Will of Steel (8 page)

She should have disputed that. She should have said that it was no lie, that he'd tried to assault her in her own home. But she was too embarrassed. She turned and almost ran to her truck. Once inside, she locked the door with cold, trembling fingers.

Davy stood on the sidewalk, smiling. Just smiling. A man and woman came up to him and he turned and started talking to them as Jillian drove away. She wondered what they were saying. She hoped it wasn't about her.

 

But in the next few days, she noticed a change in attitude, especially in customers who came to the restaurants. Her pretty cakes had been quickly bought before, but now they stayed in the case. Jill took most of them back home. When she went to the bank, the teller was polite, but not chatty and friendly as she usually was.

Even at the local convenience store where she bought
gas, the clerk was reserved, all business, when she paid at the counter.

The next morning, at work, she began to understand why she was being treated to a cold shoulder from people she'd known most of her life.

“Everybody thinks you did a job on me, Jilly,” Davy said under his breath when she was putting a cake on the counter—only one cake today, instead of the variety she usually produced, since they weren't selling.

She glared at him over the cake. “It wouldn't do to tell them the truth.”

“What is the truth?” He leaned back in the booth, his eyes cold and accusing. “You had me sent to jail.”

She stood up, tired of being harassed, tired of his unspoken accusations, tired of the way local people were treating her because of him.

“I was a freshman in high school and you tried to force me to have sex with you,” she said shortly, aware of a shocked look from a male customer. “How hard is that to understand? It's called statutory rape, I believe…?”

Davy flushed. He got to his feet and towered over her. “I never raped you!”

“You had my clothes off and the only reason you stopped was because I slugged you and ran. If Sassy Peale hadn't had a shotgun, you never would have stopped! You ran after me all the way to her house!”

He clenched his fists by his side. “I went to jail,” he snapped. “You're going to pay for that. I'll make sure you pay for that!”

She took the cake, aimed it and threw it right in his face.

“I could have you arrested for assault!” he sputtered.

“Go ahead,” she said, glaring at him. “I'll call the police for you, if you like!”

He took a quick step toward her, but the male customer stood up all at once and moved toward him. He backed away.

“You'll be sorry,” he told Jillian. He glared at the other customer, and walked out, wiping away cake with a handkerchief.

Jillian was shaking, but she hadn't backed down. She took a shaky breath, fighting tears, and started picking up cake.

“You think he'll go away,” the customer, a tall blond man with a patch over one eye, said quietly, in an accented tone, like a British accent, but with a hard accent on the consonants. She recalled hearing accents like that in one of the
Lethal Weapon
movies. “He won't.”

She stopped picking up cake and got to her feet, staring at him.

He was tall and well built. His blond hair was in a ponytail. His face was lean, with faint scars, and he had one light brown eye visible. He looked like the sort of man who smiled a lot, but he wasn't smiling now. He had a dangerous look.

“You should talk to a lawyer,” he said quietly.

She bit her lip. “And say what? He eats here every day, but this is the only restaurant in town.”

“It's still harassment.”

She sighed. “Yes. It is. But I can't make him leave.”

“Talk to Ted Graves. He'll make him leave.”

“Ted isn't speaking to me.”

He lifted an eyebrow expressively.

“I ticked him off, too, by saying I might have made a mistake and overreacted to what Davy did to me,” she
said miserably. “Davy made it sound as if I did. And then he reminded me about all the kind things he did for my uncle and me…”

“Adolph Hitler had a dog. He petted it and took it for walks and threw sticks for it to chase,” he said blandly.

She grimaced. She went back down and picked up more cake.

“If you were so young and it took a shotgun to deter him,” the man continued, “it wasn't an innocent act.”

“I'm just beginning to get that through my thick skull,” she sighed.

“This sort of man doesn't quit,” he continued, sticking his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans. His eye was narrow and thoughtful. “He's here for more than breakfast, if you get my drift. He wants revenge.”

“I guess so.”

“I hope you keep a gun.”

She laughed. “I hate guns.”

“So do I,” he mused. “I much prefer knives.”

He indicated a huge Bowie knife on one hip, in a fringed leather sheath.

She stared at it. “I don't guess you'd have to do much more than show that to somebody to make them back off.”

“That's usually the case.”

She finished cleaning up the cake. “They aren't selling well lately, but I thought this one might. Davy seems to have been spending all his spare time telling people what an evil woman I am. There's a distinct chill in the air wherever I go now.”

“That's because he's telling his side of the story to anybody who'll listen,” he replied. “And that's harassment, as well.”

“I can see Ted arresting him for talking to someone,” she said sarcastically.

“It depends on what he's saying. I heard what he said in here. If you need a witness, I'm available.”

She frowned. “He didn't say much.”

“He said enough,” he replied.

She shrugged. “I like to handle my own problems.”

“Ordinarily I'd say that's admirable. Not in this case. You're up against a man who's done hard time and came out with a grudge. He wants blood. If you're not very careful, he'll get it. He's doing a number on your character already. People tend to believe what they want to believe, and it isn't always the truth. Especially when a likeable young man who's apparently been railroaded by a nasty young girl tells the right kind of story.”

She blinked. “I'd be the nasty young girl in this story?”

He nodded.

She put the remnants of her cake into the trash can behind the counter. She shrugged. “I never thought of myself as a bad person.”

“It's his thoughts that you have to worry about. If he's mad enough, and I think he is if he came here expressly to torment you, he won't stop with gossip.”

That thought had occurred to her, too. She looked up at the customer with wide, worried eyes. “Maybe I should get a job over in Billings.”

“And run for it?” he asked. “Fat chance. He'd follow you.”

She gasped. “No…!”

His face hardened. “I've seen this happen before, in a similar case,” he said tersely. “In fact, I was acting as an unpaid bodyguard as a favor to a friend. The perp not
only got out of jail, he went after the girl who testified against him and beat her up.”

She glared. “I hope you hurt him.”

“Several of us,” he replied, “wanted to, but her boyfriend got to him first. He's back in jail. But if she'd been alone, there might not have been anybody to testify.”

She felt sick to her stomach. “You're saying something, aren't you?”

“I'm saying that such men are unpredictable,” he replied. “It's better to watch your back than to assume that everything will work itself out. In my experience, situations like this don't get better.”

She put down the rag she'd been cleaning with, and looked up with worried eyes. “I wish Ted wasn't mad at me,” she said quietly.

“Go make up with him,” he advised. “And do it soon.” He didn't add that he'd seen the expression on her assailant's face and he was certain the man would soon resort to violence to pay her back.

“I suppose I should,” she said. She managed a smile. “Thanks, Mr….?”

“Just call me Rourke,” he said, and grinned. “Most people do.”

“Are you visiting somebody local?”

His eyebrows arched. “Don't I look like a local?”

She shook her head, softening the noncomment with a smile.

He laughed. “Actually,” he said, “I came by to see the police chief. And not on a case. Ted and I were in the military together. I brought a message from an old friend who works as a police chief down in Texas.”

She cocked her head. “That wouldn't be the one who taught him to tango?”

He blinked his single eye. “He taught Ted to dance?”

She nodded. “He's pretty good, too.”

Rourke chuckled. “Wonders never cease.”

“That's what I say.”

He smiled down at her. “Talk to Ted,” he advised. “You're going to need somebody who can back you up, if that man gets violent.”

“I'll do that,” she said after a minute. “And thanks.”

“You're welcome, but for what?”

“For making me see the light,” she replied flatly. “I've been blaming myself for sending Davy to prison.”

“You mark my words,” he replied. “Very soon, Davy is going to prove to you that it was where he belonged.”

She didn't reply. She just hoped it wasn't a prophecy. But she was going to see Ted, the minute she got off work.

B
efore Jillian could finish her chores and get out of the restaurant, Sassy Peale Callister came into the restaurant and dragged her to one side.

“I can't believe what I just heard,” she said shortly. “Did you actually say that you might have been wrong to have Davy Harris put in jail?”

Jillian flushed to the roots of her hair. “How did you hear about that?” she stammered.

“Hollister is a very small town. You tell one person and everybody else knows,” the other woman replied. “Come on, is it true?”

Jillian felt even more uncomfortable. “He was reminding me how much he helped me and Uncle John around the ranch. He was always kind to us. Once, when we were sick, he went to the store and pharmacy for us, and then nursed us until we were well again.”

Sassy wasn't buying it. Her face was stony. “That
means he's capable of doing good deeds. It doesn't mean he can't do bad things.”

“I know,” Jillian said miserably. “It's just…well, he's been in here every day. He makes it sound like I overreacted…”

“You listen to me, he's no heartsick would-be suitor,” Sassy said firmly. “He's a card-carrying coyote with delusions of grandeur! I wasn't sure that he wasn't going to try to take the shotgun away from me, even if I'd pulled the trigger. He was furious! Don't you remember what he said?”

Jillian glanced around her. The restaurant was empty, but the owner was nearby, at least within earshot.

“He said that he'd get both of us,” Sassy replied. “John thinks he meant it and that he's here for revenge. He hired me a bodyguard, if you can believe that.” She indicated the tall man with a long blond ponytail and a patch over one eye.

“That's Rourke,” Jilly exclaimed.

Sassy blinked. “Excuse me?”

“That's Rourke. He was in here this morning, when I threw a cake at Davy.” She ignored Sassy's gasp and kept going. “He said that I was nuts trying to make excuses for the man, and that I should make up with Ted. He thinks Davy is dangerous.”

“So do I,” Sassy said quietly. “You should come and stay with us until this is over, one way or the other.”

Jillian was tempted. But she thought of little Sammy and a means of revenge that might occur to a mind as twisted as Davy's. He might even burn the house down. She didn't dare leave it unattended.

“Thanks,” she said gently, “but I can't do that. Anyway, I've got my uncle's shotgun.”

“Which you've never touched,” Sassy muttered. “I doubt it's been cleaned since he died.”

Jillian stared at the floor. “Ted would clean it for me if I asked him to.”

“Why don't you ask him to?” came the short reply. “And then tell him why you need it cleaned. I dare you.”

“I don't think Davy would hurt me, really,” she said slowly.

“He assaulted you.”

“Maybe he just got, well, overstimulated, and…”

“He assaulted you,” Sassy replied firmly.

Jillian sighed. “I hate unpleasantness.”

“Who doesn't? But this isn't just a man who let a kiss go too far. This is a man who deliberately came to Hollister, got a job and devils you every day at your place of work,” Sassy said quietly. “It's harassment. It's stalking. Maybe you can't prove it, but you should certainly talk to Ted about it.”

“He'll think I'm overreacting.”

“He's a policeman,” Sassy reminded her. “He won't.”

Jillian was weakening. She was beginning to feel even more afraid of Davy. If Sassy's husband thought there was a threat, and went so far as to hire his wife a bodyguard, he must be taking it seriously.

“John tried to have him arrested, but Ted reminded him that you can't put somebody behind bars for some thing he said years ago. He has to have concrete evidence.”

That made things somehow even worse. Jillian's worried eyes met her friend's. “Davy does scare me.”

Sassy moved closer. “I'm going to have Rourke keep an eye on you, too, when I'm safely home with
John. We've got enough cowboys at the ranch who have federal backgrounds to keep me safe,” she added with a chuckle. “One of them used to work for the godfather of John's sister-in-law. He was a mercenary with mob connections. He's got millions and he still comes to see her.” She leaned forward, so that Rourke couldn't hear. “There was gossip once that Rourke was his son. Nobody knows and Rourke never talks about him.”

“Wow,” Jillian exclaimed. “That would be K.C. Kantor, wouldn't it?”

Sassy was impressed. “How did you know?”

“I wouldn't have, but your husband was talking about him at the restaurant one morning when you were on that shopping trip to Los Angeles and he had to eat in town.”

“Eavesdropping, were you?” Sassy teased.

Jillian smiled. “Sorry. Sometimes a waitress can't help it.”

“I don't mind.” She drew in a breath. “I have to go. But if you need anything, you call. I'll lend Rourke to you.”

“My ears work, even if I'm missing one eye,” the tall blond man drawled.

Both women turned, surprised.

“And K.C. Kantor is not my father.” He bit off every word. “That's malicious gossip, aimed at my dad, who was a military man in South Africa and made enemies because of his job.”

“Sorry,” Sassy said at once, and looked uneasy. Rourke rarely did anything except smile pleasantly and crack jokes, but his pale brown eye was glittering and he looked dangerous.

He saw the consternation his words had produced, and fell back into his easygoing persona with no visible
effort. He grinned. “I eavesdrop shamelessly, too,” he added. “I never know when some pretty young woman might be making nice remarks about me. Wouldn't want to miss it.”

They both relaxed.

“Sorry,” Sassy said again. “I wasn't saying it to be unkind.”

He shrugged. “I know that. Kantor took me in when I was orphaned, because he and my dad were friends. It's a common misconception.” He frowned. “You're right about Jillian. Living alone is dangerous when you've got an enemy with unknown intentions. Mrs. Callister is safe at night, unless she's going out without her husband. I could come over and sleep on your sofa, if you like.”

“Yes, he could,” Sassy seconded at once.

That made Jillian visibly uncomfortable. She averted her eyes. “That's very kind of you, thanks, but I'll manage.”

Rourke lifted an eyebrow. “Is it my shaving lotion? I mean, it does sometimes put women off,” he said blandly.

Sassy laughed. “No. It's convention.”

“Excuse me?”

“She won't stay alone at night with a man in the house,” Sassy said. “And before you say anything—” she stopped him when he opened his mouth to reply “—I would have felt exactly the same way when I was single. Women in small towns, brought up with certain attitudes, don't entertain single men at night.”

He looked perplexed.

“You've never lived in a small town,” Jillian ventured.

“I was born in Africa,” he said, surprisingly. “I've lived in small villages all my life. But I don't know
much about small American towns. I suppose there are similarities. Well, except for the bride price that still exists in some places.”

“Bride price?” Jillian stared at him, waiting.

“A man who wants to marry a woman has to give her father a certain number of cattle.”

She gaped at him.

“It's a centuries-old tradition,” he explained. He pursed his lips and smiled at Jillian. “I'll bet your father would have asked a thousand head for you.”

She glared at him. “My father would never have offered to sell me to you!” she exclaimed.

“Different places, different customs,” he said easily. “I've lived in places, in ways, that you might never imagine.”

“John said you were a gunrunner,” Sassy mused.

He glared at her. “I was not,” he said indignantly. Then he grinned. “I was an arms dealer.”

“Semantics!” she shot back.

He shrugged again. “A man has to make a living when he's between jobs. At the time, there wasn't much action going on in my part of Africa for mercenaries.”

“And now you work as a bodyguard?” Jillian asked.

He hesitated. “At times, when I'm on vacation. I actually work as an independent contractor these days. Legit,” he added when they looked at him with open suspicion. “I don't do mercenary work anymore.”

“So that case in Oklahoma where you helped free a kidnapping victim was legit, too?” Sassy asked.

“I was helping out a friend,” he replied, chuckling. “He works for the same federal agency I work for these days.”

“But you're an African citizen, aren't you?” Jillian asked. “I mean, if you were born there…?”

“I have American citizenship now,” he said, and looked uncomfortable.

“When he went to work for Mr. Kantor, he had to have it,” Sassy murmured. “I imagine he pulled some strings at the state department?”

Rourke just looked at her, without speaking.

She held out her hands, palms up. “Okay, I'm sorry, I won't pry. I'm just grateful you're around to look out for me.” She glanced at Jillian. “But you still have a problem. What if Harris decides he wants to get even one dark night, and you can't get to that shotgun in time? The one that hasn't been cleaned since your uncle died?”

“I said I'd get Ted to clean it for me,” the other woman protested.

“You and Ted aren't speaking.”

“I'll come over and clean it for you,” Rourke said quietly. “And teach you to shoot it.”

Jillian looked hunted. “I hate guns,” she burst out. “I hated it when Ted would come over and shoot targets from the front porch. I'll never get used to the sound of them. It's like dynamite going off in my ears!”

Rourke looked at her with shocked disdain. “Didn't anybody ever tell you about earplugs?”

“Earplugs?”

“Yes. You always wear them on the gun range,” he explained, “unless you want to go deaf at an early age. Ear protectors are fine on the range, but earplugs can be inserted quickly if you're on a job and expecting trouble.”

“How do you hear?”

“They let in sound. They just deaden certain fre
quencies of sound,” he explained. He glanced at Sassy. “You won't need me tonight. I heard your husband say he's lined up a new werewolf movie to watch with you on pay-per-view.”

She laughed. “Yes. It's the second in a vampire trilogy, actually. I love it!”

He didn't react. He glanced toward Jillian. “So I'll be free about six. I can come over and clean the shotgun and do a security sweep. If you need locks and silent sentries, I can install them.”

She bit her lip, hard. She couldn't afford such things. She could barely pay the bills on what she made as a cook.

The owner of the restaurant, who had been blatantly eavesdropping, joined them. “You can have an advance on your salary anytime you need it,” he told Jillian gently. “I'd bar Harris from coming on the premises, if I could, but he's the sort who'd file a lawsuit. I can't afford that,” he added heavily.

“Thanks, Mr. Chaney,” Jillian said quietly. “I thought you might fire me, because of all that's going on right now.”

“Fat chance,” he said amusedly. “You're the best cook I've ever had.”

“He shouldn't be allowed to harass her while she's doing her job,” Sassy said curtly.

“I agree,” the restaurant owner said gently. “But this is a business and I can't bar people I dislike without proof they're causing problems. I've never heard him threaten Jillian or even be disrespectful to her.”

“That's because he whispers things to me that he doesn't want anybody to overhear,” she said miserably. “He made me believe that I had him locked up for no reason at all.”

“I live in Hollister,” he said quietly. “Even if it's not in blaring headlines, most of us know what's going on here. I remember the case. My sister, if you recall, was the assistant prosecutor in the case. She helped Jack Haynes with the precedents.”

“I do remember,” Jillian said. She folded her arms over her slight breasts. “It's so scary. I never thought he'd get out.”

“People get out all the time on technicalities,” Rourke said. “A case in point is the bank robber your police chief put away. And a friend of mine in the FBI in Texas has a similar problem. A man he sent away for life just got out and is after him. My friend can't do much more than you're doing. The stalker doesn't do anything he could even be charged with.”

“Life is hard,” Sassy said.

“Then you die,” Rourke quipped, and grinned. “Did you watch that British cop show, too? You're pretty young.”

“Everything's on disc now, even those old shows. It's one of John's favorites,” Sassy chuckled.

“Mine, too,” Chaney added, laughing. “They were an odd mix, the female British cop and the American one, in a team.”

“Pity it ended before we knew how things worked out between them,” Rourke sighed. “I would have loved a big, romantic finale.”

Both women and the restaurant owner stared at him.

“I'm a romantic,” he said defensively.

The women stared pointedly at the pistol in the shoulder holster under his loose jacket.

“I can shoot people and still be romantic,” he said
belligerently. “Out there somewhere is a woman who can't wait to marry me and have my children!”

They stared more.

He moved uncomfortably. “Well, my profession isn't conducive to child-raising, I guess, but I could still get married to some nice lady who wanted to cook and darn my socks and take my clothes to the dry cleaner when I was home between jobs.”

“That's not romantic, that's delusional,” Sassy told him.