Bitch Factor (33 page)

Dann’s ginseng tea smelled funny and tasted bitter.

“Drink it anyway. Tough broad like you doesn’t get squeamish over a cup of tea.” He had packed a deep tray with ice cubes, covered with a folded towel. Dixie sat down in the breakfast nook and laid her arm on the ice. Dann placed another ice pack on top. “You need this x-rayed. Might be broken.”

“It’s not broken.”

“Oh. Now Superbroad has X-ray vision.”

“Don’t we have some of that aspirin cream in the first-aid kit? Rub some of that on it.”

“Aspirin cream won’t heal a broken bone.” He brushed her hair away from the cut on her head.

“Ow!”

Mud, dozing under the table, sat up abruptly, then laid his heavy muzzle on her foot.

“I’ll have to trim away some of your hair,” Dann said.

“So trim it already. It’s hair. It’ll grow back.” She’d have to think of some way to hide the bandage from Amy. Maybe a scarf. Did she have any scarves. “Ow!”

“I didn’t touch it yet! I bumped your sho—you got something wrong with this shoulder, too?”

“A bruise.”

“Bruise?” Ignoring her protests, he peeled back her robe to look at the shoulder. “Hellfire, woman! You need a doctor.”

“It’ll be okay. Rub some of that aspirin cream on it.”

“Later. First an ice pack.”

“Then take this one. My blood’s turning to slush.”

“Blood?” He dabbed alcohol on the cut and opened a box of bandages. “Superbroad ought to be fueled by high-test, at least.”

“Hey! Why are you on my case?”

“Somebody needs to be. You take off without telling anyone, out there getting yourself banged up, nobody knows where you are. Your sister calls here—what am I supposed to tell her?”

“You improvised fine. Got yourself invited to dinner—OW!”

“Dammit, Dixie, this cut needs stitches.”

“There’s a sewing basket in the closet.”

He sighed, long and heavy. “Maybe I can get a butterfly bandage to work.”

Silence filled the minutes while he trimmed her hair around the cut, his touch gentler than she knew she deserved. She hated being fussed over, and had never been a cheerful patient. And she still wasn’t used to having anybody besides
family worry about her. Maybe she could at least lessen the worry about his own immediate future.

Reaching into her robe pocket, she took out the key chain with the mini-flashlight.

“You know that tunnel you woke up in last May first?” Catching his hand, she dropped the key chain into it. “I brought you a delayed Christmas present.” His skin was warm and smooth against her palm.

“Present? What is it?”

Dixie wished suddenly that it was more than a two-dollar key chain. “It’s just… sort of symbolic.”

His gaze held hers, and a slow warmth filled her. She hadn’t allowed herself to consciously acknowledge how devilishly attractive he was—the strong brow, the slightly irregular features, the compelling mouth.

He wiggled his eyebrows. “When do I get to open the present?”

“Oh.” Her fingers still covered the key chain in his hand. She released it.

As he looked at the key chain, a puzzled expression came over his face for a moment. He grinned, finally, and flicked the switch.

“Miniature flashlight.” Then a muscle jumped in his jaw, and a slow energy seemed to fill him, lifting his shoulders, quickening his breath. “A light in the tunnel.”

“I gave Belle Richards enough clout today to swing your case hard in the right direction.”

She watched him taking it in, trying to be cool but unable to deny the relief. He sat down abruptly.

“I didn’t do it, then,” he said softly, staring down at the key chain, flicking the light on and off. “Somebody else… in my car.” He looked up. “Who?”

Dixie hesitated. “There’s no absolute proof
against
anybody.” That was the truth, although Belle would make the evidence sound as absolute as possible in court. She told him briefly about Travis Payne, since that was the scenario he’d hear from Belle. “The important thing is presenting the jury
with an alternative possibility so strong they’ll have no choice but to acquit.”

She laid her good hand over his and squeezed gently.

“No guarantee. But I’d hate to be in the ADA’s shoes come Monday.” Seeing Dann’s reaction, she realized how much she had wanted him to be innocent, and how worried she was that he might not be.

As the realization continued to sink in, his facial muscles relaxed, the jaw softening. The crease between his eyebrows all but disappeared. He looked down at their hands on the table. When Dixie started to withdraw hers, he captured it, rubbed his thumb lightly over her knuckles.

“Dixie, my own attorney didn’t work as hard for me as you did.”

“It was your attorney who sent me to find you. If not for her—”

“I know. But Richards was paid to believe in me. You just… did.”

Dixie wished she could say that was true. Her passion for truth had driven her long before she met Parker Dann.

“There ought to be… something…” Dann’s voice had gone hoarse. He cleared his throat. “… I can say… do…. more than…” He sighed, then raised his eyes to meet hers. “Thanks.”

Held by the intensity of his gaze, she realized that some part of her had believed in him. There was a decency about him that transcended even the mocking insolence he’d displayed at first.

“You’re welcome.” She liked the way his hand felt on hers. She wished the rest of her didn’t feel like hamburger.

He must have noticed the pain in her face. He stood.

“We, uh, need to do something with that shoulder. You’ll have to take the, uh, sleeve off, give me some room to work on it. I’ll make some more tea.”

When he turned to put the kettle on, Dixie slid the robe off and wrapped it tight across her chest, feeling incredibly bare beneath it.

He took the cup, rinsed the grounds out of the bottom, and
scooped a spoonful of something out of a plastic bag. Dixie watched him, noticing the way he moved. Any other man his size would look clumsy handling china cups. But he had a powerful grace, as comfortable in the kitchen as he was battling a South Dakota blizzard, as comfortable as she imagined he’d been on that tractor seat all those years ago.

He put the smelly tea in front of her and moved the ice pack to her shoulder.

“No, keep your arm on the cubes in the tray,” he ordered when she started to move it. “How’s the soreness?”

“Better. Almost gone.” Actually, her arm really didn’t hurt as much now. Probably frozen.

He dabbed peroxide on the cut at her temple, then drew the cut together with a Band-Aid, rubbing it lightly in place. When he was satisified the bandage would hold, he took her arm from the tray and applied the analgesic lotion. His fingers gliding over her skin aroused every nerve. She guessed the arm wasn’t frozen, after all.

“Drink your tea,” he said gruffly. “It’s getting cold.”

She sipped and grimaced.

“Now the shoulder,” he said, squeezing more lotion into his hand, warming it.

She turned sideways in the booth, her back to him. He rubbed the warm lotion on her back, his touch unbelievably tender.

“I was worried something was wrong when you took off in such a hurry this morning,” he said. “After last night, I thought you might give up and turn me in.” His fingers traveled around the front of her neck, stroking the hollow beneath her collarbone, down to just above her breast.

“Last night, I was almost ready to turn you in.” Dixie held very still, allowing the delicious sensations to soothe her. His hand moved gently up, over her shoulder, and down her arm.

“Hey, you’ve got a bruise back here as big as a dinner plate. What the hell happened out there?”

Dixie recalled the flash of purple as Hermie Valdez raged out of the shadows, swinging her lead pipe.

“I made the mistake of coming between a woman and her man.”

His thumb brushed the line of her jaw as he finished the stroke, back around her neck and over her collarbone, maddeningly sensual. Dixie knew she was making a mistake, but her hand seemed to rise of its own volition. She caught his fingers in hers and brought the back of his hand to her lips.

The moment seemed to stretch forever. Then she felt his breath feather her hair, and he buried his face in it. He kissed the top of her head, his arms encircling her gingerly from behind.

“You’ll never know how lousy I felt,” he whispered, “when you came in hurt. All bruised and bloody. I knew it had something to do with your helping me.”

Dixie closed her eyes and enjoyed the awakening of senses she’d been suppressing. She was very, very glad Parker was innocent of involuntary manslaughter. She only wished she knew what he had going with Heather Burke.

“Mom, Dad! They’re here!” A wreath of bells and holly jingled brightly as Ryan bounded out the door of the Royals’ contemporary split-level home.

Dixie tugged at a yellow scarf covering her head wound, which matched the yellow silk pants suit Amy had given her. She’d found the scarf at the bottom of a dresser drawer, probably another gift, and she hoped the combination didn’t make her look as much like a big Easter chicken as she felt. Dann kept looking at her like she’d beamed down from another planet.

“Relax,” he said, when she fidgeted with a gold chain necklace she’d added at the last minute. “You should be going to a doctor, not to dinner, but you look fantastic.”

Easy for him to say. She wished now she’d worn her jeans and hoped Amy and Carl wouldn’t make a big deal out of her wearing girl clothes. One thing she had to admit, though: the silk felt terrific against her skin. Even when she’d worked in the DA’s office, wearing a suit every day, she rarely attended events that required dressing up. And the minute she got home, she slipped into jeans.

Dann had driven, since her left shoulder wouldn’t move two inches without jolting her with pain. Before she could
open the Mustang’s door, he was around the car and offering her a hand. Dixie felt a twinge of nostalgia. Barney had always insisted his “girls” wait patiently until he opened doors for them. In those final months, with all the trips to doctors, Dixie often had to steel herself against jumping out to help Barney from the car. Instead, she sat ticking off long, tedious moments as he extracted himself from the passenger seat and shuffled around to open her car door. He’d been a gentleman all his life. She wasn’t about to deny him the few dignities he clung to as that life withered away.

Dixie accepted Dann’s hand and stepped to the sidewalk.

“Is this collar high enough?”

“Looks fine.”

She tugged it higher. “I don’t want Amy to see any bruises. She’s always on my case, worried I’ll get hurt. She thinks I should be a tax lawyer.”

“Maybe she’s right.” He squeezed her left shoulder, sending a mild jolt along her collarbone.

“Hey, ow!” Dixie looked up to find his face etched with a teasing mockery she’d come to recognize as a challenge. On the drive over, he’d continued to insist that she see a doctor.

“Wow!” Ryan said, bounding up to meet them at the curb, staring. “You look different.”

“Different how?” She had put on eye shadow and lipstick. Maybe it was too much. “I look okay, don’t I?”

“Yeah, you’re okay. Kinda
yellow
.”

He studied Dann. Dixie introduced them, ruffling Ryan’s hair and grabbing a quick kiss before he could escape. He folded something into her hand.

“The E-mail printout,” he said.

“Okay.” Dixie nodded, hoping to show her appreciation without too much encouragement. One big reason for being here tonight was to stop the Find-a-Fellow-for-Dixie game that had somehow gotten started.

“Read it,” Ryan urged, “so I can get your reply on-line before Mom makes me shut the computer off for supper.” He slid a sideways glance at Dann, frowned, and then looked back at Dixie, taking in the makeup, the yellow suit, and the
cinnamon midheel pumps she’d found in the back of her closet.

“Where’s your boots?” he demanded.

“Thought I’d give them a rest tonight. You don’t like these?”

“They’re okay.”

He sniffed the air, scowling. Maybe she’d overdone the perfume.

As they approached the house, with Ryan bounding ahead of them, Dann whispered, “You smell like a sea breeze.””

Was that good? Or did it mean she smelled like dead fish?

The house, however, smelled great, like pine boughs and smoked turkey. Amy, in rose-pink hostess pajamas, tiny gold bells tinkling at her ears, and Carl, in his “Texas Chili Peppers” barbecue apron, came in from the kitchen. Dixie introduced them to Parker Dann. Carl eyed her clothes, glanced at Dann, and grinned wickedly. Dixie’s face flushed. The men shook hands, sizing each other up.

“Dann… Dann, Parker Dann,” Carl said. “Unusual name. I’ve heard it somewhere.”

“There’s a pro golfer named Palmer Dann,” Dixie said, blurting the first lie that came to mind. Dann’s trial hadn’t been featured in the newspaper lately, only a few lines near the back. But she’d forgotten Carl’s habit of reading the news cover to cover every day.

“Pro golfer?” Carl said. “No, that’s not it…”

Amy drew Dixie aside.

“Where have you been keeping him? He looks just like that actor, that… what’s his name? The one with the other two men and a baby?”

“Amy, don’t you ever watch
recent
movies?” Dann did look a bit like Tom Selleck, though. A
young
Tom Selleck. Or maybe Sean Connery. Dann had a face that would age well.

“Dixie, any man that can fill out a shirt like he can is worth having around just to look at.” Amy tucked the yellow scarf behind Dixie’s ear, patted a stray hair in place. “And look at you! Positively glowing. How long have you two been dating?”

“Whoa! Slow down. Who says we’re dating?” Dixie watched miserably as Carl guided Dann toward the dining room. She hoped Carl’s name-remembering had been diverted. Amy would have a nerve attack if she discovered Dann’s true claim to fame.

“Now, Dixie, when was the last time you brought a man to our house for dinner?” Amy gushed. “What does he do? Sort of a handyman, you said? He was doing some work at your house?”