Читать книгу Something's Gotta Give - Teresa Southwick, Teresa Southwick - Страница 9

Sam’s headlights caught Jamie’s tailgate full on, and for the second time that day he was following her and wondering what little Miss Litigation was doing driving a truck. She looked like a teenager who took daddy’s wheels out for a joyride. Except, from what he’d seen, her father would have been copiloting that joyride. Sam had no frame of reference for her situation with her parents. Fatherly interaction had been noticeably absent in his formative years. The old man hadn’t given a damn until he was dying.

As Sam continued to tail her along the dark, desolate road, he was beginning to think she was leading him on a wild-goose chase. Finally she made a right turn onto another dark, desolate road. About two miles farther, and he saw her brake lights as she pulled up in front of a house sitting all by itself on a dark, desolate piece of land.

“About damn time,” he mumbled.

Then her truck door opened and out swung her legs, shapely calves and slender ankles. Between her interior lights and his headlights, he couldn’t miss them—or the short skirt that rode up and revealed a hint of thigh as she slid out. Damn it. He could have gone thirty days without knowing this sassy, curly haired brunette had great legs. It was a visual he’d add to his list of things to forget.

“This is it,” she said. “Home sweet home.”

Her impractical high heels clicked as she walked up the four steps leading to her front door. She fitted her key into the lock and opened up the place. One glance over his shoulder at the dark and desolation made him realize what a sitting duck she was. He shook his head in disgust as he put his hand at the small of her trim back and urged her inside. Before you could say Buy-a-Guy, he’d closed and locked the door.

She set her purse and briefcase down as he looked around her living room and winced. If he’d never laid eyes on the owner, all the pink in this room would have screamed, Woman On Deck. No self-respecting guy would have a floral-covered sofa—leather and lots of it for him. But it wasn’t all floral all the time. The two chairs were done in a geometrical pattern with the same colors of pink, beige and green. The room wasn’t large, but there were enough wall hangings to choke a horse. And everything was neat as a pin. Windows had crisscrossed lace covering them so it would be very easy for someone to see in.

The entryway turned right, into the family room, so he followed it and flipped on lights as he went. The floor was beige tile, and a rose-patterned area rug sat in the center of the room. A green sofa and a chair were tucked away in the nook across from the TV, and a pass-through bar separated this area from the kitchen.

He went in there and glanced around, then opened the shutters above the sink to look out back. This whole place was vulnerable, but one look confirmed his worst fears. It was pitch-black outside and felt like there was nothing between her and the Canadian border.

“Do you have a security system?” he asked.

“No. It’s not necessary. This is Charity City.”

“I don’t care if it’s Sesame Street. You can’t trust anyone. You live in the middle of nowhere, and the next neighbor is two miles down the road. Your attitude is dangerous.”

She tipped her head to the side and looked up at him. “If I promise to be as cynical as you, will you go?”

“In thirty days,” he agreed.

He walked back through the family room and heard her heels click, and then the sound was muffled as she crossed the rug behind him. Moving down the hall, he flipped light switches and glanced into bedrooms. The one with the computer, desk and bookshelf-lined walls was clearly a home office. A second had a twin bed with a fluffy comforter and treadmill opposite a thirteen-inch TV mounted on the wall—apparently a combination guest/exercise room. He wondered if Al Moore had ever been a guest and if so what kind of exercise they’d done. The thought didn’t sweeten his disposition.

The last bedroom in the back of the house was obviously the master. A king-size four-poster bed with enough pillows for the Fifth Infantry dominated the center of the room. A floral-covered chair and ottoman sat in a corner with a dressing area and bathroom beyond. Pictures hung all over the walls, and more knickknacks filled space not occupied by photographs. He picked up the one of a familiar, smiling older couple. When he’d left Roy and Louise a little while ago their smiles had been full of relief and satisfaction that their plan had come together.

Those two had life experience, all right, and they’d just used it to work their miracle baby big-time. He replaced the framed photo on the dresser.

“So, that was the folks in action?” he commented.

“Welcome to my world.”

“I particularly liked the pain-in-the-chest ploy.”

But it was the zinger about her not learning from her mistake that had tipped the scales in their favor. Jamie had done something the folks disapproved of and it had come back to bite her in the fanny. His gaze automatically dropped to that portion of her anatomy. And a nice little fanny it was, he realized. Curves in all the right places.

“What I don’t get is the part where they were afraid to tell you the truth.”

“Afraid?” She folded her arms over her chest. “They’re not afraid of anything.”

“They’re afraid for you.”

“Okay, one for your side. But that’s it.”

“And the fruit doesn’t fall far from the tree,” he muttered. Hence her dangerous attitude. Some things she needed to be afraid of, and it was his job to show her.

“Are there any other outside entrances?” he asked.

“Why?”

So, she wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement. That made two of them. But here they were. He gave her a look that had worked on some of the most hardened perps, but she didn’t seem intimidated. He could respect that.

“Look, Counselor, just so we’re clear, I can find out for myself. It would just save time if you’d cooperate.”

“Okay. Let’s be clear. I didn’t ask for a bodyguard, but I agreed under pressure. That doesn’t mean I’m onboard with this whole thing or that you can roll right over me in my own house. And while we’re being clear, here’s something else. I really don’t know who you are.”

That made two of them. He didn’t know who he was anymore. And for the next month he wasn’t free to find out. She took off her jacket and threw it on the bed, then turned her back and left the room. He hadn’t realized she could move so fast in those high heels. They were at the front door before he caught up with her.

“Okay. I get it,” he said. “You’re not crazy about the situation. News flash, neither am I. But we’re stuck with each other. The way I see it, things will go more smoothly if you follow some ground rules for the next thirty days.”

“Twenty-nine,” she snapped.

“I haven’t been on the job a full day yet.”

Although he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to split hairs about that. The sooner he could get out of this town, the better.

“I don’t particularly like your alpha-male, I’m-in-charge attitude.”

“Meaning?”

“You can list ground rules from now until hell freezes over, but I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do.”

He decided not to argue that because she would find he was in charge. “I’m driving you to and from work. You clear your schedule with me and I always know where you are. Is that clear?”

“I understand the words, if that’s what you mean.”

“If you go to the ladies’ room to put on lipstick, I want to know about it.”

The stubbornness glittering in her eyes did amazing things to her particular shade of hazel. The obstinate expression canceled out the brown and gold and turned them to bright green. And beautiful. A man could lose himself in those angry eyes. He needed to avoid ticking her off, but somehow he didn’t think she was the “go quietly” type.

She stared up at him. “Those rules strike me as overkill given that the calls have stopped.”

“Your folks should get their money’s worth.”

“Unfortunately for you, they turned you loose on me and here are my rules. Assuming you actually stick around, you’re not to interfere at work. No meddling in my personal life—”

“I’ll need to check out your boyfriend—”

“I don’t have one,” she said, her chin lifting a fraction.

What about Al, he wanted to ask. Instead he said, “Something wrong with the guys in Charity City?”

But he could answer his own question. Because his fist had a close encounter with Bo Taggart’s nose, he was stuck with Jamie. In his opinion, there was definitely something wrong with the Charity City men.

“I’m sure there are some perfectly nice men in this town, but since I’m not interested in a relationship, I wouldn’t know from firsthand experience.” Her mouth pulled tight for a moment. “And remarks like that are exactly what I mean about not interfering. You need to be inconspicuous. No editorializing. Seen and not heard.”

“Like a kid?”

“Hardly. You’re no child. The deep voice and five-o’clock shadow are big clues.” She huffed out a breath. “But I’m serious. If you insist on being underfoot, you can’t disrupt my place of employment.”

“No problem. At the office you’re surrounded by the other lawyers—circling.” Including Al. Jeez, he really didn’t like that guy. And her frown told him she hadn’t missed his deliberate, pointed pause. It was a not-so-subtle reference to the sharks that he believed attorneys to be. “You won’t even know I’m there.” When she rolled her eyes, he decided to let it slide. They were going to butt heads until this was over, and convincing her he could blend into her world wasn’t a hill he wanted to die on today. “But your personal life is not hands off. In fact, no part of your life can be off-limits.”