by Donna Fasano
Her breath left her in another quiet sigh. At times, youth and inexperience made perfectly intelligent people act like idiots. As Lauren pulled open a side drawer on her desk and took out a yellow legal pad, she said, "I'll need an eighteen hundred dollar retainer."
"Eighteen hundred dollars?"
She didn't take offense at his tone; she'd heard it hundreds of times before from people who sat in that very chair.
"Scott, I need a couple hours to research case law. Then I'll need an hour, maybe longer, to prepare my argument in case I have to offer one. And we'll be in court up to three hours waiting for your case to be heard."
"But I don't have that kind of money. I'm a full-time student. I don't have a job. My dad gives me fifty bucks a week spending allowance." His big hands tensed on the arms of the chair. "Do you think I could get away with going to court without a lawyer?"
"I wouldn't recommend it." She picked up her pen and clicked it three times. "All the charges are misdemeanors, but each one carries a maximum sentence that includes a fine plus jail time."
Scott's pale face went paler. "Jail? I could go to jail?"
She nodded. "It's not all that likely since it's a first offense, but you can never tell with these things. And you did resist arrest. That tends to make the judge less forgiving."
His breathing accelerated.
"Scott—" she set down her pen and laced her fingers on top of the legal pad "—have you called your parents?"
"It's just my dad." He paused the merest fraction of a second before softly adding, "For the most part." He looked at her, unblinkingly. "Anyway, I was hoping I could get through this on my own. Dad'll kill me if he finds out about this."
It's just my dad. For the most part. Lauren wondered what that meant exactly.
She tilted her head a fraction, smiling. "I seriously doubt your father would take things that far. He might be disappointed, and none of us wants to disappoint our parents. But sometimes that can't be helped, Scott. You need some support. Emotionally and financially." She flattened her mouth apologetically. "I can hold your hand. I can talk you through the legalities of your situation. But, unfortunately, I can't work for free. You won't find a lawyer in this town who will."
Sure, she'd like to be a do-gooder, a good Samaritan who cast aside all responsibility to help out every Tom, Dick and Scotty in need. Who wouldn't? But she had people depending on her. Norma Jean needed the paycheck Lauren wrote every week. There was office rent, a car lease and house mortgage to pay, not to mention utilities. And her father needed her help. She needed an income.
Lauren blinked a couple of times when she realized her blood had begun to simmer. Her jaw was clenched. She gulped in a deep, relaxing breath, realizing, too, that the anger roiling through her wasn't this young man's fault.
No, it sure wasn't. Her financial situation was no one's fault but Greg's.
She stood and smiled, offering her hand to Scott. "As Norma Jean explained, your initial consultation is free. Your court date is weeks away. You've got plenty of time to decide what you want to do."
He rose from the chair, shook her hand. "Thanks for your time," he murmured.
The fear and confusion shadowing his gaze spurred a gentleness in her. "This isn't the end of the world, Scott."
He nodded, but looked clearly unconvinced.
"Call your father. I'm sure he'd want to hear from you. I'll bet he'll be more understanding than you imagine. But whether you do or not, I can't urge you strongly enough to hire a lawyer. Like I said, it doesn't have to be me. But going to court without legal representation wouldn't be wise."
He nodded again and then walked toward the door.
She said his name and he turned to face her. Lauren hoped her next statement didn't sound heartless, but she could no more have left it unsaid than she could have stopped breathing.
"If you do decide to hire me, you'll have to bring a check with you the next time you come."
Scotty Shaw left her office looking like a whipped puppy.
Chapter 3
Marriage is a three ring circus:
engagement ring, wedding ring and suffering.
~ Unknown
Skeeter Neck Road dipped and twisted its way through the western Maryland countryside. Sumac, thorn bushes and other weedy scrub carpeted the swampy areas, and what sounded like an army of frogs serenaded Lauren as she drove with her windows down. Where the land was elevated, she passed small stands of trees; pine, butternut, ash.
Driving out to find a piece of property she didn't exactly own just yet was probably the last thing she should be doing this morning. She should have stayed home, enjoying a second cup of coffee while reading the Saturday edition of the paper. Reveling in her last hours of solitude before her dad moved in with her later today.
Lauren rubbed her fingertips back and forth across her forehead. She loved her dad dearly and would have done anything for him. But the two of them hadn't lived under the same roof in years. He'd lived alone since she'd moved out to attend college, and with the break up of her marriage, Lauren's home life had been pretty solitary for the past year as well. This new living arrangement wasn't going to be easy. For either of them.
Yes, she should be home enjoying the last vestiges of peace and quiet she would have in the foreseeable future. However, curiosity had spurred her out the door on this glorious morning. She'd contacted a friend in the deed registry office yesterday for the exact location of the property she'd been awarded by Judge Brooks.
She kept glancing at the dashboard, and when the odometer hit eight point five miles, she slowed the car. According to her friend, the property was located on the east side of Skeeter Neck Road just under nine miles out of town.
Her father had called Thursday night, grousing at her about taking what he felt was Greg's property.
"Just because the judge gave it to you," he'd said, "doesn't mean you have to accept it."
Lauren had succeeded in keeping her tone sweet as she'd replied, "And leave you explaining to everyone in town that you raised an idiot? Dad, I'd never do that to you."
Braking the car to a crawl, she inched past a dirt drive and craned her neck to see around the trees fronting the patch of land. A large barn took center stage; she could make out bare wood showing through faded red paint in spots on the building. She drove on, looking for a plot with a shed as Greg had described to the judge this week.
She passed a field that stretched into next week, a recent harvesting having left behind row upon row of some kind of plant stubs. When the odometer hit ten miles and there was no end of the field in sight, Lauren made a three point turn and headed back the way she'd come. She arrived at the dirt lane leading to the barn again and stopped.
"Well, this makes no sense," she murmured, steering the car onto the packed dirt drive. Maybe she could find a farmer or someone else who could provide her with directions.
She pulled the keys from the ignition, got out of the car and shut the door. The cool morning was quiet save for the slight breeze rustling through the leaves of the trees. The leaf tips were taking on their autumn color; soon the landscape would turn into a glorious tapestry filled with shades of gold and crimson.
There wasn't a soul in sight as Lauren approached the barn. The farmer who owned the property was probably relaxing over a second cup of coffee and the Sterling Sentinel, she mused wryly. But it would be silly to have come this far and not check. Maybe the farmer was compulsive about his life's work and was inside the barn tuning his tractor or whatever it was farmers did inside of barns.
Peeling paint covered the clunky door latch, but the hinges must have been well-oiled because they swung open with silent ease.
"Hello," she called into the shadowy recesses. "Anybody here?"
She sighed and was just turning to leave when she noticed it. The shaft of light shining into the barn from the open door illuminated a steel gray tool box. Lauren frowned, one hand still bracing the tall door. Black, block-lettered decal
s positioned on the battered metal lid of the tool box spelled out FLYNN.
Irritation jutted Lauren's jaw as she muttered, "Dilapidated shed. Yeah, right."
One good shove opened the door fully, and then she took several more steps inside. Dust danced on thin fingers of light peeking through the slatted walls of the barn.
A wide workbench ran the length of the wall closest to her. And as her eyes became more accustomed to the dim light, she made out two metal supporting posts extending toward the ceiling. She was making a bee line for one when she caught sight of two huge, black eyes staring at her through the shadows. Lauren slapped a hand over her mouth and gasped, and at the very same moment she realized that the animal wasn't real.
She let out her pent-up breath, every muscle in her body going soft. But she'd been startled enough that when she swiped shaky fingers across her brow, they came away damp.
Curiosity to drew her deeper into barn's dusty recesses. Her lips parted in awe as she saw not one but many pairs of eyes.
A tiger. An elephant. A giraffe. A zebra. A lion. A llama. A leopard. And horses. Lots of fanciful horses.
A merry-go-round of circus animals.
Not until she stepped up onto the platform did she realize she was smiling. Broadly.
When she'd been a young girl and her mother had still been alive, her parents had taken her to the Maryland seashore every summer. There, at the boardwalk amusement park, she had ridden a merry-go-round. The gaily painted animals glided up and down, carrying her around and around to the spirited sounds of circus music. She had laughed and waved to her mom and dad with each swift revolution.
Lauren reached out and smoothed her hand over the fierce lion's mane, savoring the happy memories. Her hand came away grimy and she wiped her palm on her jeans.
Even though the brass poles and railings were dulled by tarnish and the paint on the animals was worn and chipped, the merry-go-round was amazing. She moseyed along the platform, noticing that the ride was made up of three circles. Exotic circus animals comprised the outer ring. The inner most one was made up fancy, plumed horses. The center circle consisted of fixed items—an elegant sleigh, a lavish wagon, an old jalopy, an antique fire engine.
She stepped off the platform and brushed her hands against her thighs. The entire contraption was coated with what must have been dozens of years of dirt and dust. Lauren stepped back a few feet, hands on her hips, taking in the enchanting sight.
How did it end up here? Where had it come from?
The idea that this amazing piece of machinery with its whimsical circus animals and stylish, prancing horses belonged to her—or very soon would—made her grin. The land, the shed and all its contents were hers, the judge had ruled it so.
How wonderful would it be to see this old girl cleaned up and twirling to the happy tune of an old-time Wurlitzer? Lauren reached out to stroke the giraffe's long neck but went still when she heard a noise.
Then another short, soft scuffling sound drew her gaze toward a rough-hewn door at the far side of the barn.
A barn cat, maybe? Trapped in the room and searching for a way out?
Rats? That thought sent a cold shiver shooting up her spine.
She heard a thump—if that was a rat, it was a huge one—then a muffled expletive. Whatever was behind that door, it sure wasn't a rodent.
The inclination to flee had her turning toward the door. But she hadn't taken even a single step before this odd protective instinct squared her shoulders and had her frowning. This was her land, her barn, her merry-go-round. She refused to let some vagrant or group of partying teens vandalize her property.
"I don't know who you are," she called out sternly, "but you'd better come out. Now."
The door wobbled a bit on its hinges as it was pushed open.
"Lauren?" Greg stepped out, shirtless, the top button of his jeans undone, the leather laces of his work boots loose and dragging on the dirt floor. He reached to scratch an itch on the flat of his belly. "What are you doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" she asked. "What are you doing here?" Before he could answer, she said, "You look like you just woke up."
"I was working on a project last night." He indicated the pieces of cove molding stretched out on the workbench, then he covered a yawn with his hand. "I got tired and crashed. There's a cot back there."
"Weren't you cold? It was chilly last night." For some reason, her questions sounded accusatory.
"I found a blanket." He rubbed his bare chest with his palm. "Guess I got hot in the night. Tossed my shirt somewhere. It's dark in there. Stubbed my toe before I could find my boots."
Even hazed with sleep, Greg's coal black eyes were drop-dead sexy. His rumpled dark hair invited a woman to finger-comb it into some semblance of order.
The thought made her angry. She lifted her gaze to Greg's face. "You're trespassing."
He didn't even blink. "No I'm not. Yet. I have a day or two before I have to hand over the deed."
Silence settled over them like so much barn dust. But they were both used to that by now.
Finally, she glanced over her left shoulder at the carousel, then up into the high rafters of the barn. "A dilapidated shed, huh?" she taunted.
He didn't respond, only shook his head and disappeared into the darkness of the back room. When he returned, he was pushing his arms into the sleeves of a black t-shirt.
"When are you going to let go of the anger, Lauren?" He began tucking his shirt into the waistband at the back of his jeans.
Without missing a beat, she said, "When you admit that being married to you was no picnic for me." But the victory offered by the zinger lasted a mere nanosecond before the top of his zipper parted and his belly button flashed at her like the teasing wink of an eye. A rush of pure lust shot through her.
"I messed up," he told her. "I know it. You know it. Lew knows it. The whole town knows it, Lauren. Why can't we just move on?"
"Messed up? Is that what you call it? You lost the store, Greg."
He bent down and tied the leather laces of one boot before lifting his chin and capturing her eyes with his. "Yes. The store went under. That fact was established months ago."
He was weary of the reminder. That much was clear from his expression. But Lauren didn't care if the truth wearied him or not.
"You lied to me. You hid things!" Ire sent blood whooshing through her ears and she welcomed it, clung to it, because anger was an emotion she knew how to handle.
Greg remained silent as he dipped his head and tied his other boot. Then he stood and just looked at her for several long seconds. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his key ring.
"Being married to you was no circus for me, either," he said before turning on his heel and heading back into the room from which he'd emerged.
"What is that supposed to mean?" she called after him.
All he said was "See you later."
Seconds later, Greg's truck engine revved to life. He must have been parked behind the barn because she hadn't seen his truck when she'd pulled onto the property. Once he'd driven away, the shadowy interior of the barn was filled with utter quiet once again.
Lauren ground her teeth and clenched her fists. The man was infuriating. The demise of their marriage had been one hundred percent his fault. He'd hidden things from her and lied to her. His behavior had completely destroyed her trust in him. She refused to take any blame for their divorce.
Slowly she turned and let her gaze sweep across the merry-go-round. The enchantment she'd felt just minutes ago was gone. Now the thing looked old and dirty and just plain worn out. On a lark, she picked up a rag from the workbench and rubbed the brass pole that held the giraffe upright. The metal remained dull and lifeless. She rubbed some more, this time harder. Only a chemical tarnish remover could take away the years of abuse and make the brass shine again.
She took a backward step as realization struck. Surely her husband the visionary extraordinaire had good reason to keep he
r in the dark about this property. He had probably taken one look at the carousel and started fantasizing. In fact, he'd probably conjured some sort of wild pipe dream about opening an amusement park on Skeeter Neck Road.
Lauren tossed the rag back onto the bench as though it had caught flame and singed the skin off her fingers.
If there was one thing she knew about herself it was that she always kept her feet firmly planted in reality. She wanted one thing from this property and one thing only—to recoup the losses she'd incurred when the store went under.
Recovering that money would allow her to set her retirement account to rights. It would also enable her to once again help her father with his rent so he could enjoy his own living space.
The thought had her glancing at her watch. She'd better get a move on or she was going to hear an earful of grumbling, that was certain. Her dad was the kind of person who would show up thirty minutes early for his own funeral. She'd agreed to meet him at ten, but when she arrived he'd probably be pacing the curb in front of his apartment building with his suitcase in hand.
Clapping the dust from her palms, Lauren felt better. Clearer headed. Grounded. She gave the animals one last look before heading for the door. There had to be somebody somewhere who was interested in purchasing an acre of ground and a ramshackle merry-go-round.
Of course there was. And she intended to find them.
* * *
She weaved through the parking lot of the Holly Oaks apartment complex, confident that she'd be arriving right on time. Just as she expected, she saw someone at the curb. But as she got closer she realized that someone wasn't her father.
Greg had his shoulder rammed against the back of her father's ugly, green leather easy chair and he was shoving for all he was worth, trying to load it onto the back of his pick up.
"Greg," she called, slamming her car door shut and stalking toward him, "what are you doing?"
