“All rise. The court of Falcon County is now in session. Judge Edwards presiding.”
Ben stood, processing the name just announced. Edwards... Why did he know that name?
A door behind the judge’s bench opened. A wisp of white hair was visible and then the judge mounted the steps to her elevated seat, revealing in stages white hair tightly pulled back, a wide forehead, beady eyes devoid of makup, a hook nose, thin lips framed in disapproving wrinkles.
It can’t be.
Ben forced himself not to grip the table in desperation.
It was.
The judge was Myrna Edwards, formerly Myrna Edwards Blackwell. One of his grandfather’s ex-wives. Back then, she’d been a lawyer. She’d lasted five days as the wife of Big E. One day for each Blackwell brother.
This was not good.
Myrna should have recused herself from the case. The fact that she hadn’t was a bad sign, one in a long string of bad signs.
“Be seated.” Myrna opened a file she’d brought with her, glanced at it and then at Ben, who was reminded of the last time he’d seen her.
She’d wanted to take the ranch’s new truck since Big E had driven her car into town, but Ethan, with Ben’s approval, had disconnected the spark plug wires. The truck wouldn’t start. The boys had been attempting to drive her crazy since Big E had brought her home from their courthouse wedding.
“Boys, can you find Jon?” Those beady eyes had drilled Ben’s gaze with a chilly combination of anger and restraint. “I need his truck. I have to get to court.”
Ben and Ethan had laughed and disappeared into the main barn, watching her from the hayloft with Tyler, Chance and Jon. Myrna was nothing if not resourceful. She’d discovered the tractor Jon had left to the side of the house, which still had the key in it, and she’d driven to court, never to return.
This was really not good.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?” The way Myrna smiled made the pulse throb in Ben’s temple. “Slumming it, are we, Mr. Blackwell?”
Ben turned on the charm. “So nice to see you again, Judge Edwards.”
Myrna wasn’t buying it. She shuffled some paperwork. “Are you licensed to practice in Montana, Mr. Blackwell?”
“I have my Montana certificate of good standing.” He produced it immediately from his hard-sided, silver briefcase. Heaven only knew why he’d kept his license current in the state.
The bailiff took it and handed it to the judge.
“How fortuitous for the Blackwells.” Myrna frowned and turned her attention to Rachel. “Ms. Thompson.” Her voice was as hard and sharp as fresh icicles after a New York blizzard. “The issue of water rights between the Double T and the Blackwell Ranch was settled five years ago. Why are we here today?”
“Your Honor.” Rachel stood. She was confident. Trusting in the law. Completely undeserving of having her water stolen by Big E.
By me.
Ben tamped down the slow churn of guilt in his gut and ran a hand over his hair.
“The Blackwell Ranch hasn’t been using their allotment of river water.” Rachel shoved her glasses up her nose. “Which brings up the question of positions in terms of river water rights.”
“Your Honor, I move for a continuance on this issue.” Ben barely drew a breath before pressing on. “Elias Blackwell has been out of town for two months and I only saw the brief when I arrived yesterday. I’m sure that Ms. Thompson and I can come to an equitable agreement outside of the courtroom.” And wasn’t that what every judge wanted?
“Objection.” Rachel didn’t quite roll her eyes, but they did circle to the ceiling above Myrna’s head before coming to rest on the judge. “The Blackwells were given five business days to review the brief. Just because Mr. Blackwell didn’t prepare—”
“Objection. I was busy working other cases in New York.”
Licking your wounds after being fired, more like, boy.
“Can I get a ruling in?” Myrna demanded in a raised voice.
“Please,” Ben murmured.
Rachel gripped her pen. “But Your Honor—”
“Silence.” Myrna held up a sheaf of papers. “According to your brief, Ms. Thompson, you’re wanting to reinstate your first position rights, plus ten percent additional volume to make up for the previous five years’ losses.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Rachel released her pen slowly, as if her fingers had cramped around it.
Myrna dropped the brief onto her desk. “Your opinion, Mr. Blackwell?”
“Your Honor, the Blackwell Ranch is a significantly larger operation that is growing and requires more water than the Double T will ever use.”
“Perhaps they’ll have to buy their water from the Double T,” Rachel said slyly, unwittingly revealing her end goal.
If the Blackwell Ranch was truly in financial straits, as Ethan had said, Rachel wouldn’t see a dime of Blackwell money.
“Since both arguments have merit, I want you two to hash out an agreement on your own time, as you’ve suggested, Mr. Blackwell.” Myrna tilted her chin up and squinted at her computer screen. “The court will reconvene on this matter in one week at the same time, whereby I expect you to come to terms.”
A week? Ben would have preferred she say by Monday. “And if we come to an agreement sooner?”
“The court docket is full. I’ll see you in a week’s time regardless.” Myrna rapped her gavel. “Next case.”
Ben glanced at the middle-aged lawyer in the back of the courtroom. No matter how busy the court seemed, there was still a chance he could broker a deal and get Myrna’s sign-off in less than seven days.
“Are you willing to talk compromise?” Ben sauntered out of the courtroom with Rachel, holding the door for her this time.
“My dad died. We sold off land and cattle to stay afloat. Compromise?” She walked with a spring in her step, as if she’d already won. “What do you think?”
He lengthened his stride to catch up to her. “You’ve waited a long time to say that, haven’t you?”
“Darn right, I have.” Rachel smiled dreamily.
And just like that, she stole his breath. She wasn’t a wreck. She wasn’t an inexperienced lawyer without skills. She was a beautiful woman turning heads as she passed.
His steps slowed. Since when was he attracted to Rachel Thompson?
Since you decided to “see” her, boy.
Ben shook his head, trying to erase the sputtering feeling that Rachel Thompson was exquisite, confident and a force to be reckoned with. She was a pain in the neck. Specifically, his neck.
He hurried on, trying to stomp out the spark of attraction with every determined step. “Did it feel as good as you imagined? Tossing that in my face?”
“Better.” She stopped and faced him. Still grinning. Still radiant. Still annoying in that she was an obstacle to Ben getting on with his life. His shallow, sellout life.
And it was a crime how kissable she looked when she grinned like that. Completely and utterly kissable. When had this woman, his former friend, become so alluring?
Ben cleared his throat, trying to clear his observations of Rachel along with it. “Let’s go get coffee and talk about this.” Ben was free the rest of the day and ready to leave Myrna’s turf and the unwanted appeal of Rachel behind.
“Ms. Thompson?” A harried-looking woman carrying a toddler stopped a few feet away. “I hate to interrupt, but I wanted you to know I’m ready. My mom will be here any minute to watch Alex.”
“It’s no interruption, Nelly.” Rachel showed more warmth to this woman than she’d shown to Ben all morning. “How are you, buddy?” She smiled at the toddler and gave him a high five.
The power lawyer image faded. Rachel became infinitely soft, infinitely huggable, infinitely more kissable. Ben gripped his briefcase with one hand and shoved the other
in his pants pocket. He’d stolen her water. There could be no embracing, no pulling her close, no tasting her lips.
Soft is beatable.
That was the sentiment that had driven Ben for years. The sentiment that had advanced his career in New York. Until he’d met one of the plaintiffs in a case. Until softness had a face and was an orphan, like Ben.
He felt ill.
Rachel checked her phone. “We have just enough time to grab a snack for Alex before we’re due in court.”
Ben was sure Rachel expected him to politely retreat into the background, head back to the ranch and await her call. He’d bet that’s how she treated those other Montana lawyers she dealt with.
Ben wasn’t polite. He wasn’t patient. He didn’t always follow the rules. That’s why he got results.
He headed back inside the courthouse.
CHAPTER FIVE
“WHAT ARE YOU doing here?” Rachel spotted her adversary in the courtroom as soon as she walked in.
Ben had taken a seat in the visitors’ gallery, behind the table she was assigned to, standing out in his tailored suit like a diamond in a shallow bowl of wooden beads. Broad shoulders, shiny hair, a hint of a grin. Back in high school, she’d been proud to call him friend. He was handsome and a Blackwell, one of the most powerful families in the valley. Today, she was itching for a reason to demand the bailiff throw him out of court.
“I’m a courtroom junkie.” Ben leaned back in his seat, spreading his arms on top of the adjacent seat backs. “Pay me no mind.”
Ben Blackwell had never been ignorable.
Rachel pushed her glasses up her nose, wishing she could punch something else.
Nelly came forward and joined Rachel at the table, looking nervous in her white polyester dress and pleather flats. Her mother sat outside in the hallway with little Alex.
“Go home, Ben.” Rachel didn’t want him watching her, judging her, holding Rachel up to the standards of a tough litigator and finding her lacking. “You don’t belong here.”
Ben didn’t move. No. That wasn’t right. Ben’s lips moved. His smile widened, flashing a mouthful of teeth that appeared cavity-free.
A sound came out of Rachel so low and feral, Nelly gasped in the chair beside her.
Ben just laughed.
Nelly’s husband entered with his lawyer. Darnell was a big man with a hardheaded attitude and a perpetual scowl, which made him look more ornery than the bull Rachel had tried to rope last night. He tried to catch Nelly’s eye, but Rachel had instructed her client to ignore her husband completely.
“Geez, he’s big.” Ben leaned forward, making his seat groan. “I’ve got your back, Thompson.”
“All rise...” The bailiff began the court proceedings before Rachel could tell Ben to butt out.
Judge Edwards took her seat, sending a questioning look Ben’s way before getting down to business. “Counselors, I’m very disappointed that mediation didn’t work for the O’Ryans. Especially you, Ms. Thompson, as failed mediation seems to be a habit you’re cultivating.”
“Your Honor.” Rachel stood. “My client was threatened by her husband in mediation. We had no recourse but to appear before you today.”
“Lies,” Darnell muttered, loud enough for the judge to hear.
“Careful, Mr. O’Ryan, or you’ll be found in contempt.” Judge Edwards stared at Darnell, her eyes narrowed to hard black dots.
Darnell stared at the ceiling, biceps flexing beneath the chambray sleeves of his shirt.
Judge Edwards turned her attention back to Rachel. “What is your recommendation for child and spousal support, Ms. Thompson?”
“Three—”
Ben coughed thickly, over and over, as if he was dying. He finally choked out, “Five hundred.”
Rachel glared at Ben. Five hundred was unheard of in these parts.
“What was that, counselor?” Judge Edwards assessed Rachel with a death-sentence stare and then leaned slightly to the side to give Ben his share of disapproval. A thick lock of her white hair fell forward, uncharacteristic of Judge Edwards, who never looked shaken, unlike Rachel. “The court warns that another interruption will result in contempt, just as sure as I’ve got orthopedic supports in my shoes.”
“Your Honor,” Rachel began. “We request...” she half glanced at Ben “...five hundred dollars.” Why not shoot for the moon?
Nelly paled, looking like she might faint. Darnell huffed like the air had gotten thin on his side of the courtroom.
Judge Edwards made a notation in her file. “That sounds reasonable.”
“Reasonable?” Darnell rocketed to his feet and curled his fist in Nelly’s direction. “I will not pay for my wife to date other men. I will not pay for a house I don’t live in. And I will not pay for some kid when I’m not even sure he’s mine.”
Rachel’s knees felt weak. Darnell was a bully and used to backing up his loud claims with force. Nelly had shown Rachel the bruises on her arms where her husband had grabbed her during mediation. Rachel had taken pictures and sent them to the sheriff, who’d told her they couldn’t do anything until Nelly filed a complaint, which she hadn’t done. Not this time, nor any of the previous times.
Judge Edwards pounded her gavel as if she was driving a nail into a two-by-four. “Order! Order in the court. This is your last warning, Mr. O’Ryan.”
The elderly bailiff took a few steps forward, glaring at Darnell, whose attorney got him to quiet down. Everyone in the courtroom took a breath.
“The way I understand it,” Ben said into the void. “She won’t be your wife after the judge signs those papers.”
Standing again, Darnell growled like a race car revving up to charge off the starting line. He shook off his lawyer’s hold.
“Order!” the judge warned.
Based on Ben’s behavior, he had no idea what that word meant. “And you’ll be required by law to pay five hundred big ones every month.” Ben stood, as if preparing to leave. “Your wife and son deserve a thousand.”
Darnell released a war cry and hopped over the rickety wooden railing separating the visitors seats from the courtroom proper. Two strides and he launched himself in the air.
Ben was a dead man.
What happened next seemed to play out in slow motion. Nelly screamed, scrambling as far away from her husband as she could. The viewing gallery gave a collective gasp.
And Rachel? Rachel couldn’t breathe.
Darnell’s flying tackle was met with a deft swing of Ben’s silver briefcase. The crack of skull against metal echoed in the high-ceilinged courtroom louder than the judge’s pounding gavel.
And then everything resumed in real time.
Nelly was still screaming. Darnell was flopping on the floor like a hooked fish fighting for air. Several onlookers ran out into the hallway shouting for help. The elderly bailiff proved to be a man of wiry strength, dropping onto Darnell’s back like a pro wrestler sensing an opportunity.
When order was finally restored, Darnell was lying face down on the floor being handcuffed, the judge had lost control of another stiff lock of white hair, and Rachel had a sneaking suspicion that she was going to come out ahead on this case.
Turned out Darnell’s head wasn’t so hard after all. He couldn’t get to his feet.
Ben returned to his seat, examined the dent in his briefcase and then straightened his tie.
“Mr. O’Ryan.” Anger amplified the judge’s voice. “You are ordered to serve a weekend in jail.”
Nelly did the I-want-to-be-invisible slump in her chair, lower lip trembling.
“Objection.” Rachel came to her feet. “Two days doesn’t seem long enough, Your Honor.”
“Overruled, Ms. Thompson.” The judge glared at Darnell. “This man will not miss out on work to appease the court, and then use that as an excuse not to pay hi
s five-hundred-dollar-a-month child and spousal support. Based on his behavior here today, if he misses a payment by so much as one day, the court will garnish his wages. I want papers with these divorce terms presented to me on Monday. Do you understand what’s going on, Mr. O’Ryan?”
“It’s not fair,” Darnell slurred. His head swung as if it was too heavy for him to hold up.
“I’ll make sure he understands,” Darnell’s lawyer said.
“Bailiff, please take Mr. O’Ryan downstairs for processing and a medical evaluation. And then return here to escort Ms. Thompson and Mr. Blackwell into my chambers.”
What? Rachel had barely sat down when she had to rise again. “Your Honor, I—”
“Will see me in chambers in a few minutes.” Judge Edwards stood and disappeared by degrees behind her tall bench.
The bailiff removed a swaying Darnell from the room.
Rachel’s mind whirled with the implications of what had just happened. She’d lost control of her case. Unbidden, a new mantra was added to her list.
Win back the water rights.
Set the ranch to rights.
Get a signed custody agreement.
Learn how to be a better rancher.
Learn how to be a better lawyer.
She resented that last one. It brought a bitter taste to her mouth and cast doubt into her soul. She whirled on Ben. “You’re incorrigible. You have no limits. No...no...decorum. No honor.”
Ben ran a hand over his hair but said nothing.
Because that’s what good lawyers did. They knew when to speak up and when to stay silent. They knew how to work people and situations and the system to their advantage as intuitively as they knew how to breathe.
And Rachel didn’t. What had she gotten herself into?
She wanted to be sick. Preferably all over Ben’s expensive shoes.
“I need air,” Nelly said in a shaky voice.
Rachel helped her client to the hallway and into the arms of her mother.
“Five hundred dollars a month,” Nelly broke down in tears. “I can only dream it’s true.”
“Five... I was praying she’d get two,” Nelly’s mother admitted. She was sturdily built with long brown hair and a harried smile that characterized most of Rachel’s clients. “You are a miracle worker, Ms. Thompson.”
The Rancher's Redemption Page 7
