Nothing but Trouble Page 6

  For the last few years, he’d found her more and more attractive every time he’d seen her, which was fairly often since she seemed to constantly be getting herself into some sort of trouble. But his common sense and survival instincts had kept him away from her—emotionally and sexually.

  In his mind, and even once on paper, he had listed all the reasons that would make it disastrous for the two of them to have an affair. First, Tallie was ten years younger than he was, and he was a good friend to all three of her older brothers. Jake, Hank and Caleb would take turns beating him to a pulp if he ever deliberately broke Tallie’s heart. Then there was the indisputable fact that he and Tallie came from two very different worlds and lived two totally opposing life-styles. He knew himself and he knew Tallie well enough to realize neither of them was likely to change. Besides, would he really want Tallie to change? No. Part of her attraction was her free-hearted, loving nature. Tallie had the soul of an empathist—a woman capable of experiencing the pain of others. And heaven help her, Tallie couldn’t bear to see people or animals in pain and not try to alleviate that pain.

  She had filled Cliff Nolan with birdshot to stop him from abusing his son and the child’s dog. But that softhearted soul of hers wept with remorse at having caused Nolan pain. Peyton wondered if he’d ever been sorry for anything he’d done. Oh, not little things, but some of the big decisions that had affected his life and the lives of others. He had always been a man of action, but that action was always taken after considerable deliberation, weighing all sides of an issue. And once he’d acted upon his decision, he seldom looked back. He wasn’t a man filled with regrets.

  Except one. He regretted that he couldn’t make love to Tallie Bishop.

  Solomon and Whitey met them in the driveway when Peyton stopped the Jag in front of Tallie’s house. The front-porch light revealed Sheba lying on the wooden swing, nonchalantly licking her little paws.

  Neither Peyton nor Tallie made a move to exit the car. Turning slowly, Peyton looked at her. She raised her head and met his stare head-on.

  “Thanks for your help tonight,” Tallie said. “And your understanding.”

  “You’d better get some rest. The trial starts at ten in the morning.” He knew he should open the door, get out and assist Tallie in a gentlemanly fashion, then say good-night and get the hell away from her as fast as he could.

  But he couldn’t. His desire to be with her, to look at her, to smell that fresh, clean fragrance of pure Tallie compelled him to draw out their time together.

  “I guess it’s pretty late.” Tallie felt her wrist. It was bare. In her haste to help Loretta, she’d forgotten to put on her watch.

  Turning on the interior lighting, Peyton checked his Rolex. “Damn, it’s after three.”

  “I’d better go on in.”

  “Yeah. Come morning, we’re both going to look and feel like hell.”

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.” She looked at him, unable to stop herself, knowing that her eyes issued an invitation and a plea.

  He ran his long fingers through his thick blond hair. “Me, neither.”

  “You...you could come in for coffee. I’ve got decaf.” Idiot, she chided herself. Don’t do this to yourself. You’re practically begging him to come inside and stay with you.

  “Coffee would be great.” What sort of fool are you, man? You’ve steered clear of situations that put you alone with this woman, and here you are ready to walk into her house in the middle of the night. Coffee isn’t all she’s offering, and coffee isn’t all you want.

  Tallie turned on light after light as she walked through her house from living room to kitchen. Peyton followed, sensing with each step the nervous tension coming from Tallie. He glanced idly at the living room as they passed through. Clean, homey, but slightly cluttered. He had the urge to start picking up items off the floor.

  “Come on in and sit down. The coffee won’t take long to brew fresh, or we can drink instant.” She felt like kicking her own behind for asking him in, for issuing an invitation she was sure to regret.

  “How about the real stuff?” He reached out to touch her shoulder, thought better of it and dropped his hand. “We can talk about the trial while we’re waiting. Go over a few crucial points again.”

  Peyton pulled out a white wooden chair and sat down on the red-checked cushion. The room had been redecorated and somewhat modernized since Claude Bishop’s death. The walls and appliances were pristine white and a row of windows opened up a view of the backyard and nearby woods.

  Like the living room, the kitchen possessed a clean yet cluttered appearance. It was obvious that Tallie really lived in her house.

  Peyton wasn’t sure he’d ever lived anywhere. In his father’s house, his grandmother Rand had run their home with the precision of a headmistress in a boarding school. He and Spence and their older sister Valerie had had set bedtimes and wakeup times, even on weekends. Toys were played with one at a time and always put away neatly. Loud music was forbidden. Loud noise, even roughhousing fun with Spence, had been taboo. Food was served in the dining room by servants. Peyton had no memories of ever having eaten in the kitchen during his grandmother’s lifetime.

  Peyton’s apartment had been decorated by an interior designer he’d dated years ago. She’d told him that it reflected his personality. If it did, he was a colorless, cold, black-and-white guy. Every stick of furniture was sleek, lean and ultramodern. And nothing was out of place. No clutter, no dirty dishes in the sink, no wet towels on the floor, no crumbs on the table.

  Peyton Rand liked his life orderly. His mind functioned best when he had control over every aspect in his world.

  As if on cue, reminding him that Tallie Bishop was one aspect over which he would never have any control, she pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him.

  “I’ve got some fried peach pies. Would you like one to go with the coffee?” She didn’t want to talk about the trial. She didn’t even want to discuss what the future would hold for Loretta Nolan and her children. No, all Tallie wanted was to fall into Peyton’s arms and ask him to hold her.

  She could never remember being held. Oh, Grandpa Claude was a good-hearted man, but not overly affectionate, and he’d always treated her just like her brothers, as if she were just another boy. Jake and Hank and Caleb had loved her dearly and been protective big brothers, but they hadn’t known the first thing about how to treat a girl. They, too, had grown up without any female influence in their lives.

  Sometimes, Tallie desperately needed to be hugged, to be held close and soothed. Occasionally, a friend—Sheila or Susan—would give her a sisterly, affectionate hug, but those kinds of hugs weren’t enough anymore. Tallie wanted and needed the loving, tender passion of a man.

  She needed Peyton Rand to love her. But he didn’t.

  “Fried peach pies?” Peyton asked. “I know you didn’t make them. If I recall, your cooking skills weren’t any better than your brothers’.”

  “I most certainly did make them.” Tallie relaxed slightly, the tightness in her muscles easing. “Sheila’s been teaching me how to cook for several years now.”

  “Are they edible?”

  “My peach pies? Of course they’re edible, but I’m not sure I’ll let you have some now.”

  Peyton laughed, the tension draining out of him like melted butter dripping from a hot biscuit. Without thinking, he reached across the table and took Tallie’s hand. She flinched, then stiffened. He ran his thumb over the top of her hand, caressing her knuckles.

  “Don’t worry about the trial tomorrow and don’t worry about Loretta Nolan.” Peyton took Tallie’s hand in his. “Everything is going to turn out all right.”

  “Is it, Peyt?”

  Tallie’s question stunned him. He knew only too well that she wasn’t referring only to the trial and Loretta Nolan, but to the future—their future.

  “I think that after the trial, you and I need to discuss things.”

  “Why don’t
we discuss things right now?”

  Peyton wasn’t ready to cut the ties that bound him to Tallie. Not yet. Not tonight. But for both their sakes, he would have to sever those ties, after the trial. Neither of them could go on the way they’d been going. Their desire for each other was hurting them both.

  “After the trial will be soon enough. I’ll take you out for dinner and when I bring you home, we’ll have our little talk.”

  Tallie couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. She was too afraid he’d see her pain and know how much she loved him. After the trial, he was going to cut her free, and thus free himself from the burden of their relationship.

  Tallie glanced at the coffeemaker. Enough hot, black decaf for two cups filled the glass pot. “Ready for coffee?”

  Not waiting for his reply, she jumped up and busied herself with preparations, then set a cup in front of Peyt and took the other herself. When she sat down, she raised her cup in a toast. “Here’s to tomorrow night, after the trial. To ending something that never should have started in the first place.” Tears floated in her eyes. She swallowed. Her hands trembled, shaking the cup she clutched.

  “Tallie...” He looked at her and wished he hadn’t. She was on the verge of tears. “Nothing ever really started between us, you know. Just friendship, of a sort. Brotherly concern on my part. A teenage crush on yours.”

  Tallie set her cup on the table, coffee sloshing over the sides, staining the white surface with dark splotches. She slid back her chair, standing with her back to Peyt, her gaze focused on some unseen spot in the backyard. “Asking you in for coffee was a bad idea. You agreed because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings, didn’t you?”

  “No, Tallie, that’s not true.”

  “Oh, yes...it...is.” Her voice broke on an emotional sigh. She was not going to fall apart and start crying. Not yet. Not until after Peyt left. “You’ve been looking out for me for years now. Not because you wanted to, but because you felt it was something you had to do. Out of friendship to my brothers. Out of concern for me because I can’t seem to stay out of trouble.”

  “Tallie...”

  Her shoulders trembled with the force of her unshed tears. “I could have taken care of myself without your help, you know. I don’t need you coming to my rescue, so after the trial, I’ll never call on you again.”

  “Tallie, this is not the time—”

  “All right. We’ll play by your rules. We always do. We’ll wait.”

  Peyton stood, walked over to Tallie and reached out to take her shoulders in his strong hands. He hesitated. Don’t touch her! his good judgment shouted. But she’s hurting, and I’m the one who hurt her, his heart replied. Grasping her shoulders, he turned her toward him. She looked down at the floor, trying to avoid any direct eye contact.

  “Look at me, Tallie.”

  “Go home. Leave me alone.” She tried to pull away from him, but he held fast.

  “Don’t do this to yourself, sugar. Don’t do this to me.”

  Her gaze flew upward, staring at him, unsure of what she saw in his expression. “What am I doing to you?”

  “You’re making me crazy.”

  “I’m—”

  Quickly, totally disregarding any warnings his mind issued, Peyton cut off her reply by covering her mouth with his. Stunned by the unexpected urgency of his kiss, Tallie didn’t respond at first; then when he deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue inside and jerking her into his arms so close that her breasts crushed into his chest, she gave in to the wild, hot sweetness spreading through her.

  For one brief moment, she realized that Peyt was kissing her the way she’d always dreamed he would, and then her mind gave way to her senses and she didn’t think at all. She simply felt.

  With the same quick certainty with which he’d kissed her, Peyton released her and drew away, staring at her as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. Her own expression mirrored his.

  “That shouldn’t have happened,” he said.

  When she didn’t respond, he drew in a deep breath and shook his head slightly, as if to clear his thoughts. “Be at the courthouse by nine-thirty. I’ll be waiting for you, and we’ll go over everything briefly before the trial.”

  When he started to leave the kitchen, Tallie followed. He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “I’ll see myself out.”

  Tallie stood silently, watching him walk out of her kitchen. Tomorrow, after the trial, he would walk out of her life. And there was nothing she could do about it. Not unless she was willing to change her whole life, to become someone she wasn’t.

  She couldn’t do that. Not even for Peyton Rand.

  Four

  Tallie let out a sigh of relief. The room burst into thunderous applause, resounding shouts and cries of happiness as friends and acquaintances rose to their feet. Wielding his gavel, Judge Clayburn Proctor called for order in his courtroom.

  Without giving her actions a second thought, Tallie threw her arms around Peyton, hugging him fiercely, thanking him again and again as camera flashes exploded all around them and newspaper reporters crowded closer.

  Tallie’s own personal thoughts and emotions drowned out the wild uproar bombarding her ears. She wasn’t going to jail for shooting Cliff Nolan with birdshot. Judge Proctor had found her guilty of a misdemeanor, given her a stiff fine and then warned her not to repeat such a thoughtless action again. Relief flooded her body, her mind and her heart. She knew that, in part, she owed her freedom not only to the benevolent judge, but to the persuasive arguments Peyton had given in explanation of her behavior.

  “It’s all over,” Peyton told her as he pulled her arms from around his neck and shoved her away from him with gentle force.

  She gazed up at him, into his deep blue eyes, and knew he meant that more than just the trial was over. Their relationship was over. After today, she wouldn’t be seeing Peyton again. It was for the best. She knew that as well as he did.

  After all, she thought, just look around at all these reporters, and not all of them local as she had hoped. Even Nashville and Memphis newspapers had sent people to cover the headline news that Peyton Rand was defending a female tow-truck driver on charges of shooting a man with birdshot. This wasn’t exactly the kind of case on which Peyton had built his reputation.

  “I’ll see the fine is taken care of,” Peyton said, gripping her by the elbow as he picked up his briefcase. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “I can take care of my own fine, thank you.” When she tried to jerk away from him, he tightened his grip on her, circling her arm with his hand.

  “You don’t have that much cash money, Tallie, and I know it. Consider it a loan. You can mail monthly payments to my office.” Pulling her close to his side, he maneuvered her forward, making his way through the crowd. “Don’t argue. Let’s just get the hell away from this three-ring circus. I promised you dinner after the trial, didn’t I?”

  “There’s no need for that. Sheila brought me in to Marshallton this morning, and I can get her to take me home. Her or Mike. They’re both here.”

  “Looks like most of Crooked Oak is here.” If Peyton had ever doubted Tallie’s popularity in her little hometown, the support she had received today would have erased that doubt.

  As she and Peyt passed by, Tallie glanced over to where a cleanly shaved and uncharacteristically sober Cliff Nolan sat beside assistant district attorney, Marsha Hunt. The man glared at her, his bloodshot eyes boring into her like poison daggers. A foreboding chill racked Tallie’s body.

  Reporters swarmed over them as they tried to push their way through the throng of well-wishers. Tallie couldn’t see over anyone’s head, but she did make out the lavender stripes on Sheila’s skirt only a few inches away.

  “Tell us, Mr. Rand, why an attorney of your status would take on a case like this?” a gray-haired, bespectacled reporter asked.

  “Is it true that Ms. Bishop is a personal friend of yours, that the two of you have been involved sinc
e she was a teenager?” A Yankee-accented female TV reporter thrust a microphone in Peyton’s face.

  Peyton’s deadly stare swept over the attractive young woman, whose smile faded but whose hand continued holding out the mike.

  Without answering any of the questions hurled at him, Peyton led Tallie forward, one slow, agonizing step at a time. Leaning down to accommodate her shorter height, he told her to ignore the reporters. Easy for him, maybe, but she wasn’t used to being the center of media attention.

  “Ms. Bishop, is it true that this isn’t the first time Mr. Rand has come to your rescue? That indeed the two of you are intimately involved?” a dashing, young black reporter asked.

  Tallie opened her mouth to deny the man’s accusation, but closed it again when Peyton squeezed her elbow. How could he endure this? she wondered. She’d had no idea that his defending her would create such a ruckus. She’d been fairly certain the local Marshallton paper would send over a reporter, but the horde of media assaulting them was something she most definitely hadn’t expected.

  Lowell Redman stood just outside the courtroom door, looking quite distinguished in his sheriff’s uniform. He waved at Peyton, motioning them in his direction. Tallie heard him speaking, but couldn’t make out what he’d said. The racket coming from both reporters and well-wishers was almost deafening as the people followed them out into the corridor.

  Without questioning his move, Tallie followed Peyton down the corridor, through a door marked Private, down a hallway and a flight of stairs. The door closed behind them. No one followed.

  “Where are we going?” Tallie finally asked when Peyton slowed down enough for her to catch her breath.

  “Lowell is guarding the door to give us a chance to escape out the back way. They bring prisoners in and out this way.”

  “So we’re going outside?”

  “Lowell had my car brought around to the back entrance. If we hurry, we might get away before the reporters figure out where we’ve gone.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. All those reporters. And their questions! They made it sound as if you and I...that we’re—”