Sweetest Kisses: A Single Kiss Part 9

"James is threatening to get her a miniature horse. We already have enough livestock, so if he follows through, you will referee the fight."

"d.a.m.ned straight I will. Minis are like short people, there's no trusting them." Mac was a part-time farrier, and this was not a casual opinion, though neither was it rational.

"To think you're admitted to the Federal bar. It boggles the mind."

"Licensed to practice before the Sue-preme Court of the U-nited States, unlike the peasants I call my brothers." Mac sauntered out, then poked his head back in the door.

"Did you know Dan Halverston's carrying a torch for Louise Merriman?"

Gossip, from Mac? "How do you know that?"

"He was meeting her for lunch, and he asked me where to pick up flowers."

"What did you tell him?" Why hadn't he asked Trent?

"I had my secretary get on the Internet and have the flowers delivered to the restaurant. I know how to treat a sitting appellate judge, for chrissakes. James would have sent him to the grocery store."

But Mac did not know how to treat a date.

"James would get to the grocery store by way of the drugstore," Trent said, which provoked another small smile from his brother. Two in one day.

"Quite a force of nature, our James," Mac said, sounding almost proud and easing around the door back into Trent's office. "Which reminds me. In my capacity as managing partner and your older brother, do not give Hannah Stark grounds to sue us for s.e.xual hara.s.sment."

"James is a force of nature, and I'm litigation waiting to happen?"

"James has a certain forthright charm, which we may both envy, but we do not possess. That, and virtuosic skills in the bedroom, make him nearly suit proof. You've been on the shelf so long you forget what your equipment is for, and you could bungle any attempt at office romance as a result."

"Bungle?"

"Bungle." Mac's expression was somber. He nodded in agreement with himself once. "Badly. Don't bungle it with Hannah. Get it right or go home. I'm tempted to give her the same warning."

"I see." Trent saw that Mac meant well, for a protective older brother with a death wish. "I'll tell James his niece is pining away for a nice fluffy, cuddly bunny, complete with a wiggly little nose and the cutest ears G.o.d ever put on a rabbit. Maybe I'll let him get her a Flemish Giant, and we'll name him Duke and train him to attack Supreme Court bar members on sight."

"A were-rabbit. I'm quaking in my Johnston and Murphys. All I'm saying is don't rush into anything with the new a.s.sociate. Take it slowly. You're out of practice."

"Always thinking of me," Trent said, pointing to the door. "Get out while you still can, old man, and hope Merle doesn't move on to bunnies between now and Christmas, or kittens."

Mac left, and this time he stayed gone. Trent waited a few minutes in case James wanted to come by and dispense his version of fraternal advice. There had been a time during Trent's divorce when Mac had kept him going, bullying, teasing, and lecturing his younger brother by turns. James had played a role as well, pitching the idea of buying the law firm and supporting Trent vociferously when most other brothers would have sent a pair of tickets to an Orioles game and beat feet.

A man did not forget to whom he owed his present happiness.

But Hannah Stark had been smiling, and Mac had noticed and jumped to certain conclusions. This was not a bad thing. In fact, the longer Trent considered it, the more it seemed like a good thing. A very good thing indeed.

"This is awful." Hannah muttered. She closed her office door, reached for a tissue, and sat at her desk.

In foster care, she'd learned what it was to be unwanted. She'd watched as time after time, younger, cuter, more charming children had been chosen for adoption, until she'd seen the writing on the wall: you have been weighed in the scales and found unadoptable.

She was a spare part no family needed.

Then survival became a matter of rejecting before she was rejected, and the group home placements had started. Glorified orphanages, they had provided a measure of emotional relief from the closeness of family.

As she'd outgrown her adolescent behaviors, some well-meaning social worker had placed Hannah in yet another foster home. Then Hannah had learned what it meant to be an object of l.u.s.t, which was not at all the same thing as being wanted.

Valued.

She'd been fussing with Trent's hair before she'd thought twice about it, the mom in her unable to tolerate untidiness. He hadn't made any big deal out of it, hadn't called her on her presumption.

But the words he'd said after that were a big deal indeed. "I'd be proud..."

n.o.body had been proud of her, except for the pride she took in herself. The only person to come to her college graduation had been Joe, the old foster care court bailiff, the same guy whose signature had appeared as guarantor on her very first apartment lease. She had been so grateful to the man, she still sent him a Christmas card each year.

And G.o.d help her, Trent Knightley meant what he said. She would not, would not, let him entice her into joining his department permanently.

Not now, not in six months, and that was what she would tell him the next time they met for lunch.

Chapter 5.

"I have to commend you," said a voice at Trent's elbow.

He looked up from the learning computer in his hands and found James peering over his shoulder in the toy store's electronics section.

"Because I can spell 'giraffe'?"

"That too, but mostly because you've paired Hannah Stark with Gerald Matthews on the child support docket. She'll bust his microscopic b.a.l.l.s but good. Let me try that thing."

Trent pa.s.sed over the demo model. "She's understudying Gerald on the happy pappy docket, but I haven't paired her with him, nor will I."

"Is there an e in 'h.o.r.n.y b.a.s.t.a.r.d'?"

"James, that toy did not ask you to spell h.o.r.n.y b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

A skinny, teenaged boy stocking the shelves halfway down the aisle tried to hide a smirk.

"You know Matthews is banging our head of HR? I think this thing is broken." The toy made an odd noise and the stock clerk snickered.

Trent glared at the kid, who climbed off his stepladder and sauntered away.

"Gail and Gerald occasionally bang each other," Trent said, "not that it's any of my business, or yours. I suspect on Gerald's part, the attraction has waned."

"Until he wants something from Gail again. Here, see if you can get it to work."

"What could Gerald want from Gail that she's in a position to give?" Trent turned the toy off and turned it back on.

"Besides the obvious? Hannah Stark's starting salary, perhaps her home phone number, her marital status. The partner draws."

"He won't find anything useful on Hannah's application." The machine beeped cheerfully.

"You fixed it. Must be a dad thing." James seized the computer again and punched some keys. "I looked over Hannah's application myself, seeing as we hired her for my department, and I noticed the same gaps in her data. I conclude the lady is protective of her privacy."

"You thinking of buying this thing for Merle?"

James wrinkled his nose. "Should I be?"

"No. It doesn't have horses on it."

"Here, then, you break it." James handed it back. "If I were you, I'd keep a close eye on old Matthews. I've heard some rumors."

"You've heard rumors. Do you know what rumors I've heard about you and the twins in the office of the clerk of the court in Wicks County?"

"That was months ago, and between consenting adults, and did not involve controlled dangerous substances beyond chocolate syrup." James wasn't joking, and his motions were always walked straight up to judge's chambers, not just in Wicks County.

"What are you accusing my employee of, James?"

"Nothing, just telling you to keep your ear to the ground, and don't leave my Hannah alone with him for very long."

"Your Hannah?"

James regarded him for a long moment. "Our Hannah," he said. "Or your Hannah?"

Trent picked up another beeping, blinking digital toy.

"Maybe my Hannah. The choice of area of practice is ultimately up to the a.s.sociate."

"Right." James patted his arm, his smile turning devilish. "You're calling dibs, aren't you?"

"She isn't some leftover dessert that I'd call dibs before you or Mac can scarf her up."

An image of Hannah and a hot chocolate with whipped cream, sprinkles, cinnamon sticks, and a long-handled gold spoon came to mind.

A can of chocolate syrup threatened to add itself to that scene in Trent's head.

Rather than teasing, which is what James ought to have done, James's grin faded to an expression both knowing and sweet.

"Spring has come early to the domestic relations department," he said. "I'm off to buy my niece a large, fierce, furry rabbit."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Mac promised me you'd suggested it."

Being in a courtroom-any courtroom at all-had Hannah's breakfast roiling in her stomach and her breath hitching. She was here only to observe, and these were not foster care cases, but the feeling-the anxious, tense, hopeless feeling of the room-was all too familiar. She ducked down the hallway to the ladies room and ran cold water on her wrists.

Which helped not at all, except that it delayed dealing with Gerald for a few minutes. He'd appropriated the counsel table on the left side of the courtroom, spreading his files around like a tomcat marking his territory with scent.

When Hannah returned to the courtroom, the state's attorney was lounging in the jury box beside a tall, dark-haired young deputy sheriff. They both looked amused at something, while Gerald stood at the defense counsel table, his blond head bent toward a short, scruffy guy in flannel shirt, combat boots, and jeans.

Hannah approached the jury box, not particularly eager to introduce herself, but truly reluctant to join Gerald.

"That's Rory Cavanaugh," the deputy was saying-Deputy Moreland, according to his silver badge. "I saw his name on the docket. What's he doing here?"

The state's attorney, a compact strawberry blond in sensible shoes, pawed through her stack of files and opened one.

"Getting screwed, it looks like," she muttered. "He is the dad of record to a little girl, but not the bio dad."

"You ring the bell, you get the prize," the deputy said.

Hannah sidled closer, though the state's attorney's brusque demeanor, blunt cut, and thick-soled shoes struck Hannah as another incarnation of Miss Wallingford, Esq., Counsel for the Douglas County DSS-a key figure in Hannah's worst nightmares, both waking and sleeping.

"But Mr. Cavanaugh didn't ring that bell," Hannah said, knowing she should keep her mouth shut. "He has plenty of medical doc.u.mentation to prove he isn't the dad."

The attorney let the file fall closed. "Who are you, and what do you want to do about it? There's precedent saying the kid is ent.i.tled to rely on him because he's been paying for years."

"I'm Hannah Stark, the new a.s.sociate from Hartman and Whitney, here to observe. I don't think Mr. Cavanaugh has any problem with continuing to pay, but Mom, through the State, is asking for three hundred dollars per month more. Did Gerald tell you Mr. Cavanaugh is out of remission?"

The attorney winced, and the deputy swore.

"He hasn't been to the bowling league since summer," the deputy said. "He doesn't look too good now that you mention it."

The state's attorney chewed her lip and reopened the file.

"You could probably get a continuance on the basis of medical hardship, at least buy the guy some time to get back on his feet or die. Margaret Jenson, by the way. a.s.sistant state's attorney until I hit the lottery." She stuck out a hand. Short fingernails, no polish, what looked like a man's watch strapped around one wrist.

Hannah shook. "You're all heart, Margaret."

"If it were Gerald asking, I wouldn't even offer a six-month reprieve."

"You'd hold Rory's choice of counsel against him, then?"

The deputy smiled-a smile so full of mischief it ought to be illegal-and so did Margaret, but hers wasn't a nice expression.

"I tell myself I shouldn't hold it against these guys if they hire a turkey for their lawyer, but my weak, feminine nature gets the better of me, and I react subjectively." Margaret fluttered her eyelashes comically.

"My thanks in any case, and I'll relay your offer to Gerald."

Gerald now stood very close to a blowsy blond whose generous curves threatened to overrun her slinky top. The woman's age was hard to tell, as either time or hard living might have put the grooves beside her mouth and the cynicism in her eyes. Hannah crossed the room and waited while Gerald and the woman continued to whisper.

Gerald shot Hannah a peevish look. "Mrs. Smithson and I are discussing her case. Did you want something, Hannah?"