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Jack's Christmas Mission
Jack's Christmas Mission

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Jack's Christmas Mission

Язык: Английский
Год издания: 2018
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When Kayla shook her head, her halo of chestnut-brown curls bounced about her moon-pie face. “It’s not either of them. Ross is such a sweet guy and Mr. Morgan is super-nice. They both adore Peggy Jo.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Jack patted his Stetson on his leg. “So, Chet Compton is your only suspect?”

“I didn’t say that. I just said it might be him. But if I were a betting person, I’d put my money on either Buck Forbes or Tia Tuesday.”

“According to my files, Buck Forbes is Miss Peggy Jo’s ex-husband, so I can see why you’d consider him a suspect, but who is Tia Tuesday?”

“Tia? She’s the airhead bimbo on a local rival station who has an exercise-and-fitness show on at the same time Self-Made Woman airs. Our show has been beating hers in the ratings ever since her show debuted last year, and the woman has made no secret that she despises Peggy Jo. She’s been saying some pretty mean things ever since Peggy Jo’s show got picked up for national syndication.”

“Is that it?” Jack asked. “Anybody else?”

“Those are the only people I know about, but couldn’t the stalker be somebody Peggy Jo doesn’t know?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, that’s always a possibility.” He patted Kayla on the shoulder. “Thanks for you help.”

“Anytime. I’d do anything for Peggy Jo.”

Jack glanced back at the set where his client was finishing up the last shot of the segment with the dietician. As soon as the spot concluded, Peggy Jo shook hands with her guest and thanked her profusely, then turned and walked off the set. She came straight toward Jack, walking with a confident strut, as if she owned the world. There was something downright appealing about a woman who was that self-assured. He couldn’t help wondering if her cocksure attitude was for real or just for show.

“You weren’t interrogating Kayla, were you?” Peggy Jo asked, her voice slightly on edge.

“I asked her a few questions,” Jack said, his tone defensive. “After all, she is your assistant and I thought she might have some insight into who your stalker might be.”

“Let me guess—her number-one suspect is Tia Tuesday.” Laughing softly, Peggy Jo shook her head. “Tia might dislike me, but she isn’t my stalker. For one thing the woman can’t go anywhere in Chattanooga without being recognized. Believe me she has the most recognizable boobs in town.”

“Ah, one of those.” Jack couldn’t stop the wide grin that spread across his face. “But even the most recognizable boobs in Chattanooga could hire somebody to do her dirty work for her.”

“Okay, you’re right.” Peggy Jo reached out to touch his arm, but paused, her hand in midair. “Look, we’ll talk on my lunch break. Right now, I need to freshen my makeup and glance over the information on my next guest, a counselor who’s going to discuss dealing with depression during the holidays.”

Jack nodded, then when she headed toward the door that opened into the corridor that led to her office, he followed her. The minute she realized he was marching along behind her, she stopped and turned to face him.

“I’m just going to the powder room,” she said.

“Where you go, I go.”

“You are not going into the bathroom with me!”

“No, but I’ll be standing guard right outside. So just holler if you need me.”

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Mr. Parker. I hardly think I’ll be accosted in the bathroom. And I’m perfectly capable of doing anything I need to do in there without your assistance.”

With that said, she turned and stomped down the hallway, shoved open the door to her office and made a beeline straight to her private bathroom. Jack leaned against the doorjamb, crossed one ankle over the other and waited.

Usually an optimist, Jack didn’t understand why he couldn’t shake this pessimistic feeling he had that things with Miss Peggy Jo were bound to get worse. It was clear as the nose on his face that the woman was determined to dislike him. And even though she was well-known as a feminist, he didn’t think she hated all men. No, her feelings of animosity toward him were personal. But what could it be about him that rubbed her the wrong way? He wasn’t bad looking. He was fairly smart. And he had a likable personality. Most ladies found him downright irresistible.

Heck, maybe he reminded her of her ex-husband in some way. If that were the case, he’d just have to show Miss Peggy Jo that he wasn’t anything like Buck Forbes. He’d never struck a woman in his entire life, not even with provocation. Why, he’d rather cut off his right hand than to ever hit a member of the fair sex.

Jack noticed a shadow outside the office door. Just as he took a step forward, a perky young lady carrying a bouquet of red roses came prancing into the room.

“A delivery for Ms. Riley,” she said.

“Do you work here or are you delivering for the florist?” Jack asked, wondering if the station’s security people had allowed a delivery person to simply walk into Peggy Jo’s private office.

“I work for Humphrey’s Florist,” she replied.

Jack growled under his breath.

“Sir, is something wrong?”

“No. At least nothing that’s your fault.”

“Where shall I put these?”

“Set them on the desk.” He inclined his head toward the ornate cherry desk.

She hurriedly placed the arrangement on the desk, and when Jack reached for his wallet, she shook her head. “It’s already been taken care of by the person who sent them.”

The minute the woman left, Jack walked across the room, snatched the attached card from the flowers and opened the small envelope. But before he could look at the card, Peggy Jo emerged from the bathroom, took one look at the roses and cursed.

“Damn! Get those things out of here. Right now!” She glared at the gorgeous floral arrangement as if it were a grotesque two-headed snake.

“You want these roses tossed out?” he asked. “You don’t even know who they’re from.”

“I don’t care who sent them,” she said. “Anyone who knows me well enough to be sending me flowers would know better than to send me red roses.”

An alarm went off in Jack’s head. He glanced at the card he held in his hand. Hellfire! Peggy Jo’s sicko stalker had no doubt sent the flowers.

“What does it say?” she asked.

He hesitated, then lifted his gaze and looked her square in the eye. “‘Red roses for a dead lady.’”

Her mouth rounded in a soundless gasp. “They’re from him.”

“It would appear so.” Jack stuck the note in his pocket, then lifted the clear glass vase and dumped vase, flowers, water and all into the nearby wastebasket. “I’ll contact the florist and see if they have any idea who the sender was.”

“Do you think they’ll know?” Peggy Jo stood ramrod stiff as she gazed at the wastebasket.

“Probably not. Our stalker will be smart enough not to give himself away by letting himself be identified by the florist.”

Why the hell did she keep staring at the discarded flowers? It was as if they held her under some sort of demonic spell. What was the significance of red roses? And why did she hate the one flower that most women adored?

“Miss Peggy Jo?”

“What?” Still she continued to stare, as if hypnotized by the floral arrangement that she had told him to deep six.

“How about filling me in on the fascination you have for those dumped flowers?”

She snapped her head around and all but growled at him. “I’m not fascinated, I’m repulsed.”

“Why?”

“Why? How can you ask such a question. The person who is tormenting me sent those flowers, and you ask me why they repulse me.”

“You told me to get rid of the roses before you knew who they were from. Come on, level with me. Remember I’m the one guy you’re supposed to be able to trust.”

With her gaze boring a hole into him, she said, “My ex-husband used to send me red roses to apologize. Every time Buck beat the hell out of me, he sent me red roses the next day and a note saying ‘I’m sorry.’”

Chapter 3

J ack sat beside Peggy Jo as she drove along the busy downtown street in the late-afternoon rush-hour traffic. He hadn’t been surprised when she had rejected his offer to drive. Just another example of her I-gotta-be-in-charge-at-all-times attitude. He had turned in his rental car and explained to his client the necessity of him being with her at all times, and that most definitely included when she was en route to and from work. Her stalker knew where she worked and probably knew where she lived. It would be a simple matter for him—or her—to follow Peggy Jo, perhaps even to cause a minor accident in order to force Peggy Jo out of her car. There were so many clever ways for a stalker to make personal contact with his or her victim. Although everyone, including the client herself, believed her harasser to be male, Jack wasn’t ready to rule out the possibility that the culprit might be female. It would be easy enough for a woman to hire a man to make the phone calls for her.

Despite Peggy Jo’s adamant assurance that it was highly unlikely that her ex-husband was her stalker, Jack put Buck Forbes at the top of the list. When he’d suggested that Forbes should be considered as their number-one suspect, Peggy Jo had reminded him that she hadn’t seen or heard from her ex in thirteen years, so why would he suddenly begin harassing her? Put like that, it didn’t make much sense. But stranger things had been known to happen, so getting the police and the Dundee Agency to check out Buck Forbes was a top priority. Of course, the upcoming Thanksgiving holidays might slow things down a bit. That and the fact that the local police department had been less than cooperative.

The drive across the Market Street Bridge from the downtown business district to North Chattanooga took them across the Tennessee River. Sunset came early in late November, so the streetlights were already shining brightly, eliminating the darkness as Peggy Jo and Jack made their way toward home.

“So, how long have you lived here?” Jack asked.

“Here in Chattanooga or here at my present address?”

“Both.”

“I was born and raised here,” she replied. “But you must already know that. Surely your file of information on me states those mundane facts.”

“I’m trying to make conversation,” Jack said. “You know, just being friendly. Trying to break the ice.”

“This isn’t a date, Mr. Parker.” She cut her eyes in his direction for a brief glower, then returned her gaze to the road ahead. “There’s no need for idle chitchat.”

“Look, hon—Miss Peggy Jo, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together during the next few weeks or longer, so it might be nice for both of us if we tried to get along, if we made an effort to like each other.”

He felt rather than saw her tense. What was it with this gal? Had an abusive husband turned her off so completely that she couldn’t even be civil to a man? She was like a spooked filly who didn’t want any human hands on her.

“So, tell me about him,” Jack said.

“About who?”

“Your ex-husband. All I’ve got in my files is his name, the dates of your marriage and divorce. Stuff like that.”

“What do you want to know?” Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Do you want to know how many times he beat me, how many times he told me what a stupid, ugly, fat, worthless piece of trash I was? Or would you like to hear the gory details of how he nearly killed me? How he did kill our unborn child?” Her voice cracked at this last admission.

Jack’s guts knotted painfully. The very thought that a man would raise a hand to a woman, let alone beat her, enraged Jack. God help him, if he could get his hands on Buck Forbes right this minute, he might kill him. He knew he’d sure like to give the sorry bastard a taste of what he’d given Peggy Jo. The man had actually hit his pregnant wife!

“You lost a child because of—”

“I was four months pregnant. I came home fifteen minutes late from my job as a receptionist, and he accused me of cheating on him with my boss. The accusation was ridiculous, of course, but that didn’t matter. He beat me until I was unconscious. I woke up several hours later in the hospital. I’d suffered a miscarriage.”

“God, honey, I’m sorry.” Jack’s hand reached for her in the semidarkness inside her car, but the moment he touched her, she cringed. He removed his hand instantly. He’d read in his file on her about the miscarriage, but hadn’t known it was a result of her husband’s brutality.

“I had put up with his cruelty for over three years. But after that night, I went to a shelter for abused women and I filed for a divorce.”

“All men aren’t like Buck Forbes.” Jack felt the need to defend his sex, to convince her that most men weren’t savage animals.

“I’m well aware of the fact that there are a lot of good, kind, loyal and loving men in the world. I just didn’t happen to have one of them for a father or a husband.”

Before Jack could respond, she pulled the Chrysler Sebring into the driveway of a large Craftsman-style house. The old house had a real sense of hominess to it, as if it had been built to accommodate a large family. He had noticed that the neighborhood, which was in the Riverview area, was comprised of both large and small houses, some neatly remodeled and others still in need of repair. His information on her residence stated that she lived in an older section of the city that was part of a mass renovation project.

Peggy Jo turned to face Jack. “Before we go inside, we need to go over a few ground rules.”

“Shoot.” Jack studied her face by the soft light of the nearby streetlight. An odd little spasm tightened inside him and he wondered at the cause.

“You’re a guest in my home, a temporary visitor.” She paused as if uncertain how to explain. “You’ll be treated with hospitality, of course, but…don’t try to ingratiate yourself to my housekeeper, Hetty, or to my daughter.”

Jack stared at her, puzzled by her statement. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me. In what way do you want me not to ingratiate myself to your housekeeper or your daughter? Are you saying don’t be charming, don’t make friends?”

“Exactly—don’t make friends. You’re a transitory fixture in our lives, and I don’t want Hetty trying to make something personal out of a relationship that is strictly business. And I certainly don’t want Wendy becoming attached to you in any way.”

Realization dawned. “Ah. I understand. You don’t want me playing daddy to your daughter. And you don’t want the housekeeper trying to play matchmaker for us.” Jack chuckled. Lordy. Lordy. He’d known some uptight women in his life, but Miss Peggy Jo sure did take the cake. Not only was she cautious and afraid for herself, but for her child, too. Poor little girl. And to be honest, he wasn’t sure whether he was referring to Wendy Riley or her mother.

“Just do the job you’ve been hired to do and keep your Southern charm to yourself.” With that said, Peggy Jo opened her car door, got out and rounded the hood.

Jack followed quickly, up the steps and onto the large wraparound porch. Before they reached the front door, it opened to reveal a stout, gray-haired woman standing just inside the foyer.

“Come on in, you two,” the housekeeper said, smiling broadly. “It’s getting cold out there.” She ushered them inside hurriedly, then held out her hand. “Let me take your jacket and hat, Mr. Parker.”

So, this was Hetty, Jack thought. A motherly type. Round and cheerful and fussing over them like a mother hen.

He handed her his denim jacket and black Stetson. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Her smile widened until it reached from ear to ear, deepening the faint lines around her brown eyes and in her rosy cheeks. “You can call me Hetty. I’m the housekeeper and nanny around here, but Peggy Jo will tell you that we’re all family in this house.”

“Nice to meet you, Hetty.” Jack offered her his hand. “You can call me Jack.”

Hetty hung his coat and hat on the ornate oak hall tree, then took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “I’m sure glad to meet you, young fella. We’re glad to have you with us. I’ve been telling Peggy Jo for months now that her crazy admirer wasn’t going away and what we needed—what she needed—was a man around here.”

“Well, Hetty, I’m your man.” Jack winked at her.

Hetty giggled. “My, my, I like you already.”

“If you two are finished with your mutual admiration society meeting…” Peggy Jo said with a look of exasperation.

“Oh, just ignore her,” Hetty said. “Come on in and meet the real boss around here.”

Peggy Jo sighed, then asked, “Where is Wendy?”

“She’s eating supper in the kitchen,” Hetty replied.

“Why is she eating now? She knew I’d be home in time for us to eat together.”

Hetty smiled, then glanced over at Jack. “Wendy had me set up things in the dining room for you and our guest, so the two of you could have supper together.”

“What!” Peggy Jo’s eyes narrowed to slits as she frowned.

“Don’t go fussing at her,” Hetty said. “She can’t help being excited. It’s the first time her mama has brought a man home with her.”

“This is ridiculous. I told her plainly that Mr. Parker is an employee, hired by me to…to watch over me.” Peggy Jo marched through the living room and into the dining room.

As Jack and Hetty followed, Hetty said, “You should know, for future reference, that her bark is much worse than her bite.”

“Yeah, I figured as much,” Jack replied. “But she sure does have a mighty fierce bark, doesn’t she?”

“Candles!” Peggy Jo shrieked. “Soft lighting, our best china, crystal and silver. Hetty Ballard, what sort of nonsense have you been putting in Wendy’s head about Mr. Parker and me?”

Nonplussed by the accusation against her, Hetty plopped a wide, meaty hand on her hip. “You’re accusing me unjustly. I’ve kept my mouth shut the whole livelong day. Wendy came up with this idea all on her own. And don’t you dare scold her, and I mean it. She thinks we’ve done something really special for you, and she can keep on thinking that if you don’t spoil this for her.”

“But I can’t let her think that there’s anything romantic going on between Mr. Parker and me,” Peggy Jo said. “I thought she understood last night when I explained the situation to her.”

“She’s a six-year-old who doesn’t have a daddy, and no matter what you tell her about Mr. Parker—” Hetty grinned “—about Jack, she’s going to hope…”

“I’ll have to speak with her again.” Peggy Jo headed for the kitchen. “We can’t have her dreaming up some romance—”

Hetty grabbed Peggy Jo’s arm, halting her. “Don’t spoil this for her. Not tonight. Save your talk for tomorrow. One day can’t hurt.”

Jack could tell that Peggy Jo was mulling the matter over in her mind, going through a battle trying to decide. Maybe he should step in and handle this situation.

“How about letting me talk to Wendy?” Jack suggested. “After you and I enjoy dinner by candlelight.”

Peggy Jo sighed; her shoulders drooped in defeat. “All right. I’ll wait until after dinner. But, Mr. Parker, I will explain your presence in our lives, in our home, to Wendy. Not you.”

If Hetty hadn’t become like a member of the family these past six years, Peggy Jo would fire her. Ever since Wendy started asking why she didn’t have a daddy, Hetty had spurred the child on in her requests for a father. And Hetty knew good and well that she never intended to remarry.

“Come on out to the kitchen and meet my daughter,” Peggy Jo said to Jack Parker, then glanced at Hetty. “Go ahead and serve dinner for us here in the dining room. But only tonight. If in the future Wendy comes up with any more nonsense like this, you’re not to encourage her.”

Peggy Jo couldn’t be truly angry with her daughter. She understood how much a father meant to a little girl—and to a big girl, too. Sometimes she felt guilty that she wasn’t able to give Wendy something as important as a father. To this day she missed her own father almost as much as she missed her mother. One of the most difficult things she had coped with in the therapy sessions she’d had during her time at the shelter and for years afterward, had been accepting the fact that although her father had still been alive during her difficult marriage, he hadn’t been able to be a real part of her life.

The moment she entered the kitchen, Wendy jumped up and came barreling toward Peggy Jo, then lifted her arms and cried out, “Mommy, you’re home!”

Peggy Jo picked up the fifty pounds of adorable mischief, who immediately straddled her legs around Peggy Jo’s waist. The two exchanged a big bear hug, then Wendy giggled as she stared at the man who came through the doorway directly behind Hetty.

“Are you the man who’s going to look after my mommy?” Wendy asked, squirming to be put down.

Peggy Jo obliged her by setting her back in the chair at the table. “This is Mr. Parker, the gentleman I told you I’d hired. He’s going to be our guest for a while.” Peggy Jo pointed to the plate of food in front of Wendy. “Now that you’ve met him, you can finish your supper and then one hour of TV before your bath.”

“Hey, there, Mr. Parker.” Wendy lifted her fork, but she didn’t take her eyes off Jack.

“Howdy, there, Miss Wendy.” He came forward, crouched to his haunches and shook hands with Wendy. “It’s mighty nice to meet you.”

“You know what—you talk like a cowboy.” Wendy hunched her shoulders and covered her mouth to smother a giggle.

Jack petted her under the chin, which made her giggle more. “Well, little darling, that’s because I am a cowboy. Born and raised in Texas on my daddy’s ranch.”

“You’ve got a daddy? Does he still live on his ranch?”

Peggy Jo noticed a flicker of something in Jack’s eyes, a momentary sadness mixed with something else. But the emotion lingered for no more than a flash. If she hadn’t been staring right at him, she would have missed the instant reaction to the mention of his father.

“Wendy, you’re being much too personal,” Peggy Jo said. “Mind your manners.”

Jack smiled at Wendy. “It’s okay, darling, you didn’t say anything wrong. The answer is yes, I had a daddy, but he died when I was thirteen.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Enough talk, missy,” Hetty said. “You finish off your pot roast, and as soon as I serve your mama and Mr. Park— Jack their supper in the dining room, I’ll cut you a piece of my jam cake.”

“Jam cake?” Jack rose to his feet and drew in a deep breath as if smelling the aroma of the special dessert.

“Made from scratch. My own dear mama’s recipe,” Hetty said.

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Jack sighed dramatically. “Living in the house with three beautiful ladies and having jam cake on my first night here.”

Wendy and Hetty both cooed, like captivated fools. Jack Parker was a charmer all right. A snake charmer! He might have the other two “beautiful ladies” eating out of his hand before nightfall, but he didn’t impress her one bit. However, Peggy Jo reluctantly admitted that she’d have to be on guard. She had a sneaky feeling that Jack’s Texas sweet-talk had a way of wearing down a woman’s resistance, judging by the heat she felt inside her body. Heat that had nothing to do with her temper, she realized.

After dinner alone together in the candlelit dining room, Peggy Jo showed Jack upstairs. The food was the best he’d eaten in years. Hetty sure was a good cook. But the company had left a great deal to be desired. No matter how hard he tried to be captivating and witty, his efforts failed with Miss Peggy Jo. She was determined to remain unaffected by the charisma that had lured many a good ole gal straight into his arms. Of course, he didn’t want this particular gal in his arms. All he wanted was to make his job a little easier by putting her at ease around him. Undoubtedly, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Peggy Jo Riley had constructed a ten-foot barbed-wire fence around herself, and only a fool would try trespassing. And Jack was nobody’s fool.

As he followed her upstairs, he heard the sound of childish laughter and splashing water. Hetty was probably giving Wendy her bath. Peggy Jo led him down the hall and into a large, neatly decorated room that had been painted an odd shade of brown. Sort of a reddish brown. The heavy wooden furniture appeared to be antique. Either that or really good reproduction pieces. He strolled in and took a good look around. He liked it just fine.

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