by Angel Smits
Addie stood up and poured coffee into thick earthenware mugs. “Like father, like son. Do you drink coffee...Judge?”
“Please, call me Emily.” Emily relaxed a little. “And no. No, thank you. I’m much more of a tea fan. I’ll stick with the water for now, thanks.”
“See?” Addie pointed at Wyatt. “Not everyone drinks coffee. I’ve been trying to tell him that for years.”
“I realize there are other drinks in the world.” Wyatt grinned, not bothering to defend himself. He lifted his cup and took a deep swallow of the pure black brew.
“Beer doesn’t count,” Addie mumbled.
Wyatt slid the cookie plate toward Emily. “Better get one now. Once Tyler and the boys remember they’re here, they won’t last long.” He took two for himself.
“Was Tyler’s father a handful?” Emily ventured as she bit into a cookie. It melted in her mouth. No wonder everyone wanted them.
“And a half. I’m surprised Mom didn’t have a heart attack—multiple times,” Addie said.
Wyatt chuckled. The sound was warm and filled the room. Emily glanced at him over her newly replenished glass of water.
“He wasn’t the only one,” Addie continued, causing Wyatt to scowl at her. Emily wondered at that story but left it for another day.
“Our father died, what was it, almost twenty years ago?” Addie asked Wyatt. He nodded.
“Mom had six of us to raise. Wyatt’s the oldest. DJ’s second youngest. Wyatt was as much father to DJ as Dad was.”
“As if he listened to a fifteen-year-old.” Wyatt took a big bite of cookie. “I’m shocked he’s managed so well in the marines. You’d think they’d have thrown him in the brig by now.”
“What exactly does he do?” Emily asked.
Wyatt shrugged. “He says if he tells us he has to kill us.” He smiled.
Emily couldn’t help but respond to the warmth in Wyatt’s voice. He obviously cared about his family, if the relationship with Addie was any indication. Some of her doubts began to fade away. “Do you know anything about Tyler’s mother?”
“Didn’t even know she existed. I’ve got to admit I’m curious as hell. DJ never stays with a girl very long. Always looking for greener pastures.”
“Now that makes him sound like a...a philanderer,” Addie admonished. She turned to face Emily with a frown to Wyatt. “He’s always been a good-lookin’ kid who just never found the right girl.”
“Not for lack of trying,” Wyatt mumbled.
So Addie was the romantic. What about Wyatt? Emily found herself wondering more than she thought she should. She turned her focus to Addie. She wasn’t much older than Emily, if at all, and yet there was a mature, motherly air to her. Emily liked her, and for an instant, wondered why she wasn’t the sibling taking care of Tyler. She almost asked when thundering footsteps down the stairs broke the silence.
Tyler raced across the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator door.
“What are you doing?” Wyatt asked.
“Gettin’ carrots for Prism and Dancer.” He raced out of the kitchen, a carrot in each hand, as quickly as he’d entered.
“P...Prism? Dancer?” Emily swallowed hard, surprised at the way her heart raced as images of the big horse filled her mind.
“Some of our horses. Don’t worry. He’s safe. Chet won’t let him do anything stupid.”
Emily took several deep breaths, then shot to her feet before her mind could kick into overdrive. Wyatt and his men were competent, she knew that. She had to shift back into her professional mind-set, and ignore her personal hang-ups. Easier said than done.
She gripped the edge of the table to keep from tripping over her own feet and making a fool of herself in front of this man—again. “Well, why don’t we get to the rest of this visit,” she said.
Wyatt watched her, his eyes not giving away anything. “Sounds good.” His chair scraped loud on the linoleum.
Emily hadn’t brought her briefcase in, but there was no way she was going outside to retrieve it and possibly come face-to-face with any animals. She would just have to rely on her memory to write up her report later. “Why don’t you give me a tour of the house?”
“Sure.”
Wyatt headed to the living room, stopping in the doorway to wait for her. “This way.”
She’d already seen the living room, but now she took time to really look around. Sparse, yet clean. The heavy leather furniture definitely announced this was a man’s home. No throw pillows, and only the braided rug that filled nearly the whole room served as decor. The walls, though, were a soft tan.
Stairs split the house in two. As they headed to them, she noticed a set of old-fashioned double doors that stood closed across the hall. Wyatt didn’t offer to show her that room. “What’s in here?”
He stopped midway up and looked down at her. “Tyler’s room is upstairs.”
“But Tyler lives in the entire house, doesn’t he?”
She didn’t think he was hiding anything in there, but his reluctance made her want to see. “If he’ll be exposed to anything, I need to see it.”
The scowl on Wyatt’s face told her he didn’t think much of her nosiness. Good. She didn’t like it, either, but saw it as part of her job.
He came down, boots thudding on the worn tread of the stairs. “Fine.” He opened the doors and let the light from the hall into the darkened room. She could make out the shapes of a big wooden desk, file cabinets and a few scattered chairs. His hand hit the light switch, and an overhead light splashed gold throughout the room.
She knew instinctively that this was his space. His office. His domain. She stepped farther into the room, stopping only when she stood in the middle.
The room was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Mahogany, if she had to guess. Real mahogany.
“My grandfather built it. It’s the heart of the business.” Wyatt hadn’t moved, but his casual stance, leaning against the doorjamb, didn’t fool her. He didn’t like her being in here and she wasn’t sure why.
Looking around, hoping to find a reason to stay here for a minute longer, her gaze landed on the huge carved bar at the far end. It was beautiful—and very well stocked.
“That’s quite an impressive collection of liquor.” She met his gaze with an inquiring one of her own. “Do you think that’s appropriate with an eight-year-old boy in the house?” She hadn’t seen anything in the previous caseworker’s notes about the bar, or this room, actually. She doubted she’d even noticed.
“I think it’s appropriate for my lifestyle.”
“As the guardian of a child?” She knew she was hitting all the right buttons. He was trying, quite admirably she had to admit, to control his temper.
“As the owner of a ranch several miles from town.” He strolled into the room and stopped beside her. “My men and I work hard. We earn the chance to relax at times. And it’s safer to offer them the opportunity here. Cowboys driving into town to get drunk is dangerous. I’d rather they had a couple drinks here.”
No one in Texas would dispute the picture he painted. “Well, then.” She stepped away from him. “I can understand that.” She headed to the door, ignoring the incredulous look he sent her. “Please plan to keep that bar, and this room, locked whenever it’s unattended.” She left the room and headed up the stairs.
As Emily climbed, she fought the urge to look back over her shoulder to see if Wyatt was following. She was fairly certain she could find Tyler’s room on her own, but she didn’t think he was up to letting her have free rein of his house. When his footsteps sounded behind her, she bit back a grin. She was right. She was proud of herself; figuring this man out was proving interesting.
“Second door on the right,” he instructed. When she reached it, his arm shot past her and he opened the old wooden door for her. St
artled, she jumped and bumped her shoulder against his chest. Her recoil nearly shot her into the room. She glared at him when he chuckled.
Fighting the urge to watch him, she turned and once again focused on the room. “Good-size room.” It wasn’t much, actually. A bed, dresser and in the corner was a pile of things that were obviously Tyler’s. She frowned at them. “Why are his belongings in the corner?” She turned an accusing glare at Wyatt.
“He wants them that way. I had them all in the dresser. I’ve actually put them away twice. He keeps putting them back on the chair.”
She looked closer, realizing there was an old, scarred wooden chair beneath the pile. She frowned. It looked familiar.
As if reading her mind, Wyatt answered. “That’s DJ’s chair.” At her confused glance, he explained. “When Mom passed away, we split up the dining room set. Each of us took one of the chairs. Mine’s the captain’s chair downstairs.”
Emily walked over to the pile and saw the organization to it all. Shirts folded neatly. Jeans stacked beneath. The backpack leaning against the rungs. In the center of the seat, she saw the assortment of items Tyler had pulled from his pockets in her courtroom. The plastic lizard and the playing card were tangled in the links of an old chain. She didn’t even know what to say, or think, or do. “I— Does he know it’s his dad’s chair?”
“Yeah. I told him the first night he came here. I thought it might help him feel welcome.”
Emily turned to look back at the man she’d foolishly thought she’d figured out. He stood in the doorway, his hands wedged into the pockets of his jeans. It wasn’t a casual stance. And somehow it made her confident that she—and Tyler—were totally safe with him.
* * *
WYATT DIDN’T DARE move farther into the room. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself that close to her.
She was trying hard to maintain the professional, observant caseworker facade. Trying and failing. Her heart was too visible in her eyes, her emotions too strong to hide. The realization that Tyler kept all his worldly goods tucked into DJ’s old, battered chair tore at her. He could see her trying to figure out a way to shut off her reaction.
It wasn’t working. And he was having a tough time fighting the urge to ease her concerns. Why was this woman so reluctant to face her emotions, and why did he feel the need to protect her? He barely knew her—she was technically the enemy—and yet he knew she had Tyler’s best interests at heart.
“He’s—” She backed away from the chair, and before Wyatt could step away, she headed for the door. She tried to move past him, but the doorway wasn’t big enough for them both. He touched her arm, making her stop.
“He’s what? A hurt little boy? Yeah.” Wyatt said it softly, wanting to soothe her at the same time he wanted to make danged sure she didn’t take Tyler away from here.
“How could she do that?”
“His mother? Do what? Leave him?” He didn’t let go of her arm despite the warnings running through his brain. He let her perfume wrap around him, ignoring the fact that she could destroy his entire family with one signature. “Now you know why I’ll do everything in my power to make sure no one takes him or leaves him again. He’s staying here.” The last came out through clenched teeth no matter how hard he tried to relax his jaw.
Emily stared up at him then and not for the first time he noticed how frail she looked. He nearly laughed. Frail, yet tough as nails. She’d fight him with everything she had if she thought this was the wrong place for the boy.
He knew the instant she’d made her decision, the instant he’d won. Her shoulders didn’t sag, not really, but her rigid battle stance faded.
“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned about the pallor of her skin.
Her head snapped up. “I’m fine. Why do you keep asking me that?” Anger tinged her voice. Anger and something else he couldn’t place. “My fainting earlier was simply because I got too much sun, running through the hills retrieving the boy who, might I remind you, you’re responsible for.”
That dagger landed a little close to home, and Wyatt winced at her accuracy. His anger rose in reaction. “I’m not saying I won’t make mistakes. But I’ll do as good, if not better than his mother has.”
“Very well.” She stepped away from him, dragging her arm from his grasp. “He can stay.” She took another step backward. “But if anything happens...”
“Like him running away again?” Wyatt taunted her. He knew she wanted to get past him and into the hall. Away, her body language screamed.
He let her go and moved out of the doorway to give her room to pass. She was no fool. She took the escape and hurried down the stairs, her back ramrod straight. She might want to run, but she clung to that damned stiff persona. She bid Addie farewell and disappeared out the front door.
From Tyler’s window, Wyatt could see her pull out of the drive. The taillights glowed in the dust cloud that rose up behind her.
“What the heck did you do to her?” Addie yelled up the stairs. “Are you crazy?”
Not yet, he thought. Not yet.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EVERY TIME EMILY entered the small coffee shop in the basement of the courthouse, she wished she could learn to like coffee. It smelled so heavenly.
But what she really craved was a nice warm cup of tea. Lack of sleep lately made for frequent caffeine runs. Half the time now, they had her favorite drink ready and waiting before she got to the head of the line to order. She didn’t even have to think. Today was no exception. “Thanks, Meg.” She smiled at the girl who seemed to always be behind the counter as she paid for her drink.
She didn’t often sit down in the coffee shop, either, but today it wasn’t as crowded, and her brain was nearer to mush than normal. She slid into a chair. She seriously needed a good night’s sleep.
In the past week, she’d managed to sleep only one night through. She kept dreaming about things her mind refused to remember. She probably should be glad, but she wasn’t. She was tired and frustrated.
The tea helped. Taking a slow sip, she curled her hands around the warm, sturdy cup and closed her eyes. She barely bit back the sigh of pleasure.
“I’ll take a large black coffee. Plain. No frills.” The familiar deep voice broke into her thoughts and her sigh morphed into a frown.
Wyatt Hawkins stood at the counter, a worn wallet in his hand as he extracted a couple bills. Meg set a large, steaming to-go cup in front of him and smiled brightly at him. He didn’t even seem to notice her interest.
He took the cup and came to stand beside Emily’s table. From her vantage point, he looked tall. Too tall, but somehow his size didn’t intimidate her.
The cowboy hat he wore shaded his eyes, but his smile was clearly visible. She felt herself respond. “H-hello.”
“Hi.” He set the cup down, shaking his hand to dispel the heat. “I wasn’t planning on getting a coffee, but I saw you in here and thought I’d join you.”
“What? Of course.” She waved to the seat across from her. She couldn’t exactly tell him to go away. “Uh, what brings you into town?”
“The endless battle of licenses that comes with owning a ranch.” He shrugged but didn’t elaborate.
It had been nearly a week since she’d been out to the ranch. Emily had come back from that last visit, filled out the caseworker report and signed off on the final custody papers. She hadn’t taken time to think about it. She’d just...finished. If only it were that simple—she still had to continue the court-visitor visits that she’d ordered.
He settled in the small bistro chair across from her. The scent of his strong coffee overpowered her softer tea. Much like the man himself.
“Thank you,” he finally said.
“Wh-what?” She stared at him. She sounded like a fool, repeating herself. She needed to get her focus back. H
e wasn’t smiling, and she realized he was serious. Sitting up straighter, she wondered what was going through his head. “What for?”
“The paperwork. Thank you. I wasn’t sure you were going to approve.”
Oh. That. She was just doing her job, she told herself. Mentally, she tried to shift gears, tried to go back to being the judge. “You’re welcome. It’s the best thing for Tyler. How is he doing?”
“Fine. I think he’s settling into school. Though he still seems to be having a tough time, missing his mom.”
“Of course.” The silence stretched out. “Have you heard anything from your brother?”
He shook his head, and she saw the lines deepen around his eyes. His worry was as strong as his sense of obligation.
“Can I interest either of you in a piece of pie?” Meg brought out a plate and displayed it in front of them.
Wyatt smiled politely at the young girl. “No, thanks.” Then he turned his attention back to Emily. With what sounded like a grumble, the girl went back behind the counter.
The scent of pumpkin wafted in the air between them. Emily simply shook her head and fought to breathe as a memory slammed into her like her stepfather’s fist. She tried to swallow back the bile rising in her throat. No. Not here. Not now. Not in front of this man. He had to see her as the competent judge. He had to—
Mom had been teaching her how to make a pumpkin pie. It was a family tradition from her mother’s side. Mom had promised that this year Emily was old enough to do more than watch.
Except that was also the same day that Earl had lost his job...again. She couldn’t escape the memories that flooded her mind. She heard the screams—hers and her mother’s—echo out of the past. She wanted to cover her ears and block it out as she had then. But she knew it wouldn’t do any good. The sounds and smells were trapped inside her memories.
Emily shot to her feet, nearly tipping her chair over. “Excuse me. I need to get back to work.” She backed away from the table, leaving her tea and walking quickly to the door. She didn’t stop until she reached the bank of elevators. She pounded on the dimly lit button with the worn black arrow pointing up, smacking it several times. She had to get out of here. Had to escape the pain and memory swirling around in her head.
