The No. 1 Sheriff in Texas. Patricia Thayer
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the file. “It seems that a few days before your attack, you attended a woman who came in with multiple bruises, laceration to her face and a broken arm. All done by the work of her husband.”
Nora nodded. “Karen Carlson. She was in bad shape. We had to keep her overnight.”
Brandon looked over his notes. “A nurse, Beth Hunt, told me you sat at Karen’s bedside because she was so afraid her husband, a Pete Carlson, would come to get her.”
Her blue eyes lit up. “Have you found him?”
His heart tripped and he had to glance away to concentrate. “Not yet. But you convinced Mrs. Carlson to go into a shelter.”
Nora blinked. “You think it was her husband who attacked me?”
“He could have.” Brandon pulled a picture out of the folder. “Does this man look familiar?”
Nora studied the mug shot. “He’s burly, but I can’t say for sure.” She handed it back. “Are you going to arrest him?”
“First, we have to find him. But, yes, he has a long rap sheet. He likes to drink and fight, not caring if it’s a man or a woman.”
“But he’ll be arrested?” she asked again.
He nodded. “For his attack on his wife. I need to talk to Mrs. Carlson, first. Would you be willing to go with me?”
“Isn’t that your job, Detective?”
“Under the circumstances, I think she’ll be more willing to give me information with you there. Twice before she’s dropped the charges against the man.”
It hadn’t taken much to see that Nora Donnelly was uncomfortable. She didn’t trust easily. Was it just him, or all men? Had a man hurt her before? Her husband?
“I don’t know how I can help.”
“All I want is for you to talk with Karen.”
Those large eyes locked with his momentarily. Damn, it was hard not to react to her.
She glanced at the wall clock. “Okay, I’ll go, but I’ll need to be back before three-thirty. My son will need his medication.”
“Is he sick?”
“He’s diabetic.”
Brandon wasn’t sure how to respond to that. That had to be rough for the kid, and the mother. He stood. “Then we’ll make sure we’re back in time. Even if I have to use lights and siren.” He smiled, but she didn’t.
Nora stood and went to get a sweater and her purse, then returned to the entry. He reached for the doorknob as she did and their hands touched. She jerked back.
“Whoa, Nora,” he said softly. “I’m not going to hurt you. And I’m not going to let your attacker hurt you, either.”
Her gaze met his, but she quickly glanced away, murmuring, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Nora looked out the window of the patrol car. Brandon Randell had kept a conversation going during the twenty-minute drive. She didn’t want any small talk, or more questions she couldn’t answer. Her life could depend on not letting anyone find out her secrets.
Then Brandon turned off the highway onto a tree-lined road. About a quarter mile up they came to a wrought-iron gate. He stopped, rolled down the window and punched in a code on the keypad, then the gate swung open. He continued along the circular driveway toward a sprawling two-story brick and cedar building with black shutters on the rows of double-hung windows.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “This doesn’t look anything like a shelter!”
Brandon smiled. “It was planned that way.” He released his seat belt and climbed out.
Brandon Randell strolled around the car, giving her time to pull it together. The closeness in the car had made her very aware of this man; it was difficult not to be distracted by this good-looking cowboy type.
Nora chided herself for even giving the man a second thought. She opened her door and got out, allowing the cool breeze to brush against her heated face.
A huge fountain adorned with cherub angels caught her attention. The refreshing sound of rushing water had her walking toward the grassy knoll with an array of colorful flowers and shrubs. She looked down to see the plaque that read Abby’s Garden. Special thanks to Abigail Randell for her work and dedication to Hidden Haven House.”
She felt Brandon’s presence behind her. “Is she a relative?”
He nodded. “My mother. She helped design and build this place. It took her nearly twenty years to get it completed.”
The night of the attack, Nora had heard the nurses talking about the affluent ranching family that gave back to the community. The topic quickly turned to the handsome Randell men.
Nora stole a glance at Brandon. She couldn’t deny that he was good-looking, but she sure wasn’t going to do anything about it, either. She had no desire to get involved with a man again, ever.
Together they started up the walkway to the door where Brandon pressed the button on an intercom. After identifying himself into the speaker, he opened the door.
Inside, the walls of the entry area were painted a sea-foam-green, the marble floors were spotless and fresh flowers were arranged on the pedestal table in the center. They crossed the room to a large desk where an attractive, middle-aged woman smiled as she pulled off her glasses.
“Well, hello, Brandon,” she greeted and looked at his uniform. “I guess I should call you Detective Randell now.”
“Just call me when you bake those delicious oatmeal cookies of yours, Bess.”
“You come out and see us more often and I’ll see what I can do.”
Brandon nodded. “Bess this is Nora Donnelly. She’s a nurse at West Hills.”
The two women exchanged greetings.
“Is it possible for us to see Karen Carlson?” he asked.
Bess nodded. “She’s in the rec hall, but I’ll have someone bring her to the garden room so you’ll have some privacy.”
“Thanks.” Brandon placed his hand under Nora’s elbow and directed her down the hall. Instead of intimidating her, this man’s touch stirred other feelings. Feelings she didn’t want to think about right now. If ever. When they came to a door, he opened it and moved aside for her to enter first.
The room was surprisingly large and beautiful. Light blue walls, antique white furniture and plush mushroom-colored carpeting. A floral sofa rested against one wall, on the opposite was a desk in front of a row of French doors. She walked across the room for a better view of a lattice-covered patio with large plants and flowers. Beyond, was a vast green lawn.
“It’s breathtaking,” she breathed against the glass pane.
There was a knock on the door and Brandon opened it to find Karen Carlson standing on the other side. The woman looked like a frightened deer. Her clothes hung on her thin body, with her bandaged arm in a sling. Her dark blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was only thirty-five, but looked years older.
“I was told to come here,” she said nervously.
“Hello, Mrs. Carlson. I’m Detective Brandon Randell with the sheriff’s department.” He stepped aside. “Do you remember Nurse Donnelly?”
“Hi, Karen.” Nora smiled and went to her. “I’m glad you’re doing so well.”
“Nora.” Karen came into the room and gave a hesitant smile. “You came to see me?”
“That and to talk with you,” Brandon said as he directed the women to the sofa and they sat down. He swiveled a chair around and took his seat.
Brandon