скачать книгу бесплатно
“A very long time,” he repeated, glancing at the calendar on his desk. Nine years, seven months and thirteen days, to be exact. The date she’d left him was a permanent scar on his heart, like a bad tattoo that no amount of surgery could remove. “I heard you did all right for yourself.”
“You heard?”
He shrugged, not willing to let her know how he’d scrounged for every drop of information, praying she’d make it big then praying she wouldn’t. He’d even fantasized about her coming back, broke and lonely. In his dreams, he’d been the man she needed, the only one who could help her. He’d been a dumb kid then who’d believed in the impossible.
Tate shifted the weight off his bad knee. Weather must be changing for the old injury to act up this much. Or maybe it was the eighteen-hour day he’d spent on duty, half of it on his feet, searching the lake woods for a lost child. But Tate had no complaints. He’d felt like a million bucks when he’d placed the boy in his tearful parents’ arms.
He knew his stance had given him away when Julee’s gaze came back to him, drifting down his body to rest at his aching knee. Though her attention was purely curious, Tate’s body grew warmer than the April weather dictated.
“I never did get a chance to tell you how sorry I was about your knee injury. Does it still bother you?”
So she had known. And never even called. Apparently, she hadn’t given him another thought once she hit the big city.
“Sometimes,” he admitted gruffly. Nearly ten years had passed. Why was she bringing it up now?
Julee touched his arm lightly, but enough that the electric shock of her touch still made his insides quiver. Not just physical wanting, though she had that power, too, but emotional need so intense he wanted to collapse at her glamorous feet. After all this time, he was still a fool.
“I always hated what happened to you.”
If she’d cared so much, why hadn’t she come home? Why hadn’t she been the one to see him through those black days? Why had she left him alone to drown in alcohol and self-pity and to marry the first woman who would tolerate both?
“That was a long time ago.” He stepped back from the subtle lure of her perfume, placing the desk between the two of them. “It all happened a long time ago.”
They’d been so young, thinking they could have it all. Julee would be a famous model. He’d play pro football. Then they’d find their way back to each other. Trouble was, her dream came true about the same time his died on the ten-yard line with three minutes to go in the first half of the season opener.
He’d fallen into the black abyss of anger and alcohol, too proud to call her, but furious when she didn’t call him. Then Shelly had come along, sweet and sympathetic, willing to tolerate his drunken rages and self-pity. She’d been his anchor during a time when he’d wanted to die. Out of some alcohol-distorted sense of gratitude, and because he needed to believe someone cared, he’d married her after less than a month.
Tate squeezed his eyes shut and blotted out the memories. Too much time had passed to go there now. “So. What brings you back to Blackwood?”
And how soon will you be on the next flight out?
Some emotion stirred behind her beautiful blue eyes. What was it? Nerves? Anxiety?
Squinting in thought, he studied the intense set of her jaw, the shadows above her elegant cheekbones. That’s when he knew. Julianna was afraid.
The loose rollers on his chair clattered against the brown tile as he pulled it away from the desk. One hand on the nubby gray backrest, he waited, cop instinct on alert.
What was she afraid of? And what on God’s green earth could it have to do with the hometown she’d abandoned years ago? Better question, what did it have to do with him?
“Mind if I sit down?” she asked. Tate tried to ignore the tingle in his gut whenever her lips moved. “I have some important business to discuss with you.”
Fighting the need to protect her from whatever demon chased her, and the greater need to protect himself from her, Tate indicated the green vinyl-covered chair across from his desk, then settled into his own. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t. Julee sat, crossing her long beautiful legs directly in his line of vision. His chest tightened. Sitting upright, he steepled his hands beneath his chin to block the view. He had to get her out of this office.
“Business?” Curiosity got the best of him. What kind of business could bring Julianna Reynolds back to Blackwood?
When she leaned forward, expression earnest, her silky blue blouse gapped slightly, affording him an unwanted glance of creamy skin. Infuriatingly, his body reacted. She was sexy, vulnerable and beautiful, a combination that spelled danger for any man but was deadly for him. She was big city and he was small town. She was rich and he was a working stiff. And she was, as her mother had once said, “too good for that McIntyre boy.”
Criminy! Why he was thinking this way? He didn’t know this woman. Hadn’t known her for years. All they had was the past, and that was better left alone.
The phone emitted a soft buzz, and he barely held back a curse. He was too busy to worry over Julianna Reynolds, and the sooner he found out what she wanted, the sooner she’d be gone and he’d be safe from thinking too much.
Holding up one finger of his left hand in a “wait-a-minute” gesture, he punched a button with the right. “Yeah?”
His receptionist’s voice came out of the speakerphone. “Mrs. Barkley needs you to drive by her place. She’s sure the Peeping Tom is back.”
Taking out his annoyance on the receptionist, he growled, “Where have you been?”
“Even Rita the Magnificent has a bladder, Tate. Don’t get your tail in a twitch.”
He glanced at Julee, saw her struggling with a grin, and was relieved when she rose and starting roaming the room. He swiveled sideways to avoid watching the swish of her blue skirt against silken thighs.
Having Julee in his office was bad enough without the hired help humiliating him. Smart-aleck receptionist. But he knew better than to cross Rita the Magnificent. She was a lot more than a receptionist, and he couldn’t manage without her. “Tell Mrs. Barkley I’ll be there as quick as I can.”
“Oh, she said there’s no big hurry. And she wants to know if you’ll stop by the store and get Penelope some cat food before you come out.”
Tate gave in to a grudging grin. He’d investigated her “Peeping Tom” four times in as many months. Poor old Mrs. Barkley. Anything for a little company. He wondered what kind of cake she’d baked this time and hoped he’d have time to eat a piece of it while she entertained him on the piano.
“No problem.”
From the corner of his eye he could see Julee surveying the row of framed certificates and citations hanging around his small, cluttered office. He hoped she wouldn’t miss the college diploma. She’d had success handed to her on a silver platter, but he’d worked plenty hard for his.
As he started to disconnect, Rita spoke again. “Don’t forget you need to be back in time for Little League practice.”
“Anything else?”
“I left the list on your desk. A meeting with the county commissioner at four, the task force tomorrow morning, Martha’s birthday party and the slave auction at the high school—”
“Hold on.” He scrounged around in the enormous stack of folders and papers. The list lay in plain sight beneath a snow globe paperweight that Jacob, his seven-year-old buddy from the Big Brother program, had given him last Christmas.
“I found it.” He stuck the list in his shirt pocket and shut off the receptionist’s disembodied voice.
Julee’s blue gaze, wide with curiosity, drifted back to him. “You are a busy man.”
“Goes with the job. So if you don’t mind…” He let the words trail off hoping she’d take the ball and run with it. Her visit was starting to get under his skin.
Before she lost her nerve, Julianna settled back into the green chair and plunged into the story she’d rehearsed for days.
“I’ve come home to Seminole County to do some charity work. You know. One of those celebrity things that are good for an income tax break.”
She blasted him with a hundred-watt smile as fake as the words she’d spoken. She’d never done a “celebrity thing” in her life. Though she’d worked tirelessly to increase bone-marrow donors and had even headed a previous drive, celebrity had nothing to do with it. Outside the modeling industry and this small town she had no celebrity status, but Julianna prayed Tate wouldn’t know that. Finding cures for sick children had simply become her passion.
Tate arched an eyebrow. Stacking his hands behind his head, he tilted back in his rather bedraggled roller chair. “What could that possibly have to do with me?”
Julee crossed her arms over her middle. She hadn’t expected a red-carpet welcome after all these years, but his cool appraisal turned her butterflies into swarming buzzards.
Behind him, through the window, Julianna vaguely comprehended the ebb and flow of light traffic out on the street. A single horn honked. Car doors slammed. The quiet, unhurried normalcy of everyday life in a small town soothed her.
Normalcy—a condition she could hardly recollect. For a while three years ago, life had almost been normal. They’d been sure Megan had been cured by the chemotherapy treatments.
Then had come the frightening news two months ago that Megan’s leukemia cells had reappeared, throwing her into the desperate search for a bone-marrow donor, the only hope of cure now that chemo had failed to permanently destroy the disease. Until now they hadn’t even considered this last-ditch, drastic kind of treatment. For the first time Julee had no choice but to involve Tate. Megan was in a second drug-induced remission, but the doctors said it was only a matter of time until the cells began to multiply again. How much time, no one could say.
Not one day since then had they lived a moment without fear. Megan, her beautiful nine-year-old daughter, deserved a normal life, and so did dozens of other children awaiting a bone-marrow transplant.
If she could get Tate to donate blood without him knowing about Megan, everyone would be better off—Megan, Tate and his wife. No wife, however devoted, wanted the shock of discovering her husband had an unknown child by his first love. Plenty of reasons to face Tate’s chilly regard.
Leaning her elbows on a pile of official-looking documents Julianna locked eyes with the man who held Megan’s fate. The air conditioner thumped to life, but even the cool blast of air couldn’t counter the tingle of sweat prickling the back of her neck.
“I’m involved with increasing the number of minority donors for the bone-marrow transplant database. Since my hometown happens to be the tribal capital of the Seminole Indians, I thought this would be a good place to start.”
The chair rollers clattered to the floor. Tate frowned at her, puzzled, but clearly intrigued. The chatty clerk at the motel had been telling the truth; Sheriff McIntyre was a sucker for a good cause.
“Bone-marrow donation?”
“People wouldn’t necessarily be donating their bone marrow. At first, there’s just a blood test and the donor information is put into the data bank. Then if someone needs a transplant, doctors can access the data bank for a suitable match.”
“I thought relatives usually donated bone marrow.”
Julee’s pulse kicked up a notch, the falsely chipper smile tightening. “That’s the ideal situation, but sometimes family members don’t match.” Like me.
In a deliberate attempt to calm her fraying nerves, Julee picked up the paperweight from Tate’s desk and rolled it between her hands, watching snow drift over the pair of baying hounds. Was it her imagination, or could she still detect the warmth of Tate’s skin? Oddly, the thought calmed her.
“Any reason why you’re targeting minorities?”
Oh, yes, the most important reason in the world. Their daughter had Tate’s Seminole heritage and the genetic types that went with it.
“Minorities have a very limited donor system, so the chances of finding a match are almost nil. And because their population is small, we need all the donors we can get.”
“We?”
She shrugged, but her grip on the paperweight was tight enough to turn her knuckles white. She’d done fine without this man for nearly ten years. She had no desire to disrupt her life or his any more than necessary, but Tate’s cooperation could save Megan’s life. “I’ve been working with the bone-marrow registry for a while. Too many kids die who could be saved by somebody if only that someone had his blood type on file.”
Her heart had been broken a dozen times as beautiful children she and Megan had come to know had withered away while waiting for a transplant. Minority children especially lacked hope. Somehow, she had to change that.
“Why come to me? Why not go to the hospital or the Chamber of Commerce?”
“I have. The hospital administrator thinks it’s a great opportunity for PR. The bone-marrow people will send a mobile unit, the Saturn Company has signed on to sponsor, and we’ll accept regular blood donations, too, to help with expenses.”
He tilted back in his chair again, eyebrows knit in thought. Bright sunlight slanted in through the window behind him and gleamed off his almost-black hair. He picked up a pen and rotated it between his fingers. “Let me ask that again. Why come to me?”
“I’m lining up all the community and civic leaders. The mayor, the school administration, fire chief, etc. Since I’m especially interested in bringing the Seminoles on board, your influence…” At Tate’s thunderous expression, Julee clapped her lips together. She’d thought he was warming to the idea, but now the cold, shuttered expression returned.
“You’ll have to go to the BIA or tribal chiefs if you want the Seminoles. Don’t expect me to get involved.”
Her heart fell. “But I thought—”
“You thought what, Julee? That you could march in here and pretend ten years hadn’t passed? That I’d ignore the law-enforcement needs of this county to run around drumming up business for your tax break?”
“No! That’s not what I thought at all.” Where had she gone wrong? “As I said, you’re the sheriff, you have a certain clout that could be used—”
“Used? No thanks. Been there, done that.”
Julee squeezed her hands into fists, the long nails digging at her skin. She wanted to scream, to cry, to grab Tate and make him listen. Everything was coming out all wrong.
“That’s not what I meant!”
With a loud exhale, Tate held out a palm, peacemaker style. “Look, Julee, I don’t mean to be a hard case about this, but there are plenty of others to help with this cause of yours. I really am awfully busy, and given our history, I’d expect to be the last man on earth you’d come to.”
Their history was exactly why she had to have his help, but for Megan’s sake she dared not tell him that. Resuming perfect posture on the slick vinyl seat even while her insides howled in terror, she struggled for control and a serene fa?ade. Any act of hysteria on her part was bound to make him wonder why he was more important than any other civic leader.
“We were once such good friends, I just thought—”
“Once,” he interrupted. “And once was a long time ago, a time I don’t care to revisit. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He tossed the pen down and pushed upward from the desk. “I have to see a woman about a Peeping Tom.”
“Wait. Please.” But Tate was past listening.
Julee watched in dismay as the Sheriff of Seminole County, the man whose very blood she depended upon, grabbed his hat and, as if he couldn’t stand to be in her presence another moment, strode out the door.
Chapter Two
“He says he won’t help, Mom.” Julianna gripped the telephone receiver, trying to keep the panic at bay.
“He has to!” Beverly Reynolds’ strident voice pierced the distance from California to the Blackwood Motel.
“I know that, Mother,” Julianna cried. Then flopping back onto the standard green-and-brown motel bedspread, she relented. “I’m sorry. I’m just so scared. What if I can’t convince him to be tested?” She rubbed at the ache building between her eyebrows. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
The motel television flickered to a commercial and Julianna saw her own legs hawking a new brand of depilatory cream. She turned away from the inane sight.
“I don’t know, either, honey.” Regret tinged her mother’s words. “If I hadn’t lied to everyone, especially Megan, you could come right out and tell Tate the truth.”
“I don’t want to hurt his family, but if he doesn’t agree to donate on his own, I’ll have no choice.”
“No! Absolutely not. You can’t risk it.” Julianna held the phone away from her mother’s screech. “The doctors have told us a dozen times how important a positive mental state is to Megan’s struggling immune system. Her health is too fragile to suddenly discover the father she thought was dead is alive and well in Oklahoma. Who knows what the shock might do to her?” A tormented sigh came through the phone lines. Julianna envisioned her mother repeatedly pushing short frosted hair behind one ear. “This is all my fault. I never should have started that lie.”
“You did what you thought was best at the time, Mama. I don’t blame you for any of this.”
When Julee had discovered her pregnancy and Tate’s marriage to another woman, her mom had created a deceased husband to save face in the new city and among new friends and co-workers.
“You were so young and so stubbornly determined not to ruin Tate’s chances for a football career. For a while I hated that boy. There you were pregnant, trying to succeed in this crazy modeling business, and wanting to spare the very boy who’d gotten you into trouble. I only meant to protect you and Megan from mean-spirited people.”
“I know, Mama, I know.” Julianna stared at the black spots on the ceiling tile. She’d relived those days in her mind a thousand times wondering what she could have done differently, and the answer always came out the same. She didn’t know.
Her mother hadn’t wanted her united with Tate, though she’d bitterly resented Julianna’s original plan to keep Tate in the dark. But Julee had feared what would happen if he’d discovered the pregnancy. He would have abandoned the athletic scholarship, his only opportunity to move beyond the horrible poverty and despair of his childhood. He would have gone back to work at the gas station and killed himself trying to care for a wife and a baby. In the end, after she’d reconsidered, he’d already traded her for someone else, so she lived with the lie created to protect them all.
“You never did approve of Tate, but he’s different now.”
“Different? Honey, Tate McIntyre was always different.”
“I mean different in a different way.” Julee laughed a little at that, comparing the almost military perfection of the Tate she’d seen today with the long black hair, the wary eyes, and bad attitude of the Tate she’d known ten years ago. “I don’t believe for one minute he’d intentionally hurt Megan. The bad-boy reject has become the golden savior and this town thinks he walks on water. From all appearances, he’s gentle and kind to everyone. Everyone but me, that is.”
