The Sheriff's Surrender (12 page)

He wouldn't.

She planted both feet on the dashboard and tapped them in rhythm to music only she could hear. She didn't look at him. Didn't argue with him. Didn't seem to even notice that he'd implied she was lying. He thought about demanding an explanation from her, about shaking, intimidating or scaring the words from her, but he was better off not touching her.

Finally he eased the accelerator down. They returned to town, and to his house, in silence. Once they were safely inside the house with the alarm activated, he went to his bedroom, closed the door and went straight to the phone.

Jace sounded otherwise occupied, but Reese didn't offer to call back later. He didn't bother with useless chatter or to even ask when his cousin intended to move Neely elsewhere. He just got straight to the point. “Back in Thomasville, the day Leon Miller killed his wife, Neely got shot, too. What do you know about that?”

“Not as much as the two of you do. You were there. I wasn't.”

“Did they ever figure out who shot her?”

“There wasn't any question about that,” Jace replied scornfully. “It was that Dave guy, and his only regret was that he'd aimed too high.”

Reese sank onto the bed and raised his free hand to rub his temples. Dave Dugan had been one of the deputies involved in obtaining Miller's tainted confession. He'd also been the most outspoken against Neely, particularly after she'd refused to go out with him when she'd first moved to town. He'd taught Reese a lot about police work—both what to do and,
he admitted grudgingly, what not to do—and he'd been…not a close friend, but a friend. Or so Reese had thought.

“Didn't you know that?” Jace asked. “You were there.”

“Hell, when a bunch of people start shooting guns from all directions, I tend to keep my head down,” Reese replied sarcastically. That wasn't true, though. He'd been talking to Judy when Leon shot her. The force of the blast had knocked her against him, and he'd lowered her to the ground, then held her until the ambulance came. He hadn't realized Neely had been shot until the gunfire ended and Leon lay dead.

“Didn't you hear anything about it afterward?”

“I only stuck around a few days, and I didn't see or talk to anyone. I didn't hear… Why wasn't he charged?”

He didn't need Jace's laughter to know that was a ridiculous question. “It was just Neely, the bleeding-heart lawyer who beat them damn near every time she faced them in court, who helped guilty men to go free, whose own boyfriend walked away from her and left her bleeding on the ground. No one cared—not the sheriff, not the D.A., not you.”

“I didn't know—”

“Come on, Reese. You knew she'd been shot. If you thought about it at all, you knew she wasn't standing in the right place to get caught in the cross fire. You knew they had it in for her in the department because she was showing them up for the incompetent, corrupt bastards they were.”

But he hadn't thought about it at all, Reese acknowledged, because then he would have had to face what a bastard
he
was for walking away from her. After the ambulance had arrived, he'd stood there with Judy's blood on his uniform and watched the paramedics work, knowing it was futile, before he'd finally looked at Neely. The pharmacist from the drugstore across the street had been kneeling beside her, putting pressure on her wound, but she'd been watching Reese. She'd been in pain, frightened, heartsick, in shock. She'd needed him more at that moment than anyone had ever been needed, and he'd looked at her, then at Judy, and he'd walked away. He hadn't known
how badly Neely was hurt—hadn't even known for sure she would survive—but he'd walked away from her.

Every man involved in the incident was a bastard, and he was the worst of all. His behavior had been unforgivable.

“Reese? You there?”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

He sighed wearily. “I didn't know… I didn't
want
to know. It was easier to believe that I was right, that I was justified in everything I did because she was so wrong in everything she did. It was…more comfortable.”

“You've gotta be able to live with what you've done, bubba. If not knowing is what works for you…”

“You've never said what you thought,” Reese remarked curiously.

“I think a lot of things. You have to be specific.”

“About Neely and Judy and me.”

“I try not to stir up trouble.”

“Meaning?”

“I think the way you left her was wrong. I think the way you treated her was wrong. I think she deserved a hell of a lot better than anyone gave her. And no matter what, bubba, the ends don't justify the means. Not in law enforcement. Your department blew their case against Leon Miller. If anyone besides him is responsible for Judy's death, it's the Keegan County Sheriff's Department. Not Neely.”

“Gee, don't hold back.”

“Don't ask the questions unless you're prepared to hear the answers.” In the background a soft feminine voice murmured something, then Jace said, “Anything else you want to know had better take sixty seconds or less 'cause that's all the time I can spare.”

There were plenty of things he wanted to know, but Jace wasn't the person he should be asking. “Have fun,” he said sourly.

“I do. You should try it sometime…if you remember how. See ya, bubba.”

Reese hung up, then lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He remembered how to have fun. He just didn't remember how to have the sort of fun that didn't require some sort of emotional commitment. He'd been really good at it in college and in the years he'd played baseball. It had been so easy then. But Neely had been right. That wasn't the real world. And though he'd said he preferred that life, he'd lied. He'd loved playing pro ball, had thrived on the celebrity, had gotten damn near giddy over the money and lived for the adulation, the attention and awe. But it hadn't been real life. It hadn't been conducive to keeping a manageable ego, to maintaining steady relationships or keeping life in perspective. It hadn't been normal.

Truth was, he enjoyed being a small-time Oklahoma sheriff. He could honestly say he'd made a difference in his job—had contributed something to society. He'd saved some lives, had brought some new ones into the world and helped direct a few onto different, safer paths. There were people who would be worse off if he wasn't doing this job, while his quitting baseball hadn't made a bit of difference to anyone but him.

And what a difference it had made. It had sent him looking for a new job—had helped him wind up in Thomasville where he'd met Neely.

Slowly he sat up and stretched. It was nearly eleven o'clock, a half hour past his usual bedtime. It would be perfectly all right if he shut off the lights, stripped down and crawled back into bed. After all, six o'clock came mighty early in the morning. But he didn't switch off the overhead light, turn on the ceiling fan, undress or turn back the covers. Instead he left the room, listened for a moment, then headed into the dimly lit living room.

He hadn't taken the time before they'd left for their drive to shut down the computer, much less remove the power supply. Neely was sitting at his desk, crosslegged in the old oak chair, and her gaze was riveted on the card game on the computer screen. At least he knew she hadn't tried to sign on to the Net and possibly send out a general broadcast letting fam
ily and friends know she was all right, since he had only the one phone line and he'd been using it.

She glanced at him, then clicked on one card that sent all the other cards flying to the four suits at the top of the screen, then started a new game.

“I never could get the hang of that game,” he remarked as he stood a safe distance behind her.

“The goal isn't to get the cards up here.” She clicked at the top where she'd placed two of the four aces. “It's to build your sets down here at the bottom. If you do that right, the rest happens automatically.”

He watched, but she moved cards too quickly for him to keep up and finished another game in little more than a minute. He turned the nearest chair so it faced her and sank down into its deep made-for-slumping seat. He watched her face as she completed another four or five games, her eyes glazed, her expression intent. Finally he spoke. “I never told anyone you got what you deserved.”

She glanced at him briefly before returning her attention to the game.

“Jace knew the truth, of course. Dad knew part of it, and he passed that on to Aunt Rozena and Uncle James. None of my friends around here knew anything except Shay, and the story I told her was…misleading.” In his opinion. A lie in Shay's.

“Afraid to let anyone know how fallible the great Reese Barnett could be?” The cynicism in her voice was sharp enough to cut. “Or were you ashamed of the truth?”

“I wasn't ashamed of you.”

“Sure, you were, but that's a different story. I meant ashamed of yourself and the way you dumped me. Because if you weren't ashamed, you should have been.” She finished the game and closed it, then gracefully unfolded to her feet.

“Thank you for the drive. Good night.”

O
n Saturday morning Neely started a load of laundry as soon as she got up, then ate a bowl of cereal while gazing at a note that said Reese had gone to the grocery store. She wished
she
could go to the grocery store. She was so tired of being inside that she would even gladly mow the grass for him if he'd just give her the chance. But she'd asked yesterday, and he'd refused.

She washed the few dirty dishes on the counter and put them away, then swept up the faintest dusting of dirt from the floor. She wiped an already-clean counter, stove and table, then did a little unnecessary cleaning in the living room and both bathrooms. Because they were both relatively neat people, and because she wasn't a good enough housekeeper to care about dusting door frames or washing windows, she was finished in no time and was just about to pop with the need for something to do.

She was standing at the French doors that opened from the kitchen onto the deck when she heard the garage door open. The red light on the alarm keypad next to her blinked off and
the green light came on. She looked from it to the hall connecting to the garage door, then back to the green light and made her decision. A twist of the lock, a turn of the knob, and she was out the door.

The heat was intense, wrapping itself around her, sucking the very energy from her pores. It was great sunbathing weather for someone like young Tiffany, who'd already toasted herself to a lovely bronze. A radio tuned to a great rock station, an icy can of diet pop, a skimpy bikini and maybe an occasional mist from a garden hose… For someone who'd never done it, it seemed an absolutely perfect way to spend a hot summer day.

Sliding a chaise longue into the sun, she stretched out, unbuttoned her skirt until it was almost indecent, undid a few buttons on her blouse, then tilted her face to the sky and closed her eyes. The sun warmed her air-conditioned skin, seeped into her bones, started the tanning process that so many doctors warned against and so many people coveted anyway. For the first time in her life, she understood why. She felt warm, lazy, relaxed, languid—and faintly, barely aroused.

She was listening to the rustle of the breeze in the trees and the nearby drone of a bee, and thinking how easy it would be to fall asleep there when she heard Reese call her name. So he'd brought the groceries in and begun looking for her. When she'd moved from Thomasville to Kansas City, she'd had dreams about him coming looking for her. She'd known that, as a cop, he could find her whenever he wanted, but she'd tried to make it easy for him. She'd had her home number listed in the phone book, had filed a change of address with the Thomasville post office, had made certain Jace knew how to reach her at any time.

But he'd never come. Never had a change of heart. Never forgiven her. Never missed her.

She'd missed him so much she'd thought she would die.

His next shout was louder and edged with frustration. Opening her eyes, she saw him standing in the kitchen, a few feet back from the window over the sink. She waved to catch his
attention, then wiggled her fingers with an innocent Hi-here-I-am smile.

A moment later the French door slammed behind him. “How the hell did you get out here?”

She shielded her eyes to look up at him. “Is your alarm supposed to be set so that when you shut it off at one door, it goes off at all of them?”

“I don't know. I guarantee, it won't be any longer.” He scowled fiercely. “It's hot as hell out here. What are you doing?”

“Sunbathing.”

“You're wearing way too many clothes for that.”

“That thought occurred to me. Would you mind if I took some of them off?” She hadn't thought any such thing, but she had to admit, in heat like this, the more skin she could expose, the more comfortable she would be. Besides, it wasn't as if her bra and panties were any more revealing than—or even
as
revealing as—a lot of swimsuits.

He swallowed hard, started to speak, then swallowed again. “You do that, I'll have to arrest you for indecent exposure.” His voice was rough and hoarse, as if he needed immediate cooling.

Neely slowly stretched her arms over her head. “You never minded me being indecent before, and if you stayed inside away from the windows, no one would see anyway.”

He blew his breath out in a heavy rush, then took a step back into the shade provided by the roof overhang. “Come on. Inside.”

She considered refusing. Unbuttoning the last few buttons on her skirt and letting it fall open. Undoing the buttons on her top and slipping it off, too. Stretching out. Daring Reese to make her obey.

But he didn't back down from dares, and if he touched her…

Slowly she sat up, swung her feet to the floor, rose from the chair. Her front was all toasty warm, her back hot and damp. Pretending she didn't mind giving in again, she passed
him with a phony smile and went inside. She shivered the instant her bare feet made contact with the cold tile, felt goose bumps rise and her nipples harden as she walked underneath a ceiling vent.

He returned to putting away the groceries as she moved laundry to the dryer, then started another load in the washer. When she went back to the kitchen, he was standing in front of the refrigerator, the freezer door open and a half gallon of ice cream pressed to his forehead. “Get a little warm out there?” she asked, deliberately making her voice sultry and low.

He flinched, put up the ice cream and closed the door, then scowled at her. “You don't take it very seriously, do you—this threat against you?”

Sliding into a chair, she propped her feet on another seat, and her skirt immediately fell to either side, drawing his gaze. As if it were of no consequence, she buttoned it practically to her knees, then combed her fingers through her hair. “When I was nine years old, I saw my father dragged away in handcuffs by police officers who burst into our house in the middle of the night, and I watched my mother fall apart, leaving the care of my three younger sisters to me. When I was sixteen, I made the arrangements for his funeral while my mother fell apart again, and after he was buried, I listened while the authorities admitted that there'd been a terrible mistake, that my father had been as innocent as he'd claimed. Ten years later I got shot by a corrupt deputy, which was painful, and at the same time got dumped by the man who'd said he loved me dearly, which was worse. I have been harassed, threatened and intimidated. My car's been bombed and I've been shot at fifty times or so.” She shrugged. “It's serious. I understand that. It's just not particularly unusual.”

For a long moment he looked at her. There were too many emotions on his face to identify every one, but she recognized guilt. Frustration. Anger. Just the barest hint of sympathy. Then abruptly he turned, gathered empty grocery sacks and
wadded them into a tight ball. He'd just tossed them in the wastebasket in the pantry when the doorbell rang.

Neely didn't wait for his command to disappear—just his nod that it was clear to cross in front of the open doorway. The bell rang a second time as she closed the bedroom door, locked it, then leaned against it. She couldn't hear the conversation but could tell the visitor was a woman. Maybe his friend's wife Shay, the only one outside the Barnett family that he'd ever acknowledged Neely's existence to, or Ginger, too young to be his kid sister…and most likely not the least bit interested in filling that role, anyway. Or maybe it was Isabella, with much more than horses on her mind, or any of a countless number of women. God knows, he'd had no shortage of them.

After a moment she unlocked the door and eased it open a crack. Now she could hear better. More importantly, she could see. Reese was standing in the doorway that led to the living room, leaning one shoulder against the jamb, and a blonde with amazing looks was unpacking a box on the dining table, storing some items in the freezer, taking others to the pantry.

“You know, your mom's a great cook, but she doesn't have to keep me fed.”

“I've tried to tell her that, but she figures it's her civic duty. Besides—” she flashed a blinding smile “—if it wasn't common knowledge that Mom and Rozena stocked your larder, every single woman in the county would be knocking at your door. You wouldn't want that, would you? Especially now.” She took a look around. “Where is she? Do I get to meet her?”

Neely blinked. He'd just accused her of not taking Forbes's threat seriously, when he'd gone off and confided the secret of her visit to some drop-dead gorgeous beauty queen? That said a lot for how seriously
he
took the threat…or how completely he trusted this woman.

“I don't think that would be a good idea, Shay,” Reese was saying as Neely, acting totally on impulse, pulled the door open wide and walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
His mouth tightened into a thin, flat line and his eyes turned bitterly cold. She might live to regret this, she thought as he folded his arms over his chest, but regrets were nothing new. She'd had plenty, and she'd survived.

“Why not, Sheriff?” she asked coolly. “Are you afraid I won't be on my best behavior?”

The blonde looked from him to her, then offered her hand. “I'm Shay Rafferty. And you're…an assistant D.A.?”

“Used to be. Before that I was a bottom-feeding, scum-sucking criminal defense lawyer. The past few years I've just done the easy stuff—the sort people generally don't try to kill you for.”

Neely accepted Shay's hand and was surprised to find a few calluses and short, unpolished nails. She would have figured the beauty queen to be allergic to hard work and addicted to fake nails. “I'm Neely Madison.”

Her name clearly meant nothing to Shay. He may have told the woman about her, but apparently not her name. Guess she hadn't been that important.

“Under the circumstances, I wouldn't normally come here,” Shay explained, “but my mother delivers a box of food to Reese every other Saturday, and nothing would have kept her away except my volunteering to bring it. Believe me, the last thing you want on a hot Saturday morning is Mary Stephens giving you the third degree.” She gave Neely an up-and-down look with piercing brown eyes, then grinned. “Of course, being a former assistant D.A., you just might be able to hold your own against her. You must have been something in court. You look so sweet and innocent. I bet a lot of people underestimate you.”

“Some make that mistake.” Reese had a time or two, but he'd learned. Dave Dugan and his cohorts in the sheriff's department had never learned, and they'd finally succeeded in getting rid of her. But she'd gotten out alive, so they couldn't claim complete victory.

“This must be interesting—spending twenty-four hours a day with a total stranger,” Shay remarked.

“There are worse things. Like spending twenty-four hours a day with someone I once knew intimately.”

“Or being dead,” Reese added snidely.

Shay looked from one to the other, obviously wondering at the source of the tension between them, then extended her hand again. “I wish you luck, Neely. You're in good hands with Reese. He'll take good care of you.”

“I'm sure he will,” Neely replied in a voice that suggested otherwise.

Reese walked to the door with Shay and exchanged a few quiet words while Neely watched from the kitchen. When he returned a moment later, she was leaning back against the counter, arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other. “The wife of a friend—is that what you told me?”

“I said Shay and her husband Easy are friends of mine. What about it?”

“Did she become his wife before your affair with her or after?”

A crimson tinge crept into his cheeks. “My relationship with Shay is none of your business.”

“Does
he
know you had an affair with her?”

“They hadn't seen each other in eight years,” he said defensively. “He had no claim on her.”

Eight years, and they'd gotten back together, were married and were, she suspected, very happy. Neely and Reese had been apart nine years. Did that mean there was a chance for them, or was there some magic cutoff point there? Eight years and eight months, ten, even eleven, you were fine, no problem, everything could be fixed. But nine years, you were flat out of luck.

And which of them would ever be foolish enough to want to get back together? They'd had one sweet, wonderful year, followed by nine years of misery—well, misery for her. Affairs with beauty-queen blondes for Reese. Why would she want the source of such heartache in her life again? Why would he give up women like Shay for a woman he'd hated far more than he'd ever loved?

Feeling unsettled—heart-sore—she lost her taste for the conversation, swallowed up in a sudden, irrationally teary need to be alone. Before Reese could say anything else, she pushed away from the counter. “I'm going to take a nap.”

“But what about—”

She closed the bedroom door, cutting off the rest of his words, stripped off her skirt so it wouldn't tangle around her legs, then curled up on the bed. She was a survivor, her father had often told her. She could endure anything, according to Jace. Two of the three most important men in her life couldn't be wrong. She had survived Reese once. She swore, she would do it again.

Please, God, for the last time.

 

Driven by the urge to get out of the house, Reese changed into a pair of ragged cutoffs and sneakers and headed to the barn out back. Until this house, he'd made it a practice to live in apartments where the yardwork fell to someone else. Now, with a three-acre yard, he owned a riding mower, which he'd bought last month, and a push mower his father had given him when he'd first moved in. That was the one he chose this hot summer morning. More than just the feeling that he was accomplishing something, he needed exercise, too.

Since Neely had been planning to sleep, he started in the front yard, mowing on the diagonal from one corner to the other. It was mindless work, and fairly rewarding, since he could monitor his progress with every row. As sweat dripped from his brow and trickled down his spine, he felt the tension that knotted his muscles easing, felt his jaw and neck relax for the first time in days. He hadn't even been aware of just how tense he'd been until much of it was gone. For the first time in a week, he was able to notice utterly mundane details, like how badly the grass had needed cutting. That the rains had dislodged much of the gravel in the driveway. How bare and unfinished the front of the house looked without something planted up close, and the short-term absence of the
mounds and tunnels that meant there were gophers and moles about.