Lone Star Winter by Diana Palmer Page B

during early pregnancy.”
    He scowled. “That doesn’t sound good.”
    She picked up her sandwich. “Maybe it’s just nerves. It’s been a rough few weeks.”
    â€œSure it has. But if those cramps get any worse, you go see a doctor.”
    â€œI will.”
    After lunch, he took her out to the huge, airy barn to see Puppy Dog, who was comfortably contained in a huge stall with a drain in the concrete floor, and fresh wheat straw making a comfortable place for him to sleep.
    â€œHello, Puppy Dog,” she said, going into the stall to pet the frisky, enormous puppy. “Did you miss me?” She glanced past him at the clean containers of dog food and water, and the dog toys liberally scattered along the wall. “Maybe not, considering all the toys.”
    â€œDogs need something to play with. Keeps them active and healthy. I got half a dozen for Bob, too.”
    â€œBob?”
    He motioned to her. She gave Puppy Dog a last hug and went out of the stall. He whined for a minute and then went back to pick up a ball he liked.
    In the stall next door was a huge white-and-tan collie with an intelligent face and soft brown eyes. There were still traces of malnutrition in the coat, but Bob was beginning to shape up into a beautiful animal.
    â€œHe’s a doll,” she said, smiling at him.
    â€œ She’s a doll.”
    She hesitated. Turned. Raised her eyebrows.
    â€œ She’s a doll,” he repeated.
    â€œBob is not a female name…”
    â€œIf a boy can be named Sue, a girl dog can be named Bob.”
    â€œYou listen to too many Johnny Cash songs,” she accused with a chuckle.
    â€œHe’s great, isn’t he?” he asked. “‘A Boy Named Sue’ was great, but I loved everything he ever recorded.”
    â€œI have two of his albums myself,” she confessed.
    He grinned. “I knew you had good taste.”
    She liked the way his eyes twinkled when he smiled. He was something of a curiosity around town, because he had a reputation for being a hard case and unsociable. But here, on his home ground, he was relaxed, pleasant, even amusing. She wondered how many people ever got to see this side of him. Probably not many.
    â€œWhat happened to that man who broke into my house?” she asked abruptly.
    â€œSheriff’s got him locked up,” he told her. “We left the crowbar right where it dropped. The man wasn’t even wearing gloves. There are enough fingerprintson it to convict him. He’ll make bond, of course, and then he’ll go home.”
    â€œHome?”
    He turned toward her. “A man wearing an Armani suit drove up here a few days ago and introduced him self as my new neighbor. There’s a honey packing ware house on my border. But it’s not honey they’re distributing, if you understand what I mean.”
    She stilled. “Drugs?”
    â€œRaw cocaine,” he replied. “Or, rather, cocaine paste. At least, that’s what we suspect they’re stockpiling in that warehouse.”
    â€œHere, in Jacobsville?” she gasped.
    â€œRight here,” he said.
    â€œThen tell the sheriff and let him send some men out to arrest the owners!”
    â€œThey won’t find cocaine if they do,” he said carelessly. “In fact, I’d bet my boots that they’ll phone in a tip about themselves just to draw the law out there to check around. And while they’re checking, all the honey in the jars will be real honey, and even a drug-sniffing dog won’t find a trace of cocaine. Having searched the place once and found nothing, local law enforcement will logically hesitate before they go back out there a second time. At least, not without some concrete evidence of malfeasance. It’s easy to get suedfor harassment, and believe me, Lopez would howl at the idea of taking our sheriff to court over it.”
    â€œYou sound very cynical,” she told