The Judge and the Gypsy Read Free Page A

cold in the woods,” she said simply, as if that answered his question.
    It didn’t. But for now he’d go along with her story. Hallucination? Spirit? He might be tired and confused, but this woman was real, and it was time he got to the bottom of the mystery. “Get in.”
    He heard the fleeting tinkle of bells, and suddenly she was inside the small truck, filling it with her distinctive, elusive fragrance, and the curious feeling of excitement that had seemed to follow him for the last three weeks. She was here, the object of his uncertainty and desire, and he was determined to know what kind of game she was playing with his emotions.
    “That fragrance,” he asked, “what is it?”
    “It’s made from the blossoms of the tea olive tree. Do you like it?”
    “It’s very unusual.”
    “Yes.” She didn’t volunteer any more, but placed her knapsack between her knees and settled back as if she were someone he’d known a long time, someone with whom he was comfortable enough not to need to make conversation.
    “Where are you going?” he asked, slowly letting off the brake and listening to the crunch of the loose gravel on the road as the tires found traction and began to move.
    “To Amicalola Falls. I plan to do some hiking. You?”
    Once he decided to go along with her request, he’d stopped being surprised. “That’s where I’m going too.”
    “I’m glad. It’s very early,” she said. “I’ve come a long way. I think I’ll take a nap.”
    “But wait, who are you? What’s your name?” he started to ask. Except before he got the second word out, her eyes were closed and she seemed to be asleep.
    Rasch shook his head in disbelief. Where had she come from? She had a backpack, but her feet were bare and scratched. How could his mystery woman possibly be in the same place as he, at the same time? From the moment she’d appeared on his balcony, his power of reasoning seemed to have deserted him.
    Certainly she hadn’t been far from his thoughts either asleep or awake. He’d constantly looked for her, worried over his recollection of what he’d seen or imagined. He’d begun to doubt his own recall after atime. Now, here she was, sitting beside him, almost as if he’d conjured her up.
    He looked across at her once more. The lines of her face were clear now. Her pale skin was like that of an Old Master’s Madonna. Lips as red as the dahlia that his mother grew in a bucket at his back door were closed serenely in sleep. Long velvety lashes feathered cheekbones that more nearly belonged on a painting than a real person.
    She was an enigma, this woman of silence and grace, yet beneath that calm was a hidden fire. He couldn’t see it so much as he could feel the tension. The interior of the truck felt charged with a strange energy, and he shivered.
    Whatever she was, and wherever she came from, she’d appeared to him three times, and he had to know why. There were answers to his questions, and he meant to have them. He’d take her to meet her friend, for it suited his purpose to know more about her. He gave the vehicle gas and moved up the mountain.
    Savannah Ramey let out a silent sigh of relief. She’d passed the first hurdle. She hadn’t expected it to be so hard, lying to him. From a distance the square cut of his jaw hadn’t been so intimidating. She hadn’t seen the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes, or their steely gray color that seemed to pin her down. But it was more than the way he looked, it was the sensual power of the man, more potent at close range, that had forced her to retreat into silent confusion.
    She liked men, but after one mistake as a teenager, she’d never had a serious romantic relationship. She was never in one place long enough to develop intimacyanyway, so her circle of friends had been limited to the circus people, and she was the boss’s daughter. Being apart from the mainstream had suited her fine, but it hadn’t suited Tifton.
    Tifton. She forced her