Authors: Carolyn McSparren
Steve had shared his hopes and his dreams, his innermost thoughts. He’d thought Neil had shared his. If he could be wrong about Neil, could he ever trust his judgment again?
Facing that was hard. Letting go of his hatred was impossible.
Or was it?
If somehow Eleanor could believe in him, maybe he could find a way to live again as the man he’d thought he was. Maybe he could endure the rest of his sentence with equanimity. Maybe he could even let go of his need to avenge Chelsea.
As Eleanor walked along the fence line behind him, he took his chance. “When do you want me to finish the computer program, Doc?” He kept his voice neutral and businesslike.
For a moment he thought she wouldn’t stop or reply, but then she came over to him. He drank in the scent of her perfume—a barely detectable musky odor.
“I’ve got my laptop locked in my vet chest in back of the truck. It’s fully charged, so you should be able to work outside the barn where Selma can see you for at least a couple of hours after lunch.”
Selma wouldn’t detect any warmth in their exchange, but Steve realized he’d have relished the sound of her voice if she’d been reading the telephone book.
“Hey, Doc, how come he’s the only one gets to play with your little
computer?
” Sweet Daddy leered at her.
Selma snapped to attention. “Shut your face, little man.”
“You got no call to diss me.”
“You keep up that smart mouth,
little man,
” Selma replied, “and you’re gonna be on the next bus back to Big Mountain.”
The moment Sweet Daddy had started to speak, Eleanor grabbed Steve’s arm and dug her fingers into the muscle. “Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “Let me handle it.”
“What’s more to the point, Elroy,” Eleanor added, “if you don’t shape up and start pulling your load of the work, you’re going to be off this team.”
It was like looking into the eyes of a wolverine. For a moment Steve thought Sweet Daddy was actually going to lunge at Eleanor, and he thrust her behind him. Then Sweet Daddy stepped back, pasted a stupid grin on his face and raised his hands in front of his chest. “Riiight. Sweet Daddy just havin’ a little fun. Ya’ll need to loosen up and take a joke.” He picked up his fencing tool and marched back to his place in the fence, where he began to twist wire fiercely.
Both Eleanor and Selma blew out their breaths.
That was the second time women had forced Sweet Daddy to back down in front of the others. He was used to controlling women, not being under their command. Steve didn’t think Eleanor had any idea how serious a breach of Sweet Daddy’s rules of etiquette she’d just committed, but Selma should. It was Selma’s job to know.
He’d have to convince Eleanor to carry out her threat and toss Sweet Daddy off her team, but in such a way that Sweet Daddy thought the summons came from someone outside the group. That way there would be no reprisals either against the team members or the staff.
He caught Gil’s eye. Gil nodded, barely moving his head. Gil was an old con. He didn’t want any trouble, either.
After lunch, Eleanor brought Steve her laptop.
“Easier to work in the office,” he said. “I can spread your notes out on the desk.”
“All right. I’ll simply tell Selma that I choose to have you work in the office. She won’t like it, but she’ll agree.”
E
LEANOR SLIPPED IN
half an hour later, closed the door behind her and stood in front of the desk with her hands behind her. She didn’t want him to know that she’d intertwined her fingers to keep them from shaking. Being alone in this small room with him gave her gooseflesh. “How’s your back?” At least she could keep their exchanges casual.
He looked up at her with those fine sad eyes of his. “The liniment you brought really helped.”
“I’m glad.” She hadn’t noticed the touches of silver along his temples before, but now under the single light-bulb, she could see what the cropped prison haircut had disguised. Had the pressures of prison life accelerated the process?
“When do you think you’ll be finished with the program?” she asked. “We should start entering data.”
He eased his shoulders and leaned back in the rickety desk chair. “All I’m lacking now is a few neat touches like buttons to make the program more user-friendly. It should be simple for anyone to update or change if you decide you need additional data in the future when I’m not here.”
She came around the desk, so eager to see what he’d done that she forgot to keep her distance until she was practically leaning over him. She felt her heart speed up, but her voice sounded normal. Good. “I hope you made it idiot-proof.”
“You know what they say—whenever you make something idiot-proof, God makes a better idiot.”
“Show me.”
He shoved back and stood with difficulty, hands on ei
ther side of the computer. The liniment hadn’t been completely successful, then. He was still sore.
Eleanor kept forgetting how tall he was. She backed away quickly while he moved out of her way in the other direction.
“Sit down,” he said.
“I’d rather see a demonstration.”
“Consider yourself the test idiot.”
He actually smiled. One corner of his mouth turned up and his eyes danced for a moment before going flat again.
“I may be a better idiot than you planned.”
“We’ll see.” He held the back of the desk chair.
She slipped into it. “I’m okay with straight word processing, but I’ve never used a database.”
“Time to learn.” He leaned over so that he could see the screen. He’d braced his right hand on the desk, while his left arm lay across the back of the desk chair.
Eleanor kept her eyes fixed on the screen, but she had no idea what he was saying. Her senses were filled by him, the slight scent of perspiration that lingered on his skin, his breath warm and close to her ear, his shoulder almost touching hers.
“What?” she asked, and turned her face toward his.
Big mistake.
He looked down at her, his eyes warmed to gold by the harsh light above their heads.
And his mouth…
H
E COULDN’T TAKE HIS EYES
off her lips. All he could hear was the roaring of blood in his ears. He might have been speaking pig Latin, for all he knew. The room was suddenly too hot. She was too close. And those full, soft lips…
He caressed her cheek, her throat, the nape of her neck where her hair cascaded over his hand. He tilted her face so that he could touch those lips with his own—only touch,
only taste, a moment only, a gentle memory to cherish in the darkness.
The moment his lips touched hers, he knew one taste would never be enough. Her lips parted beneath his, her tongue met his, hunger for hunger.
He’d thought prison had long extinguished the fire in his loins, but the instant he kissed her, his senses flared, caught. The blaze engulfed him.
He wrapped his other arm around her, lifted her and turned her toward him so that her body met his breast to thigh.
She made only a tiny sound as her arms slid around his neck, while his slid down to cup her hips against him.
She broke the kiss and leaned away from him. “Selma…”
“All I care about is you.”
E
LEANOR CAME INTO HIS ARMS
willingly, even eagerly. Steve had promised himself a taste, a gentle taste. Instead, he crushed her against him and kissed her fiercely. She opened to him, met him as though they could devour each other in an instant.
She broke away first. “I can’t…we can’t…”
“We can.” He leaned his cheek against her hair, let it fall over his face so that he could breathe her in one more moment.
“Let me go. Please, Steve.”
He released her then and leaned against the wall to catch his breath.
She let out a ragged gasp, swayed and caught herself on the desk.
Steve wrapped his arms around her from behind, felt her body melt against him, her fingers cover his. He wanted to hold her forever, to let all the goodness he saw in her seep into him, wash away that cold, hard center he’d developed. She was everything beautiful about the world that he’d forgotten. He desired her, yes, but he also longed for the peace of falling asleep in her arms, safe from the evil that surrounded him.
She gave him back his humanity without even realizing it. She was—
“This is madness. Please, we’ve got to open the door before Selma comes in and finds us.”
He came closer at that moment to screaming his curses at what his life had become than he had since he’d been
convicted. He longed to grab Eleanor’s hand and run—just run and keep on running until he could taste freedom, if only for a moment. To be free! Free to make love to her, to watch her blossom with desire under him, to fall asleep entwined, satiated. At peace.
What did he have to give her in return? Nothing good. Prison had eaten away all his goodness. He moved in a world where the traits that Eleanor possessed in such quantity weren’t valued. He should tell her to run back to her safe little world, never come to this place again, never look into his eyes, touch him…
He let her go and backed into the far corner, as far away as the little office would allow.
She stood before the closed door, raked her fingers through her hair, straightened her shoulders and opened the door wide. “Sorry, Selma,” Eleanor called. “Wind caught the door.”
“Yeah. Right. Better prop it open with something so it doesn’t
accidentally
shut again.” Selma turned away to watch the men who were still in the far pasture.
It was like that first stolen kiss under the bleachers in high school, except that the consequences were much more serious than a trip to the principal’s office.
Eleanor didn’t look at him. “I should never have allowed that to happen.”
He could almost reach out and touch her shoulder, but he didn’t think he could bear it if she flinched.
“You didn’t allow anything. It happened. I’m trying to feel sorry, but I can’t.”
Still with her back to him she wrapped her arms around her self as though she was cold. “I can’t trust myself anymore.”
“Trust what you felt just now. I told you I’m just like the others, but I’m not lying when I say I care about you. I wish I was strong enough to tell you to get the hell out of this place before you get hurt by me or somebody else. I’m too damned selfish to give up seeing you every day,
even if I can never touch you. I want to keep hearing your voice, even if you’re not speaking to me. I have nothing to offer you in return except to tell you I’m not a killer, that the system made a serious mistake. On that one thing alone, believe me.”
“How can I?” She sounded anguished. This time she did look at him and he could see the glint of tears on her lashes. “And why should you care what I think unless you’ve decided I can do something for you.”
His jaw clenched. “That’s Raoul Torres talking. He’s indoctrinated you well about the manipulative inmates. If you can’t see why I care what you think of me, I won’t try to convince you.”
“Hey, Doc, J.K.’s here with the horses,” Selma called.
“Coming. You better come, too, Steve. You know how to handle a horse.”
“Right.” He forced himself to sound casual. “Let me shut down the computer. I can show you the database program later. I’ll be right behind you.”
He sat down and stared at the computer screen, then brought up the first instruction screen for the database. In the first line he typed, “Please talk to my sister and my lawyer.” Then he shut the computer down, unplugged it and put it back into its case. He left it on the front seat of her truck.
Now he could only hope that she’d try the program herself before she turned it over to some secretary.
E
LEANOR CAUGHT
Rick Hazard at the clinic as he was getting ready to go home. She told him about Big and got his reluctant permission to bring him with her tomorrow afternoon so that the staff could check him out.
“He’s pretty remarkable to look at,” Eleanor warned him. “And not very well educated, but he’s gentle and willing and has great instincts. I think he’d be perfect for us. Heaven knows we need somebody. Kenny can’t work but three nights a week, and then only until ten. Kenny’s
a real find, but tough as he is, he couldn’t possibly handle a rank stallion with a bad allergic reaction or a cow with a fever.”
“The Minnesota Twins couldn’t handle a cow with a fever,” Sarah Scott said from the doorway. “What’s the latest on the other guy, the computer whiz? When do we get him?”
“I’m not certain we do,” Eleanor said.
“Mark met him once or twice before…” Sarah said. “He didn’t really know him, but at the time it was a very big deal in the newspapers. Prominent businessman, rich wife. Not the usual Saturday-night drug shooting.”
Eleanor started to say something, but Rick beat her to it. “Margot knows his sister, Mary Beth, and served on a couple of committees with his wife. Said they seemed like a nice couple. She couldn’t believe it when he was accused of killing her. I mean, why not just divorce her? She says it must have been some kind of domestic thing that got out of hand. The jury must have thought so, too, otherwise, why’d he get such a short sentence?”
Eleanor realized that to Rick and Sarah, the story of Chelsea’s murder was no more than gossip about strangers, something they might see on a television show. The cast of characters wasn’t real to them, as it was to her. “Would Steve’s working here create problems?” she asked Rick.
“People forget fast. He probably doesn’t even look like the same guy. Might be a good idea, though, for him to stay in the back most of the time.”
“If Mark has his way, Steve won’t ever leave Mark’s office,” Sarah said. “At this point I think he’d welcome Jack the Ripper if he could figure out a way to handle the paperwork more efficiently. Mark’s about to pull his hair out by the roots with all he’s got to do, and now that Buchanan Enterprises is really getting into out of town development bigtime, I’m beginning to be thankful I’ve got Piglet here.” She stroked her small belly. “We may never get a chance to make another one.”
Rick blushed. He could talk breeding all day long with his clients, but anything remotely sexual in human beings made him uncomfortable.
Both Eleanor and Sarah laughed at him. He managed a sheepish grin.
“I’m having a tussle with the prison administration about Chadwick,” Eleanor continued. “He’s officially eligible for work release, but they’re dragging their feet. Still, I’m making headway. In the meantime, I can probably arrange for Mark to visit him and bring him piece-work.”
“Please, for the sake of my unborn children and my unfulfilled libido, hurry up,” Sarah said. “Now, I’m going home possibly to fulfill said libido. If you get a problem, call me.” She waved and shut the door behind her. A moment later Eleanor and Rick followed.
“Bill Chumley’s back from giving his paper on eagle rehabilitation,” Rick said. “He’s left you some notes. There’s a mama possum that lost an eye. She has to be checked to make certain all her babies are getting into her pouch for dinner. He’s got a pet European hedgehog with some kind of mangelike fungus he’s not sure about. Poor old hedgehog’s losing his quills.”
“I’ll take a look, although I don’t know much about hedgehogs.”
“If you have some free time, check the textbooks. This hedgehog thing may be perfectly normal where hedgehogs are found in the wild. And this afternoon somebody brought in a peregrine falcon some fool actually shot off a high-rise building in downtown Memphis. The nerve of some people. Here the city spends thousands of bucks and five years to get the peregrines to nest downtown, then some idiot brings his little air rifle to work with him so he can do a bit of hunting at lunch.”
“Did they catch the guy?”
“Caught, charged and will probably pay a five-
thousand-dollar fine. Plus get his name and picture in the paper as being a total horse’s ass, which he is.”
“Will the peregrine live?”
“Mac helped Bill pin his wing before he left for the day. He’s royally pissed off—the falcon, that is. If you want to look at him closely, wear Bill’s gauntlets or he’ll tear the hide off you. He’s little but he’s mean.”
First she checked the possum. Her babies were all snuggled safely in her pouch. The poor thing would probably wind up in the local wildlife facility’s teaching program for schoolchildren as soon as her babies were weaned. They could be released into the wild. She couldn’t.
The instant Eleanor removed the cover from the falcon’s cage he began to scream at her in pure rage.
“How can such a little guy have such a mean mouth?” she said. He seemed particularly annoyed at the collar Mac and Bill had fashioned so that he couldn’t reach his wing and tear off the bandages. “I know, it’s undignified, but you’ll have to put up with it.”
He shrieked at her and drove his bill against the wire. “Boy, you are a tough critter, aren’t you?” She chuckled. “How about we name you Sweet Daddy? Okay, lights out.” She lowered the cover. The falcon grumbled, then went quiet. “Wish I could quiet Sweet Daddy down that easily.”
She went back to Sarah’s office and settled down to read Bill’s copy of
Diseases of Small Mammals Indigenous to Europe and the British Isles.
Nothing helpful on hedgehogs.
“Okay, next step the Internet.”
She logged on, saw that she had several e-mail messages waiting, and ignored them while she went to the Net. After a half-hour search she had reached the conclusion that the hedgehog was suffering from a bacterial infection that wouldn’t have thrived in the wild, but had perfect conditions when the little animal was caged. She wrote notes for herself and for Bill as to treatment. The treatment was
simple, but would take several weeks to complete, during which time the poor hedgehog would probably turn semi-nude as more quills dropped off.
The good news was that the quills should grow back again healthier than before.
Before she logged off, she checked her e-mail, read and answered four messages from colleagues either simply keeping in touch or with professional questions they thought she could answer. She deleted, without reading, another four messages forwarded from people whose chat groups she had inadvertently landed in. She was in no mood for blonde jokes.
She was about to shut down for the night when she decided she should at least try to get into Steve’s new database program. If
she
couldn’t figure it out, it was probably too esoteric for anyone else on her team to use.
If he had actually made it user-friendly, even for such an amateur user as she was, then she could show it to Ernest Portree and the people at the clinic. It would be another reason to release Steve for work.
She double-clicked the program icon and waited a second until the first instructional screen popped up.
The hair at the nape of her neck rose. The message “Please talk to my sister and my lawyer,” no salutation and no signature, stood out boldly at the top of the screen.
Did his sister and his lawyer believe he was innocent? Or that there were extenuating circumstances that had made a decent man into a killer?
Before this afternoon she’d have sworn she owed Steve nothing. But now she had to know what kind of a man he truly was, what he had done and why, for her own peace of mind.
She looked up Chadwick in the telephone book, and found an M. B. Chadwick listed off of Houston Levee Parkway in a very ritzy section of Germantown. An S. Chadwick, col., ret., was listed at the same address, although the numbers were different.
She called, heard the soft Southern voice of Mary Beth Chadwick asking her to leave a message, left her name and number, hung up and stared at the phone as though it might explode at any moment.
She dug out the latest issue of the local livestock news from under a pile of clients’ reports on Sarah’s desk and tried to focus on the list of winners at the last all-breed cattle show in Somerville.
Would Mary Beth Chadwick call her back?
Marcus Aurelius III of Duntreith had won his class, so Marcus Aurelius IV did indeed come from prize stock. She needed to ask J. K. Sanders to give a class on preparing livestock to show. The cows were a lot bigger than a standard poodle, but before a show, they were prettied up at least as much. She hadn’t presented a heifer for show since Four H when she was eight. No doubt the tips and tricks had changed considerably.
Was Mary Beth out for the evening?
They’d have to start handling Marcus Aurelius. At the moment the only person who could safely enter the pen with him was Big.
The bull loathed Sweet Daddy. Once Eleanor had caught Sweet Daddy teasing Marcus with a pitchfork and trying to get him to bump the electric fence. She’d warned him that if it came to a contest with Marcus, Sweet Daddy would come in a far second, and would probably spend time in the prison infirmary, if he didn’t go straight to the graveyard.
Bulls, like elephants, had prodigious memories. Just as Marcus remembered that Big was kind, he would hate Sweet Daddy his whole life.
The telephone on her desk rang, and she picked it up on the second ring.
A female voice asked tentatively, “Are you Dr. Eleanor Grayson?”
“Yes. Thank you for calling back so promptly, Miss Chadwick.”
“Do I know you, Doctor?”
“We’ve never met. Your brother asked me to call you.”