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“They’re out in my car. I’ll get them,” Hallie said.
When she returned with the plate of cookies wrapped in aluminum foil the sheriff had other ideas. “I, uh, need to check those before you hand them over to my...prisoner.” he said.
Hallie rolled her eyes. “Aw, come on, Sheriff, you think I baked a hacksaw blade in one of these little chocolate chippers?”
A slight smile touched his sexy mouth. “Where a Cates is concerned, a man can’t be too careful.”
Hallie handed him the plate and waited indignantly while he peeled back the foil. “I suppose they look safe enough.” He took one from the plate and popped it into his mouth.
“Well, Sheriff, if you didn’t bite into anything that will saw through bars, may I give these to my grandmother?”
He waved a hand magnanimously. “Be my guest.”
The nerve of the man, suspecting her of subterfuge, suspecting Granny of...anything, and locking the poor soul up like she was some...common criminal.
“Hallie, you do make the best cookies,” Granny said and took a fistful as if she might never get another morsel of food.
The dear probably thought she’d never again see the light of day, either. And that was a situation Hallie intended to remedy—and fast. “Excuse me, Granny Pearl. I have a few things to say to the sheriff.”
“Go get him, Hallie!” Granny said and snatched the entire plate from Hallie’s hands.
Not the best move. She might have been able to use the cookies as a bargaining tool in demanding Granny’s release. Now she’d have to depend on the man’s reasonable side—providing he had one.
She approached his desk and sat down in the lone chair beside it, crossing one jean-clad leg over the other. Her foot and leg pumped, revealing her nervousness. She’d never tried to bargain with the law before, not even over a speeding ticket.
She supposed anger wouldn’t work, though she had a lot of it. She suspected wheedling would get her nowhere either, and she’d never been very good at that anyway. Reason—it was the only thing worth attempting.
“Sheriff...” Hallie struggled for calm. “I—I’m sure we can work this out if we discuss it like two sane, sensible people.” She smiled as if to say, she’d try if he would.
“Batting those eyes isn’t going to get you anywhere, Ms. Cates,” he said superiorly. “Neither will flashing that pretty smile at me, delightful though it may be.”
“Why, of all the arrogant—! I did not bat my eyes. And my smile, Cam Osborne, was an attempt at graciousness. Obviously that’s something you wouldn’t recognize if it jumped up and bit you on your backside,” she retorted, her hackles up and on alert.
He grinned at that and Hallie wriggled in the chair. Damn, his office was close, stuffy. She wanted to throw open a window, take off a layer or two of clothing, except that she was wearing the minimum—jeans and a lightweight turtleneck top.
But she refused to let the man see her sweat. Or blush. Unfortunately she could control neither.
“I demand to know what proof you have against my grandmother,” she said crisply.
“Uh, Hallie...” Granny called from the cell doors behind Hallie’s chair.
“Not now, Granny Pearl. The sheriff and I are discussing...evidence.”
“But, Hallie...”
Hallie ignored the warning tone in Granny Pearl’s voice. A mistake, she realized when she saw the smug smile displayed on Cam’s lips. He rocked back in his big chair, entirely too sure of himself.
“Proof, Ms. Cates?” he asked, definitely baiting her.
Hallie felt a slow trickle of perspiration zigzag its way into her cleavage. She had the distinct feeling she’d played right into the man’s hands. Was that what Granny Pearl had been trying to tell her? Was that feisty, ornery little old woman guilty after all?
No, Hallie wouldn’t believe it.
The man lowered the front legs of his chair to the floor with enough force to splinter wood. He reached for the lower desk drawer and yanked it open. “Proof Ms. Cates,” he said, extracting a jug of some sort from its interior.
The jug was tucked neatly inside a plastic bag, but even through the plastic Hallie could smell the contents.
Cam smiled. The woman seated beside his desk was turning a lovely shade of pink, and he found her intriguing. That signaled danger—danger he’d do well to heed. She was prettier than her picture, he decided. Much prettier, in a fragile, don’t touch sort of way. And damned if he didn’t want to touch.
Her long red locks fell in soft curls to her shoulders, tumbling in a too-tempting array of sun-kissed color. And scented—like warm outdoors, with a hint of apple blossoms. God, but he was sounding like a sentimental idiot. Maybe he’d been away from the harsh city streets too long; he was getting soft around the edges.
That had not been his plan when he’d left his past behind. He needed to maintain his edge, that hard streak he’d learned so well back in Chicago. Hell, the edge he’d been born with. It would be a real joke to be taken down by one tall, leggy woman, no matter how gorgeous she was.
Still, the look on Hallie Cates’s face told Cam she was the one who was vulnerable at the moment. He saw the shadow of doubt that drew her well-shaped eyebrows together in a frown of worry when he’d produced the “evidence”, the soft wrinkle of her nose at the smell emanating from the bottle he’d confiscated from Granny’s well-hidden still. He had Pearl Cates dead to rights.
Hallie stiffened in her chair and directed her pretty gaze at him. “I’m sure there’s some explanation, a reasonable one, one that will clear Granny of your so-called charges,” she said, though with more bravado than conviction to her voice.
Cam found himself feeling sorry for her. He cast a glance at Pearl who paced the floor of her cell, chewing on a fingernail. He only hoped she bit all ten to a nub before she got the peevish idea to rake those nails across his face. The woman was wicked, he already knew from her bite, and he rubbed the spot on his arm as a reminder not to tangle with the wiry five-foot-two woman in the future.
The gesture caught Hallie’s attention and she stared down at his injury, just below his rolled-up shirtsleeve. “What happened to your arm?” she asked with curiosity mingled with a certain wariness. “Those...those look like teeth marks.”
“And every one of ’em are mine,” Granny announced proudly from her cell. “How many seventy-year-olds can boast of having a full set?”
Just his luck the old woman did. “Your age, Pearl, is seventy-nine, not seventy,” Cam reminded. He couldn’t resist a smile at Hallie’s mouth, which had closed with surprise at Granny’s admission.
“I—I’m sorry, sorry about the...bite,” she said quietly, chagrined. “I can’t imagine what possessed her to...to...”
“Forget it,” he answered. “The old gal got the better of me. It’s not something that happens often.”
His words were a warning, Hallie suspected. The man was tough, down to his very last well-hewn muscle. She was curious what he was doing in these parts. No one came here unless they’d been born and raised in these mountains. The place was isolated, not to mention backwards, full of gossip. Hallie had only just gotten here, and already she was anxious to get back to Fort Worth. That was, after she cleared Granny Pearl, and the two of them had a good visit.
Perhaps she’d try once again to convince the elderly woman to move to Texas with her. Granny could be stubborn on the subject, but Hallie hated the thought of her being in that little cabin all alone, away from a hospital or doctor. The closest clinic was less than thirty miles away, as the crow flew, but much farther by car over the winding back roads. Granny had a car but she wasn’t that proficient a driver—and limited herself to buying her groceries at the small general store in Greens Hollow.
“Quit gabbin’ with that man and get onto the business of springin’ me,” Granny called to Hallie from behind the bars.
Hallie glanced at Cam and thought she saw him hide a quick grin, but she couldn’t be sure. Did he get a kick out of the old woman? Or did he want to get home? Just then the thought occurred to Hallie that he might have a wife waiting for him at that home, not to mention a houseful of little ones.
Then she thought again. The man didn’t look like the type who wanted a wife. He had an attitude, and it wasn’t one that rang with domesticity.
Hallie didn’t have time to consider Cam further. He was studying her curiously—and she didn’t want him to know she’d been thinking about him. Granny. Granny Pearl was the reason she was here in Greens Hollow—the only reason.
And she’d do well to remember that.
“About my grandmother,” she said. “I demand you spring...uh, release her. She’s elderly and shouldn’t be spending even one night in jail.”
“Not that easy, Ms. Cates. Your granny’s been accused of a crime. There’ll need to be a hearing—”
“A...hearing.” Of course. That would clear her grandmother, she was sure. “How soon?” she asked cautiously.
“Five weeks from today—at the county seat. Judge McBain.”
“Five weeks! Certainly you don’t mean to keep her locked up until...? I mean, what about bail? Releasing her on her own recognizance?” Hallie didn’t know much about legalities—but there was such a thing as rights.
“Believe me, I wouldn’t want to keep that woman under lock and key any longer than I have to,” he said. He leaned back in his desk chair, observing Granny Pearl for a moment over Hallie’s left shoulder. “Tell you what,” he said, righting the chair again. “I could be persuaded to release her into your custody until then—”
“Of course,” Hallie answered without hesitation and rose from her seat as if that settled it.
“Ms. Cates, not so fast.”
“I said I agreed.”
He smiled slowly. “I was about to add, provided you accept full responsibility for your grandmother’s actions, see she keeps to the straight and narrow, doesn’t skip the country—”
Hallie gave an exasperated sigh. “Sheriff, this is all ridiculous. My grandmother is not a criminal. Of course, she’ll obey the law.”
“Right,” he answered slowly. “And dogs don’t hunt.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked tersely.
“It means, dear Hallie, that you’re gonna have your hands full with Ma Barker over there.” He hooked a thumb in Granny’s direction.
At the moment the woman looked positively angelic. Hallie shoved the jail keys across the desk at him. “Just open up, Sheriff, so I can take my grandmother home.”
Chapter Two
Granny prattled on all the way to her cabin, not giving Hallie an inch of an opening, not a single chance to ask the big question: innocent or guilty? But for tonight Hallie wasn’t sure she wanted an answer from the woman. She was tired from her long drive here, cranky from dealing with Cam Osborne and with Granny, and she wanted nothing more than to collapse into Granny’s spare feather bed, snuggle into the sheets line-dried in the Arkansas sunshine and let sleep take her.
Tomorrow, or the day after, would be soon enough to tackle the truth—if Granny Pearl would give it to her—and to seek legal counsel for her.
Hallie could just picture the little old lady in court, cussing out the judge, the hunk of a man who arrested her, and the world in general. It would not be a pretty sight—and one Hallie hoped they wouldn’t have to face.
George and Myrtle met them at the gate as Hallie turned her unflagging little Subaru into the drive. She saw why Granny was so devoted to the pair. They were cute, with their little black faces, their curiosityfilled eyes and friendly, brayed greeting.
“Oh, my little children are hungry,” Granny said and was struggling with the passenger door handle before Hallie had brought the car to a full stop.
The creatures could survive easily on the grass they kept close-cropped in Granny’s yard, not to mention the goodies they “stole” from her trash barrel, Hallie knew. But Granny insisted on feeding them extras—like her special corn bread, or whatever it was she had for her own supper each evening.
The woman was out of the car and hurrying, as nimble-footed as her goats, toward the back door. While Hallie struggled with her luggage in the trunk, Granny was back with two metal tins piled high with what looked suspiciously like her wonderful homemade honey biscuits. Hallie’s tummy rumbled and for a moment she was envious of the goats. What she wouldn’t give for a couple of those biscuits, warm from that old oven of Granny’s.
“I hope you saved one or two of those for the person who sprang you from jail,” Hallie teased as she carried her suitcase toward the cabin.
“Oh, Hallie, you must be thinking’ I’m a silly old woman.” She dropped the tins and affectionately admonished the goats to eat with manners, then raced toward her granddaughter. “I reckon you must be hungry as a bear after that trek of yours all the way from Texas. Come on in the kitchen, girl.”
It was nearly eleven, but Granny put on a spread anyway, every leftover in her small, antiquated refrigerator, plus the remainder of her honey biscuits, complete with her to-die-for raspberry jam.
Hallie knew if she was going to be eating Granny’s cooking she’d have to increase her exercise proportionately. And first off would be a walk through the piney woods that surrounded Granny’s property to search for that so-called still Cam Osborne claimed Granny was putting to use.
She just hoped she didn’t find one.
By the time Hallie had the dishes washed, Granny sat dozing in her rocker. How innocent she looked lost in sleep, her white hair spiked here and there in disarray, as if she’d been dragging a worried hand through it. Her skin was a soft, well-earned fine pattern of wrinkles, the pale pink blush on her cheeks natural and demure.
In repose she hardly looked like a moonshining grandmother. She didn’t look like a woman who would sink her teeth into a man’s arm, either—but Hallie had seen the evidence below Cam’s shirtsleeve.
“C’mon, Granny Pearl, let’s get you into bed, pronto,” Hallie said, stirring her gently.
Granny mumbled something incoherent, something that sounded like...wh’ lightnin’—which Hallie didn’t exactly find reassuring.
In the morning she would definitely have to have that look around Granny’s place—every square inch of it.
Cam didn’t have a clue how he happened to find himself on the road to Pearl Cates’s small cabin, but damned if that wasn’t where his four-by-four was headed.
If he were wise he’d breeze right on past the old woman’s property, maybe find that favorite stream of his, dig out the fishing rod he always carried with him, sit on the bank and sink a line—then spend the remainder of his afternoon forgetting Granny Pearl’s redheaded granddaughter. And what she’d done to his usually peaceful night’s slumber.
So she had glorious high cheekbones that glowed with the warm blush of summer, a pert little mouth—with that sassy tone not unlike her granny’s—and green eyes a man could drown in if he were so inclined.
But Cam wasn’t inclined.
He didn’t intend to make room for a woman in his life ever again. When a smart man got burned, he didn’t get near the flame a second time—and Cam considered himself a smart man.
He was only checking up on Pearl, he told himself, as he took the right fork toward her cabin in the woods. It was just a professional visit to be sure the old gal was keeping to the straight and narrow. And away from that still of hers.
Hallie was a bright woman, but he suspected she could be blinded by love—and she loved Granny Pearl. All of Greens Hollow did. Cam knew just how popular he’d be when the folks around here learned he’d brought the little old lady in and charged her with selling local lightning—especially when it cut off the supply for some of the town’s denizens.
He doubted Granny Pearl would admit the truth to her granddaughter. On the contrary, she’d have Hallie believing Cam was the meanest man in the county, a man who picked on little old ladies, kicked dogs and dewinged butterflies.
Was that his reason for stopping by the Cates place? Was he afraid Granny would paint a villainous picture of him to Hallie?
Why should he care if Hallie thought him a louse, a blackguard? He didn’t care. It was his job to uphold the law—and that’s all he was doing.
He turned the black Cherokee into the gravel drive and caught himself searching around for Hallie. But he found only George and Myrtle, those two silly creatures who butted any man who came onto Granny’s property or meant the old girl harm.
They didn’t much like Cam. In fact, last time he was here they’d tried their best to render him a soprano for the rest of his days. Cam had had to be plenty fast on his feet to save his manhood and other much-needed body parts.
He was just wondering if there was any chance of winning the two critters over when he glanced up and saw Hallie coming out the front door of the cabin. His breath caught in his throat. The afternoon sun cutting through the trees caught the red in her hair, releasing its fire. Was her passion as fire-hot? Damned if he didn’t wish he could sample it—just once.
“What brings you out here, Sheriff?” Her green eyes sparked with cool ice. “Searching for more little old ladies to arrest, are you?”
Her words hurt, but Cam wasn’t about to admit it, even to himself. “Are you going to shoot me on the spot or may I come in?” He indicated the gate that stood between them, the watch goats protecting it. Protecting her from the likes of him.
She seemed to consider her options, and taking her sweet time to do it, too. “That all depends,” she said finally, crossing her arms and eyeing. him cautiously.
“On what?”
“On whether or not this is an...official visit.”
Why did he have the feeling that whichever way he answered he was in trouble? If he said “official” she’d have her dander up royally, and if he said “friendly”, well, let’s just say, she didn’t exactly look...friendly toward him at the moment.
“I just happened to be passing by,” he parried. At least that was partly true. “I wanted to be sure Granny hadn’t suffered any ill effects from her...time in jail.”
