Cavanaugh Judgment Page 7

  But hearing Andrew say it sent a warm, happy feeling through her, as if, for the first time in her life, she actually belonged somewhere.

  “Alexander Kincannon,” the older man said, taking Andrew’s offered hand first. “Gunny to my friends.”

  “I hope I’ll number among those.”

  “Let me try your cooking and we’ll see,” Alexander responded half seriously.

  “I’m Blake Kincannon.” Leaning forward, Blake shook his host’s hand. “You’ll have to excuse my father,” he apologized, slanting an irritated glance at Alexander. “He doesn’t get out much.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Alexander hooted. “If it wasn’t for going to court, I’d have to start referring to you as The Shadow.”

  The reference was to an illusive comic book hero from the forties, but from the knowing look on Andrew’s face it was clear he was familiar with it. Very neatly, the man got in between father and son, a human barrier to their escalating exchange of words.

  “Judge,” he said to Blake, “I took the liberty of inviting my son-in-law over. Brent’s a sitting judge and I thought the two of you might have things in common to talk about.”

  He knew of only one Brent on the bench. “Brenton Montgomery?” Blake asked.

  “Right here,” a deep voice announced from the family room. The next moment, Brent had crossed over to his father-in-law’s newest converts.

  Greer caught Andrew’s eye and mouthed, “Thank you,” gratitude flowing from every pore. She knew the situation was tense for the two men she’d brought, but the last thing she wanted was a verbal confrontation between them.

  She should have known she could count on Andrew not just to defuse the situation, but to generate a feeling of well-being, not only verbally, but also with the food he so deftly prepared.

  Uttering a deep, satisfied sigh, Alexander Kincannon pushed himself away from the table after having consumed three generous helpings of the lamb stew that Andrew had prepared.

  “You know, every time I’ve had a man cook for me, it’s been less than a memorable experience,” he confided, raising his eyes to look at his host. “Can’t say that anymore. Well, I can,” the man amended with a small grin. “But then I’d be lying. This has to be the best meal I’ve had, bar none, in more years than I can clearly remember. You do have a gift, Andy,” he announced as if it were a new discovery, “you surely do.”

  “Thank you, Gunny. I take that as very high praise. Feel free to drop by anytime.” Andrew turned toward the man Greer was guarding. “Same goes for you, Blake.”

  “Thank you, Chief.” Blake glanced toward Greer. “But it looks like I’ll have to get permission from my keeper, first.”

  Callie smiled as she looked quizzically at her newfound cousin. “Greer? Is there something you’d like to share with the group?” she deadpanned.

  For some reason, the subject of the exact manner of the relationship between her and the judge and his father hadn’t come up during dinner. To her relief, it turned out that Brent and Blake knew each other. The two men had gotten caught up in a conversation that revolved around a recent controversial court ruling. The others at the table added their own opinions and, for a while, it was just a typical Cavanaugh dinner where not only the food but the company was enjoyed.

  As discretely as possible, Greer took a breath before answering. “I’m the judge’s bodyguard,” she told Callie, trying her best to sound matter-of-fact about the assignment.

  A glance toward Andrew told her that the Cavanaugh patriarch already knew about the arranged relationship, as did his wife. But this was obviously news to his daughter and her husband.

  For a second, Brent looked thunderstruck, and then he laughed at his own ignorance. “Of course. That was your courtroom on the news, wasn’t it?”

  Blake sighed. He was beginning to wonder, even at this early date, if he was ever going to hear the end of this.

  “Yes, that was mine.”

  Callie was immediately sympathetic. “You were lucky you weren’t hurt.”

  Blake looked at Greer, remembering. “Luck didn’t have anything to do with it. I was tackled by Detective O’Brien in order to get me out of the line of fire,” he told the others.

  “I’d still call that luck,” Andrew told him. “She could have been half a second slower to react and you could be lying in a drawer in the morgue right now, waiting to be cut open.”

  Alexander looked from his son to the woman he had taken almost an instant shine to. “She tackled you?” he asked, clearly in awe of the information. He shook his head as if the information didn’t compute. “But she’s just a bit of a thing.”

  “I wouldn’t underestimate her if I were you, Gunny,” Andrew warned with a laugh. He slipped an arm around Rose to underscore his words. “The Cavanaugh women might look petite, but underneath all that softness, they’re as hard as steel.”

  “Not completely,” Brent corrected, exchanging a look with his wife that silently spoke volumes.

  He could vouch for that, Blake caught himself thinking. The next moment, he banished the unexpected thought—and the memory it summoned—from his mind. It was time to get going—and to terminate this social gathering. Being around O’Brien this way was creating havoc with his thoughts.

  Blake cleared his throat. “Chief Cavanaugh, as my father said, that was a really wonderful meal. But I’m afraid that I have to—”

  Andrew was way ahead of him. He nodded understandingly. “You need to get back home. Of course. I won’t keep you,” he assured his guest, rising to his feet. Rising beside him, Rose began clearing away the dishes. Callie and Brent both joined her.

  Feeling guilty, Greer began to follow suit only to have Andrew take the plates out of her hands and shift them over toward his son-in-law. “Tonight you’re not just family, Greer,” he told her. “Tonight you’re a guest, as well.”

  The way she saw it, she’d imposed on his hospitality, bringing two more mouths for him to feed. The least she could do was help clean up.

  “But I—” Greer got no further in her protest.

  “No argument,” he instructed with finality. “Next time I’ll let you pick up twice as many plates,” he promised with a wink. “But right now, you have to take the judge and his father home.”

  “Don’t even try to argue,” Rose told her. “The man still wears his badge pinned to his bare chest at night. He’s used to being obeyed.”

  Andrew merely smiled. “Some habits are harder to break than others,” he told his guests. “I’ll walk you to the door,” he volunteered, ushering Greer, the judge and his father to the foyer. He stopped just outside the threshold. “Now that you know the way, Judge, don’t be a stranger. You, too, Gunny.”

  Blake looked at his host and realized that the man actually meant what he was saying. He wanted them to come by. Why? Despite the evening that they’d just shared, he and his father were all but strangers to Andrew Cavanaugh. Why would the former chief of police welcome them so warmly into his home?

  He had no answer. Neither did he know where this quiet feeling of well-being that was softly whispering through him had come from. He decided, for the time being, to stop analyzing it and just enjoy the sensation for as long as it lasted.

  Blake refrained from shaking his head, but he was still rather mystified.

  Strange people, strange evening.

  And, as he and his father walked to O’Brien’s sedan, Blake had more than a fleeting suspicion that this wasn’t going to be the last strange evening he was going to spend.

  Chapter 7

  Former gunnery sergeant Alexander Kincannon frowned as he watched the young woman in his living room remove the leather and suede decorative pillows that had been on the sofa.

  “Don’t seem right,” he commented to Greer, “you spending the night on the couch. That’s supposed to be strictly for husbands who’ve had cross words with their wives. Y’know, punishment. Not that I’ve had any experience with that.”

 
; “Didn’t think you did.” Greer hid her smile as she turned away, stacking the second pillow on top of the first. “Don’t worry, Mr. Kincannon. I’ll be fine.”

  His frown deepened just for a moment. “You got a learning disability, girl?” he asked. “I told you to call me Gunny.”

  She wasn’t accustomed to being so familiar with a man the senior Kincannon’s age. It was hard enough for her to adjust to Andrew and his brother. “Sorry. ‘Gunny,’” Greer acquiesced. “The sofa is more than adequate for my needs.”

  “It’s not comfortable,” he insisted. To prove his point, Alexander hit the cushion with the flat of his hand. It didn’t give the way something that was a sofa would. “Fell asleep on that once, watching TV. It was like sleeping on a board.”

  Greer had a feeling that the man had fallen asleep watching TV more than once, but she kept that to herself. “That suits my purposes just fine. I don’t want to be comfortable, I want to be on my guard,” she reminded the judge’s father.

  Just then, the judge entered the room. His arms were filled with bedding. “So if this assignment runs a week—God forbid—you’re planning to be awake the whole time? What are you, a zombie or one of the undead that seem to be so popular these days?”

  Turning around to face him, Greer grinned. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m neither.”

  She was certainly acting as if she thought she was one of those creatures, he thought. “But you don’t plan on sleeping.”

  “Catnaps,” she interjected before he could continue. “I get by on catnaps.”

  Now there was a misnomer for an event if he ever heard one. “Every cat I ever knew spent most of the day ‘napping.’”

  The man was testy and argumentative. Was it just because she was here, or was there something more going on? They’d been here for only the past couple of hours and as far as she knew, nothing had changed. After dinner, she’d entertained the hope that he was coming around and that would make things easier on all of them. Obviously not.

  “Short catnaps,” she emphasized.

  Blake put down the bedding he’d gotten from the hall closet upstairs. There was a pillow, a blanket and two sheets. He nodded at the sagging stack. “Will you need anything else?”

  “I don’t think I’ll even need this.” Pulling the blanket out of the pile, she held it out to him. “It doesn’t get cold this time of year,” she explained tactfully.

  He knew that. Did she think he lived in a bubble? “That was to put on top of the seat cushions and under the sheet to make it more comfortable for you—but I forgot, you don’t want to be comfortable.”

  Ignoring the slight sarcastic tone, Greer continued to hold the blanket out to him. “I appreciate the thought, Judge.”

  Alexander seemed to realize the inequity of the situation. “Shouldn’t there be two of you?” he wanted to know.

  “Don’t think the world is ready for that,” Blake muttered under his breath.

  Overhearing, Greer grinned before she could think better of it. “Once the dust settles, the arrangement will be reviewed,” she assured the older man. “Most likely, my partner will be sharing the assignment.”

  Tufted eyebrows rose in hopeful query. “Another woman?”

  Greer shook her head. “Sorry to disappoint you, Gunny. Not even on his best day.” Taking the fitted sheet, she tucked it around the three seat cushions, swiftly preparing a makeshift bed for when she needed to use it. “You can go about your regular routine,” she told the two men when neither of them moved but continued watching her. “Pretend I’m not even here. Think of me the way you think of your security system.”

  Blake took the opportunity to leave the room. He had work waiting for him in his den.

  “Never thought of the security system as having killer legs,” Alexander said, half to himself, half to her.

  Greer laughed. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone ever said to me,” she told the older Kincannon. The man cleared his throat and grumbled under his breath in an attempt to disguise the fact that her response pleased him.

  “You up to watching some TV?” Alexander wanted to know as he reached for the remote control.

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” she told him agreeably. Gunny sat down in the corner of the sofa he favored. After a beat, Greer joined him.

  Fifteen seconds later, after the initial warm-up period, a commercial for a popular orange juice was literally splashed across the forty-six-inch flat screen. It was gone in an instant as Alexander, employing the remote, began channel surfing.

  Suddenly, he seemed to realize that he wasn’t alone. Grudgingly, Gunny held out the remote to her.

  Rather than take it, Greer shook her head. “You’re doing just fine without me.”

  “You don’t mind my flying through the channels?” he asked, surprised.

  “Your house, your prerogative,” Greer told him, paraphrasing what his son had said to her when he refused to stay in the courtroom but joined her in trying to run down the escaping prisoner.

  Fresh admiration entered the bright blue eyes as they crinkled. “You’re all right, O’Brien.” Alexander chuckled.

  “Thank you.” She inclined her head in acknowledgment of his words. “I take that as a very high compliment, Gunny.”

  He made a small, dismissive noise, uncomfortable with anything remotely resembling gratitude. “That’s the way it was intended. Now watch the screen,” he instructed gruffly, pointing toward the monitor with his remote.

  Unable to concentrate because of the woman who was spending the night in his house, Blake gave up trying to work a little more than an hour into what had turned out to be a futile endeavor.

  Biting off an oath, he closed the law book he’d been searching through—using books had always been far more satisfying to him than searching for information on the Internet. Try as he might, he still couldn’t bring himself to trust something he couldn’t hold in his hand.

  Picking the fat tome up, he was about to place it back on the shelf behind his desk when he stopped. He’d leave it on his desk until tomorrow, he decided. With any luck, he’d be able to get his thoughts together then.

  With a little more luck than that, he’d be minus one houseguest.

  Not that, under a completely different set of circumstances, he wouldn’t have found her startlingly attractive. He would and, if he were being strictly honest with himself, he did. There were times when he felt that her incredibly light blue eyes saw right through him. She had the face of an angel, albeit a sexy angel, and a body made for sin.

  Detective Greer O’Brien was definitely not a run-of-the-mill, ordinary woman who he could easily come across any day of the week.

  He didn’t know of any women who were willing to take a bullet for him.

  But as noble as that might be, it also pointed to the fact that she was impulsive and impetuous. Which made her an unknown element in his life. He really didn’t need that. And the sooner she was gone, the sooner he could get on with his life—such as it was.

  Blake sighed. He found her presence in his house disturbing on so many levels. Until O’Brien had come crashing into him, landing on top as she brought him down, he’d thought that he’d completely shut down after Margaret’s death. Shut down as a man. If he had needs, they were on such a deep, faraway level that he was not aware of them.

  Or hadn’t been until this morning.

  Something else to hold against Detective O’Brien, he thought with another sigh.

  Getting up, Blake crossed to the den’s threshold and shut off the light. He could literally feel the tension. It was riding roughshod throughout his whole body, making his neck and shoulders ache as well as unsettling various other parts of him, physically and emotionally.

  He really didn’t need this.

  What he did need was a good night’s sleep. Maybe that would help him put some of this to rest. But as he started to go toward the stairs, he paused. He could hear the TV in the living room. It sounded like a Western.<
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  Was his father still up?

  Curiosity had Blake making his way into the living room. As he’d suspected, his father was still up. Or rather, propped up. The crusty old man had nodded off, as was his habit sometimes.

  And he’d been right about the TV program. There was some old, classic Western playing on the set. His father favored Westerns, complaining that the current crop of filmmakers didn’t have a clue how to make a decent one. For last Christmas, he’d gifted the old man with a complete DVD collection of John Wayne’s more famous Westerns. Alexander Kincannon knew the dialogue to every one of them.

  “You don’t have to keep watching that,” Blake told his unwanted houseguest as he walked up behind her. “My father’s asleep.”

  She smiled, looking at her dozing companion. There was a note of affection in her voice as she told Blake, “He lasted about fifteen minutes. It’s probably the food. Eating as much as he did tonight makes a person sleepy.”

  “So does being in his early seventies,” the judge pointed out. Right now, he mused, it was hard to believe that he was looking at a decorated war hero. His father seemed so docile. “I’ll take him up to bed,” he told her, stooping for a moment so that he could take one of his father’s arms and slip it over his shoulders for leverage. He rose slowly, bringing the man up with him. The channel on the set remained the same. Still asleep, his father grunted as Blake brought him to his feet. “I said you didn’t have to watch that,” he told Greer again.

  “I heard you, Judge.” She made no effort to reach for the remote. “I happen to like Westerns.”

  One arm tucked around his father’s midriff, the other holding the man’s arm over his shoulders, Blake paused for a moment, studying her.

  And then he shook his head. “You’re a strange woman, Detective O’Brien.”

  Greer flashed a grin. “I’ve been told that. And if we’re going to be housemates for a few days, you might as well call me Greer. It’s less cumbersome on the tongue.” The word tongue set his imagination off before he could rein it in. Like slowly running his along the slope of her neck—and parts beyond. A warmth came over him. He wasn’t having very pillar-of-the-community-like thoughts.