by Maggie Marr
Savannah nodded.
“Then by all means,” Tulsa said.
“Okay, so you come home from school with this dreamy look on your face. And I’m all of what? Thirteen at the time?”
Tulsa nodded.
“You walk to the refrigerator—”
“Nothing strange about that,” Tulsa said.
“Again, let me finish.” Savannah tilted her head. “You walk to the refrigerator. You stop. You stare out the window. You laugh. You open the refrigerator. Laugh again. Then you put your chemistry book inside the refrigerator, close the refrigerator door, and walk upstairs.”
“I don’t remember that,” Tulsa said and pulled to a stop on Main Street in front of the courthouse.
“Of course you don’t,” Savannah said. “You were in some sort of love trance. All I heard you mumbling up the stairs was ‘Oh Cade.’ That was just so perfect. ‘Oh Cade.’”
“I did not!” Tulsa sounded similar to a fourteen-year-old girl embarrassed by her first crush.
Savannah nodded. “You did.”
“Well…” Tulsa raised her eyebrows, her forehead crinkling. “As for the chemistry book, perhaps it was an experiment… something to do with my class.”
“No.” Savannah shook her head and the right side of her smile lifted. “The only thing that dreamy look had to do with was the one thing you couldn’t ever get off your mind. From homecoming your junior year ‘til…” Savannah stopped, her silence abrupt. Both sisters held a beat—as if their breath stopped for a second in their lungs. Savannah turned and looked out the window toward the courthouse. Her voice was quieter now, with less humor, but soft with acceptance. “Well, until practically never. It was Cade. You were in love with Cade.”
Tulsa put the car in second and pulled around to the parking lot behind the courthouse. Even when a sister knew the truth, there were some things you just couldn’t say out loud. No matter what.
*
Cade poured his second cup of coffee from a pot in the office kitchenette. The brew smelled less fresh and more bitter than it had an hour before, but he wanted the caffeine. He had a deposition in a medical-malpractice case to read and interrogatories to draft. The Hopkins case wouldn’t move forward until after the settlement conference, if it moved forward at all. Without a permanent custody order from Judge Wilder, Cade couldn’t see Savannah agreeing to Ash spending more time with Bobby.
And Tulsa?
Cade couldn’t force Tulsa from his mind. He poured a packet of sugar into his coffee. How could someone who felt so good in his arms, on his lips, next to his skin, be so damn bad for him?
There was no way around the conflicts that stood between them—at least Cade couldn’t find the answer. He opened the mini-refrigerator and pulled out a carton of cream. If Cade won the Hopkins case then Tulsa lost. If Tulsa found something new about her mother’s death, something that implicated his dad, well, then Cade lost. He dumped the cream into his coffee and watched white swirl through the black. Nope. There was no way around these problems. Their attraction wouldn’t work. There was no solution to this puzzle. Cade shut the refrigerator door and sipped his coffee.
He walked down the hall from the kitchen and turned the corner to his office. His dad stood just inside Cade’s office.
“Why are you here?” Hudd asked, his voice pockmarked with irritation. He leaned against his cane. Since the stroke, Hudd looked like an aluminum can crumpled in on one side.
“I could ask you the same question.” Cade stepped around his father to his desk. The bandage on Hudd’s forehead hid his stitches. “You should be home in bed, resting.” Cade sat in his chair and pulled a file from the stack on his desk. An old fool. An old fool whom it was Cade’s responsibility to babysit. “Dammit, Dad, Dr. Bob told you—”
“That wackadoo? Like I’m gonna listen to him? Marrying Wayne’s leftovers? What kind of a brain can that man have?”
There was no filter for his father. Whatever Hudd thought, he said. Some people might say Hudd had never censored his thoughts. He limped further into Cade’s office and stood hunched over his cane.
“What in the hell are you doing here, son?”
Cade stopped pulling the interrogatories from the file and turned toward his father. Why was his dad so rattled? This was Cade’s office. It was a weekday. Of course Cade was here.
“Dad?” Cade raised an eyebrow and examined his father’s face. Perhaps the MRI missed something. “Where do you think I should be?”
Red started at the collar of Hudd’s shirt and rolled upward like a crimson tide. He lifted his stroke-embattled hand and pointed toward the front of the office. “The damn courthouse!” Hudd bellowed.
Cade glanced at the computer screen on his desk where his case calendar was open. There wasn’t a Montgomery & Montgomery case scheduled for court today.
“We don’t have a case on the docket today,” Cade said, his voice filled with soothing patience, as if trying to calm an angry child. “We don’t—”
Hudd’s hand flailed through the air. “I know that. I’m not three years old.” His impatient motion made it appear he was swatting at a mosquito. “Don’t talk to me like I’m an infant.”
“Okay.” Cade shifted his tone from cajoling to serious. He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. The tightness that ran along his right shoulder screwed down harder and Cade tilted his head to the side to try to release the tension.
His father had been a giant in Powder Springs. A man with a great legal mind, a man who deserved Cade’s respect, a man that Cade would listen to and try to understand. “If I don’t have a case today, then explain to me why I should be at the courthouse?” There had to be some logic still up there in his father’s stroke-stricken brain.
Hudd’s nostrils flared and anger shimmered through his eyes. “Savannah McGrath.”
“She’s not our client.” Cade rested his body against the edge of his desk and swung his foot over his ankle. “You know that, right?”
“Of course I know that.” Hudd labored toward Cade. “Boy, that bump just rattled my teeth, it didn’t dent my brain. But it seems someone’s gotten so deep into your psyche you’re losing a step.”
The frustration his father stirred in him twisted tight the muscle in Cade’s shoulder. Cade usually squelched these frustrations. He was a good attorney—a very good attorney—but to hear Hudd tell it, Cade was a legal hack only a half step above incompetent.
“Get off your ass and get over to criminal court!” Hudd said.
Enough. Cade unwound his feet and stood from the edge of his desk. His father could bluster and blow in his own office, down the hall from Cade’s, or, better yet, at home. Cade tapped his knuckles down on the desktop with one hard knock. “Go home, Dad. I can handle the office.”
“Savannah McGrath’s criminal case is on the docket today,” Hudd said.
A slippery discomfort slithered through Cade’s gut. He paused and half turned to his dad. The residue of his second cup of old coffee bittered his mouth.
“As the attorney of record for the father of Savannah’s daughter, the man you are representing in a contested custody case, you should be in that criminal courtroom right now.”
The room sucked the air from Cade’s lungs. He looked at his father. The old man was right in theory, and in practice. Hudd was right. Cade closed his eyes for the briefest second and his palm settled flat on the cool, hard surface of his desk. “You want me to ask for a restraining order against Savannah McGrath on behalf of Bobby Hopkins,” Cade said softly.
He turned and faced his father, his voice bolder, his gaze sharper. “You expect me to ask for a restraining order.” Cade squinted his eyes and shook his head. “This is Savannah. I don’t think it’s appropriate—”
“You don’t think it’s appropriate?” Hudd shot out. He lifted his cane and jabbed it toward Cade. “Who in the hell made you the judge? If it was any other case with any other client you’d be over there faster than a jackrabbit runni
ng from a bear. It’s a damn custody case and the mother unloaded four rounds—”
“Two rounds,” Cade said. He’d read the police report.
“Savannah McGrath blasted your client’s roof.”
Cade didn’t want to do this. Tulsa would kill him for doing this.
“You wanna get yourself disbarred because Wilder thinks you’re tossing softballs at Savannah? Or you wanna do your job on the case you took?”
“I didn’t take the case,” Cade said. “This case was assigned.”
“Well, it’s your case now,” Hudd said. He tapped his cane against Cade’s shoe. “Listen to me, boy. Wilder will kick your ass from here to the other side of the world. He knows you and he knows your history. Wilder’ll expect you to ask for the restraining order. And if you don’t, he’ll think you went soft on Savannah because of Tulsa.”
Cade looked up at his ceiling. Muscle clamped to bone and Cade’s shoulder raged with pain. He let a blast of air out of his mouth, hopeful every frustration, every irritation, every resentment could blow from his body with that one simple breath. Not a chance. Just when he thought today would be an easy day.
Chapter Eighteen
Judge McKittrick’s criminal courtroom was similar in size and shape to Judge Wilder’s, but the energy was different, as was the smell. Desperation hovered in the air and with it the sour scent of fear. Defendants with scrunched brows and hunched shoulders huddled with their criminal-defense counsels and discussed the offers the Powder Springs DA doled out to dispose of cases. The charges facing most defendants were misdemeanors, but every defendant in this courtroom had run afoul of the law and was now—today—going to face their judgment.
Still present in both courtrooms was the wood paneling, the U.S. and Colorado flags, a clerk, a bailiff, a bench, and a bar. The only physical difference between Judge Wilder’s and Judge McKittrick’s courtroom was that beyond the bar and to the left of the judge’s bench was a door and on the other side was the lockup cage. Prisoners in orange jumpsuits, chauffeured in from jail, waited behind those bars until it was their turn to appear before the judge.
Savannah, Tulsa, and Bradford stood in the center aisle of the courtroom. Bradford didn’t usually practice criminal law, but he’d graciously offered to represent Savannah in the disposition of her illegal discharge case.
“We’re in agreement?” Bradford looked first to Savannah and then to Tulsa.
Both women nodded.
Savannah would plead guilty to illegal discharge of a weapon and, thanks to her clean record (not even a traffic ticket), she would receive a suspended sentence and a fine. If she kept out of trouble for a year the charge would be dropped from her record.
“It’s a good deal,” Tulsa said to Savannah.
Savannah nodded but the corners of her mouth pulled down and she squinted. “I don’t want a ‘good deal.’” She settled her hands on her hips. “I want the judge to understand why I shot at the bastard’s roof.”
Tulsa blew out a stream of air between her lips, then licked each one. “While all of Powder Springs understands why you shot at Bobby Hopkins’s roof, that still doesn’t make it legal.”
“I’ll tell the DA we’ve got a deal,” Bradford said. He turned and walked past the bar.
Tulsa, with Savannah behind her, scooted sideways down the row of seats just behind the bar. They sat on the wooden pew-like benches.
Kyle Edwards, the Powder Springs district attorney, had a pinched face with hard angles and sharp lines. His milk-colored complexion was made paler by the contrast of his black mustache and receding hairline. He moved from one small cluster of people to the next. Never pausing, never stopping, constantly moving, like a ground squirrel in single-minded pursuit of a new burrow.
Kyle came to an abrupt halt in front of Bradford, who leaned toward Kyle. The DA was juggling Savannah’s case file in one hand and with the other he stroked his dark-haired mustache as if a long-favored feline. Tulsa couldn’t hear the conversation but she witnessed both Bradford and Kyle nod. Bradford—the all-American-looking boy next door—slapped Kyle on the back to solidify Savannah’s plea-bargain agreement. The manslap jostled Kyle so far forward he took two steps before recovering from the stumble. A pinched smile aimed at Bradford ate up Kyle’s face.
On his way back toward the defense table, Bradford turned to Tulsa and Savannah with one thumb up. Tulsa’s diaphragm loosened, the knot that tightened her throat dissolved, and air rushed deep into her lungs. She relaxed back into the seat and crossed her legs. At least one of Savannah’s cases was finished. Tulsa glanced toward her heels and in so doing saw the shoes on Savannah’s feet. Work boots. Dirty. Ugly. Work boots.
Yes, Savannah was a sculptress. And yes, Savannah worked with metal and dirt. And yes, as an artist, different social mores attached to Savannah, but this was a courtroom—a criminal courtroom. Savannah could have at least put on a skirt.
“Nice shoes,” Tulsa said, her lips pursed. She hitched her bag up higher on her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest.
“What?” Savannah held her upturned palms out and squinted her eyes. Her cheeks tightened as irritation fused to her face. “I was working out back in the shed burnishing copper while you were still dreaming of Cade.” “I wasn’t dreaming of Cade,” Tulsa whispered. She shifted her weight and leaned away from Savannah.
“Was too,” Savannah whispered. The teasing lilt in her sister’s voice meant to annoy Tulsa.
“Was not,” Tulsa said.
“Was too.”
“Was not,” Tulsa said with finality. She turned her head and gave Savannah her best I-am-the-older-sister-stop-messing-around look, but Tulsa knew that Savannah’s teasing and the back and forth—so inappropriate in the courtroom—was her sister’s way of defusing her nerves. Some people chattered, some yelled, some joked, and some withdrew. Savannah might do any one or all of those behaviors. Today she settled on cross between teasing her older sister and joking like an eight-year-old.
Savannah leaned in close toward Tulsa’s ear. “Was too.”
Jeez! Not eight years old, maybe five.
“All rise,” the bailiff called out. Judge Tilly McKittrick entered the courtroom from her chamber door. Everyone in the courtroom stood.
“This court will be in session,” the bailiff continued. “The Honorable Tilly McKittrick presiding.”
“What’s our first case?” Judge McKittrick asked Kyle.
Kyle took a loose-limbed step toward the bench. “Your Honor, I believe all the parties are present for State vs. McGrath.”
Panic bulleted through Tulsa’s stomach. There was no reason for the anxiousness that churned through her belly, clumping and coagulating and then thinning out to a low pulse. Savannah had a deal with the DA. A good deal, a fair deal, a deal that got rid of the illegal discharge case.
Savannah stood and scooted past Tulsa. Before she exited the row, Tulsa squeezed her sister’s hand. Savannah’s fingers were limp and cold while her palms were warm, slick, and clammy. Savannah was scared.
Tulsa didn’t hear the door at the back of the courtroom open, but she recognized the man who blew past her. Her heart fluttered—fear fought with desire. His steps hard against the wood floor, he pushed past the bar without a glance at Tulsa.
Cade walked straight to the DA and whispered into Kyle’s ear. Savannah tilted her chin toward the floor, the color fell from her face, and her chin trembled. Tulsa fought the urge to jump up and rush to her sister—to stand beside Savannah and protect her from whatever Cade was saying to Kyle. The DA pulled his head away from Cade and straightened his tie.
“Your Honor,” Kyle said, “Mr. Montgomery is here on some business for Mr. Hopkins. You’re aware Mr. Hopkins is the person that Miss McGrath shot at—”
“Allegedly shot at,” Bradford interrupted.
“Excuse me, Your Honor.” Kyle settled onto his right foot, jutted his palm up, and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “According to fifteen witnesses, alle
gedly shot at.”
“Your Honor, if I may,” Bradford said. “According to the police report, Miss McGrath didn’t shoot at Mr. Hopkins. In fact, the gun may have accidentally fired—”
Kyle interrupted. “After she raised the gun, aimed the gun, and shot the gun—”
“Those are all contested facts,” Bradford continued. He flashed Judge McKittrick his winning lady-killer of a smile. “Nothing, absolutely nothing, has been proved. And also, the court shouldn’t forget—”
“As if I could,” Judge McKittrick mumbled.
Bradford continued to direct his swoon-worthy smile at the judge. “This accidental discharge didn’t take place at Mr. Hopkins’s house; it was at his mother’s home.”
Judge McKittrick looked up from the file and her brown eyes examined the attorneys before her.
“Gentlemen, I know what’s contested and what’s not. What I don’t know is why Mr. Montgomery blew into my courtroom on a case in which he has no part.”
Kyle shifted from side to side as if weighing his words. “Your Honor.” Kyle settled, his arms crossed over his chest and his hands thrust into his armpits. “Mr. Montgomery is here because his client, Mr. Hopkins…” In a quick burst of words, as if ripping a Band-Aid off a wound, Kyle said, “Seeks a restraining order against Savannah McGrath.”
Anger thrust upward into Tulsa’s throat. A pulsing sensation beat out behind her eyes as her gaze narrowed on Cade, standing beside Kyle: calm, not meeting her gaze, the collected attorney with complete disregard to how his actions impacted Tulsa and her family. Betrayal burrowed through her mind. These feelings, these emotions—they made little sense. There was no logic involved but they flooded her and she was unable to will them away.
There was one simple reason that Cade asked for a restraining order for Bobby. Cade was putting the screws to Savannah so she’d make concessions on Ash’s custody agreement with Bobby.
“Your Honor, may we approach?” Bradford asked. His voice less jovial, contained an edge.
Bradford, Cade, and the DA huddled at the bend. Tulsa strained to hear what they whispered to the judge, but she couldn’t catch a word. She grasped her hands tightly in her lap and pressed her nails into her palm. She hated being left out of the discussion.
