The Judge and the Gypsy (15 page)

Past the big tent, past the animal compound, she plunged between the trailers until she reached Zeena’s quarters. Savannah knocked on the trailer door.

“Come in, Savannah.”

Savannah pushed open the door and slipped inside, dropping into the chair beside Zeena’s little kitchen table. “How did you know it was me? No, never mind. Just tell me—tell me what’s happening. I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” Zeena switched on a small lamp and sat down across from Savannah.

“This man—this judge who was responsible for Tifton’s death—seems to think he can come here and take over our lives. He’s charmed Father, you, all the hands, and now he thinks he’s courting me.”

“And that makes you unhappy?”

“It isn’t that. I just feel so guilty. I mean, what about Tifton. What would
he
think?”

“If Tifton thought about it, which I doubt, he would probably figure out some way to work it to his advantage. Having a brother-in-law who was a governor would suit him just fine.”

“You make Tifton sound like a ruthless opportunist.”

Zeena sighed. “Ah, Savannah, Tifton was one of us and we protected him, but he was not what you thought he was.”

“What I thought he was? He was my brother, and I loved him.”

“Yes, and he used you and everyone he met. When are you going to see the truth? He
was
drinking. He
was
driving a stolen car, and he
did
almost kill that woman he hit. He was guilty, and for once he couldn’t talk his way out of what he’d done. Have you ever
considered what would have happened if the woman he hit had died?”

“But she didn’t,” Savannah protested irrationally, knowing that what Zeena said could have been true. “And besides, what about Father? He swore he would kill Horatio.”

“Tifton was his only son. He lost Isabel, then Tifton—he was grieving, Savannah. He never would have gone through with any kind of revenge. Don’t make him keep reliving his sorrow by burying yourself in blindness. Go with Rasch.”

“You know that he invited me to a party Saturday night?”

“Yes. Are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve never been afraid before, Savannah, why now?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, “because it never mattered before.

Savannah let her hair dry in wild curls across her shoulders. She pulled on pale pink pantyhose spangled with stars, and applied a light frosting of silver eyeshadow to her lids and mascara to her long lashes. Dark rose-colored lipstick was followed by a whiff of her favorite cologne, and the trailer was filled with the smell of tea olive blossoms.

Glancing at her clock, Savannah began to hurry. Rasch would be at her door any minute, and her small trailer wasn’t large enough for him to come inside. Her dress, rescued from her mother’s trunk, was twenty-five years old, but the lines were ageless. Strapless pink satin stitched with sequins across the
bodice and down the side of the fitted skirt, it was worn under a short pink jacket. Adding long glittery earrings that jingled like bells and a dusting of glitter in her hair, she leaned back and studied her reflection.

Perfect.

Tonight she looked like a royal princess. All she needed was a tiara and a coach. There was a knock. She picked up her bag and opened the door.

The coach she’d wished for was a black sports car. The man wearing the silly grin and holding out his hand was wearing a black tux. His hair had been cut, and lay perfectly on his head. He could have been an advertisement for some grand old hotel.

“Are you ready?”

As she took his hand, she knew that the connection had been made. She’d given him her answer, and there would be no turning back.

“So you’re the one?”

Rasch and Savannah were greeted at the door by Jake Dalton, who took one look at Savannah and nodded.

“One what?” Savannah asked, eyeing Rasch’s dark-haired friend curiously.

“The woman at the top of our party’s hit list. I’m Jake Dalton, come in, I want to look you over.”

Rasch tightened his grip on Savannah’s elbow and glanced around. “Is it safe, Jake?”

Suddenly he was wary of entering the room. Maybe what he was doing was akin to throwing her to the lions, and he wasn’t sure that the outcome, whatever it might be, was worth the chance he was taking.

Savannah leaned back and smiled up at Rasch. “Don’t worry, Crusader, I’m tough, remember?”

“Yes, but these people in here are vultures. They don’t respect their victims.”

“Ah, but you forget, I can calm the savage beast.”

Rasch stepped inside, sliding close to Savannah, and shut the door behind him, whispering in her ear, “The only savage beast you have to calm is me.” He turned to Jake. “Why is Savannah on a hit list?”

Savannah turned to Jake. “Because I’m a possible liability, Crusader. Don’t worry, Jake, I’m wearing my glass slippers. I disappear at midnight.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Rasch contradicted her. “I have plans for after midnight, maybe even before. Do you have a balcony, Jake?”

Jake looked puzzled. “No, there’s a patio, but since, as you well know, you’re in a single-story house, a balcony would be a bit pretentious. Why?”

“I always like to check out all the exits. One never knows when there’ll be a fire.”

“Judge Webber,” someone called from across the room. “I’d like to talk to you about your platform.”

For the next hour Rasch smiled and charmed Jake’s guests. Savannah was quickly accepted as Rasch’s lady, and she found herself discussing the current “hot” issues when the only political dealings she’d ever had previously were about figuring out how to charm the local sheriff.

“What exactly do you do, Savannah?” a woman who’d been gazing at Rasch appraisingly asked during a lull in the political discussion.

“I’m—” she hesitated. Did she have the right to be honest at Horatio’s expense? What would happen to his support if they discovered that she was a Gypsy whose father owned a circus? She settled for, “I’m a gymnast.”

“Oh? Which events do you specialize in?”

“Savannah doesn’t do that kind of gymnastics,” Rasch said, coming to stand beside her and sliding his arm around her waist. “She’s a circus performer, an aerialist.”

The woman gasped.

Jake groaned.

Savannah’s eyes widened at the disclosure. She saw the surprise on the faces of the women gathered around her. She also saw what seemed to be pride in the gray eyes of the strong man whose arm was folded tightly around her waist. How could that be? Why would Rasch deliberately antagonize these people who were in a position to determine his future?

The crowd around them had grown quiet, then one man standing beside the window began to clap. “Bravo, Rasch, you picked a real woman. Do you walk the wires, or are you a flyer?” He started across the room toward them.

“Some of both.” Savannah tried to make her voice firm, but it wavered in spite of her effort. “Our circus is very modest, so the cast of performers isn’t large.”

“Big isn’t always better. My wife is an ice skater, a former Olympic champion. If she hadn’t hurt her knee, she’d still be performing. Now she just gives lessons on a tiny little rink. But her pupils are future champions.”

“Savannah,” Jake introduced the newcomer with a broad smile, “this is Joker Vandergriff. He and his brothers own half the real estate in Atlanta, along with a sports medicine center and a few hundred other little businesses.”

Rasch hugged the burly, red-bearded man. “Good to see you, old friend. What do you think of my lady?”

Joker took her hand, held it a long time, and gave her a warm, intimate smile. “She’s got heart, Rasch, and she’s strong. But what’s most important is that she feels right.”

Rasch nodded. “Joker is special, Savannah. According to his wife, he has healing power in his hands. She couldn’t even walk when they met; now she’s skating again.”

Savannah understood what Rasch was saying. She could feel the balm in Joker Vandergriff’s big hands. “Thank you, Joker. I’d like to meet your wife.”

“Sure thing, we’ll hold some kind of political shin-dig and raise a bunch of money for you, Rasch. Just name the date.”

“Thanks, Joker. I knew I could count on you.”

“There are still some questions to be answered, Judge Webber,” the woman who’d asked Savannah about her profession said sharply. “I’m Lucille Peterson, and I’m a member of the party committee. It’s important that a political candidate’s
friends
be of high moral character. So far you don’t have a breath of scandal associated with your career.”

“You make me sound very dull, Lucille.”

“Dull is safe, Horatio. Questionable behavior in a politician is out of style. I suggest you remember that if you expect to be governor.”

Savannah felt the force of the campaign worker’s gaze. She understood that the message was being leveled at her.
Don’t mess with Judge Webber if you’re a liability
. And a liability was just what she was. Nobody knew that better than she.

Rasch reclaimed his hold around Savannah’s waist possessively, naturally. “Hear that, Joker? I might be
questionable. Are you sure the Vandergriffs want to put their support behind me?”

“Absolutely,” Joker’s voice boomed out. “I’ve always been a gambler when I sense a sure thing. With my family’s backing, your integrity, and a woman like this to come home to, you’re bound to win.”

After that, the tension vanished. Rasch and Savannah had passed the Vandergriff test, and every person in the room except Lucille Peterson, stopped by to speak to the candidate and his lady. Savannah had expected to be nervous. She wasn’t—not about the party. It was what came after, with Rasch, that she didn’t want to think about. And Lucille’s words kept swimming around in her mind.

Relax, Savannah. You’re just having a date, she told herself, nothing more. People don’t sleep together on their first date.

No, the Gypsy part of her quipped, some people sleep together before they’ve even had a first date!

Not me, Savannah protested. I don’t sleep around. I’ve never cared about a man before—not one I could hurt in so many ways.

And that was the problem. She cared.

Savannah caught sight of herself in a mirror above the buffet laid out with food and drinks. Her eyes were glowing. Her hair, a fine mass of ebony, sparkled with pink stars that caught and reflected the candlelight. The woman staring back was neither Savannah nor Gypsy. She was both.

At that moment she caught sight of Rasch behind her, watching her animated argument with herself. He simply slid his arms around her waist and nuzzled her behind her ear.

“Rasch, there are people watching.”

“So there are. What do you say we find one of those exits and get out of here?”

“But isn’t this party supposed to be for you?”

“No, this party was for you, Savannah. Jake wanted you to see that you could belong in my world as much as I belong in yours.”

“You mean Jake wanted you to see that I didn’t.”

“Well, he was wrong, wasn’t he? Can we go now?”

“I think you ought to shake a few more hands first. I haven’t even tasted the food, and we haven’t danced.”

Before she could say anything else, he’d taken her hand and led her to the patio that Jake had referred to. There were several couples dancing to music being fed from a stereo concealed behind a bank of ferns.

Then she was in his arms, and everything and everybody faded away. “Actually, I don’t think this is a good idea, Crusader.”

“Why?”

“There are too many people watching.”

“You’re right.” He took her hand and pulled her into the shadows. “Don’t worry. It’s all right for me to kiss you. I asked.”

“Who did you ask?”

“Zeena. She said kissing was part of courtship and that it was perfectly acceptable.”

“Perfect,” Savannah cooed between kisses, between caresses. In her last moment of lucidity she added, “But I think you ought to know that I draw the line at lovemaking on a first date.”

“Where is it?”

“What?”

“The line. I wouldn’t want to step over it.”

“Tell that to your—your body,” she murmured.

“Too late, it isn’t listening.” He found the zipper in the back of her dress and slid it down, baring her breasts beneath his fingertips, spreading her body with liquid heat as he touched her.

“What are you doing, Crusader? Someone might come.”

“Someone is damned well close to coming. Touch me, Gypsy. See what you do to me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rasch.”

“Rasch—you called me Rasch! I love to hear you say my name, and I think that touching me is a very good idea.” He pulled her hand down and pressed it against his body, the throbbing part of him that surged with heat at her touch.

“I know this isn’t a good idea. Listen, Jake is calling us. I hear him. He’s heading this way. Zip me up.” She pulled away, tugging her dress over her breasts as she tried and failed to zip it closed.

“Damn Jake. Forget Jake. Let’s get out of here.” He glided farther into the shadows, pulling Savannah through the shoulder-high azaleas and past the magnolia tree.

“Rasch, the zipper’s stuck!” What had been a wildly amusing interlude was suddenly a disaster in the making.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get us out.”

There was a gate in the garden wall. Rasch slid the bolt, opened the door, and stepped through it, pulling Savannah behind him. Just as they exited into the driveway, a flash of light on the other side blinded them.

“Judge Webber, I’m Rob Henning, nightlife reporter for
Party Time
. Who is the lady?”

Rasch rushed past, shoving the reporter into the bushes, trying unsuccessfully to “accidentally” dislodge the camera. He managed to get Savannah to the car and start the engine before the reporter got untangled and followed.

“It doesn’t matter, friend,” the reporter yelled. “You don’t want to talk to me, I’ll find out who she is on my own. I have my sources.”

“Oh, no, Rasch. He took my picture, with my dress falling off. You know what Lucille said; I’ve ruined your chances for political office.”

“If my being governor is that shaky a proposition, then I won’t be governor.” Rasch stopped the car at the end of the drive, leaned across, and kissed her. His fingertips skimmed her neck and trailed across her breasts while his lips claimed hers again.