A Man Apart. Ginna Gray

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      “Good. I’m glad that’s settled. When the lieutenant called he merely asked if I would mind if you stayed in his quarters while you recuperated and drive you into Houston for your checkups. I go into Houston regularly anyway, and since he’s giving me a good deal on this place, I couldn’t very well refuse. Besides, his room isn’t part of my lease agreement. That’s always kept ready for him when he visits, so you’re not putting anyone out.

      “I did agree that you could eat with us. Jane and I must cook for the children, anyway, so even that isn’t an imposition. I assure you, meals, housekeeping and an occasional ride into town are all the help you’ll receive from me.”

      “I won’t be needing those, either,” he snapped. “Dammit, I only agreed to come out here to soak up some sunshine and peace and quiet. Instead, what do I find? A lady shrink and a bunch of rug rats.”

      “Hey, pig, who you calling a rat?”

      “Tyrone!” Maude Ann admonished as a small black boy charged out onto the porch.

      The door banged shut as he stepped between Matt and Maude Ann. Assuming a challenging stance that was comical in a youngster, he glared at Matt and thrust out his chin.

      Surprise shot through Matt. He recognized the kid instantly. Tyrone Washington was the child of a female junkie from the section of Houston known as Denver Harbor.

      Only seven, the kid was already headed for trouble. Most of the time his mother was stoned out of her mind, and Tyrone ran virtually wild through the slum neighborhood. The kid had a mouth on him like a longshoreman’s and an eye for larceny. Tyrone might be only seven, but in the ways of the world he was about forty-five.

      Matt looked the kid up and down and returned his glare with a cynical half smile. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Tyrone Washington. The Denver Harbor tough guy.”

      “That’s right, pig, an’ there ain’t nothin’ you kin do ’bout it, so kiss my a—”

      “Tyrone!” Maude Ann admonished again. “You’re to watch your language, young man. Furthermore, you are not to call Detective Dolan by that derogatory name. Do you understand?”

      The boy looked back at her over his shoulder. “Daroga what? Whazzat mean?”

      “Derogatory. It means insulting and degrading. You’re new, but you’ve been here long enough to know that we don’t treat people that way.”

      A perplexed frown wrinkled Tyrone’s forehead. “Not even stinkin’ cops?”

      “No. Especially not cops. Remember I told you my husband was a policeman and a wonderful man. Now apologize.”

      Tyrone’s face turned mulish. “I ain’t gonna ’pologize to no—”

      “Tyrone, either apologize or you stay here with Jane tomorrow while the rest of us go to the movies. The choice is yours.”

      “Ah, Miz Maudie—”

      “You heard me, Tyrone.”

      “Look, can we drop this?” Matt snapped. “I don’t care if the little punk apologizes or not.”

      “Mr. Dolan! I said no name calling. The rules I’ve given the children apply to everyone who stays here.”

      “Then we don’t have a problem, because I’m not staying.”

      “That is entirely up to you, Detective,” she replied with a pleasant smile. “I have no feelings on the matter one way or another, I assure you.”

      “Fine, then you won’t mind if I call the lieutenant and tell him to send someone to pick me up, will you,” he snapped back.

      “Not at all. There’s a telephone in your room.”

      Matt gave her a curt nod. Leaning on his cane, he gritted his teeth and turned to leave.

      “Humph. Good riddance,” Tyrone muttered, but this time Maude Ann was too distracted to correct him.

      She bit her lower lip and watched Matt Dolan limp away. She recalled how he used to look, striding around the station house, often without his suit jacket and his shirtsleeves rolled up. A big man with broad shoulders, a lean muscular build and a self-confident demeanor, he had emitted an aura of masculine invincibility and strength.

      His back was still ramrod straight and his head high, but he had lost weight during his stay in the hospital, and his progress was so slow and so obviously painful it wrung her heart. It was all she could do not to rush forward and help him.

      The only thing that stopped her was the certain knowledge that he would rebuff the offer, probably none too politely. That, and the promise she had made to herself.

      When John Werner had contacted her and asked if Matt Dolan could stay at the lodge for a few months, she had vowed she would give the man his space and not let herself become involved in his recovery in any way. She had enough on her hands with the children. Nor did she need or want to be drawn back into the world of law enforcement and the dark psychological and physical trauma that came with it.

      She had left all that behind two years ago when her husband Tom had been killed during a bank holdup. Her life now was devoted to the children.

      Self-deception had never been one of Maude Ann’s shortcomings, and she had to admit there was another reason for steering clear of Matt. She didn’t ever want to take a chance of falling for another law-enforcement officer.

      Not that the risk of that happening was great. During the three years that she had worked for the HPD, Matt had been polite but distant. Maude Ann couldn’t recall ever having had a personal conversation with the man, nor had he ever consulted her about any of his cases unless a superior had ordered him to.

      He wasn’t anything like Tom, not at all her type, and given their history, there was little danger of an attraction developing between them.

      Still, Maude Ann wasn’t stupid. Matt Dolan was a handsome devil, in a tough-as-nails kind of way. With his black-as-coal hair and vivid blue eyes, those chiseled features and his general “go to hell” attitude, he stirred something deep in the female psyche that even the most intelligent of women would have a difficult time resisting.

      Yes, it was definitely best, all around, if she gave Detective Dolan a wide berth.

      Chapter Three

      Matt sat on the edge of the bed with the receiver to his ear, impatiently counting the rings on the other end of the line.

      “Lieutenant Werner.”

      “You sorry, sneaky, scheming, back-stabbing bastard. You set me up.”

      “Ah, good afternoon to you, too, Matt. I take it you’ve met Maudie and her charges.”

      Matt ground his teeth and tightened his grip on the receiver. John didn’t even try to hide the amusement in his voice. Matt could almost see him leaning back in his chair, grinning like a jackass СКАЧАТЬ