Nothing But Trouble. BEVERLY BARTON
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rang. When the volunteer informed Susan that the call was for her, Tallie followed Peyton outside. But before they made it to the car, Susan stuck her head out the door and called to Tallie.
“Wait up,” Susan said. “Tallie, I need to talk to you for just a minute. It’s important, or I wouldn’t hold you up like this.”
Tallie gave Peyton a questioning look. “Do you mind terribly? I promise I’ll hurry.”
“Two minutes.” Peyton tapped the face of his Rolex.
“Stay, Solomon,” Tallie ordered, then rushed to the entrance of the animal shelter where Susan stood waiting.
Peyton leaned against the side of his car, his tense body striving for relaxation. Reaching inside his coat pocket, he removed his sunglasses and put them on, then crossed his arms over his chest.
He didn’t have time for this delay, whatever the cause. He’d had his secretary clear his calendar for the afternoon because he hadn’t had any idea how long this latest “Tallie rescue” would take. But he and Donna had plans to dine with Marshallton’s mayor tonight. Peyton wanted to get his old friend’s thoughts on the possibility of running for governor in the next election.
Peyton glanced over at Tallie. The late-afternoon sun caught in her raven hair, giving it a blue-black luster. She kept her dark curly hair cropped short, in an almost boyish style, but there was nothing boyish about that baby-doll face, those long, thick eyelashes, that full pink mouth. Damn, why couldn’t she have stayed skinny and flat-chested, the way she’d been at sixteen when she’d professed her undying love and he’d gently rejected her? Somewhere between the age of sixteen, when Caleb, the youngest of the Bishop boys, had left for college on a baseball scholarship and had asked Peyton to look out for his little sister, and the age of eighteen, Tallie Bishop had blossomed. Actually, she’d over-blossomed. Her body had filled out in all the right places, creating an hourglass-shaped body on a petite frame.
Peyton noticed the way her frayed blue jeans clung to her hips and legs. She wore a grease-stained short-sleeved chambray shirt, tucked beneath the waistband in the back and hanging loose in the front. Underneath the unbuttoned shirt, her full breasts strained against a faded yellow T-shirt. On a less well endowed woman, the clothes would have looked masculine. On Tallie, they looked damned sexy. And that was the problem. For the past eight years, men had been ogling Tallie, despite her tomboyish ways. She’d had her pick of most young bucks in the county, dating every good-looking Tom, Dick and Harry. On more than one occasion, she’d coldcocked some overzealous suitor. Trouble sought Tallie the way a moth seeks a flame.
And it wasn’t just the men who couldn’t take no for an answer that caused problems, it was Tallie’s constant interference in other people’s lives. He had to admit that she was a good citizen, working in her spare time as a volunteer fire fighter for Crooked Oak as well as a helper at the Humane Shelter. But more often than not, Tallie let her concern overshadow her better judgment. Case in point—filling Cliff Nolan full of birdshot. But there was always something. Her love for animals had gotten her into trouble with Lobo Smothers, an illiterate farmer suspected of illegal hunting and trapping. Tallie had been doing everything in her power to help the authorities catch him and put him in jail. Needless to say, she and Lobo weren’t the best of friends. And there were her endless efforts to get abused women to leave their husbands and start new lives. Cliff Nolan wasn’t the only husband in Crooked Oak who had a bone to pick with Tallie.
What the hell was Peyton going to do about her if he did decide to run for governor? There was no way the woman would ever change, and having his name linked with hers in connection to one of her wild exploits was bound to damage his image.
His image? His old man had always cared about the Rand family’s image, and it had been one of the things he’d despised about his father. If he did decide to enter politics, would he become more and more like Senator Marshall Rand? His father had died a lonely and unhappy man. Peyton didn’t want to follow in his footsteps.
“Ready?” Tallie asked.
Peyton stared at her, unaware until she’d spoken that she had approached the car. “All finished with Susan?”
“Ah...yeah...just some shelter business.” Tallie opened the passenger door, ordered Solomon inside and slipped into the seat.
Peyton didn’t like the way she’d answered him. She was hiding something. Tallie was so damned honest, the truth showed on her face whenever she tried to lie. Pink spots stained her cheeks. Getting into the Jag, he started the engine. “What sort of business?”
“Huh?”
“What’s up, Tallie?” Peyton backed out of the parking area. “If this is something that’s going to cause me any more problems, then let me hear it now.”
“What makes you think this has anything to do with you?” Sticking out her chin, Tallie crossed her arms under her bosom.
“If it’s not something that could get you into trouble, then why won’t you tell me?” Turning the car onto the highway, Peyton glanced over at Tallie and wished he hadn’t. Her slender, crisscrossed arms had boosted her full breasts up and out, reminding him of how truly female she was.
“An anonymous caller told Susan that he had information about where Lobo Smothers had set up some traps, out toward Kingsley Hill.”
Peyton groaned, then glanced over at Tallie. “Stay out of it. Give the information to Lowell and let him handle it.”
“I could do that, but it won’t do any good. Lobo Smothers always seems to be one step ahead of the law.”
“Lowell Redman is just newly elected. Give him a chance.”
“The last time I shared information with the sheriff’s department, they arrived at the scene to find no traps, and no Lobo. I told you then that Lowell’s got a rat working for him. I just haven’t figured out who it is yet, but I will.”
“Tallie, stay away from Lobo Smothers.” Peyton issued the command in a tight, controlled voice. “The man is dangerous.”
“All the more reason that he should be behind bars! Besides, rumor has it that Lobo is growing marijuana out there in the woods somewhere. If his abuse of animals won’t stir the law into action, maybe his being in the drug racket will.”
“Whatever Lobo Smothers is doing, let the law handle it! Dammit, woman, you’re in enough trouble. In another week or two, you’ll be going to trial for shooting a man full of birdshot. You do realize that if Lowell Redman wasn’t a friend and if Clayburn Proctor didn’t think you were a saint for saving his grandson’s life, you could do some serious jail time for what you did.”
“I was defending a poor, helpless child and a pitiful little dog from a monstrous brute.” Solomon growled as if agreeing with his mistress.
“Tallie, I’ve been getting you out of trouble for years now, and I’m sick and tired of it. I’ve tried to talk reason to you, but you refuse to listen.”
“There’s no need for you to waste any more of your valuable time, Peyton,” Tallie said, refusing to look in his direction. “Just drop Solomon and me off at the garage.”
“Fine. I’m probably running late, as it is.”
“Well, that’s just awful, isn’t it? You sure wouldn’t want to keep Donna Fields waiting.”
“No, I wouldn’t want to keep Donna waiting. Ladies like Donna are accustomed to a certain kind of behavior from the men they date...like being punctual for dinner.”
“Ladies like Donna?” Tallie turned in her seat, stretching the safety belt to its limit when she leaned toward Peyton. “A lady whose grandfather was governor and whose uncle is a federal judge? A lady professor with blue blood in her veins? My, my, a lady like that could do a lot for a man with political aspirations. Just think what a wife she’d make for someone with his eye on the state capitol.”
Peyton glanced at Tallie and then