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His partner in the Men At Arms Security Agency had insisted he take a day or two off to recuperate from a month of fourteen-hour days spent setting up a security system for a textile company. He wouldn’t mind spending his break with a willing companion.
Jack didn’t want to bring her to his Palms-area home, though. During the past eight months, he’d discovered that having a guest around only made the place seem emptier. Besides, it struck him as disloyal to Casey to take a woman to the house they’d once shared, even though she was the one who’d chosen to leave.
As he headed for the baggage claim, his cell phone rang. Seven-fifteen on a Friday evening and somebody couldn’t wait, Jack reflected wryly. Moving out of the stream of foot traffic, he flipped it open. “Arnett.”
“Jack! It’s me.” The hint of a Tennessee accent carried him out of his surroundings and into a warm zone he’d discovered the day he met Casey.
“How’re you doing?” Somehow, he managed a casual manner that gave no hint of the hot summer storm she aroused.
“I’m standing here dripping wet and my butt’s sore.”
The tantalizing image speeded his heart rate. He imagined his shapely wife with a T-shirt plastered against her lovely breasts, writhing eagerly against him as his hands cupped her bottom.
Put a lid on it, Arnett. She left you. Besides, she probably wants to know why you haven’t signed those divorce papers yet. “I take it you didn’t call to turn me on, right?”
“Jack!”
“So what’s up?” He dodged a luggage cart that threatened to take a piece of his ankle with it.
“We’ve got a stalker,” Casey said.
The word snapped him out of his sensuous frame of mind. “What do you mean? Are you all right?” Suddenly her description of her physical state took on ominous overtones.
“Some tenants have seen a prowler a few times, possibly one of the women’s ex-husband. He showed up again tonight.”
“He attacked you?” Jack’s gut response was to go after the guy. Having grown up in foster homes, he’d seen his share of men bullying women and it enraged him. During his years at the LAPD, he’d had to work hard to rein in his anger when dealing with domestic abuse.
And this was Casey. Maddening, alluring, a little bossy and sexy enough to melt him with one flash of her blue eyes. He’d kill anyone who hurt her.
“He squirted me with the hose and knocked me down. I didn’t even get a picture of him,” she grumbled.
“A picture?”
“I had my camera aimed right at him,” she said.
“But you can describe him to the police, can’t you?” Jack pressed.
“Well, no,” she admitted. “It’s dark.”
He knew Casey liked to handle situations her own way but he was having trouble putting the pieces together. “Walk me through this. Did you see the prowler or not?”
“I heard him poking around behind Gail’s place,” she replied impatiently. “So I tried to take his picture.”
“You went out alone at night, unarmed, to confront a stalker?” He barely suppressed a groan. “Did he say anything?”
“What would he say? ‘Hey, that’s not my good side, wait till I turn around’?” she demanded.
Jack gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to argue, he wanted to get the facts straight. “You heard someone or something rummaging but you didn’t actually see it. So for all you know it could have been a bear.”
“A bear shot me with a hose?”
She had a point. Nevertheless, he realized, he should take nothing for granted. “You aren’t standing out there soaking wet hoping he’ll show up again, are you?”
“I’m not stupid!” Casey flared. “Gail heard the commotion and came out. She checked me over…I mean, she’s a nurse…you know, to make sure I wasn’t hurt.”
“I assume you’d know if you were hurt.” Judging by her outspokenness, Casey’s physical condition sounded just fine. “Where are you?”
“At home. Gail left a few minutes ago. Now listen. The cops still haven’t arrived. I’ll be lucky if they get here by midnight.” Given the time difference, that was three hours away, he noted. “I wondered if you could refer me to a security agency in Nashville. I’m not sure who to call.”
He supposed he or his partner, Mike, could dig up a name, but he knew how much companies charged. “It won’t be cheap. I’ll help with the cost, of course.”
“No, you won’t.” Casey had refused to accept alimony, a fact that made it even harder to explain why Jack hadn’t signed the papers yet. Fortunately, she wasn’t asking about those right now. “I’m the one who owns this property. I’ll see to it.”
Once his wife made up her mind, you either caved in or took matters into your own hands. “I’ll need to do some research.”
“When can you get back to me?”
“Is tomorrow soon enough?”
“That would be great.” She hesitated, and for a moment Jack hoped she had something to tell him.
Maybe she regretted their split the way he did. Maybe she’d decided she loved him enough that she didn’t need children to make their family complete. Maybe the separation and loneliness had given her time to think.
Jack would have done almost anything to win his wife back. But every time he looked at a child, the misery of the past nearly overwhelmed him. At eleven, with his father in prison for robbery and his mother dead of cancer, he’d gone from a home in turmoil to a series of foster placements where he’d been at best an outsider and at worst a nuisance.
The memories remained raw and the wounds barely scabbed over. The one thing he couldn’t do, even for Casey, was relive them by having a child.
She broke the silence at last. “The sooner we catch this slob, the better. Several of my tenants are elderly and I don’t want them to have to worry about this.”
Jack tried not to register disappointment that she had nothing further to say. It almost made him angry, though, that Casey cared more about her tenants than her husband.
Well, she’d just handed him a golden opportunity to give their marriage one more try. To nab the prowler, he planned to dispatch the best-qualified security agent at his disposal. Himself.
“I’ll take care of it.” To forestall any protests, he added, “I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
“I really appreciate it. Thanks, Jack.”
“No problem.” After a brisk goodbye, he clicked off.
Although he’d have preferred to get right back on a plane, Jack knew he needed to swing by his house, catch up on the mail and repack. Guiltily, he remembered the African violet he’d bought to make the place seem homier. It must have perished weeks ago, completely forgotten.
Nobody in her right mind would consider a guy like him a suitable father. Surely a little in-person persuasion would make Casey see reason. And if not, well, at least Jack would have tried. In the process, he’d take care of that prowler, too.
Readjusting the bag on his shoulder, he dropped the flight attendant’s card into a trash bin with a silent apology. Then, rejoining the stream of pedestrians, he made his way toward the ticket counter.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_ef5972b0-cb6a-5f35-83ed-376717ef1282)
When Casey strolled into Ledbetter’s Garage on Saturday, she found that Royce had dived inside the truck he was repairing. All she could see of her former high-school boyfriend was his jean-clad rear end, somewhat expanded since his football days, sticking into the air in all its glory.
“Nice view,” she commented.
The clanking noises he’d been making halted abruptly. A moment later, an oil-smeared face emerged.
“Well, hi.” Royce grinned flirtatiously, not at all daunted by his greasy condition. “Your car’s ready to go. Tuned up, oil changed, brakes checked.”
“Great.” Although it galled Casey to have someone else work on her car, she couldn’t perform the maintenance due to her expanded waistline. “What do I owe you?”
“Let’s call it even.” He shook his head, which set his light-brown ponytail waggling.
“Let’s not.” Casey might be short on funds, but she didn’t want to owe Royce any favors. She hadn’t fallen in love with him in high school and it certainly wasn’t going to happen now. “I prefer to pay my debts up front.”
Since her condition had become obvious, Royce had mentioned several times how much he loved kids. Too bad she couldn’t picture waking up beside him every morning. Or, to be honest, any morning.
“Whatever.” The mechanic ambled into his office, where an oil-smudged computer blinked below a bikini pinup calendar. Posters of football heroes covered the other walls. “A hundred and twenty-three eighty-eight, if you insist. How’s your camera?”
She’d told him earlier that she planned to stop by Lanihan’s Department Store to find out whether the gush of water had damaged it. “It’s fine. Apparently the case protected it.”
“You mean you got the guy? You know who it is?”
“Uh, no,” Casey admitted. “There’s this big blur where his face ought to be.”
“Too bad. At least you have your camera back for the party tonight, though.” Accepting her credit card, Royce swiped it through a machine.
“You bet.”
Two of her tenants, Enid Purdue and Rita Rogers, were throwing her a shower. Half a dozen friends and neighbors planned to attend the event, which, due to the small size of the cabins, would take place at Casey’s house.
She hadn’t realized she’d mentioned it to Royce earlier when she dropped off the car, but she must have. Or else word had spread. Nothing stayed private for long in Richfield Crossing.
“So this stalker or whatever he is, you think you scared him off ?” Royce asked as he waited for the computer to finish processing her bill.
“I doubt it. Seeing a pregnant lady take a tumble isn’t likely to intimidate him.”
“I heard the police came out.” He certainly had been paying attention.
“Larry Malloy wouldn’t scare a cockroach. And he isn’t likely to find one, either, even if it’s six feet tall.” Although the town’s young, part-time police officer had arrived half an hour after she’d called Jack, he’d taken only a cursory glance around the property. She doubted she’d ever see an arrest unless her attacker marched into the police station and confessed to the chief.
Royce handed her the charge slip. She tried not to wince as she signed it, knowing what a hole the amount would make in her bank account.
The tenants’ rents had sounded like sufficient income when she decided to move here, but she hadn’t realized how big a bite maintenance and taxes took out of that. Once the baby got old enough to leave with a sitter, she’d have to look for a part-time waitress job.
Royce tore off her copy and handed it over. “Casey, everybody admires your guts, but you don’t have to go through this alone.”
She flashed him a smile. “I’m not. I have friends.”
He might have said more had a lean man in his late forties not strolled into view through the open door. “Got my truck done yet?” asked Al Rawlins, who owned the town’s movie theater and video store. “Oh, hello, Casey.” He clamped his mouth shut, obviously not thrilled to see her.
“Hi.” She wished she didn’t feel so awkward around Al and his wife Mary, who had once been like a second set of parents. “How’s it going?”
“All right.” Al looked meaningfully from Royce to the truck sitting with its hood open. “I’m in a hurry.”
“Almost done.” He headed off to finish the repairs.
Casey stood there wondering what to say, although she doubted she could patch this relationship no matter how hard she tried. She and Al’s daughter Sandra had been her best friend for years. When they moved to L.A. together, she knew the Rawlinses had seen her as an anchor for their high-spirited child, but she hadn’t been able to stop the aspiring actress from getting mixed up with drugs. Finally she’d had to move out for her own safety.
“Well, I’ll see you around,” she said at last and went out to the car. Al didn’t answer.
In L.A., she’d hated the sense of letting Sandra down. A week after leaving, she’d gone back to their old apartment hoping to persuade her friend to give up drugs. She’d discovered that a couple of new people had moved in. Not only were they obviously high, but Sandra had joined them in making sarcastic remarks about do-gooders.
Although Casey had attempted a few more times to maintain the friendship, Sandra had bridled at any suggestion of what she termed pushiness. Since the conflict between them didn’t help her friend, Casey had finally stopped calling.
A short time later, she’d met Jack at the restaurant where she worked as assistant manager. He’d stopped in for lunch with his partner, flirted with her and returned that evening to ask Casey on a date.
She’d been struck by how different he was from Sandra’s fast-living friends and the other, rather superficial men she’d met in California. At first, she’d been drawn to his quiet strength. Later, her admiration had grown as she’d discovered both his intelligence and how hard he’d worked to overcome his lack of family support.
They’d married a few months later and spent two years together. Two years of finding out that she couldn’t fill the void left inside Jack by his miserable childhood. Two years of loving a guy who spent most of his time working and who didn’t know how to meet her halfway emotionally.
Casey had hoped a baby would bring them together, but he’d adamantly refused to have one. The stronger her longing grew, the more her husband had withdrawn.
Matters had come to a head a year earlier when she visited Tennessee to help her widowed mother recover from a heart attack. Being back in Richfield Crossing had made Casey realize how lonely and isolated she’d become.
On her return, she’d told Jack she was willing to stay in L.A. only if he would change his mind about children. When he refused, she’d filed for divorce.
Casey still missed him, especially at times such as last night when she’d yearned for his reassuring steadiness. But in the long run, she was better off standing on her own two feet. Besides, she had baby Diane to take care of now and to love.
Still, she couldn’t pretend she preferred it this way. Or maybe the overcast sky was weighing on her spirits, she conceded as she drove along Old Richfield Road. Living in California, she’d grown accustomed to almost constant sunshine.
Casey shook her head. No use blaming the weather. The memory of last night’s close encounter had heightened her sense of vulnerability and this feeling was compounded by her approaching delivery date. But she refused to yield to negative thoughts.
So what if she encountered a few obstacles? She’d never believed life was meant to be easy. And she had much to be grateful for.
Her mood lightened when she caught sight of the freshly painted green-and-white sign advertising the Pine Woods Court. Turning into the driveway past the compartmentalized community mailbox, she rounded some trees and basked in the lights shining from her house into the gray afternoon.
Casey parked in the carport. As soon as she opened the front door, the scents of vanilla and cinnamon engulfed her. She could hear pans rattling in the kitchen.
Enid and Rita must have spent hours decorating. They’d draped the walls with pink honeycomb bells and had floated bunches of baby-shaped balloons up to the ceiling. A stork centerpiece dominated the paper-covered table, with candies strewn about. On the coffee table, bowls of nuts circled a pair of candles in the form of baby bottles.
“This is fabulous.” Casey hurried into the kitchen. “Whatever you’re baking, it smells great.”
Two flushed faces regarded her, one at the oven, where the owner was removing a tray of sweet rolls, and the other from the counter. At seventy-one, Enid Purdue still carried herself with the authority of a high-school math teacher. She wore her champagne-blond hair fluffed, with a flowered dress softening her figure. As Casey entered, she finished propping two cards on which her bold handwriting labeled one coffeepot “leaded” and the other “unleaded.”
Shorter and rounder, Rita Rogers, who was about half Enid’s age, manipulated the hot pan onto the stovetop. Rita might be mentally handicapped but she worked hard in the cafeteria of the Benson Glass Company and never missed a chance to help a friend. She also knew her way around an oven.
A wave of gratitude flooded through Casey. “You guys are amazing.”
“Thanks.” Rita glowed with pleasure.
“How’s the camera?” Enid asked. “I brought mine in case we need it, but it isn’t digital.”
