When he landed flat on his back, Clint lost his breath, then lost it again when a soft, warm weight bounced onto his abdomen. His guts felt smashed. His brains felt scattered. And a dull ringing filled his head.
Surprise faded, and it took him less than five seconds to realize he’d been attacked, and that Julie could be at risk.
Not about to let anyone hurt her, he dismissed his pain, shoved up to his elbows—and found himself staring at Julie’s ramrod-straight back while she straddled him, crouched atop his lower chest, her legs on either side of his ribs. She wielded the Hanbo as if she actually knew how to use it.
Peering beyond her, Clint saw that one man had a gun aimed right at her.
Rather than retreat, Julie shouted in a mean, believable voice, “You won’t hurt him! I won’t let you. Now go away.”
Clint wondered if the knock on his skull had left him delusional. “Julie, move.”
“I can’t.” She kept her gaze on the man in front of her. “He wants to shoot you.”
Clint narrowed his eyes and summoned his own dead-serious tone. “If he doesn’t get that fucking gun out of your face right now, he’ll be damn sorry.”
Smirking, the man glanced at Clint—and Julie used that moment to whack him hard in the thigh. The Hanbo, a martial arts weapon made of laminated wood thirty-six inches long and one inch in diameter, required special training for proper use.
That didn’t slow Julie down. Her aim was dead-on, and the bastard with the gun let out a yell as his leg buckled.
Taking advantage of his painful distraction, Clint tossed Julie to the side. She yelped, but with her out of his way, Clint swept his right leg across the man’s feet to knock him off balance. He dropped the gun, and it skidded out of reach. As he stumbled, Clint planted his boot in his face to finish him off.
The poor schmuck went down in a boneless heap.
Driven by adrenaline and a need to protect Julie Rose, Clint bounced to his feet and snatched up the .45 semiautomatic. Still somewhat unsteady, he stuck it in the back of his jeans and regarded the other man, who looked wide-eyed with awe and ready to bolt.
Clint shook his aching head. “Don’t even try it. If I have to chase you, it’s really going to piss me off.” He put a hand to the back of his head and discovered an enormous goose egg. Damn it, he didn’t have time for this.
The guy backed up. “We wasn’t gonna shoot ya. We jus’ wanted yer wallet.”
Shit. Brought low by a two-bit punk. Disgusted, Clint barked, “Well, you’re not going to get it now, are you?”
Climbing awkwardly back to her feet, Julie held the Hanbo aloft over her shoulder. “Want me to hit him?”
The guy scrambled farther back.
Clint said, “No,” and with one quick grab caught the man by the front of his shirt. Before the queasiness set in, he needed to secure the scene. He jerked the guy forward to throw him off balance, at the same time pulling the front of his shirt up and tucking it over his face so that it caught on the back of his head. Holding him by the back of the neck, Clint retrieved a piece of rope from the jeep and quickly tied his hands. Unable to see and without the use of his arms, the man was hobbled enough to satisfy Clint.
He tossed his cell phone to Julie and relieved her of the Hanbo. “Call 911.” He gave her his address to relay to dispatch.
After shoving the second man down to sit by the first, Clint leaned on the jeep, willing his stomach to settle. If he puked now, he’d never live it down.
After several deep breaths, he still felt a little unsteady and a lot stupid. Talk about getting taken off guard…If he didn’t watch it, his distraction with Julie Rose would be the death of him.
He heard her say, “Oh, yes, it’s under control. Clint kicked him in the face and took his pistol. No, Clint won’t shoot anyone. He doesn’t need to. Yes, of course the man is bleeding. Actually he’s knocked out. Clint is very good at this sort of thing.”
He forgot about his weak stomach. Damn. Maybe he shouldn’t have had Julie call after all. She might end up getting him arrested.
She continued, saying, “Well, I hit him first. Yes, with a stick.” She nodded, smiled, and said, “Thank you.”
Clint held his head. This was incredible to the point of being bizarre. Julie Rose was unlike any woman he’d ever met—and that might not be a good thing.
“They’re on their way.” After disconnecting the call, Julie limped over to Clint and put a hand to his jaw. Her eyes were warm, her brow drawn in worry. For him. “Do you need to be sick?”
Oh, for the love of…Looking at her made Clint uneasy, so he gave all his attention to the two punks. “No.”
“Are you sure?” She didn’t look at all convinced.
“There’s a nice grassy spot right over there.”
“I’ll live.” He dropped the Hanbo back into his jeep. No need to go flaunting specialized weapons to the cops—not that they’d necessarily recognize it as a weapon. But Julie apparently had. “How about you? Did I hurt you? How’s your ankle?”
She mimicked him, saying, “I’ll live.” Then she added, “But you landed on the ground awfully hard.” Her fingers brushed past his ear, and she stretched up to touch the back of his head. “Oh, Clint,” she whispered, her normally strident voice filled with concern. “You have an enormous bump back there.”
“It’s nothing a few aspirin won’t fix.”
“It must be terribly painful.”
“It’s not,” he lied.
“You need some ice. You should be sitting.”
Emphasizing his words, Clint said, “I’m fine.” He caught her hands and put them away from him. “Quit fussing.”
If he looked weak to the two bozos on the ground, they might try rushing him. He could handle them, no problem, but he really just wanted to stand still until the pounding in his brain subsided.
As if reading his mind, Julie turned to glare at the men. The one Clint had kicked was just coming around with a lot of groaning and moaning. His nose was quite obviously broken.
Damn. Clint pressed a hand to his lurching stomach and breathed through his nose.
The other guy, still hidden beneath his dirty shirt, just hunched his shoulders and muttered to himself.
Propping her hands on her hips, Julie glared at them both. “You’ll get no sympathy from me. If Clint hadn’t hurt you, I would have. How dare you threaten him. Maybe this will teach you that crime doesn’t pay.”
The injured guy opened one eye, took in Julie Rose’s display of fury, and rolled to his side—away from her.
Clint rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling a bitch of a headache coming on. “Don’t torment them, Julie Rose.”
She made a credible fist, shaking it toward them. “I’d like to strike them both again.”
To spare his attackers, Clint pulled her into his side. “Hush, baby. Leave them be.” He realized Julie didn’t seem the least bit flustered or upset. He didn’t know what the hell to make of that. His mind churned with a tumultuous mix of emotions. Shock that Julie would try to protect him led the pack. She couldn’t weigh more than one-fifteen, but she’d deliberately put herself between him and danger, with only a Hanbo for protection.
Rage tempered the shock, because the little ditz could have been shot in her absurd efforts. Didn’t she realize she was a scrawny schoolteacher with no experience in fending off goons?
But even as Clint told himself she’d been foolish, he admired her bravery and quick thinking. Most women would have cowered in the jeep, screaming and crying and carrying on.
Not Julie Rose. She wanted to protect him. She wanted to mother him.
She definitely wanted to sleep with him.
Still in defensive mode, Julie kept her gaze on the two men. Riding an adrenaline high, she looked ready to jump them if they moved too fast.
Clint shook his head, caught between a moan of pain and rib-tickling amusement. He gave Julie a one-armed squeeze and smothered both reactions, but he couldn’t smother the rise of sexual awareness.
The fact that Julie wasn’t falling apart made him doubt his earlier assessments on her delicate sensibilities. Maybe she hadn’t been all that devastated over the kidnapping. Sure, she’d been upset—any intelligent person would have been. But totally, emotionally devastated?
Thinking back, he remembered that she’d only cried that once, and since then she’d been a real trouper.
Even during the worst of the situation, when she’d been tied up with Petie harassing her, she’d had the backbone to spit on him. Imprudent, but damn gutsy all the same. Definitely not the act of a frail woman.
So maybe, just maybe, she really did want him—just for him—and not because she saw him as her rescuer.
Police sirens split the air, intensifying the pain in Clint’s head and making his stomach roil. Seconds later two patrol cars pulled in behind the jeep. Four cops swarmed out, guns in hand, but at least things were nearing an end. As Clint put his hands in the air, he thought about getting Julie Rose alone. He wanted to kiss her again. He wanted a whole lot more—like everything.
He accepted that they’d eventually end up in bed. How soon that’d happen was still up in the air.
Slurring a curse, Petie Martin shielded his eyes from the late afternoon sunshine as he staggered from the bar. The thick, muggy air closed in around him, adding to the sour state of his temper. A nasty scowl on his twisted face warned drunks and sober men alike to stay out of his way.
Thanks to that son-of-a-bitch who’d attacked him, almost got him arrested, and royally fucked up his plans, he’d have his jaw wired for several weeks. Reduced to sucking whiskey through a straw made it damn difficult to get rip-roaring drunk, but he’d managed. The doc warned that his jaw would bother him for months, that chewing and even the weather could make it ache, when it hurt enough now to make his hands shake.
The booze, mixed with his pain meds, helped, but not enough. Nothing would help except revenge. And when he located the bastard who’d done this to him, he’d be smart enough to sneak up and shoot him in the back. He deserved no better.
If smiling didn’t hurt so much, Petie might have grinned over the image of the big man hitting the ground face-first. Before drawing his last breath, he’d know that Petie Martin had escaped the cops through the woods. He’d sacrificed his friends, left them behind to be handcuffed and booked, so that he could find the man responsible and make him pay. He might have gotten the better of Petie back at the cabin, but Petie always got even.
Digging his keys out of his pocket, Petie stumbled and staggered to his car. Just as he reached it, a slight human form took shape in the alley at the side of the old run-down saloon. Holding back, the figure was disguised by heavy shadows. Petie stared harder, and as recognition came, he stiffened with outrage.
“You,” he hissed from between his wired teeth.
Graceful even now, the individual avoided contact with the rusty metal Dumpster and the crumbling brick wall of the building, silently waiting for Petie to approach.
Shaking with rage that amplified with each agonizing throb of his jaw, Petie stalked forward.
“Where are the others?” Petie was asked.
“Where are the men you worked with?”
“All in jail!” Petie wished he could open his mouth and raise holy hell, but he could barely squeeze the words out around all the metal on his teeth. “Because you set us up,” he accused, crowding closer, hoping to intimidate. “But not me. I got away. And believe me, it wasn’t easy, not with my jaw broke and my body on fire.”
“The others might talk. They might tell the police about me—”
“And get hit with a kidnapping charge?” Petie laughed. “No, your ass is safe. From them.”
A sigh, then, “Good. That’s good.” Very little emotion showed in the gentle face that Petie had stupidly trusted.
Petie’s eyes narrowed. “But if I don’t get my fucking money, I might start talking.”
“You didn’t follow directions.”
“You didn’t pay me my goddamned money!” Petie didn’t bother to point out the obvious: he’d lost the choice to follow directions.
“We made a deal.” The words rang with icy fury.
Petie drew up short, appalled by the uncharacteristic loss of composure when normally all he got was moderate, almost shy, instructions.
Something had gone seriously wrong.
Once stylish clothes were now disheveled, the usual flawless appearance marred by strain. Petie took in the pale face and saw the biggest change in the eyes, now bloodshot and filled with worry.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Petie muttered. “What the fuck happened to you?”
“If everyone else got arrested, then where is she?”
Petie scowled. Did he look like a fool? “Where’s my money?”
“You didn’t follow orders. I told you to follow orders…” Sounding defeated and distraught, the individual sighed—and produced a .38, fitted with a silencer.
It pressed into Petie’s gut.
“What the fuck?” Petie yelped, stunned spitless by the turn of the situation. He hadn’t figured this one to be the violent type. “Where the hell did you get the gun?”
Blank eyes met frightened ones. “The same place that I got you, Petie. Off the street.”
“Now, wait a minute!” Panic raced through Petie. “Just hold up a second. I can explain—”
The slugs hit him before he realized the gun had been fired. One in the gut. Another in the chest. Ah hell. Stumbling backward, Petie fell to his ass. Blood oozed everywhere. His vision blurred.
The gun was now held in both hands, aimed at Petie’s head.
Dear God. “No, wait—”
“You should have followed orders.” With no emotion whatsoever, manicured fingers squeezed the trigger. Petie never heard the shot that ended his miserable life.
By the time the cops left with the confiscated pistol and the would-be thieves in tow, Clint’s stomach had settled. His head wouldn’t ease up anytime soon, but at least he wouldn’t puke.
With Julie Rose fussing at his side, they climbed the long flight of stairs to his second-floor apartment. He wanted to carry Julie, to spare her ankle, but even if she hadn’t refused him, he couldn’t trust himself to manage it.
Carry her? He snorted at himself. She limped along beside him, bracing her shoulder under his arm as if she’d somehow be able to steady his weight if he went off balance. She’d even wanted to carry his bag and her own, but he’d won that tug-of-war.
More than a little aware of the peeling paint in the hallways and the rickety stairs, Clint fell silent. A few years past he’d had a prosperous life.
But that was before the incident.
Now he lived in near squalor, and though he knew he had a shitload of money in the bank, almost enough to start over, Julie Rose wouldn’t know it.
Strangely enough, she seemed unfazed by her surroundings. Even when three rough, chain-wearing, tattooed youths came barreling down the stairs toward them, she didn’t appear uneasy. She just tried to shield Clint with her body so that he wasn’t jarred.
Clint had hoped to make it inside without any confrontations with his colorful neighbors, but it wasn’t meant to be. And Marlin, Dwayne, and Emilio were more colorful than some.
The teens stumbled to a halt. Dwayne bumped into Marlin, and Emilio bumped into Dwayne. They stared. Dwayne, the youngest one, about fifteen going on fifty, suddenly sported an ear-splitting grin. His gaze on Julie, he drawled, “Hey, dude. What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Clint tried to take another step, but they blocked him.
Julie shooed them away. “Go on now, children. Clint can’t visit right now. He’s hurt, and he needs to lie down.”
They stared at her like she’d just grown another head. No one had called them children in years. For all intents and purposes, they weren’t kids. They were punks in the making—but Clint had tried to change that.
So far, he had no idea how successful he might have been.
Marlin was the tallest and had the most tattoos. They twisted up and down his arms, onto his neck, and even over the left side of his face. Normally he looked very intimidating, but now he wore an expression of comical shock. “No shit?” His dark-eyed gaze moved to Clint. “You got whacked?”
“Watch your language,” Clint warned. “Not in front of the lady.”
“Yeah,” Emilio said, elbowing Marlin hard.
“Clint’s got a lady. Make nice.”
They all snickered.
Julie rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Clint has said much worse in front of me, so he has no right to lecture. But it’s a fact that foul language is a sign of an empty mind. And children especially should refrain from profanity.”
Emilio pulled back. “She’s insultin’ us.”
“No,” Julie countered, “I’m instructing you.”
Clint gave Emilio his patented don’t-go-there smile. “Thank her, boys.”
With varying degrees of disbelief and antagonism, they muttered, “Yeah, thanks.”
“Sure, yeah.”
“Right.”
Julie nodded. “Being that you’re all so friendly, might I ask that you stop forcing Clint to loiter in the hall? He hurt his head, and he needs some rest.”
At the end of his rope, Clint expanded on a deep breath. Too many more deep breaths and he’d pop. “For the tenth time, Julie Rose, I’m fine.”
In a conspiratorial whisper, Julie addressed the boys. “He insists on being macho. You understand. But I’m afraid he might have a concussion.”
“Ain’t possible. Clint’s head is made of stone.” Flashing a gold tooth, Marlin reached for the bags. “I got these.” He wrested them right out of Clint’s hand and began backtracking up the steps.
“Spill the lowdown, Clint.” Emilio kept pace with his friend. “Someone got the sneak on you?”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Clint warned.
“Not me.” He held out both hands. “I like wearing my head on my shoulders, instead of up my ass.”
The boys all chortled again and even shared a few high fives.
“Language,” Clint reminded them wearily, knowing it wouldn’t do him any good. But the offender did offer a fast apology.
“So spill it. You were fighting one dude and another sucker punched you?”
“They hit ya in the head with something?”
“I bet Clint did some ass-kickin’, for sure.”
They were at his door now, and Clint tried to ignore their enthusiasm as he fished his keys out of his pocket. He knew the boys suffered something close to hero worship, and he’d tried to use it to influence them for the better. But sharing ass-kicking stories with them wouldn’t convince them to live on the straight and narrow. “It was nothing.”
Julie puffed up with pride. “I struck one of them.”
“No shi—er, no kidding?”
Dwayne said, “You protected Clint? Now, ain’t that sweet.”
Knowing a barb when he heard one, Clint rolled his eyes.
“I couldn’t let him be hurt,” Julie explained.
“It happened quite fast, and I didn’t have time to think things through. Otherwise, you understand, I’m against violence.”
“Ain’t we all,” Dwayne drawled with a grin.
“How’d they get him? Clint usually knows everything that’s going on.”
Julie cleared her throat. “Well, you see, Clint and I were…necking, I suppose you could say.”
Three pairs of jaded eyes blinked. Dwayne screwed up his mouth, trying not to laugh. “Makin’ out, huh? Where was this?”
“In Clint’s jeep.”
The boys all looked at Clint. Marlin winked.
“Smooth moves, dawg.”
“Then,” Julie said, regaining their attention, “someone grabbed Clint, and he got pulled out of his vehicle and onto the ground, and he hit his head quite hard. It made a horrible sound.”
“Probably cracked the concrete, too.”
For that clever quip, Marlin and Emilio slapped hands in another high-five salute.
Julie smiled with them. “I grabbed a stick from the floor. I knew it was there because it had made my trip most uncomfortable. I couldn’t get my feet settled.”
Clint frowned at her. “If you were uncomfortable, you should have said something.”
Chin in the air, she sniffed. “I didn’t want to talk to you then.” She turned back to the boys. “Anyway, they had wanted to steal Clint’s wallet. I used the stick to wallop one of them, and then Clint took over and made mincemeat of them, and finally four police officers arrived to haul them away.”
Clint turned the key in the lock and shoved the door open. “Inside, Julie Rose.”
She held out her hand to the boys. “Thank you for your help.”
Flustered by her, the boys each shook her hand.
They were almost inside when Dwayne said, “You want Carmen to take a look?”
Clint said, “No,” at the same time Julie Rose inquired, “Carmen?”
“Yeah. She was a doc back in the day. Still looks after most of us when we get banged up.”
Seeing that Julie wanted to accept, Clint took her arm and pulled her into the apartment. “Thanks, guys, but there’s no reason to bother Carmen. I’m fine.” He started to shut the door, then thought to ask, “Where’re you headed, anyway?”
Guilt flashed on three cynical faces. Marlin said, “Just hanging out.”
Knowing he lied, Clint kissed Julie’s forehead and said, “Give me a minute.” Then he stepped back into the hall and pulled the door shut. Because he knew Julie would try to open the door, he held onto the doorknob.
And she did try.
Holding the knob secure, Clint asked, “Where are you really going?”
Dwayne curled his lip. “Just a party, man. No big thing.”
“Right.” Clint marveled that the boys’ parents never seemed to keep tabs on them. They had far too much time to get into trouble. “There’ll be drugs there? Booze?”
Emilio shrugged. “We’ll have a few beers, that’s all. No need to freak.”
“It’s mostly the trim we’re after anyway,” Marlin added with a sly grin and bobbing eyebrows.
Clint’s stomach churned. “You’ve all got protection?”
Dwayne laughed. “I’m carrying my knife.”
Clint wondered if he should confiscate the knife. But hell, in this neighborhood, they might actually need the thing. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Rubbers. Yeah. I got it covered.” Then Dwayne glanced at the closed door and grinned. “Why? You need to borrow a couple?”
Clint caught Dwayne by the front of his shirt and rattled him a little just to get their attention. “I’m serious. Do I need to drag your sorry asses down to the clinic to show you what STDs look like? Do you want to be pissing through a Grinch ornament?”
“Shit no, man.”
“Then take my word for it, some chances aren’t worth taking. Even with a rubber, if you don’t know the girl or she looks like she’s giving it away too easy, pass on it.” He tapped Emilio on the forehead. “Think with the big head, because it’s the one that should have the most sense.”
Dwayne pulled away and straightened his shirt. “Damn, dude, lighten up. It’s just a party.”
But they all three looked more somber.
Clint shook his head, then smacked Marlin on the shoulder. “Why the hell I care about you sorry sacks, I don’t know. But you’ve grown on me.”
“Like a wart?” Dwayne teased.
“Exactly.” He considered all three again and knew he didn’t have the right to harangue them too much. “If you get into trouble, give me a call.”
“You’re the man.”
Emilio didn’t immediately follow his friends. He studied Clint and then held out his fist.
“Thanks.”
Clint tapped it with his own. “Just stay out of trouble and think before you do anything.”
Emilio nodded. “Keep it real.”
Feeling like a damn grandpa, Clint watched him go. He opened the door and found Julie Rose in tears. “What the hell?”
She threw her arms around him and squeezed him with all her puny strength. Her lips brushed his throat as she babbled. “I could hear every word.”
Unsure of her mood, Clint gingerly put his arms around her waist. “Yeah? Sorry about that.”
“You were very good with them.” She sniffled, and Clint felt her tears dampen his flesh. “What’s a Grinch ornament?”
Grinning, Clint said, “You remember the Grinch?”
“Yes. A holiday character. Skinny and green…Ewww. That’s disgusting.”
He laughed. “I know. I just hope they got the picture.”
“I think they did. They respect you. That’s plain to see.”
Did they respect him enough to avoid the temptations of their environment? Clint didn’t know. “So why are you in here sniveling and carrying on?”
She laughed, sniffled again, and wiped her eyes. “Because you’re wonderful.” She pulled back and touched his face with shaking fingers. “The most wonderful man I’ve ever known.”
And according to her, she knew some real paragons of machismo.
Clint’s head hurt. Bad. But at that moment, with Julie Rose smiling up at him, her big brown eyes liquid, her soft mouth quivering, he couldn’t pay any attention to the pain. He wanted her mouth—under his mouth, on his flesh, sucking, biting…
A teasing rap sounded on the front door. “The doctor is in. Open up.”
Clint groaned.
In a whisper, Julie asked, “Who’s that?”
“Carmen.” He released her and stepped back.
“Brace yourself, babe. Carmen is probably different from any of the women you’ve known.”
That was all the warning Clint gave her before opening the door. Carmen burst in, her arms open to embrace him, her body more uncovered than otherwise. She wore skin-tight black slacks and a barely buttoned sleeveless white blouse that did nothing to conceal generous breasts and dark nipples.
Dainty sandals covered her feet, and her toes and fingernails were painted fuchsia. Her dark exotic looks made her a showstopper. Her proclivity for drugs and prostitution made her a woman to be pitied.
At least to Clint.
He allowed her the embrace, but turned his face before her mouth could find his. “Bring it down, doll. I clunked my head and it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.”
“I know, poor baby.” She pursed her red lips and cooed at Clint. “That’s why I’m here. I saw Emilio on my way in, and he told me all about it.”
Julie stepped forward. “Hello.” She held out a hand.
Carmen gave her the same look she used for insects. “Who are you?”
Still smiling in sweet welcome, Julie said, “A friend of Clint’s. The boys told me you were a doctor. I’m glad you’re here. I’m afraid Clint might have a concussion, but he’s flatly refused to go to the hospital.”
Cautiously, briefly, Carmen took Julie’s proffered hand. “The boys?”
“Emilio, Marlin, and Dwayne.” Julie softened her voice. “They are boys, you know. I doubt any of them are eighteen yet.”
Feeling unaccountably proud, Clint put his arm around Julie. “Emilio will be eighteen in a few more months.”
She leaned toward Carmen. “Doesn’t matter. You know how boys are—they mature much slower than females.”
Carmen raised one carefully drawn brow. “Yes, they do. They can be fully grown and still be little boys.”
“And this one”—Julie hugged Clint’s arm—
“he’s like all males, stubborn and too proud. He’s definitely hurt, but doesn’t want to admit it.”
Carmen made a tsking sound. “Macho, all of them.”
“True, true.”
Clint couldn’t believe his own eyes. Damn, but Julie had made fast friends with Carmen when usually Carmen pulled out the claws on other women. Men, she loved. Women, she saw as competition. But despite Julie’s obvious claim on him, Carmen behaved.
“So,” Carmen said, “let’s go have a look at you.”
A little dazed by the female bonding process, Clint led the way to the kitchen. He pulled out a chair, turned it backward, and straddled it. “I just got dinged, Carmen. It’s no big deal.”
Julie shook her head and proceeded to the refrigerator. She located a bag of frozen peas.
Carmen smiled. “I’ll see for myself—oh, my. That’s one impressive ding.” She pressed and prodded, then moved to the front of Clint and stared at his eyes. “Any blurred vision?”
“No.”
“Dizziness?”
“Nope.”
“Did you lose consciousness when you struck your head?”
Julie said, “Yes,” as Clint said, “No.”
Gasping, Julie said, “You did, too!”
His back straightened. “Don’t call me a liar, Julie.”
His dark tone left her unfazed. “Then don’t lie.”
“I’m not.” His head probably ached more from gritting his teeth than being conked. “I had the wind knocked out of me, that’s all.”
Carmen’s gaze went back and forth between them. “Interesting.” She gave her attention back to Clint. “The symptoms of concussion are amnesia, loss of consciousness, headache, dizziness, blurred vision, attentional deficiency, and nausea.”
“All I’ve got is a headache.”
She nodded. “Headache, of course, isn’t confined to concussion. Other symptoms that shouldn’t be ruled out are irritability—”
“He’s often irritable,” Julie muttered.
“—impaired coordination, sleep disturbance, noise or light intolerance, lethargy, behavioral disturbance, and altered sense of taste or smell.”
“I’m hungry, not the least lethargic, and I can smell your perfume just fine.”
Carmen grinned. “Then I suppose you’ll live.” She turned to Julie. “But if any of the other symptoms should show, I’d get him to an emergency room whether he wants to go or not. Better safe than sorry.”
Like a soldier taking orders, Julie all but saluted. “I’ll see to it. Thank you.”
Rather than leave, Carmen strolled to the sink and began making coffee. “So, while I get some coffee brewing, you can talk to me. What’s the story with you two?”
“Story?” Julie pressed the frozen veggies gently against Clint’s skull. It felt good. He hadn’t been pampered in…well, never. But Julie seemed content to stand there behind him, holding the icy bag in place, so he let his head drop forward and sighed.
Carmen pulled a pack of cigarettes from the waistband of her slacks and struck a match. She puffed—
And Clint, without lifting his head, said, “Not here, doll. You know better.”
“You are such a stick in the mud.”
“Coffee, cola—but no smoking. Take it or leave it.”
She wrinkled her nose at Julie while stubbing out the cigarette in the sink. “He does like to lay down rules.”
“I’ve noticed that.” Julie frowned. “But he’s correct about the smoking. It’s very bad for you.”
Carmen laughed. “God, I can see the two of you will get along just fine.” She slanted Julie an appraising look while putting her cigarettes away. “You two an item?”
Julie opened her mouth—and Clint squeezed her knee in warning. Julie tended to be far too trusting, and while he cared for Carmen, she was an addict and that made her impossible to trust.
Julie caught his hint and fell silent. Clint said, “She’s a friend of the family.”
“I didn’t know you had any family.”
“What?” Clint asked. “You think I crawled out from under a rock?”
Carmen shrugged. “So, she’s staying with you?”
“Temporarily. Her belongings got snatched during her travel. She lost everything, and she doesn’t want to finish her trip until the cops recover her stuff.”
With the coffee preparations complete, Carmen rejoined them at the table. “That explains the awful dress.”
Julie looked down at herself. “I rather like it.”
“Oh, please. Was your make-up stolen, too?”
Julie blinked, and admitted a bit sheepishly, “Actually, I never got the hang of make-up.”
“Ohhh. Uncharted territory.” Carmen rubbed her hands together. “Trust me, honey, I can do you up right. We’ll have a blast.”
Alarmed by the idea of Julie changing, Clint said, “Now, Carmen—”
Julie beamed. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
Clint said, “Shit,” but the women ignored him.
Settling back in her chair, Carmen eyed Julie up and down. “You’re not that far from my size, either, so I could probably loan you some of my old clothes.”
“Really?”
“You’ll need a padded bra, though.”
“No, she does not.”
Smiling, Carmen propped her head on her fist and winked at Clint. “So defensive over a mere pal?” She laughed. “Trust me, honey. If she wants to fill out my blouses, she’ll need some help. That’s all I meant.”
The coffee finished sputtering, and Carmen got up to pour three cups. A hostess by nature, despite the debilitating effects of the drugs, she set a mug in front of Clint and one in front of Julie, along with sugar and a carton of milk.
“I’m taking mine home with me, so Clint can rest.” She saluted him with her coffee. “But, Julie, honey, give me a call tomorrow and we’ll do a makeover. Clint has my number.”
“A makeover on me? Really?”
“Head to toes. It’s long past due.” She wagged her fingers at Clint. “Too-da-loo, love.”
Julie handed the frozen vegetables to Clint and went hobbling after Carmen to the front door. Clint groaned. Julie might not realize it, but her personality made her potent enough already. Carmen’s idea of a makeover would no doubt emphasize Julie’s sexuality, and that’d be more than he could take.
He pictured Julie in the getup Carmen wore, and his head swam. Damn. He heard the front door close and knew he was all alone with her now.
“Lock the door, Julie Rose.” For the next few hours, he didn’t want any interruptions.