Mims nodded. “Bitsy, we’ve been friends a long time, through a couple of your widowhoods. I’ve seen you get twitchy. Forget about men. If need be, a sleeping pill will make the nights pass quicker. We have so much to do—fund-raisers, matches—not to mention that your mother needs you.”
“Helping others find love isn’t the same as being in love.” Bitsy made her decision. She swung her legs out of the booth. “You know I didn’t ask for this.” Not the twitches. Not the longing. Not the loneliness. “But I’m not sure I can ignore it.” Although she’d try.
Mims set her lips, which made Bitsy hesitate.
“If I can’t escape this, can you…at least…wish me luck?”
Chapter Four
Beer had a tendency to go right through Darcy.
Her wine-drinking friends were on their second glasses and in no need of a potty break.
Darcy excused herself and slipped away to the bathroom. Shaw’s was busier now, practically full. Thursday was the new Friday, after all. But thankfully, the ladies’ bathroom was empty.
Darcy stared at herself in the mirror. At once-bright blond hair. At a face nearly devoid of makeup. With her hair pulled severely back from her face, her ears looked big and her eyes small. Her suit wasn’t flattering. And her shoes…She wasn’t as good at molding her appearance to the role she was playing as her mother had been.
George, why didn’t you tell me you’d recommended me for your judgeship?
The voice in her head remained silent.
And Darcy knew why. Every time George had said she shouldn’t settle for anything less than a court bench, she’d told him Jones girls were lucky to be allowed to take the bar. He’d grumble, trying to get the last word. She’d laugh, trying to discourage his delusions. What delusions? The clever old fox had pulled it off!
Darcy laughed now. A mirthless sound that echoed oddly in the empty restroom and foretold certain disaster.
On the way back to her friends, Darcy hurried around the corner of the hallway and nearly ran into Jason.
“Whoa.” His hands landed on her hips.
Darcy’s fingers came to rest on his elbows. It was purely reflex. She nearly rose up on her toes and kissed him. That was reflex too.
“Hi,” he said, a slow twinkle building in his blue eyes.
She was wired to respond to that twinkle. She wanted to lean in and—
Judges don’t neck in bars!
George!
Darcy blushed and dropped her hands. “Jason, I…”
“I’ve been meaning to ask…How are you doing since…?” Since losing George, she thought he meant. “You look nice.”
In her frumpy judge’s-wife clothes? With her hair pulled behind her big ears? Darcy shoved his hands off her. “Friends don’t lie to each other, Jason.” She tried to dart past, but he was too quick, stepping in her path.
“Honey, nothing you change on the outside can change the way I feel about you in here.” He tapped his chest. “That’s why I know you’d never have married the judge if you didn’t love him. He was such an important figure in your life. You’ve got to be hurting. Let me help.”
His words nearly undid her. Everyone had offered condolences after George died. Everyone had asked how she was doing. But no one implied that she’d been in love with George and might be heartbroken. Only Jason. He’d always given her the benefit of the doubt.
“Darcy, you could be eighty, and you’d still be beautiful to me.” Jason’s voice was deep and low, his tone heartfelt. “If you need anything, call me.”
That would be unwise. George’s stately voice filled her head.
It was good advice. Heartbreaking, but smart.
“I can’t.” Steeling herself against their attraction, Darcy lifted her gaze to Jason’s. “Things have changed. I can’t go back to who I was.” The woman who loved Jason Petrie unconditionally and put herself second to his career.
“Things changed. Past tense.” Jason gave her a small, hopeful smile. “And now they can change back. We can meet later and talk.”
“Talk.” She rolled her eyes. They both knew that when they were together, they never just talked.
“Just talk, I swear.” Perhaps to prove it, he put his hands in his back pockets. “We never really had a chance to talk before you married the judge.”
Darcy hesitated. He was right. They hadn’t found closure after their breakup. And it was all her fault.
It had been June when they’d finally talked, a few weeks after the Event.
“The sponsors expect me to kiss their eye candy.” Jason had followed Darcy around his small apartment as she collected her things, hobbling on crutches because of his recently broken leg. “You know that’s part of the way I earn my paycheck.”
“That’s an excuse.” Darcy dumped the contents of a bathroom drawer into the cloth grocery bag she’d brought. “That was no peck. That was a saliva exchange. And everyone saw.” Everyone knew he’d betrayed her. Unlike the rumors or the more innocent pictures of him bussing a rodeo queen’s cheek, here was proof.
“It’s a reason, Darcy. Not an excuse. We had a plan, you and me.”
She set the drawer on the counter and faced him. “A plan implies an end date. I’ve put my life on hold for too long.” Traveling to see him compete on the weekends instead of studying for the bar. Taking terms off to follow him on the circuit. Languishing in bed with him the few times he was home during the season. “I have to think of myself, finish what I started, reach for my dreams.”
That’s what George had said when he’d proposed marriage.
“So this is a break?” Jason had followed her to the bedroom. “You need space to find yourself?”
“Yes.” Darcy hadn’t had the courage to tell him she’d married George the day after Jason had publicly betrayed her. They’d had a civil ceremony in Greeley, a union they were only just beginning to announce. Jason would hear about it soon enough. And so she’d stuffed the few clothes she kept at his apartment into her bag and then headed for the door without telling him this breakup was for good.
“Honey?” In the here and now, Jason slid a palm across her cheek and around to the back of her neck. “Do you want to go somewhere and talk?”
“I…” It was tempting. Darcy could go back to the way things were before. Dress like she remembered what sex was. Drink and dance at Shaw’s like she didn’t have a care in the world. Perhaps let her guard down and allow Jason to defend her honor the way he used to. But could he defend her marriage or her taking the judgeship without eroding his standing in the community? She couldn’t drag Jason down like that. He had an image and endorsements to protect. “Jason, I…I can’t.”
Jason inched closer until she could practically feel his warmth. “But—”
“No.” She pushed past him and on to her new life.
* * *
“Let’s talk business,” Jason said to Iggy when he returned to his table, smarting from Darcy’s brush-off.
He’d recognized the longing in her eyes. He’d caught her staring at his mouth. And it was all he could do not to sweep her into his arms and kiss her back into his center of gravity. But this wasn’t a strap-on-your-spurs-and-get-’er-done moment. Winning Darcy back was going to take patience, persistence, and thick skin.
“Funny you should bring up work.” Iggy set his burger down. “A dissatisfied customer has come forward.”
Jason didn’t manage their company on the daily. He swiped one of Iggy’s French fries. “Who is it and what have you done wrong?”
“Moi?” Iggy tried to look innocent.
Jason tipped his cowboy hat back. “Yes, you.” Iggy had a habit of taking shortcuts.
“In this case, I’m innocent.” Iggy cleared his throat, speaking loud enough to be heard over chattering patrons and the country song on the jukebox. “Tom Bodine wasn’t happy with our product. He’s claiming we sold him Samson’s seed at a premium and he got bargain-basement lines instead.”
Samson w
as a freak of nature. A humongous Brangus bull, a cross between a Black Angus and a Brahman. Tom Bodine was the wealthiest cattle rancher in the valley, and he’d built his empire with sweat and street smarts. If Tom felt he’d been cheated, he wouldn’t let things rest until he had restitution.
“Did Tom…accidentally…receive product that wasn’t Samson’s?” After all, mistakes could be made and owned up to.
“Does it matter?” Iggy shrugged. “He’s claiming his calves aren’t holding true to the infusion of bloodlines we promised. His calves are small.”
“But breeding is an inexact science.” Jason relaxed a little, kneading the ache in his leg. “He could have genetic throwbacks.” Runts in the litter.
“Not to mention his heifers aren’t stabled. You and I both know many a cattle romance has occurred on the open range or even in a man’s backyard pasture.” Iggy smirked. “And his bulls are undersized.”
Jason cut to the crux of the matter. “Tom blames us.”
“Correct, sir.” Iggy picked up his burger, pushing tomatoes and onions back in place. “Which is why we’re meeting at Rupert’s law office first thing Monday morning.”
“Why not just talk to Tom?” Avoid all those legal fees and the potential for bad press.
Darcy’s laughter drifted over to Jason. Too loud, too strained. He wished she’d tell him what was wrong so he could help. But in any case, she needed to hear him out. She needed to know they were married. He should have told her as soon as he’d learned of it himself. Perhaps then she’d never have married the judge.
“We can’t just talk to Tom.” Iggy rolled his eyes. “Because he’s demanding a DNA test as proof that he received what he paid for.”
It was Jason’s turn to shrug. “Fine. Give it to him.”
Iggy set his untouched burger back down. “A DNA test proves nothing. What if his heifers were impregnated in the open field before our product even arrived on-site? The DNA wouldn’t match Samson’s, same as if we’d sent him another bull’s goods.”
“You’re right.” Jason swiped another fry.
“Tom doesn’t think so.”
“And so, the battle begins.” Jason settled back in the booth, staring at Darcy and preparing to dig in for the long haul on both the personal and professional fronts.
Chapter Five
What am I going to wear on my first day as judge, Stogey? The plain blue dress or the plain green one?” Facing George’s old, cigar-brown French bulldog, Darcy held up one simple sheath and then another.
Stogey blinked, the canine equivalent of a shrug.
“Yeah, I don’t think it matters either.” Darcy shoved both options back in her small closet at George’s house.
What’s the problem? Your clothes are appropriate for work.
Yes, George. If I were twenty years older.
She was still annoyed that George hadn’t told her of his plans and that he’d put a kink in hers.
Darcy moved to the sunroom with its cheerful white wicker furniture, charming bench seats, and bright-yellow pillows. Stogey followed along, wheezing a little. Darcy sat, bringing Stogey into her lap and rubbing his ears while she stared out at the pond in the back acreage.
In the fading light, the pond was calm. So much calmer than she was inside.
“In the legal world,” George had told Darcy one morning as they sat in the sunroom, “you want to be the leaf that drops in the pond, not the rock. Minimize the ripples.” He’d been introducing the concept of being a part of the community without being in the community spotlight, which essentially meant go to work, go home, and don’t make a public spectacle of yourself with a handsome rodeo star.
I meant don’t cause a stir of any kind, George counseled now. But by all means, ignore Jason.
He just wants to talk. But Darcy smiled, remembering his heartfelt words and the tenderness of his touch.
Poppycock, George said at increased volume. A judge and a rodeo star. There’s a ripple you don’t need.
“I miss feeling attractive, Stogey. Call me shallow, but I feel more confident when I look pretty.” Darcy tried to talk over George as she gave the dog a pat. “But I’m afraid Avery’s right. Whatever I wear will be hidden beneath my judge’s robes. I shouldn’t worry.”
The black robe. There was a new problem. She didn’t have a judge’s robe. And if she didn’t have one by Monday when court resumed, she’d miss looking the part George had groomed her for. Darcy couldn’t preside over court facing Oliver and Rupert without the baggy, black armor.
“I just remembered.” Darcy glanced down at Stogey. “I still have George’s robes.” She hadn’t worked up the courage to clean out his closet or his home office.
Stogey heaved himself into a sitting position and toot-a-tooted.
“Ew.” Darcy waved a hand in front of her face. “So much for your special diet.”
Stogey had a slew of issues—separation anxiety, digestive challenges, gum disease. Two days ago, he’d had eight teeth removed, top and bottom. Soft food didn’t agree with him. But being alone didn’t agree with him either. He’d clawed the heck out of the kitchen door today while she was gone.
“Come on, Stogey. Let’s go raid George’s closet.” Darcy made her way down the hallway to George’s room, pausing in the doorway to look inside, trying not to see George’s frail body or the awkward tilt to his head that last day, trying not to hear his labored efforts to draw breath or recall how peaceful his lined features became when his heart had stopped beating.
It was easier to focus on the imprint of his bold personality. The big bed with its solid burgundy comforter. The two tall oak dressers with marble tops. The photograph of George in his naval uniform, regal head high. The portrait of him on his first wedding day, smiling happily with Imogene. Another with his arms around his two grown sons. The picture of Pearl, his longtime companion, beaming as she buried her nose in a bouquet of roses. A snapshot of Darcy and George when she’d graduated from law school. The frames crowded his nightstand, where he could look at them in his final days, along with a curling, unframed photo of Stogey as a puppy, carrying one of George’s slippers.
“I’m dying, Darcy,” George had confessed to her the day she’d seen another woman kiss Jason.
His belabored breathing…His sickly pallor…For the second time that day, she’d practically crumbled. “You’re dying?”
“Not today,” he’d reassured her. “But soon. My COPD means I’m a stroke risk.”
She took hold of his cold hand. “What can I do?”
“I’ve never asked you for anything, Darcy.” His craggy expression had softened, along with his voice. “But I don’t want to die alone. I’m asking you for this one thing, to move in here and marry me. Let me give you one last gift, my name. You don’t have to be a Jones anymore. And it would ease my mind to know you’ll be part of my legacy when I am gone.”
Unusual as his request was, Darcy hadn’t thought on it long. George had turned her life around. She owed him everything.
Stogey waddled into George’s bedroom, passing some silent-but-deadly stinkers on his way.
Darcy hurried across the room, overtaking the dog and his gas. She entered George’s large walk-in closet. It was filled with wool suits, pressed white shirts, bolo ties, and cowboy boots. The wardrobe that defined who he was. In the corner, a collection of black robes hung from padded hangers.
Darcy slipped one on. George had been a tall man. The hem dragged on the floor. Worse, the robe could have enshrouded two of her.
If my parents could see me now, they’d…
Darcy scoffed without completing the thought. Her parents would applaud how she’d stolen a judgeship. Regardless of how she’d arrived at the position, she had to make George proud.
Something rustled, although neither Darcy nor Stogey had moved. A thin figure separated itself from the section of hanging suits.
Darcy jumped back, heart pounding. Stogey fell over, wheezing and whining a little despite his
pain meds.
“Pearl.” When Darcy’s heart stopped racing, she dropped to her knees and helped Stogey to a sitting position, giving him a reassuring pat. “You scared me to death.”
“His clothes still smell of him,” Pearl said in a forlorn voice. She was a wiry woman with short gray hair and pale skin. She wore her waitressing uniform of black jeans and a black Saddle Horn T-shirt. The shirt was sprinkled with white cat hair.
George and Pearl had dated for decades. Pearl was against marriage and had broken up with him last year after he’d unexpectedly proposed. When he and Darcy married, Pearl made no secret of her disapproval of their union, which wounded George. When he’d been in that last decline, Darcy had encouraged Pearl’s presence at George’s side, going so far as to invite her to stay in the cottage on the property. The old woman and her cat still hadn’t moved out.
Darcy stood. “Pearl, how long have you been in here?”
“Only a few minutes.” Pearl fussed over George’s suits. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I keep expecting him to walk through that door.”
I had the honor to love that wonderful woman, George said in a melancholy tone.
“It’ll get better.” Darcy wrapped her arms around herself, hands lost in George’s voluminous sleeves. She knew she should say more because she owed it to George to help Pearl through her grief. But Pearl grew touchy sometimes if she heard oft-repeated words of comfort. A change of subject was in order. “Did you know George recommended me for the judgeship?”
“Yes. What a ridiculous idea,” Pearl said with a little laugh, recovering some of her characteristic prickly nature. “He was convinced those two sons of his would make tatters of his courthouse legacy. And now they’re going to eat you alive if you can’t fill George’s boots.” The old woman pressed a suit jacket sleeve to her nose and breathed in deeply. “He put a lot of faith in you.”
“George gave you his heart,” Darcy said in a voice she wished were sturdier. “But he left me to care for his legacy.”
Stogey sat on Darcy’s foot, staring up at her adoringly. It wasn’t just his legacy George had burdened her with. The old Frenchie had come with the house. But even though she’d never been a dog person, Stogey was no hardship.
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