Lawman (4 page)

So he got up earlier than usual, made biscuits, fried bacon and scrambled eggs. He phoned the Collier house and only then recalled that the phone was out of order. He climbed into the car, dressed in city clothes and drove over to get Grace and Miss Turner.

They were dressed, just coming down the steps. Grace was wearing jeans and the floppy sweatshirt again, with her hair in a bun. They both looked surprised to see him.

“I made breakfast,” he said without preamble. “Let's go.”

“But you didn't have to do that,” Grace protested.

He started to take her arm, to herd her out the door, but she stepped back in an instant, her eyes wide, her cheeks rosy.

He glowered at her. “It's only breakfast. I'm not proposing,” he added sarcastically.

Her eyebrows went up. “Well, thank God for that,” she replied carelessly. “I'll consider it a lucky escape.” She hesitated when he gave her a blank stare. “Or shouldn't I have said that until
after
breakfast?”

He didn't smile, but his eyes did. He made a rough sound in his throat, avoided Miss Turner's amused gaze and led the way out to the car.

Grace ate with apparent enjoyment, but she was wary of her big, taciturn neighbor. She'd never met anyone quite like him. If he had a sense of humor, it must be very deeply hidden.

“It was very nice,” she said when she finished the last strip of bacon. “Do you mind if I use your phone to call the hospital?”

“Help yourself,” he said. “There's an extension in the hall.”

She got up, wiping her mouth gently, and went to find the phone.

“How's she doing?” Garon asked Miss Turner.

“She's going to take it badly,” she replied. “Mrs. Collier is a nightmare of a mother substitute, but Grace has lived with her so long that I think she just overlooks the bad attitude.”

“I noticed that the old lady seems to dislike her.”

Miss Turner grimaced. “It's even worse than it seems. Mrs. Collier failed Grace at a time when she needed her most. I think it's guilt that makes the old woman treat her so hatefully.”

“What happened?” he asked curiously.

“It's not my business to talk about Grace's business,” came the terse reply.

He sighed and finished his coffee. Apparently secrets were part of small town life.

Grace came back subdued. “She's in ICU,” she said as she sat back down at the table. “He didn't tell me that last night.”

“I'm sure he had his reasons. Are you going to work?”

“I have to,” Grace said baldly. “Granny's social security check barely pays for the utilities. I have to get in as many hours as I can.”

“No ambition to go to college or learn a profession?” Garon asked.

Grace gave him a bald stare. “And where would I get the money to do that, even if I didn't have to take care of Granny? She's been an invalid since I graduated from high school, and I'm all she has.” She scowled. “You know, for a man who wants everybody else to mind their own business, you sure spend a lot of time prying into other people's.”

His eyebrows arched. “See here, I'm loaning you my housekeeper…”

“Miss Turner doesn't have to be loaned,” Grace replied. “
She
has a heart.”

He glowered. “So do I.”

“You must keep it put up in a safe place, so that it doesn't get used much,” she returned. She got up. “Thanks for breakfast. You're not a very pleasant person, but you are a good cook.”

“Thank you the hell for small favors,” he gritted.

“You're nasty, I'm nasty,” she returned. “If you ever develop a pleasant personality, I'll even smile at you.”

Miss Turner was trying very hard not to smile. She did like this job, despite the odd behavior of her boss.

“I won't hold my breath,” Garon assured her. “I have to go. I'm up to my neck in meetings today. The keys to the Expedition are on the key rack by the front door,” he told Miss Turner. “Use it as much as you need to.” He hesitated. “Try not to run over her with it unless you absolutely have to,” he added, nodding toward Grace. “She'd probably puncture a tire with her attitude.”

“It's no surprise to me that you're not married,” Grace observed. “But thank you for the use of your vehicle. I'll see about getting mine fixed.”

“Most mechanics won't work for free,” he pointed out.

She glared at him. Her eyes sparkled when she was mad, and her soft complexion took on a pretty blush. “I can trade eggs and cakes for a tune-up with Jerry down at the filling station,” she told him.

“Bartering?” he said, astonished. “What century are you people living in?”

“A better one than yours, I guarantee,” she replied. “Around here, we're people, not numbers in a case book.”

“I'm amazed you're not a number in a home for the unbalanced,” he said under his breath.

“We'll go when you're ready, Grace,” Miss Turner interrupted, sensing an explosion.

“I'm ready now, Miss Turner.”

Garon glanced at her disapprovingly. “You go to a job looking like that?” he exclaimed.

She frowned, glancing down at her neat, clean jeans and spotless white sweatshirt. “What should I wear to work in the back of a florist's shop, a ball gown?” she asked.

He shook his head. “The women in my office wear pantsuits and makeup.”

“That's probably because they think you're eligible, and they want to impress you,” she retorted. “My boss is a woman and she dresses the same way I do.”

His eyebrow jerked. “To each his own. I'll be home late tonight, Miss Turner. Just put some cold cuts in the fridge for me.”

“I'll do that, boss,” she replied.

He turned at the front door. “I hope your grandmother improves,” he told Grace quietly.

“Coals of fire?” she muttered.

“Glad you noticed.” He went out and closed the door.

Grace felt an odd sensation in the pit of her stomach. She hoped she wouldn't have too much more contact with her taciturn neighbor. And she really hoped that Granny would get better as the day wore on.

 

J
UDY
, in the florist shop, was all kindness and compassion. She offered to let Grace off, with pay, to stay with her grandmother.

Grace shook her head. “Thanks, but Dr. Coltrain would have a cow,” she murmured as she constructed a wreath for a funeral. “He doesn't want me hanging around ICU. I can't go in, you know, except for a few minutes three times a day. She's really bad, Judy. I'm afraid.”

“She's been your family for a long time,” Judy agreed. “But there's a whole world out there that you've never seen, Grace. You have to think ahead.”

She moved restlessly. “I don't know what I'd do, if she…well, I mean, Cousin Bob in Victoria would let me come and visit, but he's in bad shape himself and he has a nurse who stays with him. I'd be alone, here in Jacobsville.”

Judy reached over, patted her hand, and smiled. “You'll never be alone in Jacobsville. We're your family, Grace. All of us.”

She managed a smile through a mist of quick tears. “Thanks.”

Judy shrugged. “You'll get by. We'll all look out for you. Not that you need it anymore,” she added. “You've become very independent over the years. I'm proud of the way you've handled yourself. You're an inspiration.”

“Not me.”

“You.” Judy smiled. “Not many people could come back so well from what happened. You've got guts, girl.”

Grace didn't like to talk about the past. She moved some more red roses closer to where she was working and started Judy talking about the new water rates. That was good for an hour.

 

M
RS
. C
OLLIER
was still in the coma when Grace left her about dark. Miss Turner had come in the Expedition, probably at Coltrain's urging, and insisted that Grace come home.

“You can't work and stay at the hospital all hours,” Miss Turner said firmly. “Besides, Jolie will call you if you're needed. We've gotten your phone fixed. Right?” she asked the pretty nurse on night duty.

“You bet I will,” Jolie assured her with a smile.

“All right, I'll go home. Thanks,” she added, and followed Miss Turner out to the Expedition.

 

G
ARON HAD COME HOME
a little later than his usual time and had still gone out to help his boys with some heifers who were calving for the first time. Late February was just right for new calves, with the first green grass cautiously poking its head up out of the cold ground. His black Angus cattle were pretty, and he bred for specific traits, since he ran beef cattle. It was something of a blessing that the former owners, the Jacobs family, had been horse ranchers, because the barn was well-kept and the fences had been built to last almost new. It had been a simple matter to string electric wire around the existing pastures to ensure that his animals didn't wander.

He came up onto the porch just as Miss Turner drove up at the steps.

“How's her grandmother?” he asked when she joined him.

“No change,” she replied. She shook her head. “She's holding up well, but I think she'll go to pieces if the old lady dies. She's not used to having to live alone.”

“Don't tell me she's afraid of the dark,” he laughed.

She looked up at him and she didn't smile. “If Mrs. Collier dies, I'll have to find someone to stay with Grace for a while, just until she gets used to the idea. Or maybe she might go up to Victoria and stay with her cousin Bob for a few days,” she added, thinking aloud.

“Take it one day at a time,” he said. “It's not wise to borrow trouble.”

“I suppose so.” She hesitated. “Her car is missing,” she said suddenly.

“I know. I had Brady bring it over here and overhaul it,” he replied. “I was tempted to send it to the junkyard instead, but I guess it's got two or three miles left in it…”

The phone rang insistently. He reached for it before Miss Turner did. “Grier,” he said shortly.

“You stole my car!” Grace Carver accused.

“I
DO NOT STEAL CARS
,”
he replied indignantly. “I work for the FBI.”

“They wouldn't have hired you in the first place if they knew you stole cars,” she replied, ignoring his defense. “Where's my car? It's no use saying you don't know, because the mailman saw one of your cowboys driving it off this morning after I went to work.”

He didn't deny it. “It's a death trap. I'm having it overhauled by my mechanic,” he said. “Then you can drive yourself.”

There was a brief pause. “I see.”

He bit his tongue. “I didn't mean that I mind you and Miss Turner using the Expedition,” he said irritably. “Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“I didn't say anything!”

“You were thinking it!”

She blinked. “It must be a handy sort of gift, reading minds, considering your line of work,” she said too sweetly.

His eyes darkened angrily.

She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Sorry, that slipped out. Just pretend you never heard it.”

“There's a saying,” he began slowly, “about biting the hand that feeds you…”

“I wouldn't bite yours,” she replied. “No telling
where
they've been!” Before he could react to that she thanked him again for helping with the car, and hung up quickly.

He slammed the freedom phone down into its cradle and muttered something under his breath.

Miss Turner's eyes widened. She'd never seen evidence of a temper in her taciturn new boss. Well, she thought as she walked toward the kitchen, at least he seemed more alive than he usually did. She wondered what in the world Grace had said to him to provoke that response.

 

G
RACE, MEANWHILE
, was feeling mean. Her neighbor had taken her car out of good intentions, so that he could fix it for her. She knew he wouldn't charge her for it, either. She grimaced. She needed to stop taking out her frustration on him. Just because she was frantic about Granny was no reason to hurt other people. Not that he seemed the sort of person you could hurt…

She wasn't working today, except on her own little project that consumed much of her free time and what little of her income she could spare. So when she got to a stopping point, she went into the kitchen and started cooking. She'd heard Miss Turner say that Garon was partial to an apple cake, and she was famous for hers. She used dried apples, which gave the dessert a taste all its own.

That afternoon, when Garon's foreman, Clay Davis, brought the car back, she went out to thank him with the cake in a carrier.

He was headed toward a pickup truck driven by one of his men, but he stopped when he saw Grace coming and smiled, doffing his wide-brimmed hat.

“Miss Grace,” he said respectfully.

She grinned. “Hi, Clay. Would you do me a favor and take this to your boss?”

He looked at the cake in its carrier. “Hemlock or deadly nightshade?” he asked wickedly.

She gaped at him.

He shrugged. “Well, we've sort of heard that the two of you don't get along.”

“It's just a nice apple cake,” she defended herself.

“I felt guilty for saying unkind things to him. It's sort of a peace offering.”

“I'll tell him.” He took the cake.

She smiled. “Thanks for fixing my car.”

“Key's in it,” he said. “And you need to watch that oil gauge,” he added. “We patched the leak, but just in case, don't set off anywhere until you're sure it's got oil in it. If you notice a leak, let us know. We'll fix that.”

“Thanks a lot, Clay.”

He shrugged. “Neighbors help each other out.”

“Yes, but there's not a lot I could do for your boss. He's already got all the help he needs.”

He smiled. “He does have a sweet tooth,” he confided, “although Miss Turner isn't much of a hand at cakes or pies. Don't tell her I said that,” he added. “She's a great cook.”

“She just doesn't do pastries,” Grace finished for him, smiling back. “That's okay. I can't fry chicken or make biscuits.”

“We all have our gifts,” he agreed.

“Thanks again.”

“No problem.”

He drove away with the cake beside him on the truck seat.

 

T
HAT NIGHT
, Grace drove herself to the hospital. She sat outside the intensive care unit, in the waiting room, until very late. Coltrain found her there, alone, when he made his last rounds.

He ground his teeth together. “Grace, you can't work all day and sit here all night,” he grumbled, standing over her.

She smiled. “If it were your grandmother, you'd be sitting here.”

He sighed. “Yes, I would. But I'm in better health than you are…”

“Don't start,” she said curtly. “I take very good care of myself and I have a terrific doctor.”

“Flattery doesn't work on me,” he replied. “Ask Lou,” he added. Lou was his wife.

She shrugged. “It was worth a try.” Her eyes became solemn. “The nurse said there's no change.”

He sat down beside her, looking worn. “Grace, you know that heart tissue doesn't regenerate, don't you?”

She grimaced. “Miracles still happen,” she said stubbornly.

“Yes, I know, I've seen them. But it's a very long shot, in this case,” he added. “You have to get used to the idea that your grandmother may not come home.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She clasped her hands together, very tightly, in her lap. “She's all I've got, Copper.”

He bit his tongue trying not to say what he was thinking. “Don't make her into a saint,” he said curtly.

“She was sorry about it all,” she reminded him with big, wet eyes. “She didn't mean to get drunk that night. I know she didn't. It hurt her that Mama went off without a word and dumped me in her lap.”

“Is that what she said?” he fished.

Her face closed up. “She wasn't a motherly sort of woman, I suppose,” she had to admit. “She didn't really like kids, and I was a lot of trouble.”

“Grace,” he said gently, “you were never a lot of trouble to anyone. You were always the one doing the work at your house. Your grandmother sat and watched soap operas all day and drank straight gin while you did everything else. The gin is why her heart gave out.”

She bit her lower lip. “At least she was there,” she said harshly. “My father didn't want kids, so when I came along, he ran off with some minor beauty queen and never looked back. My mother hated me because I was the reason my father left. And no other man wanted her with a ready-made family, so she left, too.”

“You looked like your father,” he recalled.

“Yes, and that's why she hated me most.” She looked at her clasped hands. “I never thought she cared about me at all. It was a shock, what she did.”

“It was guilt, I imagine,” he replied. “Like your grandmother, she had a high opinion of her family name. She expected what happened to be in all the newspapers. And it would have been, except for your grandmother playing on Chet Blake's soft heart and begging him to bury the case so nobody knew exactly what happened. But it was too late to save your mother by then.”

She swallowed, hard. “They never caught him.”

“Maybe he died,” Coltrain replied curtly. “Or maybe he went to prison for some other crime.”

She looked up at him. “Or maybe he did it to some other little girl,” she said curtly.

“Your grandmother didn't care. She only wanted it hushed up.”

“Chief Blake was sorry because of what happened to my mother,” she said absently. “Otherwise, I expect he would have pursued the case. He was a good policeman.”

“It was more than that,” he said, his expression solemn. “The perpetrator thought you were dead. Chet thought you were safer if he kept thinking it. He didn't mean for you to live and testify against him, Grace.”

Her skin crawled at just the memory. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Do you suppose he kept the file?”

“I'm sure he did, but it's probably well hidden,” he told her. “I doubt Cash Grier will accidentally turn it up, if that's what's worrying you,” he added gently.

She grimaced. “It was. Garon has been very kind to me,” she told him, “in a sore-paw, irritated sort of way. I don't want him to know about me.”

“It was never your fault, Grace,” he said, his voice soft and kind, as if he were talking to a small child. In fact, it had been Copper who treated her when the policemen brought her to the emergency room. He'd been a resident then.

“Some people say I asked for it,” she bit off.

“Hell!”

“He lived close by and I used to wear shorts,” she began.

“Don't ever make excuses for a creature like that,” he lectured. “No normal man is going to leer at a twelve-year-old child!”

She managed a smile for him. “You're very good to me.”

“I wish I was good for your social life,” he replied.

“You don't even date, Grace. You're twenty-four years old. You should have had therapy and learned to get on with your life. I blame your grandmother for that. She wouldn't have a relative of hers connected in any way with a psychologist.”

“She's very old-fashioned.”

“She's an ostrich,” he corrected hotly. “Protecting the family name by pretending nothing happened.”

“Everybody knows what happened,” she reminded him.

“Not really. They only know the bare bones.”

“They all look out for me, just the same,” she said, feeling warm and protected. “We're all family in Jacobsville,” she added thoughtfully. “Like old Mr. Jameson who was in prison for bank robbery and came home when he was released. He's paid his debt to society. He's sorry. Now he's just accepted.”

He smiled. “It's one of the nicer things about little towns,” he had to agree.

“You don't think anybody would tell Garon…?”

“Nobody gossips about you,” he said. “Not even Miss Turner.”

One thin shoulder lifted. “He's a stranger here, even if his brother is our police chief,” she said. “I don't suppose people would rush to air the dirty linen.”

“You're not dirty linen,” he said firmly.

She smiled. “You're a nice doctor.” She hesitated.

“Can't I see Granny, just for a minute?”

He made a face. “If you'll promise to go home afterward.”

She was reluctant, but she did want to see Mrs. Collier. “Okay.”

“Come on, then.”

He led her into the unit, spoke briefly to the nurse and escorted Grace into a small cubicle where her grandmother, white as a sheet and unaware of anyone around her, lay quiet on the bed.

Grace had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out. The old lady already looked dead. She was breathing in a way that Grace remembered vividly from her early childhood. Her grandfather had breathed like that the day he died. It was a rasping sort of sound. It was frightening.

Coltrain moved to her side. “Grace, it helps to remember that this is something all of us will face one day. It isn't an end. It's a beginning. Like the cocoon that produces a butterfly.”

She looked up at him with eyes that were far too bright. “My whole family is dead.”

“You still have a cousin up in Victoria, and he likes you.”

She had to admit that he was right. Although the cousin was in his late seventies and a semi-invalid. She moved to the bedside and slowly, hesitantly, touched her grandmother's broad shoulder.

“I love you, Granny,” she said softly. “I'm sorry…I've been such a burden to you—” Her voice broke. Tears poured down her cheeks.

Her grandmother moved jerkily, as if she heard, but her eyes didn't open. After a minute, she was still again, and the raspy breathing worsened.

Coltrain, who knew what it meant all too well, drew Grace out of the cubicle and back into the waiting room.

She pulled a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed at her eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“There's no need to be. Damn, Grace, you shouldn't be here alone!”

Just as he said it, the door opened automatically and Garon Grier, in a three-piece gray suit, walked into the waiting room.

Coltrain stared at him blankly. Grier was the last person in the world he'd expected to see, especially after the man had been so cool with Grace when her grandmother was brought in.

Garon joined them, his dark eyes on Grace's ravaged face. “Miss Turner said you'd probably be here,” he said curtly. “I went by to thank you for the apple cake, and your car was gone.”