Kiss Me Hello (Sweetest Kisses)

by Grace Burrowes

  Sid’s belly settled marginally.

  “Objection overruled,” the judge said. “The witness may answer the question.”

  Ms. Snyder smoothed a hand down her hair. “I forget the question.”

  ’Cause you’re a lot dumber—and meaner—than you look.

  “When was the last permanency planning hearing in this case?” Trent said.

  “I’d have to consult my notes.”

  Trent said nothing, and the bitch idiot lying witch Kewpie doll conniving excuse for a low-down scheming she-snake put a worried look on her face.

  “Um, I think it has been quite some time.”

  “The witness’s answer is nonresponsive to the question,” Trent said, looking directly at the judge.

  “Find us a date, if you can, Ms. Snyder.” And praise be to heaven, the judge sounded more pissed than avuncular.

  She fussed and scrolled and fussed some more, then recited a date nearly two years in the past.

  “You don’t think Luis deserves any permanency planning?” Trent asked, his tone still mild.

  “Oh, of course he does. That’s why we’re moving him. His sisters are in a pre-adopt household, and we’re hopeful that things will work out for Luis too.”

  A commotion at the door stopped the proceedings. A slender, dark-haired woman was led into the courtroom by uniformed guards, her handcuffs and ankle bracelets jangling. She wore jeans and a modest cream blouse, her hair was swept back in a tidy bun, and her gaze, her entire being, was focused on Luis.

  The judge glanced at the court reporter. “Let the record reflect we’ve been joined by the boy’s mother. Ma’am, please state your name for the record.”

  “Phillippa Martineau, Your Honor.” A beautiful voice, her words spoken as the deputies unlocked her ankle bracelets.

  “Have a seat, Ms. Martineau. Was it your intention to appear here without representation?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Then, Mr. Knightley, you may proceed.”

  “Ms. Snyder, you were telling us that Luis’s sisters are to be adopted, but you don’t intend to place him in the same foster home, do you?”

  “That would be up to Baltimore.”

  “Who in Baltimore?”

  “His worker.”

  “Who will that be?”

  “Baltimore will assign the worker when the case is transferred.”

  “Do you mean to tell me, Ms. Snyder, you have no idea where Luis will be placed, not the first clue, but somehow you think it’s better for him to be a few miles closer to his sisters, even though it means removing him from the pre-adopt family where he’s thrived for nearly the past year?”

  “Mr. Knightley, the home he’s in isn’t properly licensed. I’m sorry, but if his foster parent truly cared about Luis, she would not have allowed her qualifications to lapse.”

  No string of expletives was adequate for the rage that comment ignited in Sid. Three varieties of green beans were growing where the damned two-seater had been.

  “We’ll get to the licensing issues,” Trent said. “How many times have you called Baltimore to coordinate with them regarding this transfer?”

  “Well, I haven’t called them yet. They haven’t assigned a worker.”

  “Right. Because you haven’t told them you want to transfer the case.”

  “Objection.” Patlack didn’t bother to rise this time. “Counsel may not testify.”

  “Sustained,” the judge muttered.

  “My apologies.” Trent sounded anything but apologetic. “Now why is the foster parent’s license in jeopardy?”

  “She’s out of compliance.”

  “Can you be more specific, Ms. Snyder?”

  “She lives on a farm, and there were difficulties with the physical home.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well…” Ms. Snyder gave the judge an awkward smile. “Outdoor plumbing is unacceptable in a licensed foster home.”

  Trent jumped in with the next question. “You’re implying Baltimore sent a child out here to a home without indoor plumbing? How many bathrooms does Luis’s foster home have inside the farmhouse?”

  “I’d have to check my notes.”

  Trent merely crossed his arms.

  “It looks like…three and a half.”

  “So the outdoor plumbing wasn’t in use, was it?”

  “The family said not. I have no way of knowing, really.”

  Mac’s fingers closed more snugly around Sid’s, which was all that kept her from bellowing obscenities at the state’s witness.

  “The building housing the outdoor plumbing has been razed, hasn’t it?” Trent asked.

  “That’s what the foster parent claims.”

  “You haven’t verified her claim? Or is the presence or absence of a building difficult to assess?”

  Go, Trent.

  “Really, I haven’t had the case that long, and the issue of the outdoor plumbing isn’t the greatest problem.”

  “Why is that?”

  “The household income is the problem. We pay our foster parents a stipend to meet the needs of the foster children in their homes, but the family has to have independent income. Often, if there’s a divorce, or the breadwinner dies unexpectedly, the foster care license has to be given up.”

  Sid didn’t hear the rest of the woman’s tripe. Income was the problem? Income? She needed an air-sickness bag, and duct tape for Amy Snyder’s mouth.

  Mac patted Sid’s knuckles, his expression willing her to remain quiet and seated. Sid had no steady income; that was the damned, ugly truth. Mac’s board money wasn’t employment. Her land would make her money come fall, and she’d tucked away a little from selling the hog house lumber and her topsoil, but that was incidental income.

  The estate that would give her investment income might not settle for months.

  Sid was really, truly going to lose her son. What little hope she’d harbored died, and if it wouldn’t have been abandoning Luis, she would have quit the courtroom that instant.

  “When did you inform the foster parent that income was an issue of sufficient stature to cost her her license?” Trent asked.

  “I told her several weeks ago that I’d submitted the license revocation paperwork, and in that time, I’d think she would have told me if she’d found a job. Luis has found work.” She beamed approval of her client for that bit of initiative.

  “So has the foster parent’s license been revoked?”

  “Not as of today, or we’d have to shelter Luis in another home. We’re trying to have him finish out the school year without moving.”

  Trying so hard.

  “When did you inquire as to the foster parent’s income?” Trent said.

  “Income information is on the forms that came up with the case from Baltimore.”

  “So it would not surprise you to learn that this foster parent has a net worth in seven figures?”

  Ms. Snyder blinked rapidly, twice. “That’s not income.”

  “You were aware of her net worth?”

  “Net worth isn’t on the paperwork.”

  Patlack tipped his chair back to have a whispered conversation with a supervisor, then got to his feet.

  “Your Honor, I’m going to object to this line of questioning. It is exclusively in the Department’s purview which foster home we place which child in. We can move the boy tonight to another foster home, and it’s quite frankly none of Mr. Knightley’s business. We’re trying to keep the child with his current placement through the end of the school year. You’d think counsel would appreciate that consideration, not criticize it.”

  Patlack cast a disparaging glance at Trent, who didn’t bat an eye.

  “Your Honor, to the child, one foster home is not as good as another,” Trent said. “If called upo
n to testify, my client would assure the Court he is thriving in the current home, he wants to stay in the current home, and that like most Maryland foster homes, this home is licensed for adoption as well as foster care. The Department is elevating form over substance, and to the child’s detriment.”

  Damn straight they were.

  “I can’t ignore a revoked license, Mr. Knightley,” the judge said, frowning at the Department’s recommendation.

  “The license hasn’t been revoked, nor have I completed my case.”

  Rather than piss the judge off, Trent’s statement seemed to amuse him. “By all means, Mr. Knightley, please proceed.”

  “Ms. Snyder, if you were to learn that the foster parent had acquired substantial household income since arriving to our county, you’d have to stop the license revocation procedure, wouldn’t you?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Wouldn’t you, Ms. Snyder?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just a few more questions then. When have you scheduled Luis’s permanency planning hearing?”

  “I haven’t. Because his case is being transferred, that means Baltimore will have to schedule—”

  Trent held up a hand. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Ms. Snyder, but I was under the impression His Honor has yet to decide what to do with this case. If His Honor’s input is no longer considered germane by the Department, this is news to me. Wouldn’t it be better management of the case to have scheduled the permanency planning hearing as soon as you noticed that Luis’s file was out of compliance with the regulations?”

  Sweet—if too little too late.

  That blow to Ms. Snyder’s ability to enforce the regulations rattled her composure. Her expression turned ugly for an instant, while she stared at her SmartPad.

  “It’s not my fault somebody in Baltimore forgot to schedule a hearing.”

  “Not your fault, but it was your job to bring the case into compliance, and you decided to pass the wet baby instead, didn’t you?”

  Patlack rifled through his notes, though his worker was glaring at him.

  “Ma’am, if you’d answer the question?” Trent’s tone was patient.

  “Could you ask it again?”

  “Was it, or was it not, just as much your job to bring Luis’s permanency planning into compliance as it was to hound his wealthy foster parent because, in a difficult economy, she didn’t find a paying job as soon as she moved her household to Damson County?”

  Now Ms. Snyder’s expression was positively venomous. “I am responsible for both aspects of the case, as was Baltimore, and it isn’t my fault if Baltimore didn’t do its job.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor.” Trent’s tone, dismissive and almost disappointed, stated his opinion of the witness and her testimony.

  “Any questions for this witness, Ms. Martineau? Any redirect, Mr. Patlack?” the judge asked.

  Luis’s mother declined to question the witness.

  “Not at this time, Your Honor,” Patlack said, “though I may call Ms. Snyder in rebuttal, depending on how much longer Mr. Knightley wants to delay the inevitable.”

  This sniping also seemed to amuse the judge, while Sid wondered if Luis would ever laugh again.

  “I’ll delay the inevitable,” the judge said, pushing out of his high-backed chair. “We’ll take a short recess before I hear closing arguments.”

  “All rise!”

  The room got to its collective feet, the judge left, and Mac’s arms came around Sid.

  “We’re good, Sidonie,” he whispered fiercely in her ear. “If you’ll trust me, we’ve got this. Luis isn’t going anywhere.”

  She didn’t comprehend his words, but his tone—confident, emphatic, battle ready—got through to her.

  “What do you have up your sleeve, MacKenzie?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  He could ask her that, after the way she’d treated him? “Yes, I trust you with my life and with my son. I’ve been meaning to apologize, but, MacKenzie—”

  He kissed her into silence. “I have to talk to Trent. The judge could come back on the bench at any moment.”

  Trent did not look confident. He was talking quietly with Luis and Luis’s mother, his expression grave. Mac interrupted, pulled Trent aside, and started talking. James joined them, his expression as serious as Sid had ever seen it, and then Mac motioned for Hannah to join them.

  Sid greeted Luis’s mother and tried to exchange pleasantries, but that was like trying to ignore the proverbial pink elephant—a lame, bleeding pink elephant.

  She moved down the table and hunkered across from Luis. “How you holding up?”

  “I was worried.”

  “And now you’ve given up?”

  “Nope. Now those four are smiling, and it’s Ms. Snyder who’d better be worried.” Luis gestured to Mac, Trent, James, and Hannah, and damned if the boy wasn’t right: all four lawyers were smiling.

  What the hell could that mean? What the hell could that possibly mean?

  * * *

  “Gentlemen, you will make your arguments brief in the interests of judicial economy.” The judge cast a meaningful glance at the clock, but Trent was on his feet.

  “My apologies, Your Honor, but I have at least one more witness, possibly two before the conclusion of my case. I’d call MacKenzie Knightley as my next witness.”

  Before the judge could grumble, Mac was sworn in, his expression calm as he took the seat in the witness box.

  Sid tried to muster some confidence—Mac had said to trust him, and she did. Despite misunderstandings, despite cold feet, despite the odds, despite the sheer impossibility of the situation, she trusted MacKenzie Knightley.

  No, she thought, her throat constricting with unshed tears. She loved MacKenzie Knightley. Loved how he didn’t waste words, loved how he touched her. She loved his commitment to his clients, even as she wished he had a different calling. She loved how he dealt with Luis, straightforward but caring. She loved how he looked after his brothers, and how they did the same for him.

  She loved—oh, God, did she ever love—how he made love to her, with her, his whole heart and soul in every touch.

  On the witness stand, Mac was relaxed, at ease, and somehow in command of the room despite the judge sitting two feet higher to his right.

  “Mr. Knightley, how do you know Luis Martineau?” Trent’s question was brisk and impersonal.

  “I board two horses on the farm where Luis lives. Luis has their regular care, and he does a d—darned fine job with them.”

  “Are you acquainted with his foster mother?”

  “I am well acquainted with Ms. Sidonie Lindstrom.”

  “Were you present when Ms. Snyder made her initial visit to the premises?”

  “I was.”

  “Did you hear Ms. Snyder indicate that the reason the foster care license was in jeopardy had to do with outdoor plumbing? I’m simply asking what you heard, Mr. Knightley.”

  “Plumbing was the only factor Ms. Snyder mentioned. She did not mention income in any way, shape, or form, which was unfortunate. I could have easily cleared up her misunderstanding. Her mistake.”

  Patlack tossed down his pen and leaned back to whisper again with the supervisor. Did those people feel a tenth of the anxiety Luis did when the case tilted away from their preferred outcome?

  “What response have you observed to the criticism regarding outdoor plumbing?” Trent asked.

  “I explained to Ms. Snyder that I was raised in the immediate area, and the, uh, facility at the back of the hog house had not been used in my lifetime. She ignored that information, but I’ve been to the farm many times since that discussion. The hog house has been razed in its entirety. A vegetable garden has been put in on the same site, and the tomatoes are coming along nicely.”

  Stevens�
��s lips twitched, but his voice was stern. “Counsel for the child will note that a vegetable garden is not a paying job.”

  Mac turned to face the judge, his expression diabolically angelic. “Ms. Lindstrom can have one of those too, Your Honor.”

  “Explain, Mr. Knightley.”

  “As Your Honor no doubt knows, I am the managing partner at the Hartman and Whitney law firm, and as such, I can testify to the fact that we’ve offered Ms. Lindstrom a job as our head of human resources. She has a Wharton MBA, plenty of applicable experience, and she interviewed well. The position takes somebody who can stand up to a passel of lawyers who are sometimes obstreperous. She did that exceedingly well. I have a copy of the offer letter with me, if you’d like to enter it in the record.”

  Sid nearly bellowed her incredulity. She didn’t want the damned job, but she did want to leap the railing and kiss MacKenzie long and hard, until she heard the next words out of his mouth.

  “I doubt she’ll take the job, though.”

  The judge’s lips thinned. “Why would she turn down the job that allows her to keep Mr. Martineau where counsel would have me believe Mr. Martineau belongs?”

  “Because she’s getting a better offer, though she could in theory accept both.”

  “I’ll drop the other shoe, Mr. Knightley: What is this better offer?” the judge asked.

  “If Ms. Lindstrom accepts this offer, the result will be the addition of an immediate, substantial income to her household, but Ms. Snyder never inquired into household finances at all, or she’d have to have interviewed me as well.”

  What on earth was Mac up to? Luis’s future hung in the balance, Sid’s heart hung in the balance, and MacKenzie was playing courtroom games.

  “Stop being coy, Mr. Knightley. A boy’s happiness is at stake.”

  Damned right, Your Honor.

  Mac shifted his gaze from the judge, to Trent, to Luis, and finally to Sidonie herself. Sid heard him over a faint roaring in her ears, though it sounded as if Mac spoke to her alone. The intensity of his gaze suggested he saw only her.

  “My happiness is at stake as well, Your Honor. I am asking Sidonie Lindstrom to be my wife. I am asking her to live with me, to raise with me such children as God or the foster care system might give us, to let me provide for her and for our family, to make my family hers, and to share our joys and sorrows for the rest of our lives. I am promising her my love, my fidelity, all my worldly goods, if she’ll just say yes. And, Sid? If you want me to quit the damned job, I’ll do it happily. Trent and James are big boys now, they don’t need me riding herd on them quite as much, and they said I could.”