Free Lawman by Diana Palmer Page B

get scared in the night, she’ll be around.”
    She still hesitated. It was hard for her, trusting a man. Any man.
    â€œIf you stay over here talking to rosebushes, somebody’s going to notice,” he pointed out. “Think of the scandal.”
    She smiled despite herself. “All right, then. Thank you,” she added a little awkwardly.
    â€œYou’d do it for me, I’m sure.”
    And she would have.
    Miss Turner was surprised and delighted at the unexpected company. “He hates having people here,” she told Grace as she poured her some tea in the kitchen of the long, single level house.
    â€œIt’s only because I was talking to the roses,” Grace faltered.
    Miss Turner stared at her.
    Grace flushed. “Well, I’m not exactly overcome with visitors these days.”
    â€œYou can talk to me,” she told her. “At least, I can answer you back.”
    Â 
    L ATER , M ISS T URNER showed her to the guest room and pointed out the quilt at the foot of the bed in case Grace got too cool.
    â€œHe says he can’t sleep in a warm house, so he keeps it like a deep freeze,” Miss Turner muttered. “Likely you’ll get frostbite, but at least you won’t be lonely. Got your medications?”
    Grace nodded.
    â€œGood. There’s water in the carafe by the bed. Sleep well.”
    â€œYou, too.”
    The door closed and Grace sat down on the bed. It was a pretty room, done in cool blues and beiges. She was amazed at her host for the invitation, and grateful as well. She’d dreaded spending the night alone.
    For a man with no social skills to speak of, she thought, he was surprisingly kindhearted.
    Â 
    S HE SETTLED UNDER the comforter and closed her eyes. But the events of the day had damaged her, and not only her grandmother’s death. She kept seeing little girls lying in beds of roses, wearing red ribbons around their necks…
    When the screams started, she didn’t even realize that they were coming from her own lips.

5
    â€œG OD A LMIGHTY !” CAME A deep voice from somewhere nearby. “Grace. Grace!”
    She was dying. Blood was seeping out all around her, and it was red, as red as her grandmother’s roses. She was lying in a patch of sunflowers, looking up at the sky. There was pain. So much pain! She could almost feel merciless hands on her shoulders, shaking her, shaking her…!
    She gasped and her eyes flew open. Garon Grier was sitting on the side of her bed in a bathrobe, his blond-streaked brown hair mussed, his dark eyes narrow and concerned. Behind him stood Miss Turner with her hair down, gray and thin, wrapped in a thick bathrobe, chewing her lower lip nervously.
    Grace took a long breath and another one. She was shaking. “S…sorry,” she stammered. “I’m sorry!”
    The big hands holding her shoulders relented, pulling her into a sitting position. Her long blond hair had come undone from its cloth tie and draped around her shoulders like a fall of silk. She was wearing a thick cotton gown that covered her from throat to heels. Only her face and hands peered out from its whiteness.
    â€œWhat happened?” Garon asked.
    She swallowed hard, looking around her in relief. She wasn’t lying in a field. She was in a bed, in a house. Safe. She swallowed again, aware that her eyes and cheeks were wet.
    â€œWhat was it?” he persisted. “A nightmare?”
    She only nodded, still shaken. It had seemed very real.
    â€œHow about some warm milk, Grace?” Miss Turner asked. “It might help you sleep.”
    â€œMilk, hell,” Garon said curtly. “Bring her a tot of Crown Royal.”
    â€œI hate spirits,” Grace began.
    â€œNow,” he added, fixing Miss Turner with a level stare that didn’t invite defiance.
    â€œBack in a jiffy,” Miss Turner said.
    Garon let go of Grace’s shoulders. His eyes were like lasers, probing, inquiring.