CASSIDY'S COURTSHIP

by Sharon Mignerey

  "I'm sorry, Michael."

  "Me, too," he returned, his frown easing. "I just keep hoping he'll change. After he retired, I thought things might be different."

  "What's that old saying about a leopard and its spots?"

  "A rose by any other name," he said.

  "Still stinks," Brenna finished.

  Michael laughed. "That's a very disrespectful tone, miss."

  "Sir to you, young man." Brenna sat down at the table next to him. "Seriously, I am sorry you had a rough weekend. I'm not sorry I missed it, but—"

  "You're willing to make it up?" Michael asked, a glint in his eye.

  "Uh … no. Not even for a very large bribe, which I could use."

  "I'm too poor to bribe you. You're the rich one."

  "Uh-huh," Brenna agreed. "That's why my wages—excuse me, my ex-wages—are being garnished, and the very reason I gave up a nice condo to live in the lap of luxury with you."

  "Brenna." Michael waited until she looked at him before he continued. "You have money."

  "Not me. I used the last of my savings to pay for John Miller's inept services."

  "Remember a couple of weeks ago when all those old photographs and things came from Dad? There was a passbook with that stuff." At her even more puzzled frown, Michael added, "You know. The one that had a picture of Mom with it."

  "It wouldn't have any money in it. Not after all this time."

  "I bet it does."

  Five minutes later, she found the passbook in the back of her closet where she had stuffed it in a box with old pictures and other papers. Sitting down on the bed, she simply held the book, remembering back to the night she had left home.

  Brenna stared, unseeing, afraid to open the book and afraid not to, and so full of regret she hadn't told her mother that she loved her before she died.

  "Well, open it," Michael urged.

  She shook her head. "I'm scared to." She held it toward him. "You do it."

  Michael took the passbook and sat down next to Brenna. "Look at this," he said, resting his finger under the first column. "Mom opened this account a week after you were born." He slid his finger down the column. "Every birthday. Christmas. A lot of times in between." Michael closed the book and pressed into her hand. "There's a lot of money in here, Brennie. Eight thousand dollars. Plus interest for the last eleven years."

  "Another few dollars."

  Michael shook his head. "It's been compounding a long time. I bet it's doubled."

  "Enough to pay off the judgment," she breathed. If Michael was right, this was an answer to her prayers.

  "Call them," Michael urged.

  Her telephone call to the bank confirmed the account was open. Michael's hunch was verified—the balance was more than fifteen thousand dollars. The bank had a branch in Denver, and the customer service representative on the phone told Brenna they would be happy to see her any time. She hung up the telephone, at once stunned and ecstatic.

  Michael gave her a hug. "Happy?"

  Brenna nodded, though a sense of disbelief kept her wary. "Do you think Dad knew what this was?"

  Michael shrugged. "Who knows?"

  "I can't imagine he would have given this to me if he had known."

  "It's your money, Brenna. The key to your independence."

  "Yeah."

  "He can't hurt you any more unless you let him, Brennie."

  "I know," she replied, her response automatic. In her head, she knew he was right. In her heart … she wished she had Michael's conviction.

  But fifteen thousand dollars! The sum seemed a fortune to her. Like ice breaking up in a spring thaw, ideas and plans and dreams rushed through her.

  "I'm going to school," she announced. "Right after I get this judgment paid off. And I need a good lawyer." She jumped up, feeling like a little kid who wanted everything … and right now. She gave her brother a quick hug. "Fortunately, I happen to know one."

  She called Cole's office, and when his secretary picked up the phone, asked Cole to fit her into his schedule for a half hour some time during the day. Myra told her the only free time in his schedule was mid-morning.

  "Fine," Brenna told her. "I'll be there."

  If she thought Brenna's request for an appointment was odd, she didn't say so. Cole called ten minutes later wanting to know what was on her mind.

  "A surprise," she told him. "I'll see you at your office."

  When she arrived an hour and a half later, he ushered her right past his secretary almost before she had a chance to say hello.

  Shutting the door firmly behind him, Cole gathered Brenna close and thoroughly kissed her. "God, I'm glad to see you," he murmured between kisses. "Do you know how much I missed you?"

  Brenna couldn't resist teasing him. "You just saw me twelve hours ago."

  "I don't care," Cole said. "I'm having withdrawal pains."

  Brenna arched her eyebrows. "Care to show me where you hurt, Counselor?"

  Cole groaned. "You're tempting, fair lady."

  "Good. I have a proposition for you."

  He waggled his eyebrows. "This is getting better and better."

  "I want to hire you," she said.

  "Hire me?" He loosened his arms enough to look down at her. "Why?"

  "Oh, Cole. An answer to my prayers. Look at this." She stepped out of his arms, took the passbook out of her purse, and handed it to him. "I called the bank, and with the interest since the last deposit, I have more than enough to pay off the judgment."

  "That's great, honey, but—"

  "Don't you see? I can pay off Harvey Bates. I can be finished with this. And I want you to handle it for me."

  A slow grin lit Cole's face. "That would be just about a perfect end to this mess, wouldn't it?" He held out his hand. "Give me a dollar, Brenna."

  "A dollar?"

  He nodded.

  She dug a dollar out of her purse and handed it to him.

  "My retainer," he said, taking it from her and taking a kiss, too. "I'll collect the rest later."

  "Are you sure I can afford your fee?" she asked.

  He kissed her again. "Oh, yeah. You brought the judgment with you?"

  "Right here," she said, handing him a file folder full of papers.

  He riffled through them, found the sheets he was looking for, then sat down behind the desk. Brenna sat down to watch him as he rapidly scanned through the pages, jotting a couple of notes. After a quick perusal of the rest of the folder, he looked up. "Are you serious about this, Brenna?"

  She nodded. "I want this behind me. The sooner, the better."

  Cole picked up the telephone and dialed a number. A second later he identified himself, then asked for Roger Markham. Obviously on hold, he put a hand over the receiver and met Brenna's glance, his own eyes suddenly serious as a judge's.

  "Do you trust me, fair lady?" Cole asked.

  "Yes," Brenna answered without a second's hesitation.

  "Good." Another moment passed before he spoke into the telephone receiver. "Roger," Cole said. "I'm representing Brenna James. She would like to make a deal to pay off the judgment with Harvey Bates… Yes, you heard me right… When? Any time today would be fine… Of course, I'm serious… Then let me explain it, Roger. She's willing to deal, but it needs to be today. If you want to spend time jacking around, then I'll recommend she countersue Mr. Bates for harassment, negligence, and anything else I can dig up… I appreciate your fitting me in. Two-thirty will be fine… Yes… See you then."

  Cole grinned hugely when he hung up the telephone, and Brenna breathed a sigh, unaware until that moment she had been holding her breath. He crossed the room and opened the door. "Myra, I need you for a second."

  "Sure thing, boss." She appeared in the doorway, a stenographer's pad in hand before Cole sat back down behind the desk.

  "First, reschedule my appointments today for the balance of the week." He handed her the file folder. "Then, I need to dictate a release for this, which I need to have typed and finished by
one-thirty."

  Over the next hour Brenna watched Cole take charge of the situation with a skill that she admired and that told her just how rotten a job John Miller had done for her. When Myra brought in the typed release, Cole went over it again, his brow furrowed, this time reading it aloud.

  Just as she was about to decide he knew she couldn't read, he looked up and caught her watching him.

  "Sorry," he said. "Old habits die hard. I always read these things out loud. I should have outgrown it by now, but sometimes it's the only way I can tell if I've left something important out." A fleeting grin crossed his features. "It's driven every secretary I've ever had crazy."

  "I heard that," Myra called from the outer office. "I am not crazy."

  Cole chuckled. "Except Myra." He raised his voice. "Not crazy, just loony."

  "Ha, ha," came her response.

  One more reprieve, Brenna thought. One she didn't deserve. "It's okay," she said. "I'm just curious why you didn't put a dollar amount in."

  "That's part two of our plan." He stood up and pulled Brenna to her feet. "We're not going to give them all your money, fair lady." He led her out of the office. "C'mon. We need lunch, and we need to get some of your money out of the bank."

  * * *

  At two-thirty precisely, they stepped off the elevator and walked through the glass doors at the law offices of Jones, Markham and Simmons. She could hardly believe she was really here, but she knew Cole was right. Strike while Roger Markham and Harvey Bates were still trying to figure out what was going on.

  She and Cole waited a scant minute before the receptionist ushered them into the conference room where she had met with Cole and Harvey Bates all those months ago.

  At the doorway she paused. Harvey Bates sat at the end of the table, looking much as he had the last time she saw him. She had never been afraid of the man, but she hated the power he had wielded over her, hated feeling like the victim she had become. She lifted her chin and walked into the room.

  Cole pulled out a chair for her and greeted a slightly built, impeccably dressed man who followed them into the room.

  "Roger, you're looking well."

  "Miss James," he said with a slight nod to his head without acknowledging Cole's greeting. "You both know Mr. Bates."

  Brenna's glance shifted to him. His mouth lifted in a smile that did nothing to erase the petulant look from his face.

  "I knew sooner or later you'd ask your daddy for the money," he said.

  Cole sat down next to Brenna. "Let's get to this, shall we? How much do you want to settle this today?"

  Roger Markham frowned. "Why the entire amount, of course."

  Cole smiled. It was an expression Brenna recognized—his civilized, cold, court smile. "Roger, Roger. This is me you're talking to. Not some poor slob who couldn't find his rear with both hands and a mirror. I know you don't expect Miss James to hand over nine thousand dollars."

  "Since it's daddy's money, why do you care?" Bates asked.

  Brenna met his gaze and curiosity overrode her vow to ignore him. "I'd love to know, Harvey, just why it is that you think my father has money, and if he did, why you think he'd give me a dime of it."

  "Keeping track of the great Colonel James has been, shall we say, an interest of mine."

  His expression changed, and Brenna had the sense of something inside him cracking.

  "'Competence isn't enough. Excellence isn't enough. Perfection is the only acceptable goal,'" he quoted, his gaze returning to Brenna.

  Chills crawled over her skin. She remembered those words well, knew their intonation. They had made up the opening of just about every lecture she had ever heard from her father. She remembered much of the rest of it, too. Competence wasn't enough to keep good men from dying. Neither was excellence. Only perfection. In the execution of a plan, only perfection was acceptable. As a daughter, she hadn't been perfect, and she had wanted him to love her anyway.

  Bates appeared not to be aware of Cole or Roger Markham. "Do you know what your father's 'perfection' cost me?" His voice became hoarse with emotion. "A leg, my dear girl. You accused me of not having patience. You were wrong. I waited a long time, and when I met you, it was an answer to a thirty-year-old prayer. You told me to go to hell, and I can tell you I've been there. Eleven months of serving under a man who ignored the realities of guerrilla warfare in favor of perfection. Men died. Men were mutilated. And that bastard got a promotion!" Bates took a deep breath and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "At last I had a way to hurt him, if only a little. Nine thousand dollars is a drop in the bucket of what the grand Colonel James owes me."

  Brenna's gaze dropped to her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She didn't know how Bates knew she was Colonel James's daughter. Maybe they had talked about it once, but she couldn't remember. She didn't care how he knew. Explained for her at last was the animosity Bates held for her.

  She glanced him and murmured, "I'm sorry."

  "You're sorry!" he snarled. "Not half as sorry as I'd like to make you!"

  Cole surged out of his chair. "Bates—"

  "Miss James. Cole," Roger Markham interrupted. He stood, and for a small man, exuded self-confidence and determination Brenna hadn't noticed before. "Mr. Bates and I will be gone for a few minutes. You'll wait?"

  "Of course," Cole said as Roger ushered Harvey Bates from the room.

  Cole took her hand as they watched the two men through the glass partition.

  "I didn't know, Brenna," Cole said in a low voice. "I knew this was grudge match for Bates, but I swear to you, I didn't know why."

  "Me, neither," she said, watching Bates and Markham talk. Bates waved his arms a couple of times, then turned and strode down the hallway, leaning heavily on his cane, his limp pronounced.

  Brenna wanted to hate him for what he had put her through. At the moment, all she felt was pity.

  Roger Markham returned to the conference room.

  "I believe we were discussing an amount for the settlement," he said, ignoring the events that had just transpired, his expression giving no indication what he thought, if anything.

  Cole nodded. "That's right." He held out his hand, and Brenna placed in his palm four groups of hundred dollars bills that had been separated into thousand-dollar increments. "Miss James is willing to settle this right now for four thousand dollars."

  Just as Cole had predicted when they talked over lunch, Roger Markham couldn't take his eyes off the cash. He shook his head as though he didn't believe what he was seeing. "I've got to talk with Mr. Bates about this," he said. "Do you mind waiting for a few more minutes?"

  He left without waiting for an answer and returned within five minutes. "Mr. Bates says the full nine thousand is the very least he'll consider."

  Brenna's confidence wavered, but Cole had told her to expect this, as well.

  Cole stacked the four groups of bills on top of one another. "Then we don't have anything to talk about after all." He stood up and handed Brenna the money.

  "Eight thousand," Markham said.

  "Four thousand, five hundred."

  Markham shook his head. "That's his best offer."

  "That's too bad, and not good enough."

  "Seven thousand, then," Markham said.

  "Make it five and you've got a deal," Cole said.

  Roger shook his head. "I come down two thousand and you come up one."

  Cole smiled one of his cold smiles. "I'm a reasonable man, Roger. Five five."

  Markham's glance shifted to Brenna, then he nodded. "I'll get the agreement drawn up."

  "There's no need." Cole sat back down and opened his portfolio. He penned in the dollar amount in the places he had left blank and handed the agreements to Roger. "I think you'll see this covers all the basics."

  Roger pursed his lips as he handed the agreement back to Cole. "Sign it and I'll take it into Mr. Bates."

  Cole took a pen out of his pocket and handed it to Brenna. She signed her name and gave him back the f
our thousand dollars plus fifteen hundred more.

  He smiled at her. "We're almost done." Handing the signed agreements to Roger with the money, he said, "We'll need a receipt for the cash, Roger."

  "But, of course."

  Two hours ago Brenna had been furious with the idea of giving Harvey Bates any of her money, even though she wanted the judgment paid off. He didn't need the money—she did. But, giving it to him also marked a new beginning. And now that it was done, now that she knew about Bates's ties to her father, the anger had drained away. In its place was sadness for an embittered man.

  A few minutes later, Roger returned with a receipt and the signed agreements. Cole separated out their copies and shook Roger's hand.

  By the time they reached the elevator, she felt as thought she was walking on air. She stood sedately in front of the doors, waiting for the car to come, hanging on every bit of willpower she had ever possessed. The doors opened, and she and Cole entered the empty car. Cole pressed the button for the first floor.

  When the car began to move, Brenna let out a whoop. Cole laughed, caught her in his arms, and lifted her off the floor.

  "I'm free," she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. "I'm free!" She kissed him soundly. "Thank you. I couldn't have gone in there alone. I couldn't have—"

  "You could, Brenna. But I'm glad I was here to help." He kissed her. "We have only the small matter of my fee to settle."

  She grinned against his mouth. "Just what did you have in mind, Counselor?"

  "Spend the night with me."

  Sudden shyness caught up with her, but she nodded.

  "I still have to get about six dozen other things done today," he said.

  "Me, too," she agreed, though at the moment she couldn't remember what a single one was.

  "Is eight o'clock too late?"