Читать книгу Tight-Fittin' Jeans - Mary Baxter Lynn - Страница 10

Three

Tiffany stared wild-eyed at the hunk of humanity sprawled in front of her. Who was he? And what was he doing on the Davis property? Was he homeless, perhaps looking for a place to sleep? Even though she couldn’t tell much about him, the latter somehow didn’t ring true. From what she could see of him, he wasn’t dressed like a vagrant. He had on a pair of okay-looking jeans, a casual shirt and boots.

He was tall and thin, too thin to suit her taste. That . aside, he could have passed for any Texas cowboy on any given day—only this cowboy wasn’t moving.

Making tiny mewing sounds against the hand she was holding across her mouth, Tiffany backed up, never taking her eyes off him. What had she done? Had she killed him?

OhmyGodohmyGod, she chanted silently, until she backed into the door frame. Then, on legs that seemed to have a will of their own, she turned and tore off toward the house. By the time she reached the back porch, she was so weak and sick to her stomach that she had to catch a post and hold on to it, reaching deep inside herself for a decent breath.

Dear Lord, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life behind bars, which might be what would happen if she’d actually hit him hard enough to kill him. And she was very much afraid that she had. She’d seen the blood trickling down the side of his head. Her stomach did another flip-flop. and it was all she could do not to give in to the desire to lean over and throw up.

But she couldn’t allow herself that luxury. Regardless of who he was—rapist, thief, or vagrant—she had to get help. As it was, she’d wasted enough time. She crossed to the door and flung it open.

Taylor was sitting on the couch with the TV blaring, laughing at the show she was watching. When she saw Tiffany, she seemed to sense that something was wrong.

“Are you sick?” she asked with childlike bluntness.

Tiffany threw her what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but she knew she’d failed. Taylor looked almost as terrified as she felt herself.

“I have to call 911.”

“We don’t have 911.”

“Damn,” Tiffany muttered. Of course this one-horse community wouldn’t have such a sophisticated system.

“That’s a naughty word. My mommy said you’re not supposed to say it.”

“What?”

“Damn.”

If the situation hadn’t been so serious, Tiffany would have laughed. But the situation was serious, and now was not the time to deal with the issue of whether she’d said something she shouldn’t have.

“Forget I said that, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll have to call the sheriff,” Tiffany said, more to herself than for Taylor’s benefit. Noticing that the number she sought was posted by the phone, she snatched up the receiver and dialed.

Moments later, the terse conversation was behind her, but still she couldn’t seem to move or to think rationally. Only after Taylor jumped off the couch and stared at her as if she had just landed from another planet did she react.

She’d said as little as possible, so as not to frighten the child more than she had to. “It’s going to be all right,” Tiffany said now, in what she prayed was a calm and rational tone.

Taylor’s lower lip trembled. “I want my daddy and mommy.”

“So do I, kiddo, but unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.”

Tears flooded the child’s eyes, and Tiffany felt like an inept idiot. She placed her arms around Taylor’s shoulders and held her close.

She couldn’t believe this was happening. Had she actually whacked another human over the head so hard that she might have taken his life?

No! Now that she was safely in the house, away from the eerie barn, she wouldn’t think like that Surely she hadn’t done that much damage to his head. She didn’t have that much strength. Or did she? Maybe she’d cracked him in just the right place. Again the sick feeling washed over her, and she saw herself being handcuffed, then put in the sheriffs car.

Tiffany swallowed the panic that rose up the back of her throat just as she heard the siren.

Taylor twisted out of her arms and rushed to the window. “Sheriff Wright’s getting out of the car.”

Tiffany didn’t wait for him to knock. She headed for the door herself, Taylor on her heels. “Uh-uh, young lady. You stay put right here.”

Taylor’s face bunched into a frown. “I don’t want to. ”

“Nevertheless, you’re going to.” Then, softening her words, Tiffany added, “As soon as I know what’s going on, I’ll be back.”

Taylor jutted her chin and averted her face. Tiffany hated knowing that the child was upset, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that at the moment. There was enough trauma going on in Taylor’s life without her seeing a man who might be—

Shutting down that thought, Tiffany raced out the door just as the sheriff walked onto the porch. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat. “I’m Porter Wright.”

It wasn’t that he was tall and lean to the point of gauntness, or that he wore a Fu Manchu mustache, that made her wince inwardly, but rather the smell that surrounded him—as if he’d just stepped in a patty of cow manure.

Unwittingly, she lowered her head, and sure enough, he had. His boots were caked with it. This time it was all Tiffany could do to hold her already queasy stomach in check.

“I’m Tiffany Russell,” she said at last.

“Suppose you take me to where this fellow is.”

“He’s...he’s in the barn.”

“Let’s go have a look-see.”

“Do I have to go with you?”

The sheriff removed his hat and scratched his head. “I don’t suppose so.”

“Never mind, I’ll come. I have to face the music sooner or later.”

Porter Wright gave her a strange look before commenting, “Most likely you’re in the clear, whoever this person is. Folks around here get real nervous when someone invades their privacy. You did the right thing, I’m sure.”

“Taylor, honey, I’ll be right back,” Tiffany called into the house. “You’ll be fine.”

Although it had been only fifteen minutes since the incident, it seemed like an eternity as Tiffany followed Sheriff Wright back to the bam.

He entered first_ Tiffany pulled up short behind him, just inside the door, and clung to the rustic facing for dear life, despite the fact that splinters were digging into her hand.

The man was sitting up and in the process of wiping the blood off his temple. Relief left her feeling even weaker than the earlier bouts of nausea. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. All she could do was stand there gaping at him, all the while praising the Lord that he was alive and she wouldn’t be going to the penitentiary.

The man, however, wasn’t at a loss for words. In fact, the expletives spilling from his lips sent the color rushing back into Tiffany’s face. She felt as if she’d suddenly caught a fever.

“Should L..call an ambulance?” she stammered.

“Hell, no!”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sheriff Wright said, his features wrinkled in a grin.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” the man snapped, rising fully to his feet, though he was obviously still unsteady, and glaring at the sheriff.

Tiffany felt the urge to race to him and help him, but she knew that wouldn’t be the thing to do. He looked mad enough to chew a barbed-wire fence in two.

“Ms. Tiffany Russell, meet the man you’ve just waylaid,” Wright said. “Jeremiah’s neighbor, Garth Dixon.”

“Oh, no,” Tiffany whispered, but the words were loud enough for both men to hear.

“Oh, yes, Ms. Russell, or whoever the hell you are,” Garth lashed back.

Tiffany took a step forward, a hand outstretched. “Look, Mr. Dixon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

He cursed again, cutting her off in midsentence. “Like hell you didn’t mean it. You nearly took my damn head off with that shovel.”

Tiffany flung a helpless look at Porter Wright. The sheriff seemed content to stand back and let the two of them go at it, grinning all the while, as if he were enjoying the exchange to the max.

Well, why not? Tiffany thought This incident was probably the most exciting thing that had happened around these parts in a long time. She would have liked nothing better than to knock that grin off Wright’s face, then turn around and knock the smirk off Dixon’s. Instead, she swallowed her own mounting anger and said, “If only you’d come to the house and told me who you were, I wouldn’t—”

“Hell, lady, that doesn’t excuse you, especially since I wasn’t a threat to you.”

“How was I to know that?”

Garth Dixon looked at her as if he wanted to throttle her, which she was sure he did, in retaliation for what she’d done to him.

“Hell, I see I’m wasting my time talking to you. Anyone that dizzy—”

Tiffany was enraged. “I’ll have you know that I’m not—”

“Save it, lady. I’m not interested.”

Instead of barking right back at him the way she wanted to do, Tiffany turned and stomped toward the door. Once there, she had second thoughts, and she whirled around, glaring at him. Who did he think he was? She wouldn’t let him get away with placing all the blame on her shoulders.

She was about to voice that thought when her gut instinct kicked in, telling her that for now she’d best keep her mouth shut, if she wanted to come out the winner here. For one thing, the man was in obvious pain. But more than that, he was livid, livid to the point that she knew her impulsiveness had gained her an enemy, which was too bad.

Garth Dixon was a good-looking man, even if he was a bit too thin. Pure eye candy. Even the red, purplish lump on the side of his head didn’t detract from the dramatics of his chiseled features, his salt-and-pepper hair—more salt than pepper—or the dark blue eyes surrounded by thick black lashes.

Too bad again that she didn’t give a fig if he was handsome or not. Not only was he too old for her—she guessed him to be in his forties—he was a poor sod-buster, which was an even bigger turnoff than his age.

Her grandmother had always told her that she could fall in love with a rich man as easily as a poor one. Tiffany had never forgotten those pearls of wisdom. But then, she didn’t have to worry. She wasn’t about to fall in love with any man, certainly not this one, who continued to look at her through cold, hostile eyes.

“Surely you were aware that Jeremiah asked me to keep an eye on the place while he was gone?” Garth asked at last.

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Well, hell.”

“If it’s an apology you want,” Tiffany said, “then you’ve got it.”

Sheriff Wright shoved himself away from the post where he’d been leaning. “I guess that settles things, then. If Ms. Russell here is willing to apologize, then—”

“I don’t want her apology.” Garth focused his fierce gaze on Tiffany, then spoke directly to her. “All I want is for you to stay the hell away from me.”

With that, he turned and, cutting around her, stalked out of the barn.

“Whew!” Sheriff Wright said, taking off his hat and fanning his face. “I’d say he’s madder than a stirred-up hornet’s nest.”

“He’ll get over it,” Tiffany countered, tight-lipped

“I sure hope so, ma’am. For your sake, that is.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“According to Irma Quill, he’s been real sick, something about a bad heart.”

Tiffany’s own heart took a nosedive as another bout of guilt rose to the surface. “What else do you know about him?”

“Nothing, except he’s apparently about as closemouthed as they come, and he hasn’t been in the community but a few months.”

Tiffany held out her hand. “Thanks for coming, Sheriff. I appreciate it very much.”

“Just doing my job, ma‘am. Come on, I’ll walk you back to the house. I’m sure that young’n’s having a conniption fit”

“You’re right,” Tiffany said, another pang of guilt stabbing her.

A short time later, after explaining to the child what had happened, though without the details, Tiffany sat on the bed beside Taylor, tucking her in for the night.

“I’m so proud of you. You acted like such a big girl.”

“I am a big girl. I’m six years old, going on seven.”

“That’s right, you are.” Tiffany smiled, but the child didn’t. “What’s the matter, honey?”

The child’s gaze didn’t waver. “I’m glad you found my kitty, but my daddy’s going to be real mad, ’cause you hit his friend.”