Free Homeplace by Joann Ross

mentis . Although her mother might not be certifiably insane, anyone who took the time to have a serious discussion with Lilith for more than five minutes could easily judge her incompetent to stand trial.
    “And assault and battery,” he reminded her.
    “Damn.” Raine rubbed the back of her neck, where strands of hair clung like seaweed. “I don’t suppose you’d happen to know whom, exactly, she’s accused of committing this battery on?”
    “Actually, I do. It was Coop.”
    Her heart sank all the way down to the toes of her sloshy, egg-stained pumps. “My mother assaulted the arresting officer?”
    “Well, it was more like a slap, to hear Coop tell it. But I suppose, technically, he could hit her with a resisting arrest charge, too.”
    Even worse. She just didn’t need this. Not now. She’d been running on caffeine and adrenaline for weeks. Now that the buzz from the espresso she’d drunk on the ferry was beginning to wear off, she could feel the physical and mental letdown sneaking up behind her.
    “You know,” he suggested mildly, “the park jail isn’t exactly Folsom Prison. It won’t hurt her to spend a night there. And it just might give her time to think about behavior and consequences.”
    Raine’s answering laugh was flat and humorless. “It’s obvious you don’t know my mother.” She looked back at the Suburban. “Since there’s no way I’m going to risk leaving those girls alone in my grandmother’s house, I suppose I’ll just have to take them to Hurricane Ridge with me.”
    He swore under his breath. “You are definitely Ida’s granddaughter.” Seemingly mindless of the rain, he yanked off his hat and raked his fingers through his thick dark hair. “Neither of you women know the meaning of the word quit .”
    Raine tossed up her chin, bracing herself for another skirmish. “Oh, I know the meaning all right. I just don’t believe in it.”
    He jammed the hat back down on his head. Then closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his crooked nose. Then sighed heavily. And cursed again. It was, Raine considered, the most emotion the man had shown thus far.
    “That road to Hurricane Ridge is tricky enough in the daylight in dry weather. If you insist on bailing your mother out tonight, I’ll drive you up there.”
    He seemed torn between aggravation and pity. It was the pity that Raine hated.
    “That’s not necessary.” Unwilling to surrender to his unblinking cop stare, which she had no doubt had earned him a dandy confession rate during interrogations, she straightened both her back and her resolve. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my own family, Sheriff. Legally and personally.”
    “You’re dead on your feet,” he countered. “No offense intended, Counselor, but you kind of remind me of one of the walking zombies in all those horror flicks I used to like as a kid.
    “And although I’ve no doubt that you’re a real go-getter back in New York City”—he drawled the name of her adopted city with an unmistakable lack of respect—“this just happens to be my county. And there’s no way I’m going to spend the rest of tonight out in this damn rain picking up the pieces after you drive off that cliff. Because as bad as you look right now, you’d look a helluva lot worse dead.”
    His granite face tightened into harsh angles and dangerous planes; his expression turned as uncompromising as the jagged, snow-spined Olympic mountains jutting up behind him.
    It was at that moment, as he looked down at her, arms folded across his chest, that Raine knew for certain what she’d already begun to suspect. Jack O’Halloran’s outwardly easygoing facade and good-old-boy behavior concealed a granite will that might actually prove more unyielding than her own. Oh yes, she thought grimly, Choate, Plimpton, Wells & Sullivan’s comptroller, Harriet Farraday, would definitely approve of this man.
    “Well.” She stared up at him. “No one can accuse you of mincing