green around the gills, she had burst into tears at the first inclination that Jonas was about to administer a well-deserved tongue-lashing.
Between sobs she’d explained the reason for her unprecedented behavior. She desperately needed a job to support her ailing widowed father. At her age without a college degree or experience in anything other than part-time waitressing, life appeared hopeless.
Moved by her plight, Jonas wiped away her tears with his handkerchief and offered her a job on the spot. He was just starting up his own business and said he could use someone to mind the store and answer the phone when he was out of the country. Starting pay was more than Tara could have expected anywhere else. Not only would it help salvage her father’s dignity, the money would allow her to take a couple of college classes at night, as well.
“You’ll never regret it,” she promised him, gratefully pumping his hand like a well-oiled piston.
A pair of twinkling green eyes and a wicked smile pulled Tara back into the present. “Are you sure that a sweet young thing like yourself really wants to bail out an attempted murderer—considering the fact that you could be spending your time with an upright good-looking fellow such as myself?”
The police officer behind the desk threw out his chest to add to the appeal of his offer. He seemed nice, close to her own age and charming in a boyishly cute way. Just the sort of all-American guy her father was always after her to date. He often reminded her how much he wanted a couple more grandkids to bounce on his knee.
Tara took a deep breath before replying, “I’m positive. Now will you please take me to see Jonas?”
Regardless of how bad things looked, she wasn’t about to abandon Jonas now. This was her big chance to pay him back for his kindness and generosity. And to prove that she was no longer the girl he’d rescued so long ago.
Goosebumps raised along the length of her arms as Tara followed the officer through the office into the jail itself. She wasn’t sure whether to attribute them to the sudden drop in temperature or the chilling atmosphere of the dismal holding area. Tara squinted in the harsh light, looking past rows of steel bars.
Who is that unshaven man sitting on the edge of his cot, holding his head in his hands? Surely not clean-cut, always in control, take-charge-of-the-world Jonas Goodfellow.
Reminding herself that he couldn’t be expected to be at his charming best, Tara tried touching him gently with her smile.
Awakened from his melancholic stupor by the subtle scent of her perfume, Jonas raised his head. Blue eyes collided with brown, and a frisson of electrical energy melted the bars that separated them, creating the illusion that they were the only two people on earth.
Who is that angel in pink? Jonas wondered. Surely not that scared high-school graduate I hired to answer phones for me just a couple of short years ago.
Indeed not. This was a woman, mature in both mind and body. A woman who knew full well the effect she was having on every male in the joint. How amazing, it must seem to them, that a model could walk off of the pages of a glossy fashion magazine and into their collective fantasies.
Jonas groaned. It was hard enough defending a lady’s honor when one wasn’t behind bars. A low whistle emanating from the cell directly across the way confirmed his worst fears. Accompanying suggestions turned the lady in question the same lovely shade of pink as her suit. The stern reprimand that the young police cadet in charge issued was met by guffaws.
Never in all his life had Jonas wanted to bash in someone’s head as badly as he did at this very moment. Humiliation and indignation were powerful stimulants when mixed in a vial already overflowing with injustice. Seeing Tara’s smile wobble, he growled at his fellow prisoner, “It’s a good thing you’re penned up way over there. Otherwise I’d wager you’d have trouble trying to whistle without any teeth.”
In response, the other man flung a filthy string of expletives in his direction. He also took a step away from the bars to make sure he was out of reach when the officer unlocked Jonas’s cell.
Jonas regretted Tara’s seeing him like this. Had he anyone else in the world to call upon, he would have spared his lovely young secretary the trip from San Francisco to the boondocks of Texas. Unfortunately Jonas had no family left except his stepfather and stepsister, Ellen, who was expecting a baby anytime now. Considering her delicate condition, he didn’t want to put any extra strain on her. And Jonas would have preferred death in the electric chair than to ask his stepfather for a favor. Not that asking would have made any difference. Nicolas Goodfellow would refuse to help. Just as surely as he had refused to have anything to do with raising Jonas or caring for his needy young wife, who had meekly submitted to his emotional abuse right up until the day she died.
“Thanks for coming,” Jonas said to Tara as the door to his cell swung open. “You’re certainly a sight for sore eyes.”
Though he resisted the urge to give her an appreciative hug in front of their watchful audience, she was not given to such reserve. Wrapping her arms around him, she brushed a kiss across his stubbled cheek, causing yet another crude comment to bubble up from the gutter of another captive’s mind.
For all the times Jonas had imagined holding this woman in his arms, he couldn’t believe how good she felt. Way too good. For the hundredth time, he had to remind himself that theirs was an employee/employer relationship. Friendly and respectful. Anything more would be taking advantage of Tara’s sweet nature and naiveté.
“Let’s get you out of here,” she whispered in his ear.
The sensation of her breath on his neck caused Jonas’s skin to tingle. What was that scent she was wearing? A heady mixture of flowers and musk, it was an importer’s dream. Jonas was certain he could sell gallons of the stuff.
After almost three days of confinement, he was eager to leave the premises. Happy to let Tara lead the way, he couldn’t help but notice the way the young officer’s gaze lingered on the hypnotic swaying of her hips. Jonas’s chest tightened uncomfortably. He tried brushing the feeling off as the onset of bronchial pneumonia that he’d likely contracted from one of the thugs with whom he’d been forced to share quarters for the past fifty-six hours and twenty-two minutes.
Not that he was counting.
Jonas said a little prayer of thanksgiving as he entered the light of freedom. Relative freedom, he amended, cursing the fact that for the time being the bail money Tara had procured from the business liberated him only from his cell. Unless the charges against him were dropped, Jonas would be required to remain in the tightly knit community of Red Rock until the time of his trial. As far as he could tell, the small town existed for the sole purpose of servicing the Fortune family—that nest of vipers that he had so foolishly hoped would welcome him as kith and kin.
He was charged with the attempted murder of one of the town’s most prominent citizens. The fact that, as far as Jonas could tell, everyone in Red Rock, from the local pharmacist to the sheriff, was related only made matters that much worse. He figured he’d been lucky not to have been lynched while he awaited bail. He’d be even luckier to get out of town in one piece. One thing was for certain. Good old Sheriff Grayhawk wasn’t about to risk upsetting his pretty little wife by letting anyone off the hook who was even circumstantially implicated in harming her favorite uncle.
To the lawman’s credit, however, Grayhawk hadn’t gone out of his way to persecute him. Fortunately it appeared the sheriff was more into justice than punishment. Still, given the hostile stares leveled at him by both employees and visitors as he left the county
