Loving Sarah (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Julie Shelton

  * * * *

  “All rise. Marshall’s Creek Criminal Court is now in session, the honorable Judge Richard P. Walters presiding.”

  Courtroom One of the 250-year-old Marshall County Courthouse was a vast, echoing chamber with marble floors and walls, mahogany wainscoting and trim, and thirty-foot vaulted ceilings. There was a balcony along the back wall for overflow spectators. In spite of the open windows and ceiling fans, the room was quite warm, and several of the spectators were fanning themselves with handheld fans, graciously provided by Richardson’s Funeral Parlor.

  At the bailiff’s intonation, everyone rose to their feet, including the little group of courtroom regulars, half a dozen or so women who came every day to exchange recipes, discuss their favorite soap opera characters as if they were real people, and keep each other updated on all the latest local gossip. They took turns bringing fresh baked goods to share before taking their current needlework projects out of their oversized tote bags and settling in for a day of courtroom drama.

  Sarah stood at the prosecutor’s table, supremely aware of the fact that she was wearing jeans, flip-flops, and a faded pink cotton blouse. When she’d come out of the bathroom earlier that morning and seen the clothes Jesse had laid out on the bed for her to wear—a pair of old cotton shorts and a white tube top—she’d balked. “Are you crazy? That’s what I wear for cleaning bathrooms! I don’t even wear that out in the yard, much less out in public! I am certainly not wearing it to court!” The fact that she was now at least modestly, if not appropriately attired said a lot for her negotiating skills.

  The fact that she wore neither bra nor panties said a lot for Jesse’s.

  As the elderly, white-haired judge climbed the steps up to the bench, she stared at him, biting her lip nervously. Harold Sutton and his attorney, Ray Martinez, were at the defendant’s table. Sutton was somewhere in his midfifties to early sixties, with thinning gray hair and the florid complexion of a chronic alcoholic. His face was jowly, with two little piggy eyes and a bulbous red nose full of large pores and broken veins. He looked like W.C. Fields, only meaner.

  “Docket number MC17272,” the bailiff intoned, placing a sheaf of documents on the desk in front of the judge. “Marshall County versus Harold Biggins Sutton. Prosecution is seeking a Restraining Order.”

  “Thank you, bailiff,” Judge Walters said, adjusting the shoulders of his black judicial robe and tugging at the wide, hanging sleeves. He sat, followed by everyone else in the courtroom.

  “I see both parties are present, and—” The judge stopped suddenly, lowering his head to peer over the top rims of his reading glasses. He fixed Sarah with a frosty blue glare. Head high, she met him stare for stare, trying not to fidget. In spite of her outward show of bravado, she felt like a little girl with her hand caught in the cookie jar. And that hand was about to be slapped.

  “Counselor,” he said benignly, one wildly bushy eyebrow crawling skyward.

  “Your Honor.” She inclined her head regally.

  “Is this what you consider suitable courtroom attire?”

  “Not at all, Your Honor.”

  “Are you, perhaps, the victim of some sort of wardrobe malfunction?”

  “I can answer that question, Judge Walters,” Jesse’s voice boomed from the back of the room as he strode down the aisle, through the gate and straight up to the judge’s bench.

  Sarah’s hand lifted to her throat at the sight of him. Her belly flipped over and all of a sudden, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

  Judge Walters nodded his head. “Chief.”

  Jesse grinned. “Your Honor.”

  “I suppose you have a good reason to come bustin’ into my courtroom like this was an episode of Boston Legal.”

  “I have, Your Honor.”

  The judge placed one elbow on the desk, resting his chin in his hand. “Love to hear it.”

  “Of course, Your Honor. Sometime over the weekend, Ms. Marshall’s house was broken into and vandalized.” Behind her, the ladies gasped. “All her clothes were destroyed, except for the ones she’s now wearin’. Unfortunately, we didn’t discover the loss until late last evenin’, too late to find anythin’ more suitable for her to wear to court this mornin’.”

  The judge looked at Sarah, shock evident on his weathered face. “Are you all right, Counselor? Was anyone hurt?”

  “I‘m fine, thank you, Your Honor, and no, no one was hurt.”

  He looked back to Jesse. “Any suspects?”

  “Yes, Judge, but no evidence. Yet.”

  “Well, when you’re ready to make an arrest, I’ll be happy to issue the warrant.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Jesse turned and, instead of leaving, walked around the prosecutor’s table to sit beside Sarah in the seat usually reserved for an Assistant County Attorney. The ladies, their needlework lying idle in their laps, just sat and stared, their eyes darting back and forth between her and Jesse. By that evening they would be the latest topic of juicy gossip making the rounds.

  “All right, Counselor, you’re forgiven for your outfit,” the judge was saying. “As for the TRO.” He turned his gaze toward the defendant’s table. “Mr. Martinez, I see by this affidavit that your client has made so many threats against his wife that she’s had to be placed in protective custody. Is that true?”

  “She better get back home where she belongs,” Sutton grumbled loudly. “I told her what would happen to her if she didn’t come back.”

  The judge banged his gavel. “Counselor, control your client.” As Ray Martinez tried to get Harold to quiet down, Judge Walters looked at Sarah. “I’ve seen enough.” With a flourish, he picked up his fountain pen and signed the document in front of him. “Ms. Marshall, you have your TRO. Mr. Martinez, your client is forbidden to come within five hundred feet of his wife. He is not to have any contact with her by any means whatsoever, including phone, texting, letter, e-mail, smoke signals, or skywriting. Is that clear?”

  Harold Sutton, his mouth working silently, started to rise from his chair, but was immediately stopped by his attorney’s hand on his arm. “Yes, Your Honor, it’s perfectly clear,” Martinez said, tightening his grip and looking grim. “I’ll make sure he understands.”

  Shrugging off his attorney’s restraining hand, Harold sat there in sullen silence, glaring defiantly at the judge.

  “Mr. Sutton,” the judge said with a little more force, “I sense in you a certain reluctance to follow the rules that I’ve just set down for you. Failure to abide by the terms of this restraining order will result in your immediate incarceration. If you have any idea at all of attempting to circumvent this order, sir, I suggest you take your attorney’s advice and abandon it forthwith.” He banged the gavel. “Next case.”

  “This is all your fault, bitch!” Harold Sutton leaped from his chair, slamming it back against the railing. Snarling, he pushed aside his startled attorney and lunged straight at Sarah. She screamed and jumped to her feet just as Jesse grabbed her and shoved her behind him. Vaulting over her chair, he wrestled Sutton to the floor, holding him in place with a knee in the small of his back as he swiftly yanked the irate man’s hands behind his back and cuffed him.

  Judge Walters banged his gavel repeatedly, shouting, “Order! I will have order in my courtroom! Mr. Sutton, you are under arrest! Officers, take this man into custody! Order! Order! Order!” There was a loud crack as the head came off the gavel. Everyone ducked as it flew across the room and banged into the rear wall, before clattering noisily to the marble floor and skidding to a stop.

  Jesse hoisted Harold to his feet and handed him over to two uniformed officers, who led him forcibly out of the room. “You’re gonna pay for this, bitch,” he hollered back over his shoulder, fixing Sarah with a malevolent glare.

  Sarah gasped as the words scrawled on her bedroom wall slammed across her mind. I’M COMING FOR YOU, BITCH. AND YOU’RE GOING TO PAY. Had Harold Sutton been her intruder and not Ryder Malone?

  Chapter Eig
ht

  She stood there, openmouthed and rigid with shock, as Jesse turned toward her.

  “Are you okay, sugar?” He held her by the upper arms while she struggled to catch her breath.

  “Did you hear what he said?” she asked shakily. “Almost word for word—”

  “Yeah, baby, I heard him. I’ll have Akers question him as soon as he’s been booked.”

  Weak-kneed with relief, she sagged and would have fallen if he hadn’t pulled her into his arms. Momentarily forgetting where she was, she lifted her face and he crushed her mouth beneath his, sliding his rough tongue inside to mate with hers, claiming her publicly in a hungry, devouring kiss.

  “Oh, my,” said one of the housewives and the entire courtroom fell silent, as though holding its breath. Everyone stared at Sarah and Jesse as the kiss went on and on.

  Adrift on a euphoric cloud, completely oblivious to her surroundings, Sarah pulled her head back and smiled up at the man she loved more than life itself, letting her eyes roam over his beloved features. She lifted her hand to touch his cheek.

  “Harumph!” Judge Walters cleared his throat loudly, pinning the entire room with a wintry glare. “Counselor, I’ve had just about enough nonsense from you today.” His voice was gruff, but his expression was indulgent. “Need I remind you that this is a court of law and not a three-ring circus?”

  “Sorry, Your Honor.” Red-faced with embarrassment, Sarah pushed away from Jesse and turned to face the judge.

  Leaning forward over the high bench, the elderly man added in a conspiratorial whisper that was loud enough for everyone to hear, “So, I take it you two are…an item?”

  Sarah’s blush deepened. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  The ladies sighed and the courtroom hummed with the low buzz of conversation. Sarah groaned inwardly. This would be all over town by the six o’clock news. Hell, it would probably be on the six o’clock news.

  “Well, congratulations. And if you’re lookin’ for someone to conduct the ceremony…”

  “You’ll be our first choice,” Sarah promised. Closing her laptop, she began shoving papers into her briefcase when she heard the gate opening. She looked up just as Adam approached, which set off another spate of whispered speculation among the gallery. He greeted Sarah with one of those smiles that weakened her knees and made her heart lurch. One hand cupped her cheek as he bent his head toward her. Her gaze slid to his mouth, staring at it as if transfixed.

  Holy Moley! He wasn’t going to kiss her, was he? Not in front of all these people! Not after Jesse has just—oh, crap, what will everybody think? Just as she opened her mouth to protest, his lips came down over hers in a kiss so soft, so sweet, so mind-bogglingly sensual, that she nearly melted into a sticky puddle of goo on the floor. Good Lord, her men knew how to kiss! She stood unmoving, eyes closed, letting him brush his lips back and forth across hers while her mind floated away on a cloud of lust. Only dimly aware that he’d released her, she opened her eyes and looked up at him, blinking owlishly.

  Everyone, from the spectators to the judge, stared in openmouthed shock.

  “Morning, sweet pea.” He grinned down at her, completely unrepentant.

  “Um, morning, yourself.” She took a step back and his hand dropped. “What are you doing here? I thought I wasn’t going to see you until tonight.”

  “I started work early.”

  She frowned, confused. “What work?”

  “Jess didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?”

  Gently Jesse turned her to look at him, his arms loosely around her, his hands clasped at the small of her back. “As of this mornin’ Adam is your official bodyguard. Until we figure out who vandalized your bedroom and arrest the son of a bitch, you are to go nowhere without one or both of us.”

  She stared up at him, flummoxed. “Bodyguard!” she sputtered.

  “I’m not takin’ any chances with your safety.” Jesse’s lips were set in a tight, thin line. “Don’t even think of arguin’ with me about this.”

  She opened her mouth to do just that, but the glowering black eyebrows silenced any protest she might have made. “Okay. But, what’s he going to do all day while I’m working? Just sit around twiddling his thumbs?”

  “Well, we have until next Monday to figure that out. Michael’s givin’ you the rest of the week off,” Jesse answered, referring to Michael Anderson, the other prosecutor in the County Attorney’s office.

  “Jesse!”

  “Relax, sugar, it wasn’t my idea. When I told him what happened last night, he insisted.”

  “God damn it, Jesse, I’m a grown woman,” she said, angrily snapping her briefcase shut and drawing herself up to her full height of five feet two inches. “And it’s high time you started treating me like one. She lowered her voice to an angry hiss. “This isn’t the bedroom, this is the courtroom, where I’m in charge. Where I make the decisions. You can’t just take over my life like this!”

  His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Watch me.”

  “Jesse, be reasonable, I don’t need a week off. I don’t even need the day off. I’m not sick. I’m perfectly capable of working. And I sure as hell don’t need a bodyguard. I work in a courthouse, for God‘s sake, full of cops and bailiffs and corrections officers. What could possibly happen to me here?” Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin and turned on her heel, only to crash headlong into Ned Bellamy, one of Jesse’s deputies.

  Great. So much for her plan to march disdainfully out of the room.

  “Hey, Sarah,” Ned grabbed her arm to keep her from stumbling. “Sorry. I thought you heard me come in. Haven’t seen you in quite a while. How’ve you been?”

  “Good. Ned. You?” She smiled at him, but it took considerable effort.

  In his early forties, Ned could possibly be considered handsome. If one could overlook the enormous comb-over that began just above his right ear and ended just above his left. He’d asked Sarah out to dinner shortly after she’d returned to Marshall’s Creek. They’d spent the entire evening talking about Ned’s favorite thing—himself. Although he’d called several times since then, she hadn’t been keen on repeating the experience, so she’d always found an excuse to put him off.

  “Ned.” Giving his officer a hard stare, Jesse stepped up behind Sarah and curved his fingers around the nape of her neck in a not-so-subtle gesture of possession and ownership. Ned dropped his hand from Sarah’s arm and stepped back. Jesse introduced Adam and as the two men shook hands, he said, “What’s up?”

  “Ryder Malone. He’s been seen over in Porterville.”

  Jesse frowned for a long moment, lost in thought. Porterville. A small, derelict farming community around thirty miles up the road. He looked back at Ned. “You still got that old Dodge pickup?”

  “Yeah. It’s at home.”

  “Go get it. And change into somethin’ a little less law enforcement and a little more country bumpkin.”

  As Ned took off, Jesse turned to Sarah. “Sorry, sugar, gotta go. Adam will take you to the bank, AT&T, the DMV, and to get you some clothes for work. And I believe he also has a surprise for you.”

  “Jesse, be careful.” She put her hand on his arm. “Ryder is surely armed.”

  “Don’t worry, baby, so am I.” Eyes twinkling, he patted the holster strapped to his thigh.

  “This isn’t a joke, Jesse. He’s dangerous.”

  His expression hardened, making her shiver. “Don‘t worry, baby, so am I.”

  * * * *

  “Okay, I give up. Where are we going?”

  Sarah swirled the last of her French fries in the ketchup she’d squirted out onto her hamburger wrapper. After spending the morning going through the hassle of setting up a new bank account, replacing her cell phone and driver’s license and shopping for an entire wardrobe of clothes and shoes—being burglarized is such a bitch—they’d gotten fast-food burgers and were now deep in the gently rolling Virginia countryside, with nothing in sight for miles around except
…well, countryside.

  “I told you it’s a surprise.”

  Finally, after driving for what seemed like hours, he slowed and turned onto a badly rutted dirt driveway. A dilapidated mailbox had the name Rand painted on it in faded white letters. Rand? I don’t know anybody named Rand. “Who—?”

  “Uh-uh.” That smile was beginning to irritate her. “Surprise.”

  “Adam…”

  He sighed. “I can see we‘re going to have to work on your patience. One more question and you will earn a punishment,” he said, pulling up in front of a neat little brick house painted white, with blue hydrangeas and pink crepe myrtle bushes blooming in front of it. An enormous live oak tree held a tire swing and provided plenty of shade.

  Off to their right, on the other side of the driveway, was a cornfield just beginning to tassle. To their left, beside the house, was a large, flourishing vegetable garden. As Adam came around and handed her down from her seat, the screen door squeaked open. Two blue tick hounds came bounding out of the house and down the steps toward them, followed more sedately by an elderly black man leaning heavily on a cane.

  As the dogs circled around her, barking and whining in greeting, Sarah absently scratched one of them behind the ears as she watched the man emerge from the shadowed porch into the bright sunshine. He wore a pair of faded denim overalls and a short-sleeved plaid shirt. He walked slowly, leaning heavily on a cane. Even though eighteen years had passed since she’d last seen him, she recognized him instantly. “Po?” Her hand flew to her breast as she moved toward him, haltingly at first, then more quickly.

  He peered at her through his glasses. “Miss Sarah?” His face lit up. “Been a long time since anyone called me by that name.” He barely had time to brace himself before she threw her arms around him, giving him a great big hug. He patted her back. “Lawd have mercy, child, you are a sight for these ole eyes and that’s a fact. My, but ain’t you a purty little thing.” He stretched out his hand to Adam, who had arrived at the bottom of the steps. “And you must be that young fella who called me couple days ago.”