Courting Trouble

by Maggie Marr

  Tulsa brushed her fingertips across the sides of her skirt, flattening out nonexistent wrinkles. Was it correct? Was she representing her sister? Tulsa didn’t think so. Between berating opposing counsel over the custody petition and then their liplock, she didn’t think it prudent to represent Savannah in this case.

  “Uh… I’m not sure.”

  “Not sure?” Judge Wilder leaned forward and removed his glasses. “Not sure if you filed the entry of appearance or not sure if Savannah McGrath is, in fact, your sister?”

  Tulsa flushed red. She felt like a first-year associate with a brand-new law license.

  “Your Honor, Savannah McGrath is my sister. But—”

  “Well, Ms. McGrath, I know from what I see on television that you’ve gained some knowledge in family law,” Judge Wilder shot out at her. “But the number-one rule for any attorney is never represent your own family. I do not look kindly on attorneys with the hubris to believe that they can represent family with the calm detachment necessary for a fair proceeding. Surely, Miss McGrath, you don’t believe that in a custody case for your niece you will be able to keep your emotions separate, do you?”

  Heat ripped up Tulsa’s neck and flooded her face. Her insides twisted. “Your Honor, I agree that it would be difficult and if you would perhaps pass the case until—”

  The courtroom door burst open and Judge Wilder’s gaze darted past Tulsa. Her heart flipped in her chest with the sight of Bradford, his hair the color of fresh-cut wheat, striding up the aisle toward the judge. He wore a hand-cut dark gray suit and Italian shoes. His bright blue eyes danced. Tulsa’s breathing deepened and she couldn’t hide the relief-riddled smile stamped on her face.

  “Sorry, I’m late, Your Honor. The weather looked good, but then I had to make a detour around a cumulus just above Dillon.”

  “Mr. Taylor, I didn’t expect to see you today. Come to meet the famous attorney, Miss Tulsa McGrath?”

  With an impish grin, Bradford walked past the bar. Once by her side, Bradford leaned over and whispered, “Sorry I’m late.” He flashed a mouthful of bright white teeth at Tulsa and winked. His mischievous gaze bounced back toward Judge Wilder. “I did indeed, Your Honor, and to represent her sister.”

  Bradford definitely knew how to make an entrance.

  “Your Honor, my office faxed you my entry of appearance early this morning.”

  “They did?” Judge Wilder sorted through the papers in the file and then looked at his clerk. She nodded. “Where is it?” Judge Wilder asked.

  “Paper-clipped to the front of the file,” the clerk said and continued typing on her computer keyboard.

  Judge Wilder pulled the sheet off the front of the file.

  “Your Honor, I represent Miss Savannah McGrath, not to be confused with Miss Tulsa McGrath—”

  “Oh, I won’t confuse them,” Judge Wilder interrupted and peered over his glasses. “Tulsa’s the one that got my daughter drunk her junior year. It wasn’t Savannah, most definitely was Tulsa.”

  Tulsa cringed with the memory of dumping a very drunk Jill on Judge Wilder’s doorstep at midnight so Tulsa could get home in time for curfew.

  “Miss McGrath, seems you’ve more brains than I thought. A family member represented by a family member has both a fool for a client and an attorney.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Tulsa pursed her lips. “I think.”

  Again, Tulsa’s eyes slid toward Cade, standing beside the plaintiff’s table. He’d handed her a break by telling Tulsa that she was a fool to represent Savannah. He could have used her mistake to his advantage, but instead he’d saved her.

  “Well then, Miss McGrath, if you aren’t representing your sister, you’re standing in the wrong place.”

  Tulsa returned her gaze to the judge and tilted her head. “Excuse me?”

  “The defense table. Since you are no longer the attorney of record, I believe you need to be behind the bar.”

  Behind the bar? An unfamiliar and uncomfortable place for her. Tulsa slowly backed through the swinging wooden gate to the spectator seats.

  “All right,” Judge Wilder continued. “Now that we know who is representing who and we’re all in our assigned seats. I’ve read both the pleading and the response. Mr. Taylor, is there anything you’d like to add to these proceedings before we move forward?”

  “Your Honor, I’m familiar with both the original pleading and Miss McGrath’s response, which I believe is adequate.”

  “Good. What I’m going to do is set this matter over and see if you all can’t come to some kind of custody agreement on your own.” Judge Wilder scribbled in the file before him. “If you can’t sort this thing out, we will be having a hearing.” Judge Wilder stopped writing and looked at both parties. “And believe me when I tell you I do not want to have a hearing. Am I clear?”

  Judge Wilder’s gaze landed first on Bobby, who held his Stetson in his hands. His face from the side seemed calm—if not for constant turning of Bobby’s hat in his hands, no one would realize his nervousness. Bobby nodded his head in response to the judge, letting Wilder know he’d heard not only the judge’s words but the seriousness in his tone. Next, Judge Wilder turned his gaze to Savannah. She stood beside Bradford and from where Tulsa sat she could see Savannah’s chin tremble.

  “In the meantime, I see the minor, whose custody is in contention, is a freshman and will turn fifteen this year. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Bradford said.

  “Well then, I think the little lady ought to get a say in this matter. I’ve found that teenagers don’t like to speak to their parents—at least mine didn’t. So I’m going to appoint a guardian ad litem. Any objections?” Judge Wilder looked around the room. “We’ll address the findings at our next date. But people, let me encourage you to be reasonable. It would be a good thing for your daughter if you could come to an agreement that didn’t require her to testify. Do you get my meaning?” Judge Wilder’s stern gaze and jutted jaw seemed an attempt to will both parents to forget their own egos and think about Ash.

  “Anything else?”

  Cade stepped forward from the plaintiff’s table. “Judge Wilder? There’s one more thing.”

  Tulsa’s heart ticked upward. The knot in her belly that had relaxed with the appearance of Bradford retightened.

  “And that would be?”

  “A visitation schedule for my client—”

  “Objection!” The word flew from Tulsa’s mouth without hesitation—an automatic response like a quick kick after a doctor taps your knee. With a silent thud, every pair of eyes in the courtroom, including Judge Wilder’s, landed on Tulsa.

  Heat burned her cheeks and she clenched her hands into tight balls at her sides.

  “Perhaps I need to refresh your recollection of the protocols in a courtroom, Miss McGrath.” Judge Wilder’s eyes narrowed and his already-wrinkled forehead grew tight with displeasure. “If you are not the attorney of record then you may not object.”

  Tulsa nodded.

  “Are we clear?”

  She took a breath and slowly settled to her seat under Judge Wilder’s heavy gaze. A grin ticked up the corners of Bradford’s mouth and he turned back toward the front of the courtroom.

  “Your Honor, I believe that I must join Miss McGrath in her objection. There is no indication that Mr. Hopkins should be allowed to see his daughter. That she wouldn’t be at risk in some way with these visits.”

  “Are you disputing paternity?” Judge Wilder asked.

  “No, sir,” Bradford said.

  “I’ll allow it,” Judge Wilder said.

  A gasp flew from Savannah’s mouth and four fingertips covered her bottom lip.

  “But only supervised visitation,” Judge Wilder added. “Mr. Montgomery, you’ll be responsible for your side. And Mr. Taylor, who will supervise the visits for your team? You can’t fly in from Denver every other day, and Ash’s mother won’t do.”

  Bradford turned around and his eye
s met Tulsa’s. “Will you do it?” he mouthed.

  Tulsa nodded yes. No one would watch the interaction between Ash and Bobby as closely as she.

  “Your Honor, Tulsa McGrath will supervise for the defense.”

  “Fine,” Judge Wilder said. “Three visits a week. Supervised. Not to exceed two hours each. My clerk will draw up the papers.” The judge eyed both sides, daring either to ask for anything more. “We clear?”

  With no response from either side, Judge Wilder let his gavel drop.

  Chapter Twelve

  Savannah’s sniffles were the main sound in the car all the way home from the courthouse. Tulsa tried to console her—to help her sister adjust to the idea of Bobby in Ash’s life, but Savannah remained silent and pressed her teeth into her bottom lip, making white half-moons in her skin. So lost in her own thoughts, Savannah had uttered not a word about Bobby’s request, made through Cade after court, to see Ash that very night. Once home, Savannah retreated to her workshop in the backyard, her eyes red rimmed and jaw locked tight.

  Tulsa needed to fill the hours between now and six pm and work was her drug of choice. She settled her chin onto her hand and stared into her laptop screen.

  “Tell me some good news,” Tulsa said.

  “Well,” Emma responded, her voice quick and light, her cheeks buoyant with excitement. “We got the Holmby case!”

  “That’s great,” Tulsa said. She pulled her lips upward in the semblance of a smile but doubted she fooled either of her partners with her pathetic attempt at enthusiasm. “Is she as crazy as everyone says?”

  “Worse,” Jo said. Jo had no patience for the overindulged behavior of celebrities. “We have a problem.”

  Of course we do.

  Jo and Emma exchanged a look.

  “She only wants you,” Emma said.

  Tulsa scooted her hand from under her chin and up over her forehead. “I’m busy,” she said. “And not with anything fun.”

  “We tried to explain the circumstances,” Emma said.

  “But she’s a whiny pain in the ass,” Jo added.

  Emma shot Jo a quick look containing both patience and reprimand.

  “Ash’s case will take at least another three weeks,” Tulsa said. Her elbow remained on the table and she settled her ear onto her fist. “Maybe more. It’s not looking good.”

  “Supervised visits?” Emma’s voice was soothing and soft.

  Tulsa nodded. Judge Wilder’s decision was standard for most contested custody cases, but it was neither the outcome Tulsa would have chosen nor one that Savannah seemed willing to accept.

  “And I get to supervise,” Tulsa said.

  “At least it’s you,” Jo said. “Maybe you can nail the deadbeat for something before the hearing.”

  “Maybe,” Tulsa said and pulled her eyebrows together. “Jo, would you have Sylvia do a little digging? I’ll email you the information I’ve got on Bobby.”

  “I’ve still got contacts at the DA and at the Bureau,” Jo said and tapped a note into her iPad.

  “And Cade?” Emma asked. Her voice contained a hopefulness. Always a romantic, did Emma think that Tulsa and Cade could somehow leap the insurmountable hurdles in their lives and possibly reconcile? If Emma knew the exact details of the hard past between Tulsa and Cade, then she wouldn’t hold out hope for a happily-ever-after.

  Tulsa shrugged. “A solid attorney.”

  “Which means an asshole to the other side,” Jo said.

  “He can keep the case or lose his law license,” Tulsa said. “He’s been compelled by the judge.”

  Jo let out a low whistle. “Not an easy spot, considering your families’ history.”

  Tulsa’s heart pulsed an extra beat and she lifted her head from where it rested on her hand. Her forehead crinkled as she considered Jo’s statement.

  The Montgomery’s and the McGrath’s history?

  Tulsa had never shared the details of her mother’s death with Emma or Jo. Jo closed her eyes with the knowledge that she’d let slip a piece of information.

  They knew.

  Tulsa slid her eyes to the right and let her gaze drift across the kitchen and family room to Savannah’s work table and out the window to the mountains. Her chest tightened and her throat felt thick. Of course they knew. They’d been digging. She couldn’t be angry with either of them, she would have done the exact same thing if either Jo or Emma seemed as consumed over something as Tulsa did over Cade representing the opposing side. Jo and Emma weren’t just her colleagues, they were her Los Angeles family.

  “We were worried,” Emma offered up, her tone gentle but filled with repentant guilt. “We weren’t trying to pry or be intrusive, we just—”

  “—Thought maybe we could help,” Jo added.

  Tulsa nodded. Of course. A tiny bit of her deflated. She felt vulnerable. Laid bare. Maybe even embarrassed by her chaotic past. A past she’d tried to build a normal life around—she didn’t want to ignore where and who she came from, but she didn’t want to follow her mother’s life path.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said. Her eyes were wide and filled with concern. “For your loss. For everything. I…” Emma looked at Jo. “We never knew.”

  A scarred wound flayed open with the looks on Emma’s and Jo’s face. A feeling of exposure threatened to overwhelm Tulsa. Those very looks of sadness, concern, sympathy, were the reason Tulsa had never told them about Connie. Down-turned mouths, sympathetic frowns, and eyes that pleaded: we feel so sorry for you, that poor little McGrath girl with the troubled family who lost her mother.

  Those same looks had followed Tulsa the final weeks of high school. Looks worn by friends, teachers, and parents. Looks she’d desperately needed to escape. Looks that she had never wanted to see again. She didn’t want people to feel sorry for her. She wanted them to know she was strong and capable and could handle this tragedy and any other obstacle that life threw her way.

  Tulsa set her jaw. Deepened her breathing. Softened her eyes. She reburied the vulnerability now lodged in her chest, using the skills she’d learned both inside and outside the courtroom.

  Finally she looked at the computer screen. She willed the emotion from her voice. “It was a long time ago.”

  “The case never went to trial,” Jo said thoughtfully. “There are some gaping holes in the police department’s investigation. A witness they never interviewed. A suspect they didn’t pursue. The whole thing borders on prosecutorial misconduct.”

  A rolling sensation as if Tulsa suddenly tilted on her side pulsed through her. She squeezed her hand over her eyes. Uninterviewed witness. Gaping holes. Prosecutorial misconduct.

  As a teenager she’d heard the rumors and realized her mother’s death was tied to one of Powder Springs’s important families. A family with which, at the time, her own future seemed irrevocably interwoven.

  But now…

  Here was Jo, a former Los Angeles County ADA and a sharp attorney, telling Tulsa that in this case there was evidence that hadn’t been pursued and needed to be found.

  “Surely you want your mother’s case reopened,” Jo said.

  Tulsa’s heart ached and a deep pain, thick and hard, pulsed with each beat.

  Reopened?

  Her palms grew damp. Her breath came in short sharp jabs and her cheeks felt tight with her attempt to keep breath entering and leaving her lungs. She’d never considered the possibility of her mother’s case being reopened. The tightness in her chest spread to her throat, upward to her face, until it seemed the only outlet for this tension—this emotion—this pain—were the tears flooding her eyes. This reaction, so fast, so strong. Tulsa fought to contain her features, to smooth out her face, to force these hot beads of tears to dry.

  Did she want her mother’s case reopened? What would that mean to her, to Ash, to Savannah? And yes, even to Cade?

  Tulsa swallowed. She breathed. She settled her mind and then she spoke. “I’m not sure,” she finally whispered. “I’m not sure what kind of
justice that would serve.”

  *

  Iron-black lampposts with rectangular glass lamps that held flickering gas flames shot up every few feet around the downtown square of Powder Springs. In the west the sun had long since set and the sky deepened from light blue to black. The air, sharp with cold, smelled of wood burning in stoves and fireplaces.

  Tulsa wished she was cuddled in front of a fireplace with a chenille throw, a glass of wine, and a good book. She pulled her arms tighter across her chest. She had traded her black leather jacket for one of Savannah’s heavy down coats—a pink-and-purple plaid with a fleece-lined interior—but still the cold bit through to Tulsa’s arms and shoulders. Six feet ahead of her, Ash walked beside Bobby. He stopped, leaned toward Ash, and said something. Ash listened, nodded, and smiled.

  “They seem to be getting along pretty well.”

  Tulsa pressed her lips together into a tight pout. Not the words she wanted to hear from her constant companion over the last hour.

  “Pretty easy to get along with someone you just met.” Tulsa squinted through the darkness. “Let’s wait and see once the newness wears off.”

  “Such an optimist,” Cade said.

  Tulsa tilted her head to the left and gave Cade a slow, long look. Her eyes were flat and her cheeks sucked in. She hated how good-looking he was, especially since right now he annoyed her. She fought an internal battle to either step forward and kiss Cade in the darkness of the Powder Springs street or sling words at him for his client, the cold, and this night. She’d suffered through enough of his upbeat attitude.

  “You have to know this isn’t easy.” Tulsa jerked her head toward where Ash and Bobby stood in front of Rocky Mountain Books. “It’s not easy on me.” Tulsa tapped her chest with her gloved hand. “It’s not easy on Savannah; it’s definitely not easy on Ash.” Tulsa pointed toward her niece. Ash let loose with a laugh. Okay maybe it wasn’t so tough on Ash…