Nothing but Trouble Read online

  Nothing but Trouble

  Beverly Barton

  To my dear friend, Jan Celeste Hamilton Powell, whose ability to truly

  rejoice with me as well as cry with me keeps our long-standing

  relationship strong.

  And a special thanks to Nancy Sue Elkins and Brenda Hall, friends I can always count on when I need them most.

  Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Tallulah Bishop swung open the door of her one-ton Chevy tow truck, ordered her Great Dane, Solomon, to stay, and grabbed her shotgun off the seat. Jumping down to the ground, she called out a warning to the drunken man a few yards away.

  “Cliff Nolan, you let Richie go right now, you hear?”

  Holding his young son by the nape of his neck, Cliff turned his head sharply, sneering at Tallie. “Get the hell off my property, you damned nosy do-gooder. This here’s my land and my family. I’ll do whatever I damn well please.”

  Richie’s small mongrel dog growled at Cliff, who immediately thrust out his big foot and kicked the animal.

  “No, Daddy, don’t. Please don’t hurt Whitey,” Richie cried when he heard his dog yelp in pain.

  Tightening his hold on Richie, Cliff swung the boy around several times and tossed him to the ground. Richie reached out for Whitey, circling the dog’s neck with his thin little arms and looking up with tearful, pleading eyes at his staggering father.

  “Hell’s toenails,” Tallie muttered to herself, then she shouted out again to Cliff. “Leave Richie and Whitey alone or I’ll shoot you. Do you hear me?”

  Cliff Nolan stared at Tallie, his bloodshot hazel eyes half-closed, his thin lips curved into a smirk. “You ain’t nothing but hot air. Always coming around here, putting ideas in my Loretta’s head. She don’t need the likes of you telling her how to be a wife. You wouldn’t know the first thing about being a woman.”

  “I know that no man has the right to beat his wife and kids or mistreat his animals.” Tallie took several tentative steps away from the gravel driveway and into the weed-infested yard.

  Loretta Nolan crept out onto the porch of her mobile home, her haggard face appearing far older than her twenty-seven years. “Please, Cliff—”

  “Shut your trap, woman!” Cliff glared at his wife.

  “Best you go, Tallie,” Loretta said.

  With his arms wrapped around Whitey’s neck, Richie Nolan crawled away from his father, dragging his dog with him. Shifting his feet in the dust, Cliff turned halfway around, stared down at the escaping twosome and raised his leg.

  “No, Daddy, don’t!” Richie shouted just as Cliff’s foot came down on the dog, who yelped in pain.

  Lifting his foot again, Cliff kicked at Richie, but missed his target when the boy scooted away. Still holding a trembling, whimpering Whitey, Richie kept pushing himself farther and farther away from his rampaging father.

  “This is my last warning, Cliff. Get away from Richie. Now!” Tallie aimed her shotgun.

  Cliff Nolan raised his foot. Richie froze in horror when he bumped into the side of the house. Drawing back his leg, Cliff aimed his foot for a kick into Richie’s stomach. Tallie screamed. Cliff turned sharply in her direction. With Whitey in his arms, Richie stood up quickly and ran toward the front porch. Unsteady on his feet, Cliff spun around and bellowed for Richie to stop.

  “Leave him alone,” Tallie warned.

  “Go to hell!” Cliff said.

  Tallulah Bishop pulled the trigger on her shotgun. Birdshot ripped through Cliff’s ragged jeans, splattering across his back, butt and legs. Yelling in pain, Cliff dropped to the ground.

  Still clinging to Whitey, Richie flung himself and his dog into his mother’s open arms. Loretta stood on the porch steps, her dark-circled eyes staring at her husband in disbelief.

  “Call the sheriff,” Tallie said. “And an ambulance, too. Cliff’s going to need Doc Hall to pick that birdshot out of his butt.”

  Nodding in silence, Loretta turned slowly and walked back inside her mobile home. Richie stood on the porch, holding Whitey close to his little chest while tears streamed down his dirt-streaked face.

  Tallie supposed she should go over and see if she could help Cliff, who lay on the ground in a heap, his skinny behind sticking straight up in the air while he moaned and groaned and cursed everything from heaven to hell. But Tallie wasn’t inclined to offer either sympathy or assistance. The ambulance would be here soon enough, and it was unlikely that Cliff would bleed to death from birdshot splattered into him from yards away.

  The sheriff probably wouldn’t be far behind the ambulance. Even though Lowell Redman didn’t like Cliff any better than she did, he’d have no choice but to arrest her. After all, she had shot a man.

  Now she’d have to call Peyton. He’d be madder than a wet hen. He’d warned her the last time she’d had to call him for help that he was tired of bailing her out of one jam after another. But what should she have done, just stood there and allowed Cliff to abuse Richie and Whitey? For over a year, she’d been begging Loretta to take the kids and leave, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

  Tallie knew she’d done something really stupid this time, and whether she wanted to or not, she’d have to ask Peyton to come get her out of jail. And if there was a trial, she’d need him to defend her.

  She dreaded facing Peyton far more than she dreaded spending the night in jail. No matter how good her intentions were, she always wound up creating problems for him, and she really didn’t want to cause him any difficulties, especially not now when he was thinking about running for governor. Peyton Rand was a good man and deserved only the best—and the best for him certainly wasn’t Tallie Bishop.

  As bad as she hated to admit it, maybe Peyton had been right when he’d told her that she was nothing but trouble.

  One

  Tallie could tell by the look on his face that he was spitting mad. There was a ruddy hue to his tanned skin, a cold fire in his deep blue eyes and a coiled tension in the way he moved. His salon-styled ash blond hair appeared slightly mussed, as if the wind had dared to tousle it. Glancing at Deputy Wanda Simple, Tallie smiled, straightened her shoulders and prepared herself to endure his wrath. Although Peyton Rand was usually a calm, controlled, easygoing man, Tallie knew she possessed the power to dent his Southern-gentleman facade.

  He slammed his leather briefcase down onto the table. Leaning over slightly, he splayed his big hands on each side of the briefcase, then glared at Tallie.

  “You’ve done some stupid things before, Tallulah Bankhead Bishop, but this has to be the—”

  Oh, he was really angry. He’d called her Tallulah! “I warned him to stop, Peyton. I promise I did.” Tallie took several steps forward, her hands cuffed behind her back. “He was beating Richie. Kicking him around. I couldn’t just stand there and let him hurt that child, now, could I?”

  Straightening to his full six-foot-two height, Peyton bent his arms at the elbows and threw open his hands, knotting his palms into half-closed fists. “Okay, so you had to do something to stop him, but did you have to shoot Nolan with birdshot?”

  “What was I supposed to do?” Tallie inched her way toward Peyton, one cautious step at a time, looking up at him with what she hoped was a remorseful expression on her face.

  “You had Solomon with you, didn’t you?” Peyton reached out and grabbed Tallie by the shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. A shiver of awareness zipped through his body, reminding him of why he shouldn’t t
ouch Tallie. Regardless of his unwanted attraction to the woman, the fact remained that she was bad news. “Why didn’t you let Solomon handle Cliff Nolan?”

  “Hell’s toenails, Peyt, if I’d let Solomon attack Cliff, I’d be in here on murder charges instead of assault.”

  “You’re going to be able to get her off, aren’t you, Mr. Rand?” Wanda Simple asked. “This whole town knows Cliff Nolan is a no-good skunk, always manhandling Loretta and those kids. Tallie just did what she thought was right.”

  “Well, I hope the judge will see it that way.” Releasing his hold on her, Peyton shook his head. Why, dear God, why had he been cursed with the responsibility of Tallie Bishop? If ever there were two people on earth who were a mismatched set, it was Tallie and him. “I came straight from Jackson, so I haven’t had a chance to talk to Clayburn about your bail. But I have talked to Lowell, and you can thank him that the charges aren’t assault with intent.”

  “I’ve already thanked him.” Tallie realized that nothing she said or did would soften Peyton’s attitude, and she couldn’t much blame him. Ever since her brothers had left Crooked Oak to find their own way in the world, Peyton had acted as their substitute, trying to look out for his friends’ kid sister—a kid sister who, at twenty-six, should have known better than to shoot a man.

  “I’ll see if Clayburn won’t go ahead and set bail so I can get you out of here today.” Peyton glanced at Tallie’s arms, arched behind her back to accommodate the handcuffs. “Wanda, take this little heathen to her cell until I can make arrangements with Judge Proctor.” Pointing his index finger at Tallie, he said, “It would serve you right if I left you in here all night.”

  Thrusting out her chin, Tallie gave him a haughty stare. “You do whatever you want to do, Peyton Rand. I splattered Cliff Nolan with birdshot to keep him from doing any more harm to his child and the child’s dog. I hate that I had to shoot him, and maybe what I did was wrong, but if you can’t see past the law into the human heart, then I doubt—”

  “Dammit, woman, will you shut up!”

  With a startled jerk, Tallie tensed, then swallowed hard and glanced up into Peyton’s stern face. “You tell Judge Proctor that if I could have thought of another way to handle the situation, I wouldn’t have filled Cliff with birdshot, but...at the time, I saw no other alternative.”

  “I’ll tell him, and maybe he’ll agree to set bail.”

  “Do you have any idea how much bail will be?” Tallie didn’t have a lot of cash money, but her garage and tow-trucking business was quite successful, so she didn’t think there’d be a problem with posting her own bail.

  “I’ll handle the bail,” Peyton said. “I can trust you not to leave the country, can’t I?” A hint of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.

  And Lord, how Tallie loved his mouth. She’d spent endless hours wondering just what it would feel like to kiss that mouth.

  Taking a deep breath, Tallie didn’t even try to disguise the sense of relief she felt knowing that Peyton’s anger had begun to subside. She grinned at him. “I won’t even leave the state.”

  “That’s good to know.” Retrieving his briefcase, Peyton headed for the door, all the while chiding himself for being a total fool. No matter how many times her behavior created problems for him, he could never stay angry with Tallie. Despite her fierce independence and feminist bravado, she was a tenderhearted, vulnerable woman—somewhere beneath all that grease, the boyish haircut and her aggravating take-charge attitude.

  “Oh, Peyt, would you please go by the Humane Shelter and pick up Solomon?” Tallie asked. “I had Wanda call Susan to come get him and keep him until we could straighten out this mess.”

  “We’ll pick up Solomon after you’re released.” Peyton stopped just inside the doorway, turned around and surveyed Tallie from head to foot. “How the hell can such a little woman stir up so many stinks in this county and cause me nothing but trouble?”

  Before Tallie could reply, Peyton left. She supposed she should be grateful that he’d even bothered to come when she’d called. After all, he really didn’t owe her anything. Just because Peyt’s father, old Senator Rand, had been a hunting and fishing pal of her grandfather’s and just because her brothers and Peyton had buddied around together—despite the differences in their social positions—didn’t mean he was responsible for getting her out of every mess she got herself into, did it? Of course not. But ever since Jake and Hank and Caleb had, one by one, left Crooked Oak for the big, wide world outside the boundaries of Tennessee, Peyton had become her guardian angel, always just a phone call away. Of course, he fussed and fumed and swore she’d be the death of him. And whenever she called him for help, he warned her, “This is the last time, so help me, Tallie.”

  “Come on, Tallie, let’s get you into a cell until Mr. Rand comes back for you.” Wanda Simple, a tall, skinny, bespectacled woman in her early thirties had graduated from high school with Jake, and she and Tallie had been on friendly terms for years.

  “Do you think Clayburn Proctor will go ahead and set bail so I can get out of here today?” Tallie asked.

  “Ah, shoot, Tallie, you know Judge Proctor thinks the world of you. Why, ever since you saved his grandson’s life when you got to the scene of the wreck before the ambulance and performed CPR on that child, Judge Proctor’s thought you hung the moon.” Placing her hand on the small of Tallie’s back, Wanda led her down the hall toward the short row of jail cells. “Besides, Peyton Rand could charm the birds down from the trees, couldn’t he?”

  Tallie stood perfectly still, while Wanda uncuffed her. “Yeah, you’re right. Peyton’s got his daddy’s silver tongue. He’s a born politician.”

  “I swear, girl, why haven’t you made a move on that man? It’s plain to see that you’re crazy about him, and everybody in the county knows he’s always acting like your knight in shining armor.”

  “Peyt just feels responsible for me, that’s all.” Tallie walked into the cell. “My brothers made him promise to keep an eye on me.”

  Wanda closed the cell door. “Well, for a man who doesn’t care, I’d say he keeps a pretty close eye.”

  “He’s never thought of me as anything but a pest. Besides, I’m hardly the kind of woman a man like Peyton Rand would want, and I’m certainly not what he needs.” Stepping away from the bars and into the center of the small cell, Tallie spread out her arms and slowly turned around in a circle. “Just look at me. I’m a country girl. What I need is a man with calluses on his hands and dirt on his boots, not some rich lawyer who wants to be governor.”

  “You look fine.” Wanda ran her gaze from the top of Tallie’s head to the tips of her feet. “Well, you could use a little dolling up, but that wouldn’t be too difficult with your face and figure. And even if you and Peyton Rand are totally different, that doesn’t mean you weren’t meant for each other. Opposites attract, you know?”

  “Wanda, a man on the verge of running for governor isn’t about to get himself romantically involved with a woman who owns a tow-trucking company, has only a junior college education and is always getting into trouble because she can’t keep her nose out of everybody else’s business.”

  “Well, if you don’t make a move soon, you’re liable to lose him for good,” Wanda said. “He’s been dating that Donna Fields for three months now. You know her granddaddy was governor and her uncle’s a federal judge.”

  “Peyton and I are all wrong for each other, but he and Donna Fields are a different matter. She’d probably make him the perfect wife.” Tallie hated admitting that another woman was far more suitable for Peyt than she was, but the truth was the truth. Donna Fields was the best possible choice for a politician’s wife. Tallie Bishop would be a politician’s nightmare.

  * * *

  Peyton sat in the luxury of his dark blue Jaguar, his shoulders resting comfortably against the leather seat as he spoke on his cellular phone. With casual grace, he flicked the ashes off the end of his cigar into the tray.


  “She’s never gotten herself into this much trouble before, Clayburn, but she honestly thought she was doing the right thing.”

  “I know,” Clayburn Proctor said. “Tallie’s got a good heart, it’s just that she acts without thinking. I don’t have a problem with setting her bail now. No sense in that girl staying overnight in jail. But there’s no way we can get out of a trial. Of course, since Lowell’s only charging her with assault and battery, I can just put the case on my docket if she pleads guilty. No need to take this before a jury.” Clayburn laughed. “But my bet is if it did go to a jury, they’d acquit her. I know she broke the law, but by God, somebody’s needed to do something about Cliff Nolan for a long time. If only his wife would press charges against him.”

  “Thanks, Clayburn. I appreciate this.” Peyton hadn’t had a doubt that the judge would bend over backward to help Tallie; as a matter of fact, there was hardly a soul in the whole county, especially around Crooked Oak, who wouldn’t go out of their way for Tallie Bishop. Just about everybody liked her. Despite her penchant for getting into trouble, Tallie’s main fault was that she was always trying to help others. He’d never known anyone so concerned about every living creature on earth. He supposed that was the main reason he’d never been able to sever the ties that bound him to Tallie, despite the many times he’d wished she’d get the hell out of his life.

  “Well, who’s going to post bond for Tallie?” Clayburn asked.

  “I am.” Peyton laughed. “She’s promised me that she won’t leave the country.”

  “Well, since you’re the one posting bail, I’d say that a fair amount would be 1,678. Wouldn’t you say that would be fair?”

  Hearing the slight chuckle in Clayburn Proctor’s voice, Peyton took a draw on his cigar, then blew out a ring of smoke. Damn the man! The judge had a warped sense of humor. Whoever heard of such an odd amount for bail?

  “That’s a rather unusual sum, don’t you think?” Peyton asked.