Open Season (36 page)

“Yesterday was a busy day,” she said. “I had a lot of stuff I didn’t get done, so I came in early to handle it.”

“Explain the coffee.”

She looked at him and smiled. “No.”

“ ‘No’? What do you mean, ‘No’? I’m your boss, and I want to know.”

“Tough,” she said, and swiveled back to her computer screen.

He knew he should go home and clean up first. He knew he desperately needed some sleep. But what he needed most was to see Daisy, to be in the company of a woman who would never park in a fire lane or even
jaywalk. After the filth and sordidness he’d seen, he needed her cleanness, her simple good-heartedness. And even though he knew she was all right, he needed to
see
her, to let his eyes reassure his brain. He wasn’t sure exactly when she’d become so important to him, but there were some things a man couldn’t fight. Besides, she’d let him use her shower.

She opened the door almost as soon as he knocked. “I heard you drive up,” she said, then got a good look at him. “Goodness.”

“It’ll wash off,” he said, swiping at the remnants of black face paint. He’d done a halfhearted job using paper towels in the men’s rest room at the station, but there hadn’t been any soap, and the job definitely called for soap.

She eyed him dubiously. “I hope so.”

She was carrying Midas, and the puppy struggled madly to reach him. Midas didn’t care what he looked like, Jack thought, reaching out to take the fuzzbutt in his arms. Midas began his frantic licking ritual, and Daisy frowned at him. “I don’t know if you should let him do that,” she said.

“Why not? He always does this.”

“Yes, but you usually aren’t covered with . . . stuff. I don’t want him to get sick.”

Jack thought about grabbing her and getting some of that stuff on her, but she’d probably smack him. She looked good enough to eat, he thought, with her blond hair tousled and her odd-colored eyes sleepy. Her skin was fresh and clear, and the thin pink robe she wore was almost thick enough to keep him from being able to tell she wore only a pair of panties underneath.

“I thought you’d like to know it’s all wrapped up.”

“I know. Todd called me.”

“Todd.” He growled the name. He liked Todd, even trusted him, but suddenly he felt the hot bite of jealousy. He didn’t like Daisy’s easy friendship with the man, because even if she still had doubts about Todd’s sexual orientation,
he
didn’t.

“Don’t just stand there, come in,” she said, taking Midas from him and setting the puppy on the floor, where he bounced off in search of recreation. “Go take a shower while I cook breakfast.”

That sounded like heaven. He was already pulling off his clothes as he left the room, though he still had enough wit about him to take everything with him and not leave it on the floor for sharp puppy teeth to shred. Something, a sudden sharp need to get everything in order and nailed down, stopped him in the doorway. He looked back at her. “Daisy.”

She paused at the kitchen door. “Yes?”

“Remember the deal we made?”

“Which deal?”

“That I’d marry you if you got pregnant.”

Her cheeks got pink. He loved it that she could still blush. “Of course I remember. I wouldn’t have begun this affair with you if you’d said no. People have to be responsible, and if you think you can weasel out of the deal now—”

“Let’s go to Gatlinburg this weekend and get married.”

Her eyes rounded and her lips parted in surprise. “But I’m not pregnant. At least, I don’t think . . . It was just that once, and—”

“So we try again,” he said, shrugging. “If you insist on being pregnant before we get married.”

“My goodness, of course not! You mean you actually want—”

“Oh, yeah,” he said softly. “I want.”

Midas pranced back into the living room, a dishcloth trailing from his mouth. Daisy stooped and caught him, and took the dishcloth away. “You don’t mind having children? Because I really do want at least a couple of kids, and you seemed horrified when I asked you if you had any.”

“I was horrified at the thought that I might have had any kids with my ex.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

But she didn’t give him a definite answer, just stood there looking preoccupied, and he began to get worried. He dropped his shirt to the floor and crossed the room to her. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he pulled her against him and put his other hand on her throat, using his thumb to tilt her chin up. “I know I’m dirty and smelly,” he said, “but I’m not letting you go until I get the answer I want.”

“Not just an answer, but the answer you want, hmm?”

“You got it.”

“I have a question.”

“Ask it.”

“Do you love me?” She immediately blushed again. “I didn’t think you were my type at all, but it didn’t seem to matter. The more I was around you the more I wanted to be with you, and I’d love to marry you, but if you don’t feel the same way I feel, then I don’t think we should get married.”

“I love you,” he said clearly. “That’s as plain as I can make it. Now, will you marry me?”

She beamed at him, the million-watt smile he’d noticed the first time he’d ever spoken to her, when he’d gone to the library to sign up for the virtual library.
That smile did more for him than blond hair and makeup ever could. “Yes, thank you.”

Then he had to kiss her, and when he stopped, he didn’t feel nearly as tired as he had when he’d arrived. He began dragging her toward the hall. “Forget about breakfast. Take a shower with me.”

“Midas—” she began, looking around for the little demon.

“We’ll take him with us.” Jack scooped him up and removed his shirt from the puppy’s mouth. “He needs a bath, too.”

“He does not, and besides, I don’t think I can do it with him in the tub with us, watching.”

“I’ll blindfold him.” He tugged her into the bathroom.

“You’ll do no such thing!”

“Then we’ll close the door and let him play on the floor.” He suited action to words and decided the sacrifice of a shirt was worth it for the peace. He dropped the shirt, and Midas pounced on it.

Daisy immediately leaned down to take it away from him, but Jack stopped her and efficiently stripped her out of her robe and panties, then bundled her into the tub. He shucked off the rest of his clothes and let them drop, too. Let Midas have a field day.

He got into the tub with her and turned on the water, then when it was hot, turned on the shower, shielding her with his body until the initial icy blast turned warm. As he lifted her, she put both arms around his neck, her expression serious. “Could we start trying right away?”

Maybe he was too tired to think clearly, or maybe he just had other things on his mind. “Trying what?”

“To have a baby,” she said, exasperated, then gasped as he slipped into her. Her gaze immediately unfocused and her head drooped back as if it were suddenly too heavy for her neck.

“Sweetheart,” he promised, “you’ll never have to buy another PartyPak.”

E
velyn and Aunt Jo had outdone themselves with Sunday dinner, a sort of celebration for Daisy and Jack. There had been a dinner in Gatlinburg the week before, right after their wedding, but that had been at a restaurant and didn’t count. Now the table fairly groaned under the weight of all the food. The whole family was there, as well as Todd and his friend Howard, whom Daisy had been astonished to recognize. She hadn’t thought Howard was gay, because why would he have been at the Buffalo Club if he was? Of course, Jack was still adamant that Todd was straight, so maybe she wasn’t a good judge of such matters.

Midas prowled under the table, unerringly locating her by her scent, and plopped down on her feet. His little tongue lapped at her ankles, and she peeked under the tablecloth to check on him. He had that sleepy look
that meant he was settling down for a nap. He’d worn himself out, greeting so many different people, and of course each had to be played with before he moved on to the next.

Only a few short weeks ago she’d been agonized by how empty her life was, and now it was brimming over. Her family had always been there, of course, but she had found some very dear friends, she now had Midas—and then there was Jack.

How could she ever have thought jocks weren’t her type? This particular jock was just what she needed. He always looked so tough, with his short-cropped graying hair and his broad shoulders and thick neck, and the cocky way he had of walking, like a man who took up all of his allotted space and then some. He still crowded her, in bed and out, but she had learned to adjust. If he took up more than his half of the bed, then she had no where else to sleep but on top of him, so if he wasn’t getting enough sleep these days, it was his own fault.

She felt almost incandescent with joy, so far her period was four days late. She was stunned by the possibility that she might have gotten pregnant so fast, but then Jack had certainly worked at his appointed duty. She had kept waiting for her period to start, but this morning hope had suddenly overwhelmed common sense and she was almost certain. When they left her mother’s, they were going to buy a pregnancy test kit. Tomorrow morning, they would know for sure.

She couldn’t decide which she wanted most, a son or a daughter. She thought of Jack throwing a football with a tough little guy, and her heart melted. Then she imagined a little girl, all dimples and ringlets, cradled in her daddy’s muscular arms, and she shivered with
delight. No matter which she had, though, she’d ask Todd to help her decorate the nursery, because he had such wonderful taste in interior decorating. And she wanted to ask him if he would be the baby’s godfather, though she’d have to talk that over with Jack first because he might have another friend in mind.

Todd commented on the lace tablecloth, asking her mother if she knew how old it was. Daisy tilted her head, studying him. He was as neatly dressed as always, today wearing a white silk shirt and pleated forest green trousers with a narrow black belt cinched around his waist.

Under the table, Jack’s leg nudged hers, as if he couldn’t bear not touching her any longer. She ignored him, her gaze locked on Todd.

Jack realized whom she was watching, and he suddenly shifted restlessly. “Daisy—” he began, but he was too late. Her voice rang out, clear and crisp.

“Todd, do you know what color puce is?”

Caught off-guard, Todd turned to her with a startled look. “You’re making that up, right?” he blurted.

Glenn Sykes had been out of the hospital for almost a month when he drove up to Temple Nolan’s house, though the former mayor no longer lived there. He was out on bail and supposedly living in Scottsboro until his trial, but Sykes hadn’t made any effort to find out where. For now, he was just concentrating on being alive and getting his strength back.

He’d been in an odd mood since getting shot, though maybe it wasn’t so odd. Almost dying tended to change your outlook, at least temporarily. He still figured he’d handled things the best way possible for himself, even though it had gone bad there at the end,
with Phillips showing up. He allowed himself a cold smile; he still enjoyed thinking about Russo’s well-placed shot.

There was one other person who probably enjoyed thinking about that shot just as much as he did, and that was why he was here.

He rang the doorbell and waited. He heard foot-steps; then Jennifer Nolan opened the door. She didn’t know him, though, so she didn’t unlatch the storm door. “Yes?”

She was a beautiful woman, he thought, more than merely pretty. He’d heard she had stopped drinking; maybe she had, maybe she hadn’t, but today her eyes were clear, if full of shadows.

“I’m Glenn Sykes,” he said.

She stared at him through the screen, and he knew what she was thinking. He had been in her husband’s employ, privy to all the dirty secrets; he probably knew about Temple giving her to Phillips.

“Go away,” she said, and started to shut the door.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said softly, and she froze, her hand still on the door.

“What. . . what doesn’t matter?” Her voice was low and strained.

“What Phillips did. It doesn’t matter. He didn’t touch
you,
just your body.”

She whirled, her eyes full of rage. “Yes, he
did
touch me! He killed part of me, so don’t come here telling me what he did or didn’t do.”

He put his hands in his pockets. “Are you going to let him win?”

“He didn’t win. I did. I’m here, and what’s left of him will go to prison, where I’m sure he’ll be very popular.”

“Are you going to let him win?” Sykes repeated, his cool gaze locked on hers, and she hesitated.

The moment drew out, as if she was helpless to dose the door and bring an end to it. Her breath came fast and shallow. “Why are you here?” she whispered.

“Because you need me,” he said, and Jennifer opened the door.

POCKET STAR BOOKS PROUDLY PRESENTS

KILL AND TELL

LINDA HOWARD

Now available in paperback
from
Pocket Star Books

Turn the page for a preview of
Kill and Tell...

Karen felt the heat as soon as she stepped from the jet into the extended accordion of the jetway. The air was heavy with humidity, and sweat popped out on her forehead as she lugged her carry-on bag up the slight slope. She had dressed in a short-sleeved summer suit that felt too cool while she was on the plane, but now she was sweltering. Her legs were baking inside her panty hose, and sweat trickled down her back.

Detective Chastain had been right about the airlines; she had made one call, spoken to a sympathetic, calmly efficient reservations agent, and found herself scurrying in order to get packed and to the airport in time to catch the flight. She hadn’t had time to eat before getting on the plane, and her stomach had clenched in revolt at the thought of eating the turkey sandwich served during the flight. She disliked turkey anyway; there was no way she could eat it with her stomach tied in knots and her head throbbing with tension.

The headache was still with her. It throbbed in time with every step she took as she followed the signs to the baggage claim area. She had never felt the way she felt now, not even when her mother died. Her grief then had been sharp, overwhelming. She didn’t know what she felt now. If it was grief, then it was a different variety. She felt numbed, distant, oddly fragile, as if she had crystallized inside and the least bump would shatter her.