Will of Steel (6 page)

Her eyebrows arched. “Thank you.”

“You get that from your mother,” he said gently. “I remember her very well. I was only a boy when she died, but she was well-known locally. She was the best cook in two counties. She was always the first to sit with anyone sick, or to take food when there was a funeral.”

“I only know about her through my uncle,” she replied. “My uncle loved her. She was his only sister, much older than he was. She and my father had me unexpectedly, late in life.”

Which, he thought, had been something of a tragedy.

“And then they both died of the flu, when I was barely
crawling,” she sighed. “I never knew either of them.” She looked up. “You did at least know your parents, didn't you?”

He nodded. “My mother died of a stroke in her early thirties,” he said. “My father was overseas, working for an oil corporation as a roughneck, when there was a bombing at the installation and he died. My grandmother took me in, and my uncle moved in to help support us.”

“Neither of us had much of a childhood,” she said. “Not that our relatives didn't do all they could for us,” she added quickly. “They loved us. Lots of orphaned kids have it a lot worse.”

“Yes, they do,” he agreed solemnly. “That's why we have organizations that provide for orphaned kids.”

“If I ever get rich,” she commented, “I'm going to donate to those.”

He grinned. “I already do. To a couple, at least.”

She leaned back against a tree and closed her eyes, drinking in the sights and sounds and smells of the woods. “I love winter. I know it isn't a popular season,” she added. “It's cold and there's a lot of snow. But I enjoy it. I can smell the smoke from fireplaces and woodstoves. If I close my eyes, it reminds me of campfires. Uncle John used to take me camping with him when I was little, to hunt deer.”

“Which you never shot.”

She opened her eyes and made a face. “I'm not shooting Bambi.”

“Bull.”

“People shouldn't shoot animals.”

“That attitude back in colonial times would have seen you starve to death,” he pointed out. “It's not like those
old-timers could go to a grocery store and buy meat and vegetables. They had to hunt and garden or die.”

She frowned. “I didn't think about that.”

“In fact,” he added, “people who refused to work were turned out of the forts into the wilderness. Some stole food from the Indians and were killed for it. Others starved or froze to death. It was a hard life.”

“Why did they do it?” she wondered aloud. “Why leave their families and their homes and get on rickety old ships and go to a country they'd never even seen?”

“A lot of them did it to escape debtor's prison,” he said. “They had debts they couldn't pay. A few years over here working as an indentured servant and they could be free and have money to buy their own land. Or the people they worked for might give them an acre or two, if they were generous.”

“What about when the weather took their crops and they had nothing to eat?”

“There are strings of graves over the eastern seaboard of pilgrims who starved,” he replied. “A sad end to a hopeful beginning. This is a hostile land when it's stripped of supermarkets and shopping centers.”

A silence fell between them, during which he stared at the small rapids in the stream nearby. “That freezes over in winter,” he said. “It looks pretty.”

“I'd like to see it then.”

He turned. “I'll bring you over here.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

His black eyes looked long and deep into hers across the distance, until she felt as if something snapped inside her. She caught her breath and forced her eyes away.

Ted didn't say anything. He just smiled. And started walking again.

 

She loved it that he didn't pressure her into a more physical relationship. It gave her a breathing space that she desperately needed.

He took her to a play in Billings the following weekend, a modern parody of an old play about two murderous old women and their assorted crazy relatives.

She laughed until her sides ached. Later, as they were driving home, she realized that it had been a long time since she'd been so amused by anything.

“I'm so glad I never had relatives like that,” she ventured.

He laughed. “Me, too. The murderous cousin with the spooky face was a real pain, wasn't he?”

“His associate was even crazier.”

She sat back against the seat, her eyes closed, still smiling. “It was a great play. Thanks for asking me.”

“I was at a loose end,” he commented. “We have busy weekends and slow weekends. This was a very slow one, nothing my officers couldn't handle on their own.”

That was a reminder, and not a very pleasant one, of what he did for a living. She frowned in the darkness of the cab, broken only by the blue light of the instrument panel. “Ted, haven't you ever thought about doing something else for a living?”

“Like what?” he asked. “Teaching chemistry to high school students?”

He made a joke of it, but she didn't laugh. “You're not likely to be killed doing that.”

“I guess you don't keep up with current events,” he remarked solemnly, and proceeded to remind her of several terrible school shootings.

She grimaced. “Yes, but those are rare incidents. You
make enemies in your work. What if somebody you locked up gets out and tries to kill you?”

“It goes with the job,” he said laconically. “So far, I've been lucky.”

Lucky. But it might not last forever. Could she see herself sitting by the phone every night of her life, waiting for that horrible call?

“You're dwelling on anticipation of the worst,” he said, glancing her way. “How in the world do you think people get by who have loved ones with chronic illness or life-threatening conditions?”

She looked at him in the darkness. “I've never thought about it.”

“My grandmother had cancer,” he reminded her. “Had it for years. If I'd spent that time sitting in a chair, brooding on it, what sort of life would it have been for her?”

She frowned. “Lonely.”

“Exactly. I knew it could happen, anytime. But I lived from day to day, just like she did. After a while, I got used to the idea, like she did, and we went on with our lives. It was always there, in the background, but it was something we just—” he searched for the word “—lived with. That's how husbands and wives of people in law enforcement and the military deal with it.”

It was a new concept for her, living with a terrifying reality and getting used to it.

“You're very young,” he said heavily. “It would be harder for you.”

It probably would. She didn't answer him. It was something new to think about.

He walked her up the steps to her front door. He looked good in a suit, she thought, smiling.

“What are you thinking?” he teased.

“That you look very elegant in a suit.”

He shrugged. “It's a nice suit.”

“It's a nice man wearing it.”

“Thanks. I like your dress.”

She grinned. “It's old, but I like the color. It's called Rose Dust.”

He fingered the lacy collar. He wouldn't have told her, because it would hurt her feelings, but it looked like the sort of dress a high school girl would wear. It wasn't sophisticated, or even old enough for her now. But he just smiled.

“Nice color,” he agreed.

She cocked her head, feeling reckless. “Going to kiss me?” she asked.

“I was thinking about it.”

“And what did you decide?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and just smiled down at her. “That would be rushing things a little too much,” he said gently. “You want to date and get to know each other. I think that's a good idea. Plenty of time for the other, later.”

“Well, my goodness!”

“Shocked by my patience, are you?” he asked with a grin. “Me, too.”

“Very.”

His eyes were old and wise. “When things get physical, there's a difference in the way two people are, together. There's no time to step back and look at how things really are.”

She nodded. “You mean, like Sassy and her husband, John Callister, when they first got married. They couldn't stand to be apart, even for an hour or two. They still pretty much go everywhere together. And they're always standing close, or touching.”

“That's what I mean.”

She frowned. “I haven't ever felt like that,” she said.

He smiled. “I noticed.”

She flushed. “I'm sorry, I just blurt things out…”

“I don't mind that you're honest,” he said. “It helps. A lot.”

She bit her lower lip. “I'd give anything if Uncle John hadn't hired that man to come work for him.”

“I'm sure your uncle felt the same way. I'm surprised that he never told me about it,” he added curtly.

“I imagine he thought you'd hold him responsible for it. He blamed himself,” she added softly. “He never stopped apologizing.” She sighed. “It didn't help very much.”

“Of course it didn't.” He stepped closer and tilted her chin up. “You'll deal with it. If you don't think you can, there are some good psychologists. Our department works with two, who live in Billings.”

She made a face. “I don't think I could talk about something like that to a total stranger.”

He stared at her for a long time. “How about me?” he asked suddenly. “Could you talk about it to me?”

J
illian stared up at him with conflicting emotions. But after a minute she nodded. “I think I could,” she replied finally.

He beamed. His black eyes were twinkling. “That's a major step forward.”

“Think so?”

“I know so.”

She moved a step closer. “I enjoyed tonight. Thank you.”

He gave her a teasing look and moved a step away. “I did, too, and I'll thank you to keep your distance. I don't want to be an object of lust to a single woman who lives alone.”

She gasped theatrically. “You do so!”

“I do?”

“Absolutely!” she agreed. She grinned. “But not right now. Right?”

He laughed. “Not right now.” He bent and brushed a lazy kiss against her forehead. “Get some sleep. I'll call you Monday.”

“You do that. Not early,” she added, without telling him why. She had a secret, and she wasn't sharing it.

“Not early,” he agreed. “Good night.”

“Good night, Ted.”

He bounded down the steps, jumped in his truck and sat there deliberately until she got the message. She went inside, locked the door and turned off the porch light. Only then did he drive away. It made her feel safe, that attitude of his. Probably it was instinctive, since he was in law enforcement, but she liked it. She liked it very much.

 

Snow came the next morning. Jillian loved it. She drove slowly, so that she didn't slip off the road. But there wasn't much traffic, and she lived close to town. It was easier than she expected to get in on the country roads.

When she left again, at noon, it was a different story. The snow had come fast and furiously, and she could barely crawl along the white highway. The road crews had been busy, spreading sand and gravel, but there were icy spots just the same.

She hesitated to go all the way back to the ranch when she couldn't see the road ahead for the blinding snow, so she pulled into the town's only restaurant and cut off the engine.

“Well,” she said to herself, “I guess if worse comes to worst, they might let me sleep in a booth in the restaurant.” She laughed at the imagery.

She grabbed her purse and got out, grateful for her high-heeled cowboy boots that made it easier to get a
foothold in the thick, wet snow. This was the kind that made good snowmen. She thought she might make one when she finally got home. A calf, perhaps, to look like Sammy. She laughed. Ted would howl at that, if she did it.

She opened the door of the restaurant and walked right into a nightmare. Davy Harris, the man who had almost raped her, was standing by the counter, paying his bill. He was still thin and nervous-looking, with straggly brown hair and pale eyes. He looked at her with mingled distaste and hatred.

“Well, well, I hoped I might run into you again,” he said in a voice dripping with venom. “I don't guess you expected to see me, did you, Jillian? Not the man you put in prison for trying to kiss you!”

The owner of the restaurant knew Jillian, and liked her, but he was suddenly giving her a very odd look. There was another customer behind him, one who'd known Jillian's uncle. He gave her an odd look, too.

“There was more to it than that,” Jillian said unsteadily.

“Yes, I wanted to marry you, I can't imagine why, you little prude,” he said with contempt. “Put a man in prison for trying to teach you about life.”

She flushed. She had a good comeback for that, but it was too embarrassing to talk about it in public, especially around men she didn't really know. She felt sick all over.

He came up to her, right up to her, and looked down at her flushed face. “I'm going to be in town for a while, Jillian,” he said. “And don't get any ideas about having your boyfriend try to boot me out, or I'll tell him a few things he doesn't know about you.”

With that shocking statement, he smiled at the owner, praised the food again and walked out the door.

 

Jillian sat drinking coffee with cold, trembling hands. She felt the owner's eyes on her, and it wasn't in a way she liked. He seemed to be sizing her up with the new information his customer had given him about her.

People who didn't know you tended to accept even un savory details with openhandedness, she thought miserably. After all, how well did you really know somebody who worked for you a few days a week? Jillian lived outside town and kept to herself. She wasn't a social person.

There would be gossip, she was afraid, started by the man who'd just gotten out of prison. And how had he gotten out? she wondered. He'd been sentenced to ten years.

When she finished her coffee, she paid for it and left a tip, and paused to speak to the owner. She didn't really know what to say. Her enemy had made an accusation about her, but how did she refute it?

“What he said,” she stammered, “there's a lot more to it than it sounds like. I was…fifteen.”

The owner wasn't a stupid man. He'd known Jillian since she was a child. “Listen,” he said gently, “I don't pay any mind to gossip. I know Jack Haynes, the assistant circuit D.A. He'd never prosecute a man unless he was sure he could get a conviction.”

She felt a little relieved. “Thanks, Mr. Chaney.”

He smiled. “Don't worry about it. You might talk to Jack, though.”

“Yes, I might.” She hesitated. “You won't, well, fire me?”

“Don't be ridiculous. And you be careful out there in
the snow. If it gets worse, stay home. I can get old Mrs. Barry to sub for you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”

“We don't want to lose you in an accident,” he replied.

She smiled back.

 

Jack Haynes had his office in the county courthouse, in Hollister. She walked in, hesitantly, and asked the clerk if he was there and could she see him.

“Sure,” he said. “He's just going over case files.” He grimaced. “Not a fun thing to do. Court's next week.”

“I can imagine.”

He announced her and she walked in. Jack Haynes smiled, shook hands with her and offered her a chair.

“Davy Harris is out of prison,” she blurted out. “I walked right into him at the restaurant this morning.”

He scowled. “Who's out?”

She repeated the man's name.

He pushed the intercom button. “Did we receive notification that they'd released Davy Harris in that attempted rape case?”

“Just a minute, sir, I'll check.”

The prosecutor cursed under his breath. “I had no idea! You saw him?”

She nodded. “He told everybody in earshot that I had him put in prison for trying to kiss me.” She flushed.

“What a whitewash job!”

“Tell me about it.”

The intercom blared. “Sir, they sent a notification, but it wasn't on the server. I'm sorry. I don't know how it got lost.”

“Electronic mail,” Haynes scoffed. “In my day, we went to the post office to get mail!”

“And even there it gets lost sometimes, sir,” his clerk said soothingly. “Sorry.”

“So am I. How did Harris get out?”

“On a technicality, pertaining to the judge's instructions to the jury being prejudicial to his case,” came the reply. “He's only out until the retrial.”

“Yes, well, that could take a year or two,” Haynes said coldly.

“Yes,” his clerk said quietly.

“Thanks, Chet,” he replied, and closed the circuit.

He turned his attention back to Jillian. “That's the second piece of unsettling news I've had from the court system this week,” he said curtly. “They've released Smitty Jones, the bank robber, who threatened our police chief, also on a technicality. He's out pending retrial, too.” His face hardened. “It shouldn't come as a surprise that they have the same lawyer, some hotshot from Denver.”

Jillian clenched her teeth. “He said he'd kill Ted.”

Haynes smiled reassuringly. “Better men than him have tried to kill Ted,” he pointed out. “He's got good instincts and he's a veteran law enforcement officer. He can take care of himself, believe me.”

“I know that, but anybody can be ambushed. Look at Chief Barnes. He was a cautious, capable law enforcement officer, too.”

He grimaced. “I knew him. He was such a good man. Shame, what happened.”

“Yes.”

He gave her a long look. “Jillian, we can't do anything about Harris while he's out on bond,” he told her. “But you can take precautions, and you should. Don't go anywhere alone.”

“I live alone,” she pointed out, worriedly.

He drew in a sharp breath. He'd seen cases like this before, where stalkers had vowed revenge and killed or raped their accusers when they were released from prison. He hated the thought of having something bad happen to this poor woman, who'd seen more than her share of the dark side of men.

“I'll tell Ted,” she said after a minute.

His eyebrows arched.

She averted her eyes. “We're sort of in a situation, about the ranch. Our uncles left a clause that if we don't get married, the ranch has to be sold at public auction. Ted thinks we should get married very soon. But I've been hesitant,” she said, and bit off the reason.

He knew, without being told by her. “You need to be in therapy,” he said bluntly.

She grimaced. “I know. But I can't, I just can't talk about things like that to a stranger.”

He had a daughter about her age. He thought how it would be for her in a similar circumstance. It made him sad.

“They're used to all sorts of terrible stories,” he began.

“I can't talk about personal things to a stranger,” she repeated.

He sighed. “It could ruin your whole life, lock you up in ways you don't even realize yet,” he said gently. “I've seen cases where women were never able to marry because of it.”

She nodded.

“Don't you want a husband and a family?”

“Very much,” she said. She ground her teeth together. “But it seems just hopeless right now.” She looked up. “That California developer is licking his lips over my ranch already. But I don't know if I can be a good wife.
Ted thinks so, but it's a terrible gamble. I know I have hang-ups.”

“They'll get worse,” he said bluntly. “I speak from experience. I've tried many cases like yours over the years. I've seen the victims. I know the prognosis. It isn't pretty.”

Her eyes were haunted and sad. “I don't understand why he did it,” she began.

“It's a compulsion,” he explained. “They know it's wrong, but they can't stop. It isn't a matter of will.” He leaned forward. “It's like addiction. You know, when men try to give up alcohol, but there's something inside them that pushes them to start drinking again. It doesn't excuse it,” he said immediately. “But I'm told that even when they try to live a normal life, it's very difficult. It's one day at a time.”

He shook his head. “I see the results of addiction all the time. Alcohol, sex, cards, you name it. People destroy not only their own lives, but the lives of their families because they have a compulsion they can't control.”

“It's a shame there isn't a drug you can give people to keep them from getting addicted,” she said absently.

He burst out laughing. “Listen to you. A drug. Drugs are our biggest headache.”

She flushed. “Sorry. Wasn't thinking.”

He gave her a compassionate smile. “Talk to Ted,” he said. “He'll look out for you until our unwanted visitor leaves. In fact, there's a vagrancy law on the books that could give him a reason to make the man leave. Tell him I said so.”

She smiled. “I will. Thanks so much, Mr. Haynes.”

She stood up. He did, too, and shook her hand.

“If you need help, and you can't find Ted, you can
call me,” he said unexpectedly. He pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “My Jessica is just your age,” he added quietly. “Nothing like that ever happened to her. But if it had, I'd have a hard time remembering that my job is to uphold the law.”

“Jessica is very nice.”

“Why, thank you,” he chuckled. “I think so, too.”

They didn't discuss why he'd raised Jessica alone. Her mother had run off with a visiting public-relations man from Nevada and divorced Mr. Haynes. He'd been left with an infant daughter that his wife had no room for in her new and exciting life of travel and adventure. But he'd done very well raising her. Jessica was in medical school, studying to be a doctor. He was very proud of her.

“Don't forget,” he told Jillian on the way out. “If you need me, you call.”

She was very touched. “Thanks, Mr. Haynes.”

He shrugged. “When I'm not working, which isn't often even after hours, my social life is playing World of Warcraft online.” He smiled. “I don't get out much. You won't bother me if you call.”

“I'll remember.”

She went out and closed the door, smiling at the young clerk on her way outside.

She ran headlong into Ted, who had bounded up the steps, wearing an expression that would have stopped a charging bull.

“What did he say to you?” he demanded hotly. His black eyes were sparking with temper.

“What…Mr. Haynes?” she stammered, nodding toward the office she'd just left.

“Not him. That…” He used some language that lifted
both her eyebrows. “Sorry,” he said abruptly. “I heard what happened.”

She let out a breath. “He announced in the diner that he got put in prison because he wanted to marry me and I didn't want him to kiss me,” she said coldly. “He's out on bond because of a technicality, Mr. Haynes said.”

“I know. I phoned the prison board.”

She tried to smile. “Mr. Haynes says you can arrest him for vagrancy if he stays in town long enough.”

He didn't smile back. “He got a job,” he said angrily.