A Sheriff in Tennessee (20 page)

“That's ridiculous! This picture was from the other night. Someone got lucky. Why is that my fault?”

“Obviously you haven't had time to view what everyone else has.”

Klein opened his newspaper and plopped it on the one she'd been looking at. Isabelle frowned at the pictures of the two of them almost from the moment she'd walked into town, then she raised a very convincing, very puzzled gaze to his.

“Someone's been following us.”

She sounded as confused as he was. But she was an actress, and he had to stick to the facts as he knew them or risk what remained of his self-respect. He'd built it painstakingly over the years—ignoring the slurs, suppressing the heartache, living alone and lonely. Aware that his job, helping others, was all he would ever have. And that was enough; that was what he was good at.

Then Isabelle had come to town, and she'd made him believe for an instant that beauty of the soul meant something to her. He'd let her into his life, and he'd begun to dream. He should have remembered dreams were only for the beautiful people.

“Why would anyone follow us? How could they possibly conceive that they'd see something like this? Everyone in Pleasant Ridge thinks we're pals. Which is just what you wanted them to think.” He threw up his hands. “Hell, I even gave you the headline—Beauty and the Beast. There wasn't any
one else in the room but us when I said that, Isabelle.”

She winced.
Guilty!
his mind shouted, even as his heart bled.

“I'd never do this,” she insisted. “If you believe it, then you don't know me.”

“Does anyone? Do you even know yourself? You're Florence Nightingale, Janet Hayes, Supermodel Susie, Beauty and her Beast.”

“I thought I was Izzy,” she whispered.

“So did I.”

H
E WAS BREAKING
her heart, and he didn't even realize he held it in the palm of his hand. But if he could believe she'd use him, discard him, sell him for a sound bite, then he would never believe that she loved him.

“You've been waiting all along for me to hurt you, just like she did.”

His face closed. He went as still as the mountains in winter and just as cold.

“That's why you're acting like an idiot and throwing away the best thing you ever had.”

His eyes narrowed; a bit of fire leaped to life within them. “You think I should be grateful that a woman like you slept with me?”

Her sadness melted into fury. “I think you should shut up before I hurt you.”

“You already have.”

“Gabe, every pretty woman in the world isn't like Kay Lynne. Won't tear out your heart and stomp on it for the world to see.”

He lifted one of the newspapers. “Really?”

There was no talking to him. He expected to be hurt; he saw betrayal even when it wasn't there. He wasn't going to believe her. Tears threatened, and she had to get away. She could no longer look at
him and love him and know that he would never, ever be hers.

Belle walked to the door, then paused. “You might have been expecting me to tear out your heart, Gabe, but I certainly wasn't expecting it of you.”

 

I
SABELLE HAUNTED HIM
. In his sleep, Klein reached for her. Every night he ached for her. He'd hear her laughter at breakfast, remember her voice during lunch, catch a hint of her scent in the dusky hour just before supper. Clint sat on the porch every night, staring at Highway B and sighing when it remained empty hour after hour.

Klein avoided the set, sent Virgil to deal with Dimato and the others, and kept to himself on the other side of town. Nothing helped. She'd ripped out his heart and stomped on it, but all he could think about was going back for more.

He refused to speak with the clamoring reporters. Of course Dimato tried to keep the fantasy alive—but without any comments from the beauty or the beast, or any new pictures, eventually they went away.

The mayor was seriously pissed off when he discovered that Klein had been poaching. He couldn't fathom that Isabelle had turned him down to sneak around with Klein, and he'd finally concluded that something must be wrong with her mind. Therefore she would not make a good senator's wife. Imagine the scandal if those sordid pictures came to light during an election. Klein was extremely proud of
himself when he didn't tear the mayor limb from limb.

Of course, he couldn't work up much emotion for anything lately. He drifted through his days without anger, happiness or passion. His house had become just a house, and Pleasant Ridge was just another place to live.

Klein sat on his porch one twilight evening in mid May watching the mountains, just Clint and him, when Virgil came tearing into his driveway.

The old man slammed the squad car door and tromped up the steps. The only thing Klein could imagine that would bring the deputy to his house on the run was a missing person. For that they'd need Clint's help.

Cass's animal-interest story on Clint and T.B. had sparked phone calls asking for the hound dog's help. Clint had proved surprisingly adept at rescue work. He'd even been used in recovering a few of the television folks who had wandered off the tourist trails in the mountains.

But to Clint's welcoming bellow, Virgil snapped, “Quiet, you.”

Clint did so with a
yip.

“I wish that worked with the Mex pup,” Virgil grumbled. “Even though Miss Dubray stopped dressin' him up, he's still the meanest cuss this side of the Tennessee River.”

“I think that's just his nature.”

“I think you're right.”

“So what's the rush?” Klein asked.

“We got trouble.”

Klein started to get up, but Virgil shoved him
right back. “I'm goin' to talk. You're goin' to listen.”

He smacked a piece of newsprint onto Klein's knees—the story of Beauty and the Beast.

“Geez, Virgil, I thought I got rid of all these.”

“You're talking, Chief.”

“Sorry.”

“You've been mopin' around lookin' sadder than your dog. And I for one have had enough. For a smart man you are sure actin' dumb. Take a gander at this.”

He folded the paper so that the headline was no longer visible, then he pointed to Isabelle. Klein shrugged. “What?”

“Moron,” Virgil muttered. “Look at her eyes. Look at her as she looks at you and tell me what you see.”

Klein did what Virgil asked. All he saw was Isabelle, and he missed her.

“No one has ever looked at me like that,” the old man continued. “I'd give everything I have for it, and you're throwin' it all away.”

Confused, Klein studied her again. What had Virgil caught that he did not? “I'm sorry,” he admitted. “I've never seen that expression before, either.”

“That's because it's love, fool. She loves you.”

“No, she doesn't.”

“Idiot.”

“Could you stop calling me names and tell me why you think Isabelle Ash is in love with me?”

“Because I got eyes, dimwit. I've watched enough women look at men that way, but never has
one looked at me the way that she's lookin' at you.”

Klein shook his head. “What about you and Miss Dubray? Thirty years of shared mint juleps can't be for nothing.”

“Mint julep means sex, boy. Get with the program. Miss Dubray doesn't love me. Heck, I don't even get to call her Peg during.”

Klein winced. He had never told Virgil that he had overheard the secret code for just this reason—he didn't want to listen to the details.

“What she and I have is sex. Great sex, but sex is all it is. She loved once, and when she lost him it nearly broke her. She swore she'd never love again.”

Something in Virgil's voice made Klein ask, “What about you?”

Virgil shrugged. “I took what she could give me.”

“You love her.”

“Yep.”

Klein went silent at the thought of loving someone for thirty years and knowing she didn't love you back. He sighed. He could imagine it very well.

The deputy shook his head, disgusted. “You need to get that stick out of your butt and get that butt into town.”

“Why?”

“Because Isabelle collapsed at work today. They took her to Doc's. She's okay, but—”

The rest of Virgil's words were lost as Klein vaulted over the porch railing and sprinted for the squad car.

“I don't think there's any call for a code three,” Virgil murmured as the red lights and siren began, scaring Clint so badly he dived underneath a chair. The old man smiled. “But then, suit yourself, Chief.”

 

“E
XHAUSTION
,” Doc Meyers pronounced. “Bed rest. No work for two weeks.”

Belle nodded. Now that the pilot was in the can, she could take time off. For all the good it would do her. She couldn't sleep.

She missed Klein every instant—so much so that she physically ached. Pretending to be someone else was the only way she could keep from thinking of him. She'd thrown herself into her work, becoming Sheriff Janet Hayes. Janet would never allow herself to be anything less than completely in control—of her world, her life and her heart.

They'd finished the pilot today, and a minute after “Wrap” was shouted, Belle fainted. Talk about out of control. She was mortified.

Doc Meyers patted her hand. “Why don't you take a catnap here before you go home.”

She nodded, and as he went into his office and closed the door, her eyes slid closed. Almost immediately, they snapped open when someone opened the outer door.

Cass Tyler stood on the threshold looking as if she expected Belle to throw something at her, which wasn't like Cass at all.

“Do you need the doctor?” Belle asked.

“What? Oh, no. No. I need to see you.”

“Me?”

The two of them weren't exactly pals. In fact, Belle hadn't seen Cass since they'd all gone searching for T.B., what seemed like a lifetime ago. It
had
been another lifetime—one where she'd been happy.

“I'm no good at this,” Cass began. “I'm just going to show you and then you'll know.”

Cass crossed the room and upended the contents of a manila folder onto Belle's lap. Pictures poured out—pictures of Belle and Gabe. Like a kaleidoscope of the happiest days of her life, the images sifted across her body. Belle lifted her gaze from the stills to Cass's pinched, pale face.

“I wanted more than this place, this town, my rinky-dink paper, earth-shattering feature stories on missing dogs. I thought I could get there like this.”

Belle picked up a picture of her apartment, shadowy except for the bed and the two figures entwined on it. Below that one were three different shots of Klein being safety-conscious at the drugstore.

Belle's face heated, but she forced herself to look Cass in the eye. “You could have gotten anywhere you wanted with these. Why didn't you?”

Cass stared at the floor. “The entire time I was sneaking around, creeping up your back stairs and taking pictures through the window, from the building across the street from the five-and-dime—”

Understanding dawned. “Not lightning,” Belle muttered. “Camera flash.”

Cass flicked a glance at her and sighed. “I even listened underneath your window one night. The
two of you were arguing. Klein said you were Beauty and the Beast.”

Belle rubbed her tired eyes. So many things made sense now—too late to matter.

“What I was doing made me sick,” Cass confessed. “But I kept doing it. I mean, people do this, right? I figured I'd get over my squeamishness once I saw my pictures in a national magazine. And…and I was jealous of you. You're so beautiful and perfect. You have everything you want.”

“No, I don't.”

And she never would. But she couldn't be too angry with Cass. Belle could understand wanting more out of life and doing foolish things to get it. Besides, if Cass hadn't blabbed, someone else would have. Sooner or later Belle would have discovered that Gabe didn't trust her, that he couldn't love her, that his past would never be the past.

“Why didn't you sell them everything?” she asked.

“I was going to. But the more I stared at the pictures, the more I thought about beauty and the beast—”

“Quit calling him that!”

Cass turned a contemplative gaze on Belle. “I wasn't talking about him.”

“Go on.”

“I had this thought—perhaps the beast could be hidden beneath the beauty…”

“And beauty beneath the beast.”

“Exactly. So I started digging—into your past and his.”

“Swell.”

“And I was right. There's a long history of heroics—beauty, like you said—in Klein's past. He can't seem to keep himself from helping every pathetic loser he comes across.”

“I know.” He'd found a pretty pathetic one in her.

“He told you?”

“No. But I could tell right away he was the kind of man who just had to help kids, dogs and losers.”

Cass nodded. “Once I was done with Klein, I moved on.” She took a deep breath. “I found some beastly stuff in your past, Big Belle.”

It had been so long since Belle had heard that name, yet it still had the power to make her cringe. Maybe she would never be free of her past, either.

“I can't believe you haven't cashed in on that,” Cass murmured.

“Cashed in?”

“Ugly duckling to beautiful swan? Rags to riches? Savior of your entire family? People would eat that up with a spoon. They'd admire you. I know I do.”

“What?” Belle shook her head. “I'm a high school drop-out. I was fat and I was poor.” She left out her last secret—which appeared to still be a secret.

“You did what you had to do. You took care of people who needed you, and you sacrificed yourself for others. I'm not going to tear that apart. I want to be a reporter, anywhere but here. But not like this.” She waved a hand at the pile of photos. “Those are all the pictures and the negatives. Do whatever you want with them.”

Belle stared at the photos. Cass was behaving like a friend, which made Belle uncertain what to say or do. “You've made my head spin, Cass. Worse than usual.”

“What I'm trying to say is I'm sorry. I know Klein thought you had something to do with the story. I'll tell him differently.”

“It doesn't matter.”

She was bone weary, depressed, run-down. She was sick, and the sooner she admitted that the better.

“Cass, I want you to write a story about the true nature of beauty and what makes a beast.”

“I don't understand.”

“You will. You see, it all started when I was sixteen…”

 

K
LEIN BURST
into Doc's outer office. She wasn't there. No one was. His heart was beating so fast he felt dizzy. A man of his size really ought not to get this upset.

He ran down Longstreet Avenue. When T.B. got in his way, he jumped over the yapping mutt. Ignoring Miss Dubray's cry of alarm, he sprinted around the corner of the five-and-dime and pounded up the steps to her apartment. Without knocking, he opened the door, to discover her packing.

She didn't even look at him. “I assume you've talked to Cass.”

“Cass? Why?”

Now she looked at him, and confusion filled her eyes. “She took the pictures.”

He shrugged. Funny, but the pictures no longer mattered. The only thing that did was Isabelle.

“What are you doing here, Klein?”

“I heard you were sick.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she went back to folding clothes into her suitcase. He wasn't sure how to talk to this sad and silent woman. This wasn't the Izzy he had fallen in love with. He wanted that woman back.