Marilyn Pappano - Lawman's Redemption

Eddie Forbes, a criminal Neely had sent to prison when she was working as a prosecutor in Kansas City, had sworn revenge on her, and when he got out, he put out a contract on her life. One of the men trying to cash in on it had shot Reese, and a whole gang of them, including Forbes himself, had tracked them to Reese’s house in Heartbreak.

It was at that point Neely’s details had gotten a little fuzzy. All Hallie knew for sure was that Brady had gone to the house to help them, that he’d been willing to die to save Neely and that the house had been shot all to hell. Seven of the bad guys had died that night, including Forbes, shot by Neely herself.

Even weeks later in the middle of a hot, sunny day, the mere thought sent a shudder of revulsion through Hallie. God forbid, if she ever found herself in a similar situation, she hoped she would be as courageous as her sister.

“However it went,” she said, “you have the undying gratitude of the Madison family.”

A faint blush turned his cheeks crimson, and he shrugged awkwardly. “I was just doing my job.”

Right. And if she believed that, no doubt he’d have some fine swampland to offer, too.

Casting about for something to keep the conversation going, she seized one of the more mundane questions new acquaintances always asked. “Where are you from? Or is that another of your deep, dark secrets?”

“Not so deep or so dark, but…yeah. Only Reese knows that one.” He looked as if he wanted to drop it there, then took a breath and answered. “A dusty little town west of Dallas.”

“A Texan. Well, that explains a lot.” She softened the words with a smile. “Contrary to the opinions of every Texan I’ve ever met, being from Texas isn’t such a big deal.”

“You won’t get any argument from me. I left when I could, and I’ve never been back.”

“After the divorce?”

He nodded.

“So I take it you didn’t have any kids.”

A bitter look came across his face, and underneath the black mustache, his mouth thinned in a flat line. “No.”

“Me, neither.” That had been one of the issues in both her second and last marriages. She wanted kids—sometimes wanted them so badly her heart ached with it—and neither husband had been willing. Oh, Max had told her before the wedding sure, they would have all the babies she wanted, but after…. The time had never been right. Their lives were too busy. A baby wouldn’t fit into their lifestyle. He didn’t want the bother. Finally he’d quit making excuses and had told her straight out—no kids, not while she was married to him.

Which side of the question had Brady come down on? Had he wanted a little boy to play football with or a delicate little girl to pamper and protect? Or did he consider children a nuisance that would interfere with his own pleasures?

“What are your plans for this afternoon?” he asked.

“I’m driving over to Heartbreak to meet the contractor at the house. His name’s Dane Watson. Do you know him?”

“I know who he is. He’s a good builder. Honest. And single.”

She gave him a dry look. The only man in the entire state of Oklahoma—heck, in the entire world—whose marital status mattered to her was sitting across from her. It didn’t matter how desperate she was or how handsome and sexy he was, she would not sleep with a married man.

He checked his watch again, and Hallie politely asked, “Am I keeping you from something?”

“Nope.”

“Well…” She hoped her sigh didn’t sound as regretful to him as it did to her. “I should probably go. It’s a bit of a drive to Heartbreak.”

“Yeah, and the penalty for speeding around here can be pretty stiff.”

It was a simple observation, and she was in a sorry state when the first interpretation to pop into her mind was lascivious, if not downright dirty. Now it was her own cheeks turning pink as she stood up, then slung her purse strap over one shoulder. She reached for her trash, but he picked it up first, threw it away, then followed her out the door.

“Where are you parked?” he asked as they stood on the sidewalk under the blistering sun.

“Across from the courthouse. Where are you headed?”

“Same direction.”

She looked in store windows as they walked, but more often than not, her attention was on Brady’s reflection rather than the merchandise. “I can’t wait for the chance to go prowling through all these antique stores. I love neat old stuff.”

“Some of these places would be better labeled junk stores,” he warned.

She smiled up at him. “That’s the best kind.”

At the end of the block, they turned the corner, then stopped beside her car in the first parking space. She opened the door to let the heat radiate out, bent inside to start the engine and turn the air conditioner on high, then faced him again. “Can I say I enjoyed talking to you without scaring you into thinking I want something?”

“I don’t scare easily.”

“There’s not a man alive who can’t be flat-out terrified by the right woman.” Feeling cooler air coming out of her car, she tossed her purse into the passenger seat, then looked back at him. “Anyway, I did enjoy it, and that’s a reference only to the conversation we had today, nothing more. Like I said earlier, I don’t have any expectations.”

He studied her a moment before adjusting the cowboy hat lower over his eyes. “Maybe you should,” he said in a gravelly voice, then started off. At the edge of the street, he glanced back. “See you around.”

She watched until he’d disappeared inside the courthouse, then gave a shake of her head. She didn’t understand men, not for one minute, and she swore she was going to learn to live without them—except, of course, for the occasional temporary lover. But every feminine instinct she possessed suggested that was going to be a much harder proposition here in Buffalo Plains than it would have been in Beverly Hills.

And for that, she could thank Brady Marshall.

Climbing into her car, she backed out of the space, circled halfway around the block and headed south to Heartbreak. It was twenty miles of rolling hills and heavily wooded areas interspersed with pastures that didn’t appear to have anything left to feed the cattle and horses they held. She passed neat farmhouses, occasional trailers, more than a few shabby little places and one particularly ostentatious house just outside Heartbreak.

Heartbreak was not the town she imagined Neely spending the rest of her life in. It lacked the charm of Buffalo Plains, as well as most of the amenities. Downtown filled all of three blocks, and it was all shabby. She passed the Heartbreak Café—Café Shay, Neely called it, after its owner, Shay Rafferty. That was the place you went to find out what was going on in the town, the state and the world. Neely had also told Hallie about the doctor’s office across the street, where Heartbreak’s midwife practiced, who would someday deliver Neely’s babies, and she’d mentioned the hardware store up ahead, owned by Grace James and her husband, Ethan.

Truth was, Neely talked about the place as if she loved it and couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

Hallie had never loved any of the cities where she’d lived. In fact, at the moment, she had no clue where she was going to live when she left Oklahoma. She hadn’t realized how desperately she wanted out of California until last week, when she’d driven across the state line into Arizona. The terrain hadn’t changed one bit—desert was desert no matter which state it belonged to—but her outlook had. In a matter of seconds, the tension knotting her shoulders had eased, and so had the tight, panicky feeling that had settled in her chest six months earlier and never gone away. Her fingers had loosened their grip on the steering wheel, and she’d sunk a little more easily into the seat.

She’d thought then that she might never go back, not even to pack the rest of her things and sell her house.

She just didn’t have a clue where she would go.

Following the directions Neely had given her, she soon came to a mailbox marked Barnett. She turned into the gravel drive, passed through a heavy stand of blackjack oaks, then pulled into a clearing that wasn’t particularly clear.

A fresh, raw area on the right side of the drive showed where Reese’s house had stood. For the first few weeks after the assault, he and Neely had intended simply to repair, replace and clean up, then move back into the house. When they realized they kept putting off the simple jobs that would make that possible, they decided to raze it and start over from scratch.

Hallie didn’t blame them as she pulled onto the grass beside a half-dozen pickups. All the clean-ups in the world couldn’t make a person forget that people had died there. It would be too creepy to share the house with those memories.

On both sides of the house was pasture, and out back was a huge old barn. Next time she came out, she would have to bring her camera and get some shots of both the barn and the horses outside it.

Across the driveway from the old house site was the new house. Work was progressing rapidly—a good thing, since Neely had already issued invitations to everyone in both the Madison and the Barnett families for Thanksgiving dinner. Hallie found her way inside, got a wolf whistle from a carpenter and another from an electrician—so there, Max—and found Dane Watson in the master bedroom.

Good, honest and single, Brady had said. He’d forgotten to mention tall, muscular and handsome, with surfer-boy blond hair, blue eyes and the biggest dimples Hallie had seen. He looked her over with obvious appreciation, and when they shook hands, he held her hand far longer than he should have…and Hallie didn’t feel a thing. He was gorgeous, funny, charming, and made her feel like the best part of his day, and all she could think was that she liked him, but that was the extent of it.

She felt a tremendous sense of relief when she left the site two hours later. Maybe she really was building up an immunity to men. Maybe, before long, she wouldn’t pay them any more notice than she would the lovely purple-blooming crape myrtle over in the side yard or the Irish setter, gleaming deep mahogany, in the shade of a tree across the street. Pretty objects to be appreciated, then forgotten.

Unbidden, the image of Brady Marshall popped into her mind and burst her bubble. When he’d walked into the sandwich shop, she had gotten the oddest quivery sensation all through her torso—not just butterflies, but butterflies doing acrobatics. Her palms had gotten damp, and she hadn’t been able to decide between sliding onto the floor under the table or making a quick dash for the door while he was facing the counter.

Maybe she was building up an immunity to men.

But apparently Brady Marshall was the exception to the rule.

She was afraid she would have to be dead to be immune to him.

By the time Brady left the courthouse Monday evening, the sun hung low in the western sky. There was little traffic and no activity as he walked to his department SUV in the lot out back. All the shops and businesses downtown were closed by six o’clock, except on Thursdays, when most stores stayed open an extra two hours. The rest of the week, any money spent in Buffalo Plains at night was spent on food, alcohol, gasoline or at the small Wal-Mart on the edge of town.

Before heading home, he drove by the county maintenance facility in the north part of town and filled up his gas tank. It wouldn’t do to get called out on an emergency in the middle of the night and find out the gas tank was empty.