Lone Star Legacy Page 5

  “Yes, ma’am.” Beth tried to smother a smile, but failed. A hottie? The woman had to be eighty if she was a day and her slang was a tad out of date, but she definitely deserved points for sheer spunk.

  Dorothea lifted her cat carrier from the counter and angled a look at Beth’s bare left hand. “If I were you, I’d snap him right up.”

  “If I ever decide to start looking, I’ll give that some thought,” Beth retorted dryly.

  At least this was a variation on an all-too-familiar theme. One week at this part-time job, and she’d already fielded questions from at least a dozen women about Joel’s marital status. Women who were interested for themselves, or who just happened to have daughters, granddaughters, or nieces who might like an introduction.

  Joel tried to avoid them.

  Beth found it amusing when he couldn’t.

  But that interest was no surprise, really. Other than a few grizzled cowhands who’d flirted with her while stopping in at the clinic, she hadn’t seen many eligible guys around town.

  A situation that suited her perfectly well.

  With Walt out in the country on farm calls, the clinic was quiet this afternoon save for a handful of people who’d either stopped in to buy pet supplies, or came to collect their pets after boarding them.

  Beth stretched, working out the stiffness in her muscles from last night’s siege with a wallpaper steamer, then she turned back to the bank of file drawers behind her.

  Joel sauntered up the hall, a carpenter’s pencil tucked above one ear, and that gunslinger tool belt riding low on his hips. With a nod in her direction, he went outside.

  What was it about him that made her pulse pick up a faster beat whenever he walked by?

  He certainly wasn’t her type…and she wasn’t in the market, at any rate.

  In college, she’d gravitated toward the guys with armloads of philosophy books, who talked about the meaning of life, politics or social reform. White-collar guys who were safe, responsible. Who impressed parents and promised the kind of security a smart girl wanted.

  Joel had an edge. An air of darkness and danger that promised he could handle any threat that came his way. But she’d learned early on that the bad boys in school were exciting, but they were the ones who casually broke hearts and disappeared. At the age of thirty she’d not be playing that game with Joel or anyone else—especially a man who was so clearly uncomfortable around Sophie.

  Luckily, she and Joel had moved past that initial suspicion of his to a fledgling level of friendship, but that was as far as Beth would ever go.

  According to Walt, the man had been a cop. A chill swept through her at the thought of what he could uncover if he got a little too curious and began researching her past. What if her anonymous caller was right—and Patrick had somehow tangled her up in the paperwork on his illegal dealings? Or she’d been implicated through some false evidence, by the very person who kept calling her? And then there was that suspicious fire….

  She’d been cleared once. But what if the investigators had second thoughts and looked closer?

  The clinic door opened and Joel came back in with a box of wood screws and a level. But this time, he didn’t just walk on by. He strolled into the receptionist’s area and leaned a hip against her desk, his too-long hair disarrayed by the windy day; his dark, thick lashes and smoldering brown eyes entirely too sexy and compelling.

  But it was the hint of a boyish twinkle in those eyes that calmed the nervous flutter in her stomach.

  “Ma’am, I need a favor. A big one.”

  Surprised, she gave him a glance. “If it involves sewing or ironing, you’re flat out of luck.”

  The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “What would you say about a date on Saturday night?”

  IF HE’D TOLD HER the entire town was afire, she couldn’t have paled any faster, though she quickly masked her initial look of shock with a forced laugh. “I…don’t think so.”

  He raised an eyebrow and grinned at her. “Dorothea would say you’re making a mistake.”

  “You heard that?” Some color came back into her cheeks.

  “Couldn’t help it. She has the voice of a revival preacher on Saturday night. Not,” he added wryly, “that I believe a thing she said.”

  “Half the female population of Lone Wolf does, though.” She tipped her head and surveyed him from head to foot. “You being a mystery man from the far reaches of the U.S. and all. Most people here probably know each other from birth to death.”

  “Anonymity is a good thing.”

  “And speaking of that, I need some facts, so I know what to say to these people. As in, where you are from exactly, and why you came here.” She tapped a forefinger against her lips, thinking. “Oh, and what you did for a living. That’s for starters. Unless you just want the local gossips to take care of things.”

  Joel felt his defenses rise, his muscles tense. “Gossips?”

  She gave a delicate shrug. “People know I work here and that you’re remodeling the clinic, so they ask me. Walt said you were a cop, but I’ve heard rumors that you are an ex-CIA agent, an FBI agent, or a private investigator.”

  He sighed heavily. “Detroit PD. Worked a lot of areas, though the last was homicide. I…just burned out, and needed a change.”

  He’d made a career of being good at noticing small details. Reading body language. Analyzing behavior and motivation. But even a rookie couldn’t have missed the subtle shift of her position, or the brief flare of uneasiness in her eyes.

  And he realized that though she’d been superficially friendly, she’d probably been even less forthcoming about her background than him—and was better at blithely skirting subtle questions, too.

  “I’m sure it was a tough career,” she murmured.

  “Challenging. So about Saturday—”

  “Mistake. A big mistake.” She seemed to cast around for an excuse, then brightened. “Since we’re working together and all.”

  “There’s a rule? In Walt’s clinic?”

  “I’m sure there must be.” Her gaze skated away. “Or there should be.”

  He tried to remember if he’d been turned down with such determination. Probably never, because he and his wife had been high school sweethearts and married young. Later, he’d lost all interest in any sort of social life after the heart-wrenching loss of their daughter, and a subsequent divorce so acrimonious that he still felt singed by Andrea’s anger and accusations.

  Then he realized that he hadn’t quite made his intentions clear. “The town’s annual street dance and barbecue is Saturday night. I just thought the evening could be casual—something between friends.”

  Beth’s brittle smile was tinged with disbelief. “You step out on the sidewalk, and I’ll bet some gal will swoop by and gladly help you out.”

  “I am not looking for a relationship, period. The last thing I’d ever do is settle down again, but the local mommas all have hopeful young things looking for a white picket fence and commitment, and they aren’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

  “So, say it louder.”

  “And disrespect someone’s mother? I just figure bringing a date might cool down some of the interest that has come my way.”

  Her hand fluttered to the thin white scar that traced a faint line from her temple to the corner of her jaw, just below her ear. “I really don’t think—”

  “Just two acquaintances out for a good time, nothing more than that. Hey, we can talk business the whole time. And the more people see you around town, the more they’ll sit up and take notice when you open the café.”

  “Now that,” she retorted with a dry laugh, “is a pretty far reach.”

  “Whatever it takes.” And oddly enough, he realized it was true.

  Walt had insisted that Joel meet him for some good Texas barbecue at the festivities, and Joel had figured it might be a good chance to learn a little more about Beth—away from the constant flow of clients in the clinic. But now, he
realized just how much he enjoyed her company, and that he really wanted her to come along. She was smart, and witty, and—

  “I’m not too sure about the dancing part,” she said solemnly.

  With a start, he remembered the car accident she’d mentioned, and the way she seemed to limp by the end of the day—barely noticeable, but perhaps she tried hard to mask it. “Absolutely.”

  “And just as fr—” She stumbled over the word. Her gaze skated away. “Colleagues.”

  He stifled a smile. “Of course.”

  “And if I can find a good babysitter for Sophie.”

  “Goes without saying.”

  If she’d been anyone else on the planet, he might’ve caved at the reluctance in her voice and let her off the hook. But the more he saw of her, the more she fascinated him on every level.

  He wanted to find out what made her tick. Why she was so reticent about her past. Hell, he wanted to tease her into going out on a dance floor, just so he could hold her in his arms and find out if she was as soft and sexy as she looked, because even now she had his dormant hormones slowly coming out of hibernation. “Well?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Then I guess I can help you out.”

  It was the most lukewarm acceptance he’d ever heard, but it was a start.

  SHE’D SPENT THE REST of the day and evening stewing about her foolish decision, but at around midnight Beth glanced at the clock one last time and finally tried to fall asleep by counting and recounting the reasons that Joel McAllen was a very bad idea.

  He was far too handsome for his own good, and she knew just how much a risk that could be. Twice this afternoon she’d found herself daydreaming about behavior entirely inappropriate for a woman widowed just a year.

  He was a cop, and that presented an even greater risk.

  And with an impressionable young daughter and the tiny apartment the two of them shared, she’d certainly never consider a short-term affair.

  Joel was wrong in every way. So why, after saying yes, had she felt her heart lift?

  An hour later, Sophie’s whimpers awakened her from a troubled sleep. Bleary-eyed, she stumbled into the next bedroom and sat on the edge of Sophie’s bed to rest a gentle hand on the child’s forehead. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  “Stop!” Sophie cried out, clearly still deep in dreams. “Don’t hurt my daddy!”

  It was the same nightmare she’d had a hundred times over during the past year, and it still didn’t make any sense.

  Beth lifted her daughter into her arms and gently smoothed back the tendrils of hair clinging to Sophie’s damp forehead, then rocked her. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Mommy’s here.”

  Sophie murmured something and burrowed closer, as if seeking shelter from the demons that still plagued her.

  The insurance investigators had said it was an utter miracle that anyone survived the car accident, though Sophie’s damage went beyond the physical. Six months of weekly visits with a children’s counselor had helped, but hadn’t totally eliminated her nightmares about her daddy’s blood. The sirens. The pain of her own injuries. Or the unexplainable and unconfirmed presence of a stranger who scared her still.

  The counselor suggested that the stranger was a fabrication, a focal point for Sophie’s terror over a situation too overwhelming for her to comprehend. The first people on the scene had been a passing highway patrol and then the paramedics, and there hadn’t been any threatening strangers according to those eyewitnesses. But fabrication or not, the night terrors were frequent and awful, and Beth’s heart twisted at the images Sophie had to face in her dreams.

  The phone rang—its harsh tone slicing through the quiet of night.

  Beth settled Sophie back under her covers and ran for the phone. Please, Lord, let this just be a wrong number.

  But even before she picked up the receiver, she knew who it was.

  “So you’re still there. Chose not to run? That’s good to know.” The muffled voice was intense, filled with loathing that sent her heart rate into overdrive. He rattled off a post office box address in South Chicago. “Here’s your last chance—send what I want, to this address. Priority. No signature required. You’ve got ten days, or next time, I won’t just be bringing matches.”

  The line went dead.

  He’d given her a deadline twice before. Once, he didn’t follow through. Several weeks after the second one, there’d been a break-in and a fire at her house.

  Shivering she wrapped her arms around her self. Oh, please, Lord…not again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JOEL EYED THE REMNANTS of wallpaper festooning the living room of Beth’s upstairs apartment and grinned. “Tell me again—how long has this place been in your family?”

  “I’m not sure. I think the records showed it was the late 1800s. Why?”

  He’d come upstairs to ask her about the placement of shelves in the new cabinets he’d just finished installing downstairs. At his knock, she’d called out for him to come on in, though from the sounds of water splashing and Sophie’s giggles, she was busy with bathtime.

  “Just curious.” He glanced again at the heavily flocked crimson paper. Most of it had been removed, but the remaining tatters seemed to portray buxom women in rather compromising poses.

  “Hold on.” Sophie’s giggles and Beth’s laughter floated out into the living room. A few minutes later, the little girl bounced out of the bathroom clad in a purple nightgown with a ruffled hem, her damp hair pulled back in a ponytail and her face pink and glowing.

  When he’d first seen Sophie, Joel’s heart had wrenched over all he’d lost, and his old guilt and grief had threatened to consume him. Even now, he couldn’t look at her strawberry blond hair and sweet little face without imagining what his own daughter would’ve looked like by now.

  Sophie twirled, her arms outstretched, then raced to a basket by the sofa and grabbed an armload of picture books. “Can you read me stories? My daddy did.”

  He felt the blood leave his face. My daddy. “I—”

  Beth came around the corner, a towel slung over one shoulder. Her hair was caught up in a ponytail, too, but the steam and the splashing had freed curly tendrils that framed her face, and her damp T-shirt clung to her curves. The look of exhaustion in her eyes turned to sharp awareness when her gaze collided with his. “I’ll read to you later, when you’re in bed, Sophie.”

  “But, Mommy—”

  “It’s time for your bedtime snack, okay? I’m sure Mr. McAllen wants to be going home soon. It’s late and he’s had a long day.” She nodded toward the kitchen table. “I’ve got cheese, crackers and juice all set.”

  Sophie’s face fell, but she dutifully put the books back and trudged over to the table and climbed up on a chair.

  “I…could have done it,” Joel said quietly.

  “I just assumed you’d rather not.” Beth’s smile was bittersweet. “Her dad always said the stories bored him, to tell you the truth. And I’ve noticed that you don’t exactly like being around young kids.”

  “It’s not that.” At the look of patent disbelief on Beth’s face, he tipped his head toward the basket of books and managed a smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve read the Fern Hollow books. They were my favorites.”

  “Really.” She studied him for a moment, as if not quite sure of him. “And your most favorite?”

  “Definitely Sigmund. For years, I maintained a fantasy about that crocodile coming to my house to eat cream buns.”

  The disbelief in her eyes faded. “Mine is the one about the seasons. I just love the artwork in that one.” She bent to pick up a scattering of doll clothes at her feet. “So, what can I do for you?”

  A sudden image flashed through his thoughts that had nothing to do with his work on her café, or children’s books, or the bawdy wallpaper on the—

  Well, maybe the wallpaper.

  She followed his gaze. “Nice, huh? The first layer was pink paisley, and that was bad enough. Under that were
layers of purple pansies and 1970s burnt-orange-and-avocado stripes. The red-flocked paper must’ve been welded on in places, because it sure isn’t coming off.”

  “It’s…unusual.”

  “I don’t think you could accuse anyone in this branch of my family with good taste.” Her eyes danced. “I’m beginning to think my great-great-grandmother might’ve run a house of ill repute here. Not that there could be such skeletons in my family tree.”

  “I’ll bet some of the old folks in town would know. You could even play that up in the décor now, if you wanted to do something unique.”

  “The Bordello—Good Coffee and Fine Food? I’d probably offend half the town if I did that, and I’d confuse the other half. They’d wonder what I had for sale.” She braced her hands on her slim hips. “So, how is everything coming with cupboards downst—”

  The telephone rang.

  Instantly, the color drained from her face.

  It rang again. She shot a quick look at the portable receiver on an end table, but made no move to answer it.

  “Your phone is ringing,” he said gently. “Expecting a call?”

  “No…yes.” She took an agitated step forward, then halted.

  The phone rang again.

  “Want me to get that?” When she didn’t immediately reply, he sauntered over and picked it up, held it out to her, then hit the talk button when she didn’t take it from him. “Crystal’s Café.”

  Walt chuckled. “So you’re still there!”

  “Working.”

  “Of course. Never thought otherwise.” The smile in his voice was unmistakable. “Hey, could you tell Beth that I need her to come over to the clinic for a few minutes? An emergency came in, and I could use an extra set of hands. I also can’t find the Farnsworth file, now that she’s straightened everything up. She’s welcome to bring Sophie. I’ll pay her triple if she can help out.”

  Joel handed the phone over. “Walt.”

  He watched the play of emotions on her face. A deep sense of relief, then concern as she eyed Sophie, who was yawning at the table.