“Dr. Daniels,” he said sticking out his hand. “I’m Drake Barrymore. Nice to meet you.”
Jessica automatically put her hand in the man’s and gave him a complete once over that ended with a perusal of his gray-streaked hair. He was five-ten, in good shape, and had a nice handshake. He was also very good looking as most artistic types were. While he wasn’t as manly as Will Larson, he wasn’t bad either.
“Mom—behave,” Brooke said, walking up. “Dr. Barrymore—I’m Brooke Daniels. It’s nice to meet you. This is my mother, Jessica Daniels—soon to be Larson.”
Brooke nudged her mother out of the way to shake the stunned man’s hand. “Thank you for coming down to meet us.”
Drake’s gaze swung from the taller older version of the woman to the shorter younger one. It was like looking at an exact clone that had been down sized.
His assessing gaze raked the younger woman from hair to toes, taking in all the details on this trip. Wow. Brooke Daniels looked exactly like her school website picture, only even younger. She was remarkable really, just perfect with her cascading red curls and flashing blue gaze full of intelligence.
His gaze fell to her breasts and dropped to her hips. Proportionally perfect, he thought, straightening when he felt a tightening in his body. Oops—lingered a bit too long, Drake decided. How intriguing…he was physically attracted to Brooke Daniels. Normally, young women were nothing more to him than beautiful scenery. He liked to paint them, but he didn’t usually want to get to know them.
Then again, he hadn’t wanted to get to know anyone in a really long time. Maybe it was her freshness that appealed to him. She looked about as green as they made them.
“How old are you, Dr. Daniels? You look like you’ve barely graduated,” Drake said sharply, sweeping her body again. Rude or not, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from checking her out.
Brooke narrowed her gaze on Drake Barrymore and dropped her hand out of his. Barrymore was good-looking, but not good enough to tolerate his attitude. “Yes. I have a diploma and everything. My mommy bought it for me, jackas—”
“Dr. Barrymore,” Jessica interrupted loudly before Brooke could tear a bigger piece out of him. “It was kind of you to come meet us today. My daughter and I are both here with Carrie Larson, who is the potential gallery owner.”
Wanting to draw the man’s attention away from her scowling daughter, Jessica raised a hand to point at Carrie who was walking around the space now with the realtor. “I’m sure Carrie would love to hear what kind of help you could be to her in this decision.”
“Of course,” Drake said, pulling his awareness away from his reaction to Brooke Daniels to the reason he had come tearing through campus to meet them.
He supposed he owed her an apology. She was, after all, a colleague of sorts. Young women were so insecure about themselves. She might have been truly offended by his questions.
“Dr. Daniels—forgive my rudeness. I’ve—I’ve had a stressful morning, but that’s no excuse for my comments. My socially polite filter seems to be failing me today. I tend to speak my thoughts a bit too freely at times.”
“Sure. Whatever,” Brooke motioned his lame apology away with her hand, like she’d shoo a child. “Go talk to Carrie. Try not to insult her, too.”
Drake felt a flush climb his face at her chastisement. God, the woman had a temper and an irreverent mouth.
“I don’t make a habit of judging books by their covers, no matter how unexpected they are. Your appearance just surprised me based on the limited communications we’d had. I saw your mother and thought the photo on the website might have been a slightly older one. It was an honest mistake.”
Jessica’s eyebrow rose on that comment and she crossed her arms to look at him intently. Old? she thought. The man wasn’t that much younger than she. Who was he calling old? She gave him an more assessing look and wondered how badly Carrie needed his money.
Brooke rolled her eyes at her mother’s defensive stance. At this rate, it was going to be a toss-up which one of them skewered the socially inept Dr. Barrymore first.
“You just don’t know when to stop digging the hole deeper, do you? For your information, I don’t fake anything, and it’s none of your business how old I am,” Brooke said.
“Beg pardon?” Drake said, narrowing his eyes.
“Holy hell—never mind—this conversation is pointless,” Brooke said firmly, letting her exasperation show.
She was too irritated to debate how dense he was being any longer, but had the sudden realization that she’d let the man push her buttons for no good reason. Dr. Drake Barrymore’s opinion of her credentials to teach and her youthful appearance were nothing to her.
Besides, she couldn’t afford to alienate him today—or any day.
She would play nice until he helped Carrie get her gallery. It was important to her mother, and her mother’s happiness was important to her. Other than helping that cause, Barrymore was not important. And this was how she would treat him. He was useful to her only for the purpose he would serve today.
New resolve in place, Brooke walked up and hooked her arm through Drake Barrymore’s, wanting to laugh when he tensed at her touch. All talk and no action, Brooke decided, unable to fully constrain a derisive snort when Barrymore tried to pull away.
“Let me introduce you to Carrie. Maybe you can improve both our mornings,” Brooke said snidely, tossing her hair over her shoulder, not missing that it brushed across the side of his face in the process.
Jessica followed them across the floor, glad she had decided it was safer to just say nothing. Watching Brooke handle Drake Barrymore, she thought it was sometimes downright scary how much your children could turn out to be like you.
Drake looked down at Brooke’s hand, but was more interested in her breast steadily brushing against his arm. Every step they took repeated the contact. By the time he was standing in front of Carrie Larson and the realtor, his brain was totally scrambled with wondering how Brooke’s breasts would fit his hands. It was the most lecherous thought he’d had for so many years that it shocked him into overcompensating.
“You’re a philosopher, right? I believe it was Aristotle who said all things aim at the good,” Drake said quickly, putting his hand over Brooke’s, enjoying the surprise that came into her blue gaze as his hand stroked hers gently. “I was aiming for the good with you, despite my missteps. Youth is an asset to you, Dr. Daniels. You’re very beautiful. Please consider letting me paint you sometime.”
Her gaze never left Drake’s as Brooke slipped her hand out from under his. The man painted nudes. An image of posing naked for him popped into her brain much more easily than she felt comfortable knowing. Feeling his gaze hot on her as he painted her snapped right beside the image in the next frame. Celibacy really did not agree with her, Brooke decided, if thoughts of the inept professor in front of her seemed hot.
She needed to start dating again soon. It had been several months now.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Brooke said quickly, swiveling her head toward Carrie, who had been standing close enough to hear what he’d said about painting her, and who was now fighting not to grin at her discomfort.
“Dr. Barrymore,” Carrie said, deciding she owed Brooke too much not to rescue her. “I really like this space, but it’s out of my price range. Tell me something that might make this possible.”
Brooke turned on her heel and practically ran over her mother trying to get as far away from Drake Barrymore as she could.
Jessica grabbed Brooke’s arms and shook her head as she stopped her daughter’s exit several feet away from where Carrie and the professor were talking.
“Don’t be a coward,” Jessica mouthed, shaking her head and giving Brooke a stern look.
Brooke drew in a breath and stopped struggling. When her mother turned loose of her, Brooke turned back around to stand arms-crossed at her mother’s side. She shook her hair back again in frustration.
When she looked back at the group she’d just left, her eyes dropped immediately to Drake Barrymore’s nice back and jean covered rear now turned in her direction. Sneaking a look at her mother, Brooke noticed she was checking out the back of Barrymore as well. Chagrined, Brooke elbowed her mother in the side.
“What? He’s standing right there. And for your information, I’m engaged, not dead,” Jessica whispered fiercely. “I’ve been checking men out all my life. It’s a reflex. Besides, that man is interesting. He looks like he lifts weights and yet he talks so formally. I bet he quotes poetry in bed. You might enjoy that Brooke.”
“He’s forty-two,” Brooke whispered back.
“Big deal. You’re not planning to keep him. He’s not wearing a wedding ring, nor does it look like he has worn one in a while,” Jessica said, snickering.
“Mother—he’s inept at normal conversation,” Brooke said from the corner of her mouth.
“So don’t talk. I bet he’s not inept at everything,” Jessica said wisely. “He reeks of masculinity and that butt would be fun to hang onto—ouch!” She rubbed her side when Brooke elbowed her again. “I’m going to have a bruise if you keep that up.”
“Give it up then,” Brooke told her. “Or I’ll tell Will you’re checking out other guys.”
Jessica just smiled. “Do it. Will is very inspired when he’s jealous. Trust me—other men are just eye candy, sweetheart. I have the only man I really want.”
Relenting, Brooke slipped an arm around her mother. “I know. Sorry. I’m just—cranky. He caught me in a weak moment. When he told me I was beautiful, I almost believed him.”
“Say what?” Jessica asked, swinging a thoughtful gaze back to the man. “How intriguing?”
“No. It’s not,” Brooke said softly. “He was just trying to make up for insulting me earlier.”
“Nice save then,” Jessica said, wondering what made Drake Barrymore tick. She saw a housewarming party in her future and a new fellow artist to invite. “If he can help Carrie, maybe I could retire and work in the gallery. Are you even interested enough to take him to dinner and find out what he knows?”
Jessica wanted to laugh when she looked at Brooke and caught her eyeing the man’s backside again.
“That would be great, Mom,” Brooke said, hugging her mother. “I hope that all works out.
Jessica snickered at her daughter, who was no longer listening enough to even answer intelligently. Brooke was obviously more interested in the older man than she wanted anyone to know about.
Drake turned around to see mother and daughter, arms around each other. They made quite a nice picture standing there together wrapped around each other in love. But it was Brooke whose gaze he sought and held for longer than was probably a good idea.
While he held it, Drake found himself wondering why a woman like that was walking around without a ring on her hand. Then he wondered why he was wondering about a woman many years his junior. He wasn’t a guy who dated anyway. It was safer not to on a campus full of women who didn’t understand that his art was far more important to him than some fleeting time in their arms. His teacher reputation was sound despite what he did artistically, and Drake planned to keep it that way.
Not dating also kept the community speculation down to a level where his son wasn’t affected by gossip. He had a friend-with-benefits in Louisville when the need hit him too much to ignore, but even that hadn’t happened in a while.
Until today.
He blinked at Brooke, realizing he had been staring and lusting when he should have been paying attention to Carrie Larson.
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning his full attention back to her. “I can’t seem to control my mind or my manners today, Ms. Larson. Please forgive me.”
Carrie shook her head. “No need, Dr. Barrymore. I perfectly understand your dilemma. Looking at the two of them is like looking at a picture.”
Drake looked back. “Yes—it certainly is. Speaking of pictures—” He launched into his spiel about senior art majors and the potential of selling some of his own work in the gallery.
Chapter 8
Judge Dora Carlson shook her head at the ongoing debate.
Give her a good old misdemeanor any old day over another one of these family law cases tying up the system because there was such a lack of love and understanding in the world. It was these types of cases turning her hair totally gray before her time. And the worse custody fights were always about money, she decided. It wasn’t really about the kids unless someone like her made it about the kids.
The tiny woman with the big heart was the only one in this case who seemed clear-headed about what she was trying to do. She was just so alone in her efforts that Dora had to harden her heart to do her damn job. That almost never happened to her in her own courtroom.
“Counselor, have your client approach the bench. I would like to talk to her directly,” Judge Carlson said to Teresa Callahan’s attorney.
Judge Carlson’s gaze swung to the opposing attorney, whose clients had opted not to attend this morning’s decision making session. “Your clients’ lack of attendance today makes me suspect they are not as serious about this matter as Ms. Callahan.”
“They’re out of town, Your Honor,” the man said, frowning because in theory he agreed with the judge.
“And before we get to current business, I want you to tell your clients that this court un-categorically recognizes Ms. Callahan as the legal sister of the deceased regardless of her adopted status to the Callahan family. That keeps true with the laws of this state, and I don’t want the matter of her adoption brought up again in my courtroom in regards to this case or custody hearing. Am I being clear?”
“Yes, Judge Carlson,” he said, nodding. “My clients meant no disrespect to Ms. Callahan or her family. They just wanted to inquire about the court’s stand on the matter.”
Judge Carlson snorted. “Consider your clients informed then. Now as I was saying, I remain skeptical about the Lansing’s intentions since they couldn’t be bothered to show up this morning. However, from the depositions that have been filed I will concede the matter of adequate financial support can be discussed in this case. That’s the only factor I see as an open question. The deceased Lansing’s last will and testament was very clear on who they wanted to have custody of their children in the event of their deaths.”
Reesa walked with her attorney to stand in front of the judge’s bench.
“Ms. Callahan, the children’s grandparents, Clarence and Willa Lansing, are still petitioning for custody of the oldest two children. Are you still opposed to that arrangement?” Judge Carlson asked.
“I am opposed to any plan that separates the children from each other,” Reesa said firmly.
“Has your employment situation changed since you were last in my courtroom?” Judge Carlson asked.
“No, ma’am. The younger two children still have problems and need more care than I can provide part time. I’m still unemployed, but am planning to return to work when Sara goes to school full time next year. Their aunt continues to help me financially and I still have some funds left from my retirement withdrawal,” Reesa said, hoping the judge wouldn’t ask for a more detailed financial picture than she’d given to her attorney. She also hoped the attorney’s fees weren’t going to deplete her remaining income too badly.
Her car had already been sold. Reesa didn’t have much else. She’d been living with Brent and had given up most of her possessions when she’d moved in with him.
“Looking at your disposable income in conjunction to the calculated needs of taking care of four children, the court sees only enough for two children for the year it will take before the youngest child goes to school full time. Ms. Callahan, you need show some solid proof of enough disposable income to support all four children for another year. That means you need to double the amount you listed when first deposed. If you fail to do that, I will have no choice but to seriously consider giving custody of the two oldes
t children to their remaining grandparents,” Judge Carlson told her.
She turned her head and frowned at the Lansing’s attorney, who had the grace to look away from her censure. Then she turned her gaze back to Teresa Callahan and her tone softened.
“These situations are never easy to mandate in the courtroom. I conceptually agree with you about keeping the children together under one roof if it is at all possible. With that in mind, I am granting you a one month extension to do what you can, but you need to come back here prepared for a tough decision to be made if you cannot work out the finances.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Reesa said quietly.
Judge Carlson looked at the court reporter. “Have a one month extension entered into the order.”
She looked at the Lansing’s attorney. “When you notify your clients of this decision, tell them I expect them to show up in my courtroom next month.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” he said, nodding respectively.
“Good luck, Ms. Callahan,” Judge Carlson said, rising. “I need a short recess, then we’ll get to the rest of the docket.”
Reesa sighed and walked away. Her attorney put his hand on her back to guide her out of the courtroom.
“Are you going to be able to show financial capability?” he asked.
“Nothing magical comes to mind, but I have a month. I’ll figure something out and call you,” Reesa told him.
But all she could think as she climbed back in the mini-van was that even after all she’d already lost, she was very likely going to lose more unless she could pull a hundred thousand dollars out of the ether in the next thirty days.
Eyes burning, she headed home, knowing she was going to end up on the bed crying and apologizing to the picture of her sister and brother-in-law.
Then she thought of something else she could do instead.
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