cousin, Ed,” Matt drawled, lounging back in the leather seat across from Ed and Leslie. Small yellow lights made it possible for them to see each other in the incredibly spacious interior. “This is his secretary, Miss Murry. Carolyn Engles,” he added, nodding toward the woman at his side.

Murmured acknowledgments followed his introduction. Leslie's fascinated eyes went from the bar to the phones to the individual controls on the air-conditioning and heating systems. It was like a luxury apartment on wheels, she thought, and tried not to let her amusement show.

“Haven't you ever been in a limousine before?” Matt asked with a mocking smile.

“Actually, no,” she replied with deliberate courtesy. “It's quite a treat. Thank you.”

He seemed disconcerted by her reply. He averted his head and studied Ed. His next words showed he'd forgotten her. “Tomorrow morning, first thing, I want you to pull back every
penny of support we're giving Marcus Boles. Nobody, and I mean nobody, involves me in a shady land deal like that!”

“It amazes me that we didn't see through him from the start,” Ed agreed. “The whole campaign was just a diversion, to give the real candidate someone to shoot down. He'll look like a hero, and Boles will take the fall manfully. I understand he's being handsomely paid for his disgrace. Presumably the cash is worth his reputation and social standing.”

“He's got land in South America. I hear he's going over there to live. Just as well,” Matt added coldly. “If he's lucky, he might make it to the airport tomorrow before I catch up with him.”

The threat of violence lay over him like an invisible mantle. Leslie shivered. Of the four people in that car, she knew firsthand how vicious and brutal physical violence could be. Her memories were hazy, confused, but in the nightmares she had constantly, they were all too vivid.

“Do calm down, darling,” Carolyn told Matt gently. “You're upsetting Ms. Marley.”

“Murry,” Ed corrected before Leslie could. “Strange, Carolyn, I don't remember your memory being so poor.”

Carolyn cleared her throat. “It's a lovely night, at least,” she said, changing the subject. “No rain and a beautiful moon.”

“So it is,” Ed drawled.

Matt gave him a cool look, which Ed met with a vacant smile. Leslie was amused by the way Ed could look so innocent. She knew him far too well to be fooled.

Matt, meanwhile, was drinking in the sight of Leslie in that formfitting dress that just matched her eyes. She had skin like marble, and he wondered if it was as soft to the touch as it seemed. She wasn't conventionally pretty, but there was a
quality about her that made him weak in the knees. He was driven to protect her, without knowing why he felt that way about a stranger. It irritated him as much as the phone call he'd fielded earlier.

“Where are you from, Ms. Murbery?” Carolyn asked.

“Miss Murry,” Leslie corrected, beating Ed to the punch. “I'm from a little town north of Houston.”

“A true Texan,” Ed agreed with a grin in her direction.

“What town?” Matt asked.

“I'm sure you won't have heard of it,” Leslie said confidently. “Our only claim to fame was a radio station in a building shaped like a ten-gallon hat. Very much off the beaten path.”

“Did your parents own a ranch?” he persisted.

She shook her head. “My father was a crop duster.”

“A what?” Carolyn asked with a blank face.

“A pilot who sprays pesticides from the air in a small airplane,” Leslie replied. “He was killed…on the job.”

“Pesticides,” Matt muttered darkly. “Just what the ground-water table needs to—”

“Matt, can we forget politics for just one night?” Ed asked. “I'd like to enjoy my evening.”

Matt gave him a measured glare with one eye narrowed menacingly. But he relaxed all at once and leaned back in his seat, to put a lazy arm around Carolyn and let her snuggle close to him. His dark eyes seemed to mock Leslie as if comparing her revulsion to Carolyn's frank delight in his physical presence.

She let him win this round with an amused smile. Once, she might have enjoyed his presence just as much as his date was reveling in now. But she had more reason than most to fear men.

 

The country club, in its sprawling clubhouse on a man-made lake, was a beautiful building with graceful arches and fountains. It did Jacobsville proud. But, as Ed had intimated, there wasn't a single parking spot available. Matt had the pager number of the driver and could summon the limousine whenever it was needed. He herded his charges out of the car and into the building, where the reception committee made them welcome.

There was a live band, a very good one, playing assorted tunes, most of which resembled bossa nova rhythms. The only time that Leslie really felt alive was when she could close her eyes and listen to music; any sort of music—classical, opera, country-western or gospel. Music had been her escape as a child from a world too bitter sometimes to stomach. She couldn't play an instrument, but she could dance. That was the one thing she and her mother had shared, a love of dancing. In fact, Marie had taught her every dance step she knew, and she knew a lot. Marie had taught dancing for a year or so and had shared her expertise with her daughter. How ironic it was that Leslie's love of dance had been stifled forever by the events of her seventeenth year.

“Fill a plate,” Ed coaxed, motioning her to the small china dishes on the buffet table. “You could use a little more meat on those bird bones.”

She grinned at him. “I'm not skinny.”

“Yes, you are,” he replied, and he wasn't kidding. “Come on, forget your troubles and enjoy yourself. Tonight, there is no tomorrow. Eat, drink and be merry.”

For tomorrow, you die,
came the finish to that admonishing
verse, she recalled darkly. But she didn't say it. She put some cheese straws and finger sandwiches on a plate and opted for soda water instead of a drink.

Ed found them two chairs on the rim of the dance floor, where they could hear the band and watch the dancing.

The band had a lovely dark-haired singer with a hauntingly beautiful voice. She was playing a guitar and singing songs from the sixties, with a rhythm that made Leslie's heart jump. The smile on her face, the sparkle in her gray eyes as she listened to the talented performer, made her come alive.