by Angel Smits
“The county is already overloaded. With the recent budget cuts, all caseworkers are carrying double loads.”
Emily sighed. They didn’t need a caseworker today, but she would prefer one. If she’d just gone on leave, there should be a preliminary report here somewhere. Damn. She wished she’d had time to review the whole file thoroughly.
“I’m not comfortable with the state of this case,” she said directly to the attorney. “What did the caseworker recommend?”
“There are no recommendations in place yet,” the attorney explained.
“What about provisions in case something happens to the father?” Emily nailed the attorney with a direct stare. “The military requires that.”
“Yes, ma’am. But the father left without knowing the boy existed. That’s not been set up.”
Emily looked over at the man. His jaw moved and he seemed to want to speak. She held up a hand. She needed to think without being interrupted. “Temporary custody isn’t an option here.” She met both the attorney’s and the man’s stares, daring them to disagree. “I’ll only grant permanent custody.” There needed to be someone there for the long haul, someone who’d be there when the parents didn’t show up or take on their responsibilities.
“No!” Tyler spoke for the first time.
Emily looked down at the boy, who seemed unable to remain in control any longer. “Don’t you want to have your uncle as your guardian?” Images of The Boys Home flashed in her mind and she cringed. Families needed to stay together.
“I don’t want it to be forever.”
“Why not?”
“Mama’s coming back. She promised.”
Emily’s heart broke and hurt for the boy. This was part of why she hated juvenile cases. People didn’t keep promises, and unless she forced them to, this boy would end up a ward of the court like so many before him. No, this man needed to be held accountable and not just for the short-term.
She drummed her fingers on the desktop and leaned forward in her chair. “Young man, why don’t you come up here so you and I can talk?”
Tyler glanced up at his uncle, the apprehension strong in his eyes.
“Go on, Tyler. It’s okay,” the man urged, his big hands patting the boy’s shoulder.
“Right here.” Emily tore her gaze away from the poignant sight and walked down the two steps to stand beside the witness chair. Tyler walked slowly toward her, and she helped him climb up into the high seat.
“There, now I can see you better.” She smiled to reassure him.
“I can see you better, too.” He grinned and her heart caught. He was going to be a looker someday, and the resemblance to his uncle was all too close. She cleared her throat and her mind. “So, Tyler. Do you know why your mom left?”
He shrugged. “Nope. She just said I’d be better off and safer with my dad.”
“Not your uncle?”
“We didn’t know my dad was gone.”
Emily nodded, not pleased with the lack of family connections.
“Does your mom have family?”
Tyler nodded. “Grandpa and Grandma Easton are old. Too old, Mama said, for a boy like me. My aunt Nancy has two kids. Mama said they caused enough headaches since Uncle Willie left last year.”
This story just got better. Emily realized his mother—Tammie, was that her name?—would have no secrets if Tyler knew them. She could pump him for information, but didn’t think she needed to. Not yet, anyway. The knowledge did give her a higher level of comfort.
She looked back at Wyatt Hawkins. “Do you know any of these people?”
He shook his head. “I’m in the process of trying to find them. No luck yet.”
“Keep looking,” she instructed then turned back to Tyler. “So you’ve never met your dad?”
“Nope. But Mom told me lots of things. And I have stuff that proves I’m his kid.” The boy’s chin notched up.
“You do?”
“Uh-huh.” Slowly, Tyler stood and reached into the bulging pockets of his jeans. He pulled out a couple plastic lizards, an old playing card and a key that had been wound with neon-green yarn. “This is stuff Mama said my dad gave her.”
She couldn’t wait to hear this one. “What are they?”
“These two lizards are like the ones on the beach where they met. In Florida.” He handed Emily each one very carefully. “This is a card from when they played stip poker.”
“Stip?” She nearly bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have asked but the question just came out.
“Yeah. When you bet your clothes.”
Emily was proud of herself for not reacting, though she heard a stifled groan come from his uncle. “And the key?”
“She said it went to somethin’ he had back home where he kept his really special stuff.”
Emily took the key and held it up. “Do you recognize this, Mr. Hawkins?”
He was looking at them both, his gaze intense, and he squinted at the key. She walked over to the table where he sat and handed him the key. He turned it over a couple times.
“Yeah.” His voice broke. “It goes to Dad’s old shop.”
His voice sounded sad and wistful. For a long minute, she looked down at the seated man, realizing that she had possibly misjudged him. He tilted his head back and their gazes clashed.
There was no angry glare, no macho attitude. Just emotions she couldn’t quite identify, and a pleading question. Her gut told her he was a good man. She swallowed, uncomfortable with the idea. To give herself a moment to think, she walked slowly back up to the judge’s seat.
“I’ll make you a deal.” She faced Tyler, hoping she wouldn’t regret this, and made an offer. “I’ll make it provisional. If at any time, either of your parents returns, we can meet again. Okay?”
Tyler responded, “What’s ‘probisional’ mean?”
“It means it can be changed,” she explained. “But until they come back, your uncle’s responsible for you.”
“It’ll work out, Ty,” the man mumbled as if he didn’t want her to hear. She appreciated his reassurances to the boy, but she couldn’t quite let herself believe him. The expression on the boy’s face told her that he wasn’t buying it, either.
“And—” she said.
The man stared at her.
“Until the caseworker is back to work, I want you to meet with me. I’ll be your caseworker for now.”
“Your Honor, that’s rather irregular,” the counselor objected.
“I don’t much care. This case doesn’t make me comfortable. Until it does, I’ll keep an eye on things. Write up the orders, counselor, and I’ll sign them. Anything else?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“We’re adjourned.” Emily stood and didn’t bother to look back at the man or the boy. She needed to keep a clear head in her work and that small face and those reassuring hands were already tugging at something she never allowed in her courtroom.
Her heart.
CHAPTER THREE
A WEEK LATER, Wyatt found himself headed toward the county court offices. The building was old. Not ancient old as to be pretty, but built-in-the-1970s old, with harvest-gold siding. Wyatt stared at the ugly-as-sin building and frowned. Why had the judge asked to see him without Tyler? What was she up to?
Not knowing the answer made him uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. He’d climbed out of his truck into the late-spring heat and headed for the glass doors. By the time he entered the cool air-conditioned inside, he was irritated.
He hadn’t dealt much with the legal system—that was his brother Jason’s arena—but he’d been in the cattle industry a long time, so he had plenty of experience with government agencies. This felt very similar.
Hat in hand, the brim cupped in his wide palm, he took a cal
ming breath and approached the desk. The brunette sitting there looked up at him over a pair of half glasses that seemed to practically glow in the dark. What color were those supposed to be?
“Can I help you?”
“I have an appointment with Magistrate Ivers.” Wyatt didn’t even recognize his own voice. So formal. So distant.
“I’ll let her know.” The woman stood and walked down the short hall to disappear behind a thick wooden door.
He sat down on one of the chairs lined up neatly along the far wall. He was the only person here and the room was quiet. Where the outside of the building had hurt his eyes, this office was polished and modern. He liked the marble and glass.
A rack of brochures on how to be a guardian caught his eye. He’d just read the titles on the third row when the woman returned. “She’ll be right out.”
Wyatt nodded and stared at the sign beside the door. E. J. Ivers. He leaned closer to read her full name printed in smaller letters beneath. His frown deepened.
In Wyatt’s book, E. J. Ivers, magistrate, was not supposed to be Emily Ivers of the soft, feminine variety. Before last week, he’d had a vision of a graying older man with a booming voice. Or maybe one of those polished judges like on TV. Showed what he knew.
All through court, Wyatt had been stunned by the much younger, much prettier, definitely female judge. The long, black robes had hidden everything except the collar of the vibrant pink blouse that had set off her dark hair.
On the bench she’d been thorough and direct, and intelligence had snapped in her dark eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Now here he sat outside her office wondering what the hell to expect next.
* * *
EMILY GLARED AT the stacks of papers and files lined up on the conference table that took up nearly half her official chambers.
Even if she wanted to have a meeting here, she couldn’t. The piles never really seemed to shrink, though she knew Dianne frequently shuffled them around.
Emily stalked past the stacks and flopped down into her desk chair. She arranged the current file neatly on the blotter, reluctant to add more to the table.
She was tired. Court had been exhausting this week, covering for Judge Ramsey as well as her own responsibilities. And then there’d been Wyatt Hawkins and his nephew.
Emily leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Half of last night she’d tossed and turned, seeing Wyatt’s handsome face and feeling his reassuring hand on her own shoulder. She’d awoken before dawn this morning from a particularly vivid dream so clear she’d known there was no sleep left.
Now here she sat, waiting for the man to arrive at her office, barely able to keep her eyelids open. Shaking herself out of the stupor, she sat forward and opened the file.
Tyler Easton was an adorable kid. Instead of seeing the brown folder, she pictured his earnest young face. He wanted so badly to believe his mom was coming back for him and that his dad would want him. He’d pulled every worldly possession from his pockets to prove to her how important he was, to prove he belonged.
She smiled, wondering at the depth of those pockets. How could a boy carry so much around with him?
Once again, Wyatt Hawkins’s face came to mind. He cared for the boy—it showed in the softening of his eyes as he watched Tyler, in the protective hand he kept on the boy’s shoulder as they sat together and the reluctant smile that tugged at his lips. By granting provisional custody, she’d preserved Tyler’s hopes and given the uncle an out, if necessary.
Emily flipped through the file and reread her notes. Next she pulled out the preliminary caseworker’s notes that had been in the file, but which she hadn’t had time to review until afterward. She frowned as she reread the tightly typed paragraphs.
Wyatt Hawkins lived in the country in an aged ranch house. He’d owned it for just over five years. He was single and his family lived in Austin, a two-hour drive away. No one here to help him raise a child. No wife. No mother. No sisters. Not even a girlfriend?
That thought lingered just a moment too long.
The caseworker had managed to visit the house before going on maternity leave, billing for eighteen point seven miles from town. The house had been clean, uncluttered and drafty. It sat just yards away from the barn and outbuildings. An environment fraught with potential for risk and danger.
Emily almost smiled. She’d grown up on a farm far from the safety of city streets with their gang shootings and drug deals.
The woman’s final remarks were short and to the point. The caseworker didn’t believe Wyatt Hawkins could provide a safe family environment for a little boy.
Emily sighed. Why did she feel as if he was the enemy? She’d never felt like this before about a case or a man. It totally unnerved her. He unnerved her.
One last look at the caseworker’s notes and she moved them to the back of the file. Something about all this didn’t feel right. She needed to figure out what that something was.
Dianne didn’t bother knocking when she came in. She never did if Emily was alone. She grinned broadly and winked at Emily. “A hunky cowboy is here, right on time. Whew.” Dianne fanned herself. “That man’s sure got somethin’ goin’ on.” She grabbed half a dozen files off the table. “And if you don’t want some, I’m ready for a hefty helpin’.”
The clerk left the room before Emily could respond. She never should have asked him to come here. She should have kept it all in the courtroom where she had distance and her robes to protect her. And where Dianne couldn’t add her two cents’ worth. Standing, she took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt. This was just a case. He was just a man.
Just a man. If only.
* * *
WYATT LEARNED THAT “right out” meant at least another five minutes. Finally, the woman he’d last seen in the courtroom stepped through the doorway. Instead of the dark robes, she wore a pale blue blouse and narrow black skirt. There were the curves he’d suspected.
Her hair hung loose around her face instead of being pulled back. For an instant, he simply stared. She was pretty. Very pretty.
“Mr. Hawkins. Welcome. Won’t you come in?” She smiled stiffly and extended her hand.
She sounded so distant and formal. He frowned, trying to chase the worry away as he followed her down a narrow hall.
The walls of her office were lined with shelves of thick legal books. She led him past a conference table stacked high with files to a pair of wing-backed chairs that faced a Chippendale desk. Not a thing was out of place on the desk, but she straightened the blotter before sitting down behind it, anyway.
He got the impression she was trying to intimidate him for some strange reason. She didn’t know him, he reasoned, or she’d have realized she was wasting her time. Wyatt Hawkins wasn’t easily intimidated.
“I know you’re wondering why I asked you to come here without Tyler.”
“Yeah, it’s crossed my mind.”
“I need to know the truth.” She scooted back in her chair. “Please be honest with me—do you really want to take on the responsibility of being Tyler’s guardian?”
There was no hesitation in her stare. He knew she hadn’t become a judge by being a wilting flower, but the distance in her eyes sent a shiver through him. He knew a smokescreen when he saw one.
And this lady had more than smoke around her. She’d put up full, solid walls. What the hell had he done to piss her off? Taken aback, he shifted into negotiation mode and met her gaze with a stubborn one of his own.
* * *
EMILY STARED AT the man from across her desk. She’d purposefully put the desk between them. Originally, she’d thought to sit in the other chair, beside him, seeking a friendly, nonthreatening meeting.
That plan had flown out the window the minute she’d seen him sitting there in the lobby. He’d taken up all t
he space in the narrow chairs. Now he seemed to inhabit her entire office, stealing all the oxygen from the room.
She took a deep breath, waiting to hear him admit that he really didn’t want the boy. That he had a life, and a nephew he’d never met before had no place in it. It was what she expected. His words startled her.
“Ms. Ivers,” he said through clenched teeth. “You don’t know me, I get that.” He turned the brim of his cowboy hat along his palm. “That’s why I’m not totally ticked off by your question. That, and I know you want what’s best for Tyler. But let me explain.”
He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hat in hand. He looked up and that deep blue stare held an intensity that made her flinch.
“I’m the oldest of six kids. My dad died when I was fifteen and ever since then I’ve been taking care of my brothers and sisters. And my mom.” His eyes grew distant for an instant. “A man doesn’t turn his back on responsibility. Right now, until DJ comes home, Tyler is my responsibility.” He waited a long beat, letting his words soak in.
She analyzed them as her gaze roamed over him. His gaze intensified, if that were possible, and the lines around his eyes and lips indicated he smiled often. He wasn’t smiling now. She didn’t expect him to, but suddenly she wanted to see him smile. Wanted to experience his strength. He was a strong man.
“Mr. Hawkins.”
“Please, call me Wyatt. This feels too danged formal for me.”
She tried to smile. “Wyatt.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been a magistrate for too long to trust the initial impression. I have to ask the hard questions. If I don’t, someone, and that someone is usually the child, gets hurt.” She couldn’t let her mind go any further. If she thought about the abuse she’d seen...that she’d experienced...
Stop. She put her thoughts on hold, refusing to go there. Not now.
“I understand,” he said, saving her from the threatening morass in her mind.
“Actually, I don’t know that you do.” She couldn’t sit across from him any longer. Even with the desk between them, he was too close, too real. “You said you cared for your siblings. Who took care of you?”
