A Cowboy's Love
Page 12
“Two days. I expect to make it back by Tuesday night, late.”
Gordon waved to LaRaine to wait some more. He pulled out his phone and started dialing.
“I’m real sorry to keep you, Gordie. I know you need to get to church.”
“LaRaine’s used to it,” he said as he waited for Craig to pick up.
“In this family, it’s always something. Not one thing, it’s another.”
Craig must have answered just then because Gordon turned away, toward the house, and worked it out for Craig to send a man over to Sharperville for a couple of days. Before he was finished, he turned back again to Jamie.
“It’s okay, Jamie, honey. We’ll manage it, somehow. You go on up to Salt Lake and take care of whatever have to and I’ll expect you back on the job Wednesday morning.”
“You’re a peach, Gordie. I surely do appreciate this.”
“No problem, Jamie. You just take care, you hear?”
Jamie turned to head back to her car. Then paused.
“About that cougar,” she called back to him, “the one I saw had black ears. Black tufts up at the points of his ears.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll remember that. And Jamie, do me a favor, honey, and tell LaRaine I’ll be there in a minute, soon as I take care of this.”
“You betcha.”
She stopped one more time at the van and delivered Gordon’s message.
“That man! You’d think just once in his life he could get somewhere without any interruptions!”
Jamie didn’t wait to hear all about it. She wished them all a good day, and hurried to her car. Things were moving smoothly now. The first piece of the plan was taken care of, and now they could get on with the rest.
Chapter Nine
The offices of Larrabee, Slaughter, and French took up the whole ninth floor—the top floor—of the Stilton Building in Salt Lake City. A lot of money had been spent by the firm to make their offices the most impressive in the city, and the Stilton Building had been selected because it was a turn-of-the-century masterpiece, built when the territory was just beginning to flex its muscles as a newly admitted state. The original blueprints had been located in the architect’s archives back east and were used to make accurate restorations of the plaster moldings, the fine old woodwork and the elegant brasses. The original marble, quarried from the nearby mountains for the lobby’s floor and staircase, had been scrupulously matched upstairs for the firm’s entryway, its fireplaces, and even in its bathrooms. The brass fixtures matched their lobby counterparts that after more than a hundred years wore a fine glow of age and dignity. Every detail had been designed to impress the firm’s clients—and their adversaries—with the old-fashioned western elegance and solid conservatism of the Stilton Building and its premier tenant, the law firm.
And impressed, indeed, was Jamie, who had never before traveled beyond the red-rock country around Sharperville, except for that quickie elopement in Nevada. She’d never been to Salt Lake, she’d never seen a big city except on TV, and she’d never seen the traffic, the urban pace, the masses of people.
And she’d never been in an elevator. She felt very sophisticated as she entered the stately old machine that carried them with unhurried dignity up to the ninth floor. Both the start and the stop, though not abrupt, did surprising things to her stomach, making her eyes open wide in nervous surprise.
They stepped out into a reception area, where cream-hued marble, deep carpets, and wood paneling were meant to intimidate and impress—and that’s just the effect they had on Jamie.
“Jeez,” she whispered to Cal. “Some difference from Almon Reed’s dumpy little place down in Flintlock!”
A coolly pleasant receptionist, in business suit and high-heeled pumps, was sitting at a leather-topped writing table. She took their names and pointed to the leather couch.
“Ms. French is in a meeting just now, but she’s expecting you. She’ll be with you in about ten minutes. Would you like some coffee while you’re waiting? Or a cup of tea?”
“Coffee’s fine for me,” Cal said. “Jamie?”
“Sure. Coffee. Thanks.”
The receptionist left the room and returned with a small tray bearing cups and saucers and a silver coffee service. Jamie’s taste for ladylike things was touched by this deliberate display and she tried to look comfortable though she was suddenly aware of her Sketchers and her jeans and her plain blue cotton shirt.
She and Cal drank their coffee silently, leafing through the magazines on the table in front of them, until the intercom on the receptionist’s desk buzzed. The girl pushed a button, listened briefly to the crackling message, and then looked up at them.
“Ms. French is out of her meeting now,” she said. “She’ll be right with you.”
And only a minute later they heard a woman’s voice, sharp, high-pitched, and fast-talking.
“Cal Cameron! It’s good to see you here in town.”
Jamie looked up from her magazine and saw a tall woman, dark hair peppered with gray, coming toward them through the reception area. The woman moved quickly, as though time was money, but she was smiling genially, and she approached Cal with her hand reached out in greeting.
“And this must be the friend you called about.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’d like you to meet Jamie Sundstrom.”
Cowboys so seldom take off their hats. But now Cal removed his and Jamie realized she’d hardly ever seen him without it. His hair, black and wavy, caught the eyes of both women.
“And Jamie, this is my lawyer, Elaine French. Elaine is the fastest legal gun in the West.”
The two women shook hands and each did a quick, wordless appraisal of the other.
Jamie noted the perfectly tailored suit, a dusky rose linen, and the filmy, pale rose blouse cut in a deep vee, just lining the opening of Elaine’s suit jacket. Women didn’t dress that way in ranch country, and Jamie was seeing, for the first time in real life, a style she’d known only on television. Elaine was wearing jewelry—big chunks of gold at her ears and around her wrist—that looked expensive and, Jamie figured, probably was expensive. Her manner was all quick, informal ease and extraordinary confidence. Jamie liked her right away.
“Come on into my office.” Elaine started quickly out of the reception area. “Cynthia,” she added over her shoulder as she strode past the writing table, “if Mack Brundage from Jenner and Brand calls, you can tell him those transcripts will be delivered whenever I get around to them and not a minute sooner.”
“Yes, Ms. French. I’ll tell him we’ll messenger them to his office first thing tomorrow morning.”
Elaine laughed. To Cal and Jamie she said, “That girl is always one step ahead of me.”
She led them down a wide, thickly carpeted hall lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves that were filled with fat law books in beige and black bindings. Through a succession of open doors associates were visible, young, good-looking, and intense, each one hard at work at their computers or on their phones, their desks covered with bulging files. None of them looked up as Jamie and Cal passed. A set of double doors revealed the firm’s law library, the walls lined with stacks of books and computer stations, several more banks of books housed on movable tracks, and in the center, two rows of long tables at which more associates were working at their laptops. At the end of the hall, a wood-paneled door opened into an enormous office. There were windows on two sides, one pair looking west to the Great Salt Lake—a flat, reflective sliver in the distance—and the others facing the southern end of the valley where, twenty-five miles away at Bluffdale, the ridged promontory called Point of the Mountain reached a brown, treeless paw into the valley. The state prison at Bluffdale was clearly visible through Elaine French’s windows.
Elaine pointed to couple of chairs facing her big mahogany desk, inviting Jamie and Cal to get comfortable, and sat down in her big chair behind the desk. She leaned back against the soft leather and gave them one careful, appraising look.
So Jamie began her story and Elaine French turned her full attention to the young couple seated a little nervously across from her desk.
* * *
Elaine French had no difficulty concentrating on more than one thing at a time, so even as she listened closely to Jamie, interrupting her every now and then to ask a question and to make a note on the long yellow pad in front of her, she was also paying attention to Cal. She saw that his eyes never left Jamie’s face. He was sitting way back in the chair, his left foot, in the black, tooled-leather boot stretched forward, his white Stetson perched atop his right knee. She noted that although his posture was relaxed, his attention to Jamie was intense.
Cal is obviously mad about this girl.
At the same time, she evaluated her potential client, this girl that Cal Cameron had totally fallen for, even as she made note of Jamie’s account of the divorce, the events of the last two years, and Mandy’s disturbing report of activities at Ray’s trailer.
She’s definitely a bright girl. Nervous, of course; it could be she’s never even been outside of that town—Elaine looked down at her notes and found it—that’s it, Sharperville. But still, she knows how to think on her feet. Well-prepared, has all the necessary papers with her. Anticipates my questions. Gives me intelligent, thoughtful answers. I like her.
And I can see why Cal likes her, too. He’s no fool. And what man wouldn’t react to her looks. Good shape. Wonderful hair. What I would have given for hair like that when I was her age. And those blue, blue eyes. Vivid, pure blue, like they describe in books, like cornflowers.
Her sharp eye noted Jamie’s ragged fingernails.
A little rough around the edges, probably never had a minute’s pampering in her whole life. But dress her up right, add a touch of makeup, and with those cheekbones, she’d be a knockout.
But what a load of trouble she’s in! Who was her lawyer in this mess?
Elaine glanced down at the papers Jamie had brought her, riffling through them with her fingertips.
Here it is. Almon Reed. Must have been a real jerk. How could he let it get this bad?
I need more information, local stuff. See what’s going on with that husband. Sounds like a real bad actor.
She let her dark gray eyes flick over to Cal, sizing up how much he’d be willing to help.
As much as Jamie needs, I’d bet. That boy is solid as a rock, and if I’m any judge, I’d also bet he’d like to give Jamie some of that pampering she’s been missing.
But first we have to get her out of this mess. So let’s see what we can do for her.
Everyone sat quietly for a moment, while Elaine looked quickly over the notes on the legal pad in front of her. Then, abruptly, she placed her pen onto the yellow pad, making a sharp sound.
“Cal, I’d like to talk to Jamie alone. Would you mind waiting outside?”
He was up on his feet instantly, lifting his hat from where it had been resting on his knee.
“You betcha, ma’am. I’ll just go right on down to the front room there, and let you two get to know each other a little better.” He crossed the room quickly, the thumping heels of his boots silenced by the thick carpeting. He closed the door as he left, and Elaine brought her full attention back to Jamie.
“He’s a doll, isn’t he?”
Jamie said nothing, but Elaine noticed the flush that rose to her cheek. Elaine turned to the file on her desk, abruptly all business.
“Okay, Jamie. I’m going to need to review this record carefully before I advise you. But whatever we decide to do, it looks to me like Cal’s help is going to be important.” She paused thoughtfully, giving careful consideration to what she was about to say. “So there’s something I need to know first. Just how does Cal Cameron figure in your life? What is this guy to you?”
With one finger Jamie traced the fine leathery creases in the arm of her chair, suddenly having difficulty looking directly into Elaine’s eyes.
“I hardly know him,” she said uncertainly. She knew she was being evasive, but it was herself she was evading as much as the probing questions. “I just met him Friday night. Two, three days, it’s hardly time enough to know someone well.”
“That’s bull.”
Jamie flinched at Elaine’s abrupt response, and felt her hackles rise. Fancy lawyer or not, Elaine French was not going to bully her.
“It’s not bull,” she said firmly, looking directly into Elaine’s eyes. She was not evasive now. “I’ve known the man only a couple of days. So far, he’s been decent and that’s real nice. So pin a medal on him! But I don’t know why he’s putting himself out like this for me, and no one does something for nothing. I’ve got too much to deal with to take a chance on bringing any more trouble into my life.”
She found she was gripping the leather of the chair’s arms, and she forced herself to ease up. A small smile softened her mouth. “Cal seems to be a pretty good guy. But I can’t tell if he’s just another horny cowboy or if he really means to help me out. Like I said, I’ve known him only two, three days.”
Elaine was not at all put off my Jamie’s sharp response. Confrontation was her bread and butter and it pleased her to see a display of backbone. The girl was going to need it to get through this mess.
“ ‘Two, three days.’” Elaine repeated Jamie’s words. “That’s plenty of time.” She smiled at Jamie as though they were co-conspirators. “Let me tell you something about Cal.”
She put down her pen, folded her arms on the desk top and leaned forward toward Jamie.
“Now, you grew up in ranch country, so you know how these cowboys are. They’re a rough bunch. They can be as foul-mouthed as anyone anywhere. On the rodeo circuit, they’ll sleep around with anyone who opens her legs. They’ll drink and fight and brawl just for the fun of it, and if it comes to shooting—well, a lot of them won’t stop at that, either. But they live by a code and it’s a serious one. When it comes to a woman in trouble, or a woman they love, there’s no messing around. They turn into knights in shining armor, ready to slay dragons.” She peered at Jamie, hoping her point was getting across. “These guys are like a modern version of those old stories. They’ll ride into any kind of danger for a woman in trouble and they’ll defend her all the way if she needs them to.
“As for Cal Cameron, if you ask me, you’ve got yourself a genuine knight in shining armor. Cal is one hell of a good guy. Honest as they come. And I’ll tell you something else. He’s got a first-rate business head screwed onto those gorgeous shoulders. That’s where he’s different from a lot of those other rodeo cowboys. The trouble with most rodeo cowboys is they’re so damned independent. Every one of them just has to be his own boss. Some of these men could be making big money, like football players and basketball players, if they played their cards right. If they let the right kind of pros help them. But they refuse to let anyone represent them. You can’t get these guys to use a lawyer or an agent. They insist on handling all their contract negotiations—endorsements, promotional appearances, that kind of thing—they handle it all themselves. They always think they know what they’re doing. So of course they get screwed.
“But that’s where Cal is really different.” She leaned across the desk closer to Jamie, making her point with a tap of her fingernail on the desk. “Cal knew enough to do it the right way. He came up here to Salt Lake, all on his own, sat right there, in that chair”—she pointed to the empty chair—“and told me he figured he could use a little professional know-how. Seems there was this cereal company wanted to put his picture on their box of oat flakes, and he came to see me about it. We got him a sweet deal, much better than anything he could have done on his own.”
With another tap of her finger for emphasis, Elaine continued.
“I’ve been handling all that boy’s work for a couple of years now. I know h
ow his mind works in the clutch. He’s tough and smart and honest. A good combination.” She smiled wickedly. “And he’s got good legs, too.”
Jamie couldn’t help returning Elaine’s smile, woman-to-woman, agreeing.
“And,” Elaine said, “he comes from a good family.”
Elaine heard herself and she stopped abruptly.
I sound like a matchmaker. What the hell, it’s no business of mine! This girl needs legal help, not a maiden aunt! Back off, Frenchy!
“I guess he’s been pretty straight with me,” Jamie said, cautiously, a little contritely. She wasn’t accustomed to women who talked so tough, but still, she was reassured by Elaine’s style; it made her feel this was one woman who could handle anything. “So I have no complaints. So far.”
Elaine laughed briefly at the grudging admission.
“Well, that’s a beginning.” She picked up her pen and got back to work. “And I’m glad to hear it. Because I think we’re both going to have to rely on him to help us out with this matter of yours.” The red fingernail tapped the manila folder Jamie had brought. “Now, about your custody problem.” She made a note on the yellow pad. “I want you to come back tomorrow morning, let’s say at ten, and I’ll be able to advise you then. I’ll have reviewed all these papers you brought and checked out your lawyer. And your ex’s lawyer, too.” With one lifted eyebrow cocked at Jamie, she seemed to ask if that arrangement was satisfactory.
“That’ll be fine. Ten o’clock,” Jamie agreed, glad she’d cleared a couple of days’ absence with Gordon.
Elaine punched a button on her phone system. “Cynthia, Ms. Sundstrom has an appointment tomorrow at ten. Mark it down.”
She stood up and came around the desk. “I’ll walk you to the door.” As they headed toward the hall, she added, “That’ll give me a chance to say goodbye to that cowboy of yours.”
* * *
“What do you think, Cal? Is she going to be able to help me?”
The sun was blinding as they came through the big glass-and-brass doors onto Main Street.