Читать книгу The Judge - Jan Hudson - Страница 10

Keeping her identity secret was turning out to be a problem, Carrie thought as she hurried to her room after lunch. She’d been squirming as she’d sat there with a sheriff and a judge trying to walk a fine line between sidestepping the truth and telling a blatant lie. While she’d been very careful not to actually lie to them, neither had she said anything to correct the impression that the old man had made about her being a genealogist. In fact, she could have kissed the old codger for getting her off the hook. She hoped she wasn’t getting herself into a huge mess by her evasions. It was one thing to misrepresent herself to townspeople and quite another to mislead officers of the law.

Maybe she needed to do a little genealogical research on the side to keep herself honest. Had any of her ancestors come from this area of Texas? Seems as if there might have been a great-great-uncle on her father’s side whose first wife was from around here. She’d check. In the meantime, she would be wise to avoid the Outlaw brothers.

Carrie stayed so busy the rest of the day that she didn’t have much time to think about him, but that evening when she took a break from studying the county platts scattered over her bed, her thoughts turned to Frank Outlaw. She lay back on her propped pillows, took a sip of her cola and remembered that smile. And the handsome contours of his face. And the timbre of his voice.

Frank Outlaw was a hunk.

And he wasn’t married.

But she needed to forget about him. She couldn’t afford to jeopardize this deal.

Easier said than done. She thought about him some more as she creamed off her makeup and put on her sleep shirt. She thought of him the next morning as she passed his office in the courthouse. And again at five of twelve when she decided to go to lunch. Not in a long, long time had she met a man that interested her as much as Frank.

But, she told herself, she’d be wise to steer clear of him. Basically an honest person, she felt a little guilty about giving him the wrong impression about her business in Naconiche. No. She felt a lot guilty.

He wasn’t in the hall as he’d been the day before.

Which was good, she quickly reminded herself, if she wanted to avoid him. Maybe she’d have lunch at the City Grill. Yes. He’d be going to the tearoom.

She hurried across the street to the café. There wasn’t an empty seat at the counter and all the tables were taken. Then, as she scanned the room again, their eyes met. It was Frank. If he hadn’t seen her, she’d have made tracks out the door, but she didn’t want to look like an idiot. She’d simply wait until there was a seat available. Trying to avoid looking at the judge, she studied the framed photographs of baseball teams hanging near the cash register.

“Carrie?”

Turning, she saw that Frank had come up behind her. She smiled. “Hello.”

He smiled. “Hello. Would you like to join me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding. And you’re not likely to find a seat anytime soon.”

So much for trying to avoid him. Accepting fate, she said, “Thanks,” and followed him to his table. After she was seated, she scanned the menu. “What’s the special today?”

He looked amused. “Liver and onions.”

She made a face and shuddered. “I hate liver and onions.”

“Me, too. When my mom used to fix liver for dinner, I always offered my little brother Sam a quarter to eat mine.”

“And he did it?”

“Yep. Sam would eat almost anything.” He chuckled. “If the price was right.”

Carrie loved that chuckle, the way it rumbled deep in his throat and sent little ripples up her spine. And his mouth fascinated her. Although it was definitely masculine, the full, curved shape of his lips was downright beautiful—and sexy as the dickens.

He must have been reading her mind, because just then the tip of his tongue appeared and moistened his lower lip. Entranced, she watched his tongue withdraw, observed his lips press together, then relax, noted the glisten left on his mouth by the action.

Darned if her toes didn’t curl.

She glanced up, and his eyes locked with hers. They were dark, very dark and filled with something indefinable…but totally captivating. His eyes alone would have made him enormously attractive. Bedroom eyes they called them. The kind that made such glorious promises that women wanted to throw themselves into his arms and follow him anywhere. She wasn’t immune. Her impulses ran along the same line.

“What would you like?” he asked.

A slow smile spread over her face. Wonder what he would do if she told him the truth? “What would you like?”

“I…uh—” he took a deep breath and pressed his lips together again “—think I’ll have a BLT,” he said to the waitress who had appeared. He closed his menu and began twirling his wedding ring.

She shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” If she didn’t know better, Carrie would have thought that she made the judge nervous. Why? She was tempted to ask but wise enough not to.

Her female antennae told her that he was just as attracted to her as she was to him. She’d have to be an ignoramus to have missed it. Maybe he was still mourning his wife, she reasoned. But two years was a heck of a long time.

“What was it like growing up in a large family?” Carrie asked, turning the conversation to safe territory.

“Chaotic at times, and we had our share of squabbles. But mostly it was fun. We’re all very close.”

They ate their sandwiches and made small talk. She carefully avoided any discussion of her work.

“Want dessert?” Frank asked. “Their cobbler isn’t bad.”

Carrie shook her head. “I have a yen for ice cream, and I’ve heard that the Double Dip has the best in town.”

Frank grinned. “I can vouch for that.”

“Join me?”

“Sure.”

He reached for the check, but she insisted on paying. “It’s my turn. You can get the ice cream.”

“That’s a deal. I get a family discount.”

“Family?”

“My mom owns it. After she retired from teaching a few years ago, she got bored and decided to find something to do with her time. The Double Dip was up for sale, so she bought it.”

They walked across the street to the old-fashioned ice-cream parlor, and as they approached, a serious wave of nostalgia rolled over Carrie. It reminded her of the little shop where Burt, one of her long line of stepfathers, used to take her when she was a kid. Was Burt number three or number four? She couldn’t remember. But she had really liked him; he was a kind man and told silly jokes that made her laugh. Obviously her mother hadn’t liked him nearly as well as Carrie had, for they soon packed and left, and no amount of weeping and begging had convinced her mother to stay.

A bell over the door announced their arrival. The stools at the counter were red, just like the ones from her childhood. She took a seat at the chrome-trimmed counter and inhaled the wonderful cold-sweet fragrance, a blend of smells so poignant that she could almost feel her pigtails on her shoulders.

“Gosh, this brings back memories,” she said. “I love this place already. I used to go to a shop just like this one when I was a little girl.”

A grandmotherly type with short gray hair bustled in from the back, drying her hands on a towel. She smiled. “Hello, son.” She turned to Carrie, and Frank made the introductions.

“Carrie is in town to do some work at the courthouse, and she heard that you had the best ice cream in town,” Frank said.

“I hope I can make good on that claim,” Nonie Outlaw said. “What would you like?”

“Do you have peppermint?”

The woman smiled. “We surely do. It’s my husband’s favorite.”

“Mine, too. I’ll have a double dip.”

“Cone or dish?”

“Oh, a cone. And do you have chocolate sprinkles?”

“Surely do.”

“Put some of those on top.”

When the cone was made, Carrie took the two fat scoops of peppermint ice cream, the top dark with sprinkles. She closed her eyes and savored the aroma, then licked a dollop from the side—and sighed. The taste was everything she remembered.

“I’ve died and gone to heaven. I can’t believe that I’ve waited over twenty years to have another one of these. Mrs. Outlaw, this is delicious.” Her tongue made another swipe, then another in a distinct pattern that was suddenly familiar.

The woman laughed. “I’m glad you like it. But most everybody just calls me Miss Nonie from my teaching days. Welcome to Naconiche. Are you going to be staying long? We have several events coming up soon that you might enjoy.”

“I’ll be around several weeks.”

“She does genealogical research,” Frank said.

“That’s wonderful. Have you met Millie at the library yet?”

“Not yet, but everybody tells me she’s the town authority. I plan to go by tomorrow.” She turned to Frank. “Aren’t you having any ice cream?”

He glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to pass. I’m due back in court. Mom, put this one on my tab.”

Other customers came in and Miss Nonie left to take their orders. Carrie waved goodbye to her as she and Frank left.

“This ice cream really is fabulous. I’m going to do some window-shopping while I finish it. Thanks for it and for sharing your table.”

“Thanks for buying my lunch,” he said.

“No problem.”

He hesitated as if he wanted to say something else.

She waited, but whatever was on his mind went unsaid. He merely nodded and started across the street. A red pickup truck almost hit him. The truck driver honked and swerved, and Frank jumped back. He didn’t look at her. When the way was clear, he trotted to the other side.

She wanted to call out to him, but he didn’t look back.

Her ice cream started dribbling over her fingers, and she hurriedly began to lick away the mess. When she glanced up again, Frank was hurrying up the steps of the courthouse. She sighed. He even looked good from the rear. Maybe she wouldn’t mind seeing a little more of the handsome Frank James Outlaw while she was in Naconiche.

FRANK FELT like such a dope. He’d nearly been creamed by that pickup. He’d been off-kilter since he’d run into Carrie in the hall outside his office. A couple of times yesterday afternoon, he’d found his mind wandering from the case he was hearing to thoughts of her. And last night he’d done more tossing and turning than sleeping, bedeviled by memories of Susan and feeling guilty as hell about being attracted to another woman.

And he was attracted to her. It bothered him. Bothered him so much that, trying to avoid bumping into Carrie, he’d left his office early and gone to the Grill instead of the tearoom. But it seemed that the powers that be had other ideas. When he’d looked up and seen her at the café, he’d felt a rush of elation rather than disappointment. His best efforts at trying to ignore her didn’t last long. As if they had a mind of their own, his legs had gotten up and trotted in her direction.

He’d almost invited her to go to that musical in Travis Lake that J.J. had suggested. Almost. He was glad he’d kept his mouth shut. It was too soon after Susan’s death to start seeing another woman. Or was it?

Sure it was. Susan had been the great love of his life. Until a couple of days ago, he had thought he’d be content to be a widower for the rest of his life. His kids, his work, that was enough for him he’d believed.

Carrie Campbell had shaken that belief. It made him nervous.

Court that afternoon was absorbing enough to hold his attention, but back in his chambers, Frank began to get that antsy feeling again and left early. When he spotted the florist across the square near his parking space, he walked over and bought a small bouquet of yellow mums tied with a white ribbon. He laid the flowers on the seat and drove to the cemetery west of town.

The wind had kicked up a little, and it rumpled his hair and flapped his tie as he walked to the familiar spot where Susan lay. Fallen leaves from an oak tree nearby made a scratching sound as they skittered across the headstone. He squatted down and brushed away leaves and a bit of grass from a recent mowing.

Hers was a simple flat marker made of a slab of pink granite with an antique brass plaque. Dogwood blossoms decorated the margin of the large plaque, and in the center was her name, Susan E. Outlaw, the dates of her birth and death, and the simple but profound message: Beloved Wife and Mother. A permanent brass vase was filled with a pretty bouquet of silk flowers that changed with the seasons, but Susan had always liked fresh flowers, so he brought them now and then.

“Hi, Suz,” he whispered, laying the mums just below the marker. “I brought you some flowers. They’re yellow. Your favorite color.”

Now he knew that Susan wasn’t there, but it was the closest he could come to physically being near her, so he often came to the cemetery to talk to her. Looking at a photograph of her or looking up at the sky or sitting in the kitchen or even in church didn’t do it for him. He’d tried it. This was the last place he’d seen the body of his wife, and this was the place where he returned.

“God, Suz, I miss you so much. It’s so lonely sometimes without you.”

A gust of wind sent more leaves sliding across the marker.

“Did I tell you that the twins are doing really well learning to ride their bikes? Of course they’ll have training wheels for quite a while yet, so there’s no need to worry about them getting bunged up.”

He told Susan everything that had been going on his life—except that he didn’t mention Carrie Campbell. He couldn’t quite bring himself to mention her.

Afterward he felt better. He returned to his car and headed home. This was the night he’d promised the twins they could watch the Charlie Brown special on TV.

CARRIE PUT the low-cal dinner in the small freezer compartment and the salad in the fridge. Although she’d done it hundreds of times, somehow the prospect of eating out alone that night seemed dreary, so she’d stopped by the grocery store to pick up something.

She stretched her back and rolled her head around, trying to ease the stiffness in her muscles. Exercise. That’s what she needed. She’d missed jogging the past couple of days, and she felt it.

After changing hurriedly into grungies and her running shoes, she did a few warm-up exercises, then stuck her key into her pocket and went outside.

She greeted Mary Beth Parker, who was coming out of the office unit.

“Hi,” Mary Beth said. “Going for a run?”

“Thought I would. What’s a good route?”

“Go down this street about a quarter mile, then take a dirt road to the left. There’s not much traffic there. I teach aerobics on Thursday nights in unit two. You’re welcome to work out with us tomorrow if you like.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that.”

“I was just going for a short run myself,” Mary Beth said. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all. I’d like the company.”

“I broke my foot last spring, and I still have to take it pretty easy while I’m getting back into shape. I’m not at marathon level yet.”

Carrie grinned. “You don’t have to worry about holding me back. A couple of miles will do it for me. Three maybe if I walk and jog.”

“That’s about my speed for now.” They started down the road at a fast walk.

The route they took was a two-lane blacktop with pastures on one side and tall trees, mostly pines mixed with a few hardwoods, on the other. A few head of black cattle grazed in the pasture while a breeze rustled the treetops and swayed the underbrush.

“Tell me,” Carrie said. “How did you come to be a chef and an innkeeper? Was it a family business?”

Mary Beth laughed. “It’s a long story, and I’m no chef. I’m a cook—through necessity. And I’m not sure that running a small motel elevates me to the grand term of innkeeper. It was a family business—in a way. A distant cousin owned it, but when I inherited the Twilight Inn and the restaurant last spring, the place was a mess. Worse than a mess. The motel units had been standing vacant for years and were dilapidated beyond belief. The tearoom had been a Mexican restaurant more recently and wasn’t as bad, but the roof leaked and it had mice.”

“You’ve certainly done wonders with it, and chef or not, the food at the tearoom is great.”

“Thanks. It was a lot of work, and I couldn’t have done it without the help of some very good friends. I was desperate when I came back to Naconiche, and inheriting this place seemed like a godsend—until I saw the condition of it. This is where we turn.”

They took the dirt road and began to jog at a slow pace. “Desperate? Sounds like an intriguing story.”

As they trotted along the red dirt, Mary Beth related the tale of her return to Naconiche. She’d grown up in the town, then moved away with her parents about the time she started college. She’d met her former husband in school, married him, moved to Mississippi and lived the good life—for a while.

“Marriage to Brad wasn’t the fairy tale I’d imagined it would be. Things got really bad, and we divorced. Katy and I moved into the garage apartment of a friend in Natchez.

“I was teaching aerobics, and we were getting by,” Mary Beth said. “Barely. Until I injured my foot. I couldn’t teach with my foot in a cast, and I was almost broke when I discovered that I’d inherited the Twilight Inn. I thought we were saved.”

“Except that it wasn’t what you expected.”

“Lord no. It was a disaster.” Mary Beth laughed. “Katy and I lived in the restaurant for a while.”

“In the restaurant?”

Mary Beth grinned. “Yes. It wasn’t so bad until it rained and the roof leaked like a sieve. J.J. came to the rescue. This is where we turn around.”

They started back to the motel, walking for a while, then resuming their jog. “Your fiancé seems like a really nice guy.”

“He is. Sometimes I think that probably I should have stayed in Naconiche and married him to begin with. But I know we were too young in those days.”

“So you knew him before?”

Mary Beth nodded. “He was my first love. We dated a long time.”

“And he never married?”

“Nope. Says he was pining for me all that time. And if you believe that, I’ve got this bridge…”

They both laughed.

“And you’re not married or committed to some special fella?” Mary Beth asked.

“Never have been. Never will be.” Her tone was sharper than she meant it to be.

Mary Beth was quiet for a long time. The only sounds were their breathing and the slap of their soles on the road, but Carrie could almost hear the wheels going around as her running partner considered possible explanations for her statement—and was too polite to question her further. Carrie should have kept her mouth shut. She’d never been prone to sharing intimacies with anyone, but she’d felt drawn to Mary Beth almost immediately and felt very comfortable with her—almost as if they’d been friends for a long time. And God knows, Mary Beth had certainly been candid about her life.

After about a half mile, Carrie chuckled and said lightly, “I always figured that my mother was married enough for the both of us. Seven times at last count.”

“Seven? You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Is she still living?”

“Alive and well and in the south of France. The last couple of times, she married Europeans.”

“Do you see her often?”

“Only occasionally. We don’t have much in common. My mother is a dependent type who must have a man to take care of her. I don’t need anybody to take care of me. And the truth is, my work keeps me on the road too much for a long-term relationship. Men seem to want their women around for more than a week here and there. Or at least that’s been my experience.”

“I suppose that’s true. And you travel all the time doing genealogical research?”

“That and various other kinds of specialized research. I stay pretty busy. Where’s your daughter tonight?”

“J.J. took Katy over to Frank’s house to watch a special TV program with his twins.”

“His twins? Frank has twins?”

“A boy and a girl Katy’s age. They’re all in kindergarten together.”

Carrie was stunned. She’d never thought about his having children, though it made sense when you considered he was a widower. That put the cap on it for sure. So much for Frank. While she’d never really considered any kind of serious relationship between them, even the remote possibility of a few casual dates while she was in town had disappeared. From now on she’d avoid him like the plague.

Men with children were invariably looking for a mother for their kids, and that wasn’t for her. She didn’t know a thing about kids and certainly wasn’t cut out to be a mother. She’d had a lousy role model.