Long, Tall Texans_ Boone (Long, Tall Texans #35) - Diana Palmer Page 0,30
the theater when you told him we couldn’t go.”
“San Antonio is too big and we don’t know many police officers there,” he said, unexpectedly somber. “You don’t need to be out of sight of the police. It’s easier to watch you here.”
“You’ve been talking to Sheriff Hayes,” she accused.
He nodded. “Hayes is pretty laid-back most of the time. When he worries, there’s good reason.” His eyes narrowed on hers. “Your mother hasn’t been seen out at Shea’s for a week?” It was a question.
She needed so desperately to talk to someone. Her face was drawn with worry. Clark was sweet, but he was too concerned with Nellie to pay more than a little attention to Keely’s problems. Not that he didn’t care about her. He just cared more about Nellie.
Incredibly Boone’s big hand smoothed over hers where it lay on the book cover. He linked his warm, strong fingers into hers. “Talk to me,” he said quietly.
She actually shivered. It had been years since a man had touched her. Not even a man, really, just a boy she dated. She hadn’t been held, kissed, caressed. She was a woman with a woman’s feelings, and she couldn’t, didn’t dare, indulge them.
Boone knew more about women than she realized. He understood her reaction to him, and was puzzled by it. “For a woman who’s getting regular sex, you sure don’t act as if your needs are being met,” he commented.
She went as red as the book cover and her hand jerked under his.
He smiled, but not in a mean way. His fingers contracted more. “Tell me what’s really going on, Keely.”
His hand was comforting. She didn’t fight the firm, caressing clasp. It felt so good. She wanted to climb into his lap and put her head on his shoulder and cry her eyes out. She wanted comfort, just a little comfort. But this wasn’t the man, or the place or the time.
She took a deep breath. “Something’s going on about my father,” she confessed in a hushed tone. “I don’t know what. Nobody will tell me anything. He’s mixed up in something bad, and he has this friend…” Her soft features contracted and her eyes were full of pain at the memory.
“This friend,” he prompted, squeezing her hand. He was very intent.
“Jock.” The name tasted like poison in her mouth. “My mother thinks he has something to do with whatever’s going on. I overheard her talking to Carly. She won’t tell me anything.”
“This man, Jock,” he persisted. “You look frightened when you say his name.”
“He…hit me,” she confessed, fascinated by the expression on his face. “I was just barely thirteen. He’d been watching me while I was cooking. He made me nervous. He’d been in prison. He said he’d killed a woman. I let the biscuits burn.” She bit her lip again. “He hit me so hard he knocked me down. My father heard him yelling and came into the kitchen and managed to get Jock out of the room.” She wrapped her arms around her chest, cold with the memory. “It was just after that when Dad brought me back here to live with Mama.”
“Good God.” Boone’s eyes were soft and quiet with sympathy. “No wonder you’re uncomfortable around men.” He was remembering. His jaw tautened. “That’s why you were afraid of me in my office.”
“I don’t really know you,” she confessed apologetically. “And you don’t like me,” she added uneasily. “You don’t like me being friends with Winnie and you don’t like me going around with Clark.”
“No, I don’t,” he replied honestly. But he looked troubled.
“I understand,” she said unexpectedly. “You know that I’m poor and you think I use Winnie and Clark…”
“The hell I do!” He lowered his voice quickly, looking around to make sure he hadn’t drawn the attention of the librarian. He looked back at Keely, scowling. “You don’t use people,” he bit off. “You work like a soldier for your paycheck. Unpaid overtime, trips out to old Mrs. McKinnon’s place to give her dog its diabetic injections because she can’t do it, walking dogs at the shelter on weekends so the staff can handle adoptions…” He stopped, as if he hadn’t wanted her to know that he was aware of her activities.
“Mrs. McKinnon loves her dog,” she replied. “Maggie handles the shelter on Saturdays and feeds and waters the animals on Sunday. There’s this tiny little budget. She already spends twice the hours she gets paid for to do all that. I just help a little.”
His