Loving the Texas Lawman_A Texas Lawman Romantic Suspense Read online

  Trudy’s hand went to her bleeding cheek. She saw something in the man’s eyes. Behind the attack, instead of madness, she saw desperation. She saw sincerity. She’d believed she was being assaulted, but he could have been trying to restrain her just to make her listen. Of course, he had intended to take her with him by force. That was kidnapping. But he just wanted to get her away from here to stage a marriage counseling session. He needed her. This wasn’t an attack; it was a cry for help. A clumsy, ill-advised cry for help admittedly, but people did stupid things when they were pushed to the limit.

  Detective Garrison held the man with one hand and slipped his cell phone out of his pocket with the other.

  Turn the other cheek. A soft answer turns away wrath. How had it taken her this long to remember her own advice?

  All her life she’d felt a calling to help people. Instead of taking the time to reach out to people in need, she lived in a mansion and wrote perky little best sellers. Her chance to serve those in need had finally come. Instead of hauling the man off to jail, she needed to help him.

  “Wait.” Trudy held up her hand. “Let him finish.”

  The detective’s eyes cut like blue lasers. “Let him finish attacking you?”

  “No,” Trudy shrieked and jumped back. Regaining control of herself, she said, “I meant, let him finish what he has to say. Maybe I misunderstood…” She looked behind her at the brick wall, marked with her blood.

  “I saw him knock you against that wall hard enough that you’ll be bruised in the morning,” the detective said. “Your face is bleeding.”

  Trudy felt the swelling on her upper arms where Watson’s crushing grip had locked on her.

  “I just wanted to talk to you,” Watson insisted. “I’ve been waiting all night for a chance to ask you questions about how I can get my wife back. I’m sorry I frightened you. I didn’t mean…”

  “We’re out of here.” Garrison lifted his phone to eye level.

  “Let him finish,” Trudy said.

  “It’s my wife.” Watson looked at Garrison’s cell phone, and talked fast. “She left me. I’ve got a problem with my temper. I know that.”

  “You think?” Garrison snorted. He didn’t pretend for a second to cover this one up with coughing.

  “I’ve been trying to get control of it. But she wouldn’t give me a chance. She left me. I found your book, Dr. Jennings. I read all about your system of intense, personal counseling. I want you to work with my wife and me. I love her. I don’t want us to get divorced. With your help, we can start over. We can rediscover the love we’ve lost.”

  “You hurt me,” Trudy said, uncertain what to do. Being Watson’s personal counselor was impossible. She recognized the man’s disrespect for women and knew he’d never accept her help.

  “I didn’t mean to. I’ve been trying to contact you all summer. Finally, with classes starting up again, I knew you’d be here. I’ve been waiting for hours. When I saw you, I ran up to you and you jumped and screamed. I…I guess I panicked. I just wanted you to stay and listen. I told you that, but you wouldn’t stop fighting me. I shouldn’t have held you like that. I didn’t mean to be so rough. But I needed you to hear me out.”

  He had been talking, and Trudy had been too frightened to listen. “Do you treat your wife like that when she won’t listen to you? If you’re putting your hands on her and shoving her into walls, then that’s not a bad temper. That’s abuse.”

  Trudy touched her tender cheek again. “If a woman comes away from an encounter with you bleeding, then to blame her fear on the inconveniently placed wall is you trying to deny responsibility. It’s all abuse, and I’d advise her to leave you. Even if she agreed to try and mend the relationship, I’d recommend she do it from a place of safety until you have your anger under control.”

  “No, I need her. She’d got to come home.”

  “Mr. Watson, I told you Dr. Pavil will help you, but part of that help will include telling your wife to stay away from you in unsupervised situations for her own protection. She’s not safe until the two of you go through counseling and you’ve made real progress with anger management.”

  Watson’s eyes narrowed. Rage cut deep lines in his face as he struggled to control his breathing. As if it were necessary to force the words past his lips, he said, “That’s fine, Doctor. We’ll do it your way. I’ll do whatever you say.”

  Trudy noticed he didn’t deny abusing his wife.

  “We can live apart as long as we’re working on our marriage,” the man said.

  Garrison ignored the exchange. “Let’s see some ID.” He watched the man with narrow eyes to see if he’d balk at identifying himself.

  “Ralph Watson. I live here in Long Pine, on the west side, in the Bourne neighborhood.” Watson mentioned the richest part of town as he fumbled in his back pocket for a billfold. Garrison, still holding onto Watson’s collar, snagged the wallet and flipped it open.

  Trudy could see the man’s driver’s license behind a cellophane window. His picture looked better than the man in front of her.

  Trudy’s had several pictures taken by the DMV. They were brutal. It usually took some real doing to look worse than your driver’s license.

  Garrison glared at Watson. “Are you going to run if I let you go?”

  “No.” Watson shook his shaggy head. “Running would be an admission of guilt. I had no intention of hurting Dr. Jennings. I will stay here and straighten this out.”

  Garrison released his grip on Watson’s neck. Without taking his eyes off the man, the detective reached into his back pocket and pulled out the handkerchief he’d been coughing into all through class. He handed it to Trudy.

  She hesitated as she looked at the cloth.

  “Your face is bleeding,” Garrison said.

  The man looked healthy enough, coughing not-withstanding.

  “Uh…it’s clean.”

  She took the soft cotton and pressed it to her swollen cheek.

  “I’m sorry you were injured, Dr. Jennings,” Watson groveled. “I didn’t do it. You were trying to get away and you hurt yourself.”

  Garrison leaned close. “You try and blame her bleeding face on anyone but yourself and you’re busted.”

  Watson held up both hands. “I can see how you thought the worst, Dr. Jennings, and you too, officer. I just didn’t think how it would look, me coming at you in the dark that way.”

  The man paused and sucked in a deep breath. “You can see how stupid I am about women. I’m always doing something wrong.” Watson clenched his fists.

  Trudy took a step back.

  Detective Garrison came to full alert.

  “I deserve to be alone. I’m always doing the wrong thing to my wife. I say the wrong thing. I hurt her feelings. And when I try to make it right, it just gets worse.” Watson seemed to be planning to beat up on only himself.

  Trudy relaxed a little. She didn’t think Garrison did.

  A week’s growth of beard darkened the man’s face and accented his bloodshot eyes. He had on a white oxford shirt, sweat-stained and filthy. He’d been so violent. Could he really be here looking for help?

  She believed the man probably hadn’t come here tonight planning to hurt her. But his out-of-control approach made him dangerous. Turn the other cheek. Trudy pulled the handkerchief away from her face. Blood soaked a small area, but the bleeding had stopped. Never had she been given a more clear-cut chance to practice what she preached.

  She looked at Watson. “I won’t press charges.”

  “Oh yes, you will,” Garrison ordered.

  Trudy glanced at him. “No, I won’t. That’s my decision to make.” She turned back to Watson. “But I won’t be your counselor. I want you to accept my referral. This doctor will still use my methods.”

  “No.” Watson lurched toward her.

  Garrison caught him by the back of the neck. “That’s it. We’re going downtown.”

  “Dr. Jennings, I need your help. Only you. I’ve already
talked to my wife. She doesn’t want to forgive me, but she’s read your books and admires your work. She’s agreed to try and work on our marriage if you’ll counsel us.”

  “Mr. Watson, I can’t possibly be your counselor. For one thing, I have found that men respond better to other men when it comes to anger management.”

  “Not me. I know you’re the right one for me.”

  “Angry men tend to dismiss a woman’s perspective.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  The fact that he dismissed her perspective wasn’t lost on Trudy. “It’s part of the psychological profile of someone with anger issues. I’ve trained many people in my methods and if your wife expressed a willingness to work with me, then that shows she still has hope for the marriage. I’m sure she’d accept another counselor. I’d even be willing to talk with her and explain why another doctor would be better. Now, let me give you Dr. Pavil’s number again.”

  Trudy looked down at the ground and saw her briefcase lying beside her torn up books and papers. It reminded her of how frightened she’d been. She drew in a steadying breath and crouched down to open her briefcase. She sorted through the scattered mess until she found Dr. Pavil’s card and rose, handing it to Watson.

  “I’ll phone him tomorrow and tell him to expect you.”

  “I don’t want him.” Watson ignored the card.

  “If you are interested in saving your marriage and you think my methods will work, then you’ll take the card and phone for an appointment and follow through with everything Dr. Pavil advises. I’ve worked on the theories, but I’m a teacher. Dr. Pavil has far more clinical experience.” She extended the card to Watson.

  Scowling, he looked from the card to Trudy.

  Garrison swiped the card from Trudy’s hand and shoved it into Watson’s billfold. “Take the card and get out of here, Watson, before I change my mind about running you in.” The detective slapped the wallet against Watson’s chest. “She isn’t the only one who can press charges. I witnessed the assault. I can do all the pressing myself.”

  Watson caught the wallet.

  He turned his desperate eyes away from Trudy and looked at Garrison. Trudy wasn’t in the direct line of fire from the detective’s eyes, but she still felt singed.

  Watson’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.

  Trudy had to dig deep for the courage to reach out and lay her hand on the poor man’s quivering shoulder. “Dr. Pavil really can help you better than I, Mr. Watson.”

  Watson nodded and, with one last look of furious longing at Trudy, he turned and scuttled away into the dark parking lot.

  Trudy knees buckled.

  The detective caught her before she collapsed.

  “You’re hurt.” He shifted her so his arm was around her waist. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

  He supported her as he urged her toward a monster black pick-up that stood near the back of the parking lot under a street light.

  Trudy let him manhandle her, a testament to how shaken the night had left her.

  “That guy is a menace,” Detective Garrison said. “You wait. He’ll be arrested for something else. He’s out of control.”

  Trudy forced her legs to work. She tried to wriggle loose from Garrison’s strong arms, but he wouldn’t let go. He seemed determined to bully her into a hospital. He pushed her around almost as much as Watson had, but there was no comparison. His hands were gentle. His voice, though angry about letting Watson go, soothed her with his concern. His clean, alluring, masculine scent calmed her.

  Detective Garrison was a nice man.

  “That man assaulted you. You gave him a business card and a pep talk. You are a moron.”

  Nice wasn’t the right word.

  A hero, with the manners of a pig.

  Trudy sighed all the way to her toes. She’d prayed for help and God had sent her Cough Man.

  God wasn’t kidding when He said He worked in mysterious ways.

  “Let me go. Stop it, Cough Man. Quit pushing me around.”

  Garrison’s arm left her waist. Only when she almost fell did she realize how much she’d been leaning on him.

  “Koffman? Who’s that?” He turned to face her. The warm night breeze of Texas in late August stirred his hair and sent his bangs drooping down his square forehead.

  Trudy’s eyes widened. “Did I say that out loud?”

  “Yes.” Garrison ran one hand into his hair, shoving it back. “Who is Koffman? Your husband?”

  “I’m not married.” Trudy hadn’t meant to sound quite so happy to share that news.

  “Then who’s Koffman?” Detective Garrison waited.

  Trudy tried to think of a soft answer, because she thought that might give her a chance to turn away some wrath. Wrath she might be facing if she told the truth about her little nickname for him.

  “I’m a policeman. Interrogation is my life.” He crossed his arms, looking relentless enough to wait all night. He stared at her and let the silence stretch.

  She’d bet he was great at wringing confessions out of people.

  She decided to confess herself, anything to get him to go away. “It’s you.” She smiled. “A little pet name for you. From class.”

  “Koffman?” A short silence, then Garrison grinned and nodded. “Cough man. Got it.”

  “Good, maybe I’ll put it on the test. You’ll need the extra credit points, by the way. I grade heavily on class behavior.”

  “I’m doomed,” Garrison said, not sounding doomed at all.

  “Perilously close to doomed, I’m afraid.”

  “Does saving your life give me a bump in my grade?” He gave her a teasing grin. “That’s pretty good behavior.”

  Trudy felt all the blood drain out of her head. She laid an unsteady hand on Detective Garrison’s arm. “What a frightening experience.”

  She knew Detective Garrison was unhappy with her not pressing charges—figuring that out didn’t make her a genius. “I don’t think it would have done any good to arrest him. If he told his story like he did to us, the judge would give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s probably telling the truth, which doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. I just don’t think Watson did anything that he’ll get arrested for.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Garrison studied her cheek. “Although your bleeding face would give a judge plenty to think about. No, unless he’s made a habit of assaulting women, the only purpose turning him in would have served is documenting his behavior. If he comes at some other woman, he’d have a history of violence and the charges would be taken seriously.”

  Trudy nodded. “His wife has left him and, to hear him talk, he’s not interested in any woman except her. I’ll make sure Dr. Pavil knows all this before he starts working with them.”

  “He’s not going to contact Dr. Pavil.”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “It’s not uncommon to want the doctor who started some new form of therapy, but Dr. Pavil is actually better at working with patients. Mr. Watson will come to understand that.”

  “You know you’re wrong about him not being interested in any woman except his wife.” Detective Garrison stared in the direction Watson had gone.

  “No, I’m not. His sole motivation is to get her back. What other woman is he interested in?”

  Detective Garrison shook his head as if he felt sorry for her. He leaned down close. “He seemed really interested in you.”

  3

  “I’m sorry.” Ben, genius police detective that he was, jerked his hands out of his pockets and caught her as her knees gave out. “I’m so sorry.”

  He tried to remember another day in his life when he’d apologized this much. Fifth grade. Daniel Waggoner Middle-School. Six garter snakes in the teacher’s lounge.

  “You think he might come back?” Dr. Trudy asked in a voice so weak it made his heart ache. The way she let him bear her weight worried him, too.

  Ben hesitated to answer. He’
d seen that wild, obsessed expression on Watson’s face. He hated to say it but the bald-faced truth was…

  “Yeah, I think he might come back.”

  She sagged more heavily.

  Slender, blonde and so lovely it hurt to look at her, Tru came on like a tough little cookie, although he suspected it was a very sweet cookie. Despite her dopey pacifist books, in the classroom, she’d struck him as a lady who stood her ground. At least she acted that way with him. Why had she been so soft on Watson?

  “I’m taking you to the hospital.” Slinging his arm around her waist, he helped her to his black Ford F-150. The only other vehicle in the parking lot was a silver Cadillac Seville that must belong to teacher lady.

  “No, I’m fine.” She continued to lean so he ignored her said and kept walking.

  Ben had noticed the solid gold in her necklace and earrings and sized up her casual wool slacks, cashmere sweater and Armani blazer, all worn with a complete lack of self-consciousness.

  He knew about stuff like this because this kind of property got stolen. He’d never personally known a woman who owned anything like it but he’d smelled money the minute he’d laid eyes on Tru Jennings. Of course, she’d be rich. She’d written half a dozen bestselling pop psychology books. She made regular appearances on Good Morning America. Her first book had been recommended by Oprah, for Pete’s sake.

  Tru Jennings; celebrity pop psychology flavor of the month, only her flavor had been in style for several years now, ever since her first touchy-feely book about a loving approach to reaching out to sickoes had hit the bestseller list.

  She pushed against his chest. When he glanced down and saw a bloodstain on the front of his shirt, he wanted to go after Watson and wreak havoc.

  “I don’t need a hospital.” She sounded weak but determined.

  Her gold hoop earrings caught the street light and glittered expensively at him. Pressed against him like this, he could smell her.

  She didn’t smell like money. She smelled far more alluring than the root of all evil.

  Ben hadn’t been this close to a woman—unless you counted arresting a bunch of them—since Cara had left him. And—rule of thumb—your average homicide suspect didn’t smell that great.