Laid Out and Candle Lit (12 page)

Ridge reached out and took her hand. “I think Boone loved you more than Marlene by doing what he did.”

She snapped her head toward him. “You didn’t even know him and you’re defending him?”

Ridge quickly shook his head. “I’m not. But I’m a guy and sometimes we do something we think is the right thing and it turns out to be the absolute wrong decision.”

She gave his hand a squeeze. “Thank you for trying to make me feel better, and you may be right. Maybe he thought he
was
doing the best thing for everyone. But he’s dead. Gracie doesn’t have a daddy, and I’m alone.” She turned away for a moment, then faced him again. “It seems all I do is cry when I’m with you.”

“I’m sorry,” Ridge said.

Now the sky growled and flashed. The trees swayed in the wind, and rain trickled down the car windows distorting the view. Tizzy held his gaze. “Yeah, all I do is cry and all you do is apologize,” she sniffed. “We’d better get home.”

She closed her eyes and fought the storm of emotions filling her chest.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

D
raped with an antique lace cloth, the beauty of the dining table was lost beneath witness statements and pertinent documents concerning the case. Ridge sorted and shifted the papers trying to organize them. He took out a legal pad and marked off columns across the page, then headed each one with a name. Tizzy Donovan. Carl Weston. Kyle Richmond.

After interviewing Norma Harkey, he’d been excited about the information concerning the Weston’s marriage. Anything pointing him in a direction away from Tizzy was good news.

The clock on the mantle started to strike. Ridge glanced at his watch. Eleven o’clock. He had planned to meet Bubba at McAlister’s for a beer. He got up, removed his shirt on the way to the bathroom.

Once inside the shower, he placed his hands flat against the wall in front of him, lowered his head and let the spray of hot water rain down on him. He wanted to clear his head of the case. He stepped out, leaned forward and wiped the fog from the mirror with his hand. He was six hours past a five o’clock shadow, but decided against shaving. Hell, stubble was in. He liked it. Maybe
she
did too. He wanted to be with her. He knew it was wrong. But he didn’t care. Every time they were together, his desire for her grew stronger.

Ridge smiled, remembering what she’d said to him.
You should smile more, it becomes you.
The way the words “
it becomes you
” spilled from her mouth with a soft southern drawl caused his heart to race. He shook his head.
Cooper, what are you doing? Are you willing to risk your job? Hell, your career? For a woman you barely know? A woman involved in a case?
The logical answer . . . the professional answer . . . was no. But his heart’s answer contradicted logic.

* * * * *

The weekend kicked off with a rowdy Friday-night crowd at McAlister’s Tavern. Ridge slid onto a stool at the end of the bar and gave the room a quick sweep of his eyes. Jerrod Neiman’s rendition of
Lover Lover
blared from the juke box. Directly behind him, three young women sat at a table swigging beer while a couple of men circled the room, marking their territory. Ridge smiled, recalling a time when he would have been among them.

His thought was lost when Lauralee pressed her body against his back, draping her arms around his shoulders. Slightly slurring her words, she asked. “How’s it going with Tizzy?”

“The other night, Tizzy had a little talk with me about you. She said for me to keep my hands off because she wanted you for herself. Hell, she hasn’t been laid in like . . . forever. After all these years without a man, I guess she’s decided you’re the one.”

Ridge took her arm and pulled her around to face him. Unsteady, she sat down on the stool next to him. He leaned forward and cast a glance down the bar. “She told you that, huh? What else did she say?”

“She said, ‘Lauralee, keep your hands off him, because hee-es mine.’” She drew her words out and bobbed her head and giggled. “Hell, she’s been manless so-o-o long, she’s a born-again virgin. Well, she threw in a bunch of pleases and thank yous, cause that’s just how she is. She just drips sweetness.”

He shifted on his stool to find Tizzy and caught a glimpse of a man sitting alone at a corner table. He recognized the unmistakable slant of his Stetson and felt sick to his stomach. Frank Reynolds, in his early fifties, was as fit as any thirty-year-old. At six-feet-four and over two hundred pounds, his size alone was enough to intimidate most men. Ridge stood up and walked over to him. “Captain Reynolds? What are you doing here? I mean, I’m surprised to see you, sir. Is there a problem with the investigation?”

“No, Cooper. This is a social call. I don’t think I mentioned, I’m old friends with the McAlisters. Saint and I went through the academy together. I thought I’d pay a friendly visit and kill two birds with one stone. I’d get to visit the McAlisters and talk to you about the case.” He craned his neck toward Lauralee. “Please, sit down, Cooper. I see you’ve made a friend since you’ve been here.”

Ridge glanced over his shoulder at Lauralee. “Who? Her?” He gave a whispered laugh. “Believe me, Lauralee wants to be everybody’s friend. She may try to be your friend before the night’s over.”

“How do you like small town life?” Reynolds asked. “I understand you’re on good terms with local and county lawmen.”

“Yes sir, they’ve been very helpful. As for as the town, it’s quiet and laid back. Good for working a case.”

“Well, from your reports, you’re coming along. You’ll get information concerning the vic’s car on Monday. I understand they still don’t have a COD. Nothing came back on the original toxicology report, so they’re running more tests,” he said. “Don’t let me keep you, Cooper. You’re off the clock, so go. Enjoy yourself.”

“Yes sir. Thank you. Enjoy your visit.” He shook the man’s hand and strode away. Beads of perspiration formed on Ridge’s forehead and above his lip. He wiped the sweat with the back of his hand. The remarks about the local and county departments let him know Captain Reynolds had been asking about him.
Social call, my ass.
He’d come to town specifically to check on him.

He took his place back at the bar and scanned the room for Tizzy. His stomach knotted. She was headed to the dance floor with Captain Reynolds. Damn! He wondered what
she
was telling him.

Just after midnight, Bubba and Rayann came in. As usual, Bubba shed his gun and uniform shirt, leaving him in jeans and a tee-shirt that hugged his thick muscular chest. They were the spittin’ image of Ken and Barbie. Rayann clung to him as they danced. Captain Reynolds and Saint McAlister were sitting at a corner table, laughing as though they were reminiscing about old times. Tizzy busied herself wiping down the bar. Stool by stool, Ridge moved closer, until he was directly in front of her. “How ’bout a dance?” he asked.

She didn’t break her tempo as she continued to swirl the wet cloth across the counter. “I don’t think so, Cooper. I have work to do. But thanks for asking.”

He smiled. “What? So now you’re playing hard to get?”

“No,” she said. “I have things to do, that’s all.”

He took a final swig of his beer. “Oh, by the way, I have some good news. As it turns out, I’m not gay after all.” He broke into a laugh.

She hesitated briefly, then started to wipe again. “Oh well, that is good news. Congratulations.”

“Yeah, thanks. According to Lauralee, that’s not exactly the story you gave her.”

Tizzy continued to wipe the bar. “Well, I wouldn’t put too much faith in anything Lauralee might tell you. She’s generally buzzed most nights. Who knows? She probably got her conversations confused.”

“Yeah, probably,” Ridge said, as he walked away.

* * * * *

The door to the bar swung open. Saint looked past Frank Reynolds, then shouted to the young man standing inside. “Sorry, son, we’re closed.”

The thin man with long dirty blond hair, unshaven and sporting a gold hoop from each ear lobe, stepped farther inside, pulled a gun from behind him and said. “No, I don’t think so. Give me the money from the register.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

W
ith the scrawny man’s announcement, everyone froze in place.

He spoke to Tizzy. “You, honey, come out from behind the bar.” Next, he shouted toward the dance floor. “You, Blondie and your boyfriend, stand over there.” He waved his gun toward Saint and Frank’s table.

Saint slowly stood up with his hands in the air. “I’ll get the money for you. We don’t want any trouble.”

Agitated and glassy eyed, the man responded. “Don’t try anything funny.” He pointed the gun toward Tizzy. “You, honey, kill that music and come over here by me.” Tizzy unplugged the juke box and slowly moved to him. He spun her around and crooked his arm around her throat, pulling her against him. Shaking and sniffing, he said, “Anybody tries anything, I’ll kill her. I swear I will.” He pressed the gun to her head.

Saint took money from the register, put the cash in a bag and laid it on the counter. “Here, take the money and let her go. We’re not going to try anything. Just take the money and leave,” he said.

The man nuzzled at her neck. “I bet me and you could have us a good time. Couldn’t we?” he said, dragging his lips down the side of her neck. He moved his hand from her throat to place it across her breasts.

Her breath hitched. “Please don’t,” Tizzy whispered.

“I don’t know, honey. You and me and all that cash could have us one hellavu time. I bet you’re hot in the sack ain’t ‘cha?” He ran his hand back across her breasts, groping her.

* * * * *

Ridge reached for the men’s room door, and his gut knotted. Out in the bar, the room had gone totally silent. When on duty, Ridge’s sidearm of choice was a .357 Sig Sauer. But off duty, he carried a concealed Smith and Wesson .638 air-weight. Instinctively, he reached underneath his jeans, removed the gun from his ankle holster, flipped off the light, and cracked the door.

He could see the man. He had Tizzy held in one hand and a gun in the other. Staring through the small opening, he waited for a window of opportunity. The dark chocolate pools in Tizzy’s eyes faded, and blood drained from her face. The same as in the cemetery. He knew what was coming.

The five seconds it took for her limp body to fall to the floor was all the time he needed. He flung the door open with gun raised and fired. The bullet slammed into the shoulder of the robber. He collapsed onto the floor face down. Everyone in the room rushed to them. Saint kicked the gun away. Frank handcuffed the man and yelled, “Call 911.”

Saint McAlister tried to revive his daughter. “Oh God! She’s bleeding. She must’ve hit the table when she fell.” He wiped at the blood with his hand. “She’s got a gash at her hairline. Then, “It’s not deep,” he added with relief in his voice.

Minutes later, the Police and EMT arrived. Once they determined neither wound was life- threatening, the first ambulance transported Tizzy and the second carried the perp. Saint McAlister left for the hospital while everyone else milled around, waiting to give their statements.

Frank Reynolds approached Ridge. “That was damn good work, Cooper. I was hoping you didn’t come out of the bathroom and step into a pile of shit. You were thinking like a Ranger. Damn good job.” He slapped him on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Captain.”

At a little past three a.m., Ridge left the scene with lights flashing and gravel spraying. He spun out of the parking lot headed for the hospital.

* * * * *

The nurse at the desk stared up at Ridge with eyes that said she hated the night shift, but then spied his badge. “May I help you, officer?”

Ridge pushed the door open. The room was dark and quiet. She was alone and sobbing uncontrollably into her pillow. He walked over to the bed and placed his hand on her shoulder. Startled, she jerked her head up and immediately clutched his shirt with both hands, pulled him to her and wept into his chest. He gave her a minute, then removed his boots, gathered her in his arms, and whispered into her hair. “I would have never let him take you. Never.”

All night, she was restless. She jerked, moaned and cried out. He held her tighter each time and she calmed in his arms. Dozing sporadically, the thought of the man and what he could have done to her made Ridge sick to his stomach. It wasn’t the first time he’d shot someone. He’d only wounded this guy, but the cold hard truth was that even if he’d killed him, he wouldn’t have felt any regret.

* * * * *

The early morning sun peeked through the slits in the blinds, casting parallel lines across the wall. Her head still rested firmly against his chest, with drool from the corner of her mouth forming a circle in the center of his shirt. He felt her rouse. She slightly pushed away from him. He loosened his hold, sat up and swung his feet to the floor. He ran his fingertips across her bandage. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. A head wound always looks worse than it is.”

He made his way over to his boots and pulled them on, walked back and sat down on the bed. He took her hand and laced his fingers in hers. His heart skipped a beat. “You’re going home this morning, right?”