A Man of Means. Diana Palmer
to be in jail for longer than three days,’’ the officer said firmly. ‘‘You get to the hospital and let one of the residents look at you, Miss Johns. How bad is it? Come on, show me,’’ he demanded, moving closer.
Rey stood by, silent and confused, watching as Meredith winced and moved the bulky cloth away from her face. His breath was audible when he saw the swelling and the growing purple and violet discoloration around her eye, cheek and jaw.
‘‘God Almighty,’’ Rey said harshly. ‘‘What did he hit you with?’’
‘‘His fist,’’ the policeman replied coldly. ‘‘And it isn’t the first time. You have to face facts, Miss Johns,’’ he told her. ‘‘He isn’t the man he used to be. When he drinks, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’ll kill you one night when he’s like this, and he won’t even remember doing it!’’
‘‘I won’t press charges,’’ she said miserably. ‘‘How can I? He’s my father! He’s the only family I have left in the world….’’
The policeman looked at her with compassion. ‘‘You don’t have to press charges,’’ he told her. ‘‘I’ll provide them myself. You’d better phone your boss and tell him you won’t be in for a few weeks. He’ll have kittens if you walk into the office looking like that.’’
‘‘I suppose he would.’’ Tears ran down her pale cheeks, all the more eloquent for being silent. She looked at her raging, cursing father and sadness claimed her features. ‘‘He wasn’t like this before, honest he wasn’t,’’ she told them. ‘‘He was a kind, loving, caring man.’’
‘‘Not anymore,’’ Officer Sanders replied grimly. ‘‘Get to the hospital and have your face seen about, Miss Johns. I’ll take your father outside until the unit comes…’’
‘‘No,’’ she groaned. ‘‘Please, spare us that! I can’t bear to have the whole neighborhood watching, hearing him…like that, again!’’
He hesitated. ‘‘Okay. I’ll watch for them out the window. The unit can drop you by the hospital, since it’s going there first….’’
‘‘I’ll take her,’’ Rey said at once, without wondering why he should do such an about-face. He didn’t trust the woman, or even totally believe her story. But she did look so pitiful. He couldn’t bear to leave her in that condition to get to the hospital. Besides, whatever her motives, she had gotten help for Leo. He could have died if he hadn’t been cared for.
‘‘But…’’ she began.
‘‘If,’’ he added coldly, ‘‘you change clothes first. I am not being seen in public with you in that rig!’’
Two
Meredith wished she felt up to a fight. Her long blond hair was down in her face, her grey eyes were sparking fire. But she was sick to her stomach and bruised. She would rather have gone to bed if these stubborn men would just have let her alone. But her face could have broken or shattered bones. She knew that. She grimaced, hoping her insurance would cover a second ‘‘accident’’ in as many months.
When the unit arrived, Meredith turned away from the sight of her raging father being carried off and closed the door. Probably it wasn’t surprising to the neighbors anymore, it happened so often. But she hated having everyone know.
‘‘I’ll get dressed,’’ she said in a subdued tone.
Rey watched her go and then shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around the room. It was shabby. The only bright things in it were books—hundreds of them, in bookcases and boxes and stacked on tables and chairs. Odd, he thought. They were apparently short of cash, judging by the worn old furniture and bare floor. There was only a very small television and a portable stereo. He glanced at the CD case and was surprised to find classical music dominating the discs. What a peculiar family. Why have so many books and so little else? He wondered where the woman’s mother was. Had she left the father, and was that why he drank? It would have explained a lot. He knew about missing parents, especially missing mothers—his had left the family while the five Hart boys were young, without a backward glance.
Minutes later, Meredith came back, and except for the bruised face, he might not have recognized her. She was wearing a beige sweater set, with a tweed coat over it. Her blond hair was in a neat bun and her face devoid of makeup. She wore flat-heeled shoes and carried a purse that looked new.
‘‘Here’s your brother’s cell phone and his wallet,’’ she said, handing it to him. ‘‘I forgot to give them to Officer Sanders.’’
He glared at them and put them in his pocket. He wondered if she’d have given them back at all if he hadn’t come here. He didn’t trust her, regardless of what the policeman had said. ‘‘Let’s go,’’ he said stiffly. ‘‘The car’s outside.’’
She hesitated, but only for a minute. She wasn’t going to be able to avoid a checkup. She knew the problems that negligence could cause. Even a relatively minor problem could become major.
Unexpectedly Rey opened the car door for her. She slid in, surprised to find herself in a new luxury car. She fastened her seat belt. His brother, Simon Hart, was state attorney general. Rey owned a ranch. She remembered how his injured brother, Leo, had been dressed last night, and her eyes went to Rey’s expensive hat and boots and silk shirt. Of course, they were a wealthy family. Considering her state of dress—or undress—the night before, she could understand his misgivings about her character.
She sat wearily beside him, the ice-filled cloth still in her hand. She held it to the side of her face that was bruised and hoped that it would spare her some of the swelling. She didn’t need a doctor to tell her that it was a bad blow. The pain was almost unbearable.
‘‘I took a hit to the face a few years ago in a brawl,’’ he volunteered in his deep, slow drawl. ‘‘It hurt like hell. I imagine your face does, too.’’
She swallowed, touched by the faint concern. Tears threatened, but she never cried now. It was a weakness she couldn’t afford.
He glanced at her, puzzled. ‘‘Nothing to say?’’
She managed to get her voice under control. ‘‘Thank you for taking me to the hospital,’’ she said huskily.
‘‘Do you usually dress like that when you go out at night?’’ he asked belatedly.
‘‘I told you. There was…a Halloween party,’’ she said. It hurt to talk. ‘‘It was the only costume I had.’’
‘‘Do you like parties?’’ he asked sarcastically.
‘‘My first one…in almost four years,’’ she managed to say. ‘‘Please…hurts…to talk.’’
He glanced at her and then was quiet. He didn’t like her. He didn’t trust her. Why was he taking care of her? There was something unexpectedly vulnerable about her. But she had spirit.
He walked her into the emergency room. She filled out forms and was ushered back into a treatment cubicle while Rey sat in the waiting room between a squalling toddler and a man coughing his head off. He wasn’t used to illness. He’d never seen much of it, and he didn’t know how to cope with it. Accidents, sure, he was a good hand in an emergency, and there were plenty on a ranch. But he hated hospitals.
Meredith came back a good thirty minutes later with a prescription and a frown.
‘‘What did he say?’’ he asked conversationally.
She shrugged. ‘‘He gave me something…for pain,’’ she said, waving the prescription.
‘‘They sent me to a plastic surgeon,’’ he volunteered as they went through the automatic door.
She didn’t speak.
‘‘I