Her brain was still struggling to catch up. Henry Michael Richardson? Hank?
Behind her the kids were squealing with excitement and surprise.
She turned around. Connelly sat, unmoving, a stunned expression painted across his face. Her heart seized.
Hank was smiling broadly, but she could see the question in his eyes.
“Thank you, Your Honor. But, I’m sorry, did you say there were two applications?”
The judge looked from Sasha to Connelly to Hank.
Then he said, “The identities of the applicants are confidential, Mr. Richardson.”
“Of course.”
Connelly shook his head like a dog shaking off water and snapped back to the present. He leaned across the gallery and extended a hand.
“Congratulations, Hank.”
Hank shook it. Sasha could see him piecing together the information. Some of the joy dimmed in his eyes.
She hurried to the railing and leaned across it with her arms open, inviting a hug.
Hank hugged her back tightly.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he whispered in her ear.
“Don’t be stupid,” she whispered back. “And don’t be sorry.”
“Congratulations, guys!” she said to the kids.
“Can you teach Uncle Hank how to make an Elsa braid?” Calla asked.
“Oh, I think Sasha and Leo will be hanging around enough that she can keep that chore for herself,” Hank told the girl with a wink to Sasha.
She returned to the counsel table on automatic pilot and started pushing papers into her bag.
“That’s all I have,” Judge Kumpar said. “Court’s dismissed. Ms. McCandless, could I have a word with you and Mr. Connelly in private?”
“Of course, Your Honor,” she said.
After the kids tumbled out of their seats, followed by Hank, Naya, Will, and Marsh, the judge gestured for them to approach the bench.
Connelly took her hand in his, and they walked together around the perimeter of the well.
The court reporter snapped her case closed and nodded a goodbye.
When the courtroom was empty, the judge sighed and removed his glasses. He leaned forward.
“I want you to know I think you’ll be excellent parents someday. But there are several issues here, not the least of which is your personal history with Mr. Bricker. First and foremost, Ms. McCandless, if you were to serve as both trustee and guardian, that could raise questions of impartiality and self-dealing. It’s much cleaner this way.”
“Of course, Your Honor,” she mumbled.
“We’re just surprised that Hank would want to take on a family by himself,” Connelly explained to the judge.
Judge Kumpar gave a brisk nod. “Mr. Richardson is both your boss and a friend, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I hope I’m not speaking out of turn here, but you know that he is unmarried and childless, correct?”
Connelly looked offended. “Of course.”
“Of course. What you may not know is something Mr. Richardson shared with me when he applied as guardian. He was engaged to a woman, many years ago. About a month before their wedding, she witnessed an armed robbery. This was a wrong place, wrong time situation. She went to the police and gave a statement, offered to testify. At that time, the District of Columbia was basically lawless. It was like the Wild West. The authorities offered her protective custody, but she declined. She had a wedding to plan, after all. Mr. Richardson argued with her to reconsider, but she refused. I’m sure you can tell where this story is going.”
“She was killed?” Sasha ventured as her stomach sank to her knees.
The judge nodded sadly. “Gunned down in broad daylight.” He cleared his throat. “An autopsy revealed that she was newly pregnant. She probably didn’t even know yet, but your friend has lived with that knowledge for a quarter of a century.”
Sasha closed her eyes to hold back her tears.
Oh, Hank.
The judge waited a beat and then continued, “So, as you can see, Mr. Richardson has some very personal reasons for wanting to help these particular children who lost their mother in much the same way he lost his fiancée and unborn child. And, if I may offer some unsolicited personal advice, might I suggest you take some time to get your married life settled before you jump into parenthood? I’ve read enough about your various exploits to know that you have a somewhat … exciting … personal life. Wait until things calm down. Get to truly know each other in the fullness of marriage. You’re young. You have time.”
She stared at the judge. Connelly rubbed his thumb against hers. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The next day
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Connelly asked. Worry creased his forehead.
She stopped on the stairs and balanced the cherry pie on her hip.
“Connelly, for the millionth time, I’m fine. I think Judge Kumpar had a point. We’ve only been married for six months. Taking on responsibility for six children would probably have been a bit more than we’re ready for.”
As if on cue, a shriek rose up from within the house. A blood-curdling shriek, followed by shouting and screaming about whose turn it was to change the channel.
She arched a brow. “See? And Hank’s a little bit hard of hearing anyway. He’s way better suited for this.”
Connelly twisted his mouth into a crooked smile. Then he leaned over and covered her lips with a kiss.
“Maybe. But I think it’s time to start thinking about making a baby. If nothing else, I hear it’s fun.”
He resumed climbing the stairs before she could react.
A baby?
She followed him up on to the porch.
A baby?!
She was still trying to wrap her mind around the thought, when Connelly lifted a finger to ring the bell. The door swung open before he pressed it.
“They’re here! They’re here!” Leah shouted over her shoulder. Then she launched herself at Sasha, smothering her with a tight hug.
“Careful of the pie,” she said, as she hugged the girl back. She wondered how daily doses of affection were going to change Hank. It would be fun to watch.
“Ooh, pie. Is it homemade?” Cole asked, appearing in the doorway.
Connelly tilted his head and waited for her to respond.
“Um … I’m sure whichever Whole Foods team member made it has a home,” she said.
Cole laughed and took the pie from her hands. Before he headed for the kitchen, she reached out a hand to stop him.
“Are we okay? You and I?”
There hadn’t been an opportunity since the day in the alley to talk about what had happened.
Cole blushed.
“Yeah. I probably owe you an apology. Hank’s set me up with a counselor. We’re gonna work through my, uh, father issues.”
She hid her smile. Good for Hank.
“As long as we’re okay. I don’t want to have to challenge you to a set of suicides to settle things between us.”
He rolled his eyes.
“I should get this to the kitchen,” he said.
“You two come with me,” Brianna ordered, dragging Sasha and Connelly into the rarely-used formal dining room.
The table had been set—obviously by children, judging by the random array of silverware. Wild flowers sat in a Mason jar in the middle.
“I picked the flowers,” Hal announced.
“They’re beautiful,” Connelly told him.
Two seats were squished together at the head of the table with light blue balloons tied to their backs.
“You sit there,” Leah pointed.
“Isn’t Naya the guest of honor? We’re celebrating her unbelievable grade point average,” Connelly pointed out.
Naya’s head appeared in the doorway from the kitchen.
“We have a lot to celebrate,” she informed him. “Grades, guardianship,
the first salad made entirely of vegetables from Leah’s garden. I gotta finish up making this dressing before Carl gets here and starts bragging on my grades again. Now put your butts in the chair.” She pointed.
They sat.
“Good call,” Mark observed over his shoulder as he queued a playlist on the iPod.
“Dinner music even,” Sasha observed.
The kids piled into chairs as the music began. Naya came in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Where’s Hank?” Connelly asked.
“And Calla?” Sasha added, scanning the room.
The door from the backyard banged open. Leah clapped her hands. Hal bounced excitedly in his booster seat.
Sasha caught Connelly’s eye and made a ‘what’s going on now?’ face.
He shrugged, wide-eyed.
Hank and Calla walked into the room through the kitchen. Hank was a half-step in front of the girl.
“We know you’re gonna miss all the fun you have with us,” Hal said.
“And Uncle Hank’s going to make us go to school next year, so we won’t be around as much to play,” Mark added with a punctuating eye roll.
“So we got you something to remind you of us,” Cole said, with a meaningful nod at the baby blue helium balloons bobbing behind their heads.
“Oh my lord, not a baby?” Sasha blurted, her porch conversation with Connelly fresh in her mind.
Peals of laughter rang around the table. Leah and Brianna were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
“Close,” Hank rumbled.
He stepped aside. Calla walked forward holding a leash. Attached to the leash was a fluffy chocolate lab. The dog’s paws were way too big for its body. It tripped toward them and nosed Connelly’s hand.
“It’s a puppy!” Calla squealed, handing the leash to Sasha.
“It is,” Connelly agreed.
It was definitely a puppy. A very scared, overwhelmed-looking puppy.
“We named him for you,” Leah offered.
“They came up with Mocha,” Hank explained. “But they agreed that you can change it.”
“Mocha’s perfect,” Connelly announced.
The dog seemed to concur. He launched himself onto Sasha’s lap and started nuzzling her ear with his hot, wet nose.
A smile crept across her face. Its twin bloomed on Connelly’s lips.
Sasha looked around the room at the joy reflected on each face from the tiniest cherub-cheeked Bennett to Hank’s lined and distinguished countenance.
Family, she thought.
She turned back to Connelly and lost herself in his soft gray eyes.
My family.
And then in an instant, his smile vanished, replaced by a horrified expression.
Now what?
“What’s wrong?” she asked, suddenly worried.
“Java’s going to be livid.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Melissa F. Miller is a USA TODAY bestselling author and a commercial litigator. She has practiced in the offices of international law firms in Pittsburgh, PA and Washington, D.C. She and her husband now practice law together in their two-person firm in South Central Pennsylvania, where they live with their three young children, a lazy hound dog, and three overactive gerbils. When not in court or on the playground, Melissa writes crime fiction. Like Sasha McCandless, she drinks entirely too much coffee; unlike Sasha, she cannot kill you with her bare hands.
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Irrevocable Trust (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller Book 6) Page 19
