A Gift For The Groom. Sally Carleen

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      Leaving the car running, she opened the door and slid out “If you’ll just call Nick at the...oh, dear, I can’t remember the name of the motel, but it’s down the highway a couple of miles, which is why I was heading that way except you can’t call him because there aren’t any phones in the rooms but Mabel has a phone...”

      

      Nick stood on the sidewalk in front of his room in the still-cool, bright Sunday morning. From the outside, the old motel with its peeling paint and missing room numbers had a quaint charm. In other circumstances, he’d have considered the day to be perfect, a good omen. But as he waited for Analise. to show up in his borrowed car that she’d so cavalierly reborrowed, he had a bad feeling.

      A large, older-model black car pulled up. His gaze flicked over the automobile and returned to searching the highway for any signs of the rust-colored—or covered—vehicle Analise had absconded with.

      Mabel’s head popped out the window of the passenger side of the black car. “Analise just called. She needs you to get her out of jail.”

      

      As Nick rode with the Finches to the Prairieview police station, he marveled that these people whom Analise hadn’t known twenty-four hours ago leaped to her defense.

      “It’s Frank Marshall’s youngest boy,” Mabel explained. “He’s been watching too many cop shows on television. Nothing ever happens in Prairieview, so he goes around looking for trouble. Gave Mildred Adams a ticket for parking too close to a fire hydrant Took a tape measure and got her at four inches too close. Imagine, taking Analise in just because the car wasn’t registered in her name.”

      Apparently Analise hadn’t mentioned in her phone call to Mabel Finch that she’d hot-wired his car. That undoubt edly contributed to the arresting officer’s suspicions.

      Ten minutes later they were in the middle of the Sunday-silent town. Mannequins in the department store window stood motionless, gazing from painted eyes at the empty sofas and chairs on display in the furniture store across the street. The movie theater marquee had a couple of letters missing. Even the drugstore was deserted. Anyone needing an antacid or deodorant would, Nick presumed, have to wait until Monday.

      Horace pulled up next to Nick’s rented car, in front of the small, weathered-rock building designated as the Prairieview Police Station by the words carved above the door.

      Both Horace and Mabel started to get out, but Nick stopped them. “You all go on to church. I don’t want you to be late. I’ll take care of Analise.”

      “Well, okay,” Horace agreed reluctantly. “But if you run into any trouble, you call us at the Methodist church and we’ll come talk to Frank’s boy.”

      Nick thanked them, exited the car, walked up to the building and grasped the tarnished brass handle to yank open the front door. He’d take care of Analise all right. After he got her out of jail, he’d wring her slender neck.

      The door proved to be heavier than he’d thought and reluctant to move, so his dramatic gesture was lost Instead, it creaked slowly open.

      Analise and a young man in a blue uniform looked up as he entered. The man sat behind a desk with Analise in a chair in front. In the first instant, his mind registered that she was indeed wearing purple shorts with a scoop-necked, sleeveless blouse with bright flowers of purple, black, yellow and a green the same color as her eyes. She’d wrapped a long purple tie around the neck he was getting ready to wring, and the ends floated down her back. She sat with one long leg crossed over the other, a purple sandal adorning her slim foot. She was as bright and tempting and dangerous as the neon lights of Las Vegas.

      In the second instant, he noted that she held five cards in her hand and had a pile of pennies in front of her.

      Honour washed over him as he recalled the dubious skills her former boyfriend had taught her. She was playing poker with the cop who’d arrested her and dealing off the bottom of the deck, judging by the size of her pile of pennies as compared to the officer’s pile.

      She gave him her dazzling smile just as he charged across the room and snatched the cards out of her fingers, sending the rest of the deck and her ill-gotten pennies flying. It also sent him tumbling into her lap.

      How was it possible, in a moment of crisis, that he still noticed she smelled like honeysuckle on a warm summer evening and her skin was as soft and velvety as the petals of a magnolia blossom?

      He pushed himself up, endeavouring to get his face out of her midriff and his hands off her thighs, even though his body would have loved to stay right there.

      As he struggled to his feet, his gaze met her startled green eyes. Startles, but not horrified, some alien creature in the back of his brain exulted. Startled and maybe just a tittle bit...excited?

      “Hold it right there, mister!”

      Nick whirled around to see the officer standing with his weapon drawn.

      Great. He was going to end up in jail with Analise, both of them growing old and fat together, eating fried eggs and bologna for breakfast every morning. And the way things were going, she’d be in a cell close enough for him to hear her talk all day long but not close enough to touch.

      “It’s okay, Joe,” Analise reassured the officer. “This is Nick Claiborne, the man whose car I borrowed. Tell him I didn’t steal it, Nick.”

      Joe reholstered his gun but didn’t relax. “Car’s not registered to Nick Claiborne.”

      “I told you—” Analise began impatiently, but Joe cut her off.

      “You got any proof you rented it from Fred Smith?” He sneered at Nick.

      “Have you got any proof I didn’t?” Nick withdrew his wallet, opened it to his private investigator’s license and slammed it onto the desk. “I’m working on a case. Ms. Brewster is my client. I rented the car, and she took it to use this morning.”

      “With your permission?”

      Nick gritted his teeth but made himself lie. “Yes.”

      “Then how come she had to hot-wire it?”

      There was a limit to how big a lie he could tell. He avoided the question instead. “What are the charges against Ms. Brewster?”

      Joe stood straighter. “Speeding, failure to signal before changing lanes, failure to wear a seat belt and possibly driving a stolen vehicle.”

      “Has the car been reported stolen?”

      Joe slumped back into his chair. “No,” he admitted grudgingly.

      “Then write her tickets for the rest and let her go.”

      Joe waved one hand negligibly. “Aw, we’ll just forget about the tickets. Analise explained why she was speeding, there wasn’t anybody around to signal to anyway and the seat belt was broken.”

      “Thanks, Joe!” Analise beamed at the officer then bent and started retrieving her pennies.

      Nick grabbed her arm and dragged her from the station.

      “What СКАЧАТЬ