by Abby Gaines
Should she ever have kids of her own, she would make sure they knew they were loved exactly as they were.
The way Ethan loved Sam, if only Sam—
If only Sam could see it.
Those niggling feelings she’d had about Sam suddenly came into focus. Sam had no idea Ethan loved him!
Ethan had told Cynthia he loved Sam, under duress, but had he ever said those words to his son? He guarded his emotions so carefully with the boy…would Sam be in the trouble he was in now, if he recognized how precious he was to his father? Or was he trying to provoke some kind of emotional response—any kind of emotion—from his father?
He was the opposite of Cynthia, whose attempts to win her father’s love involved complying, being the person her dad wanted. Sam went the other way, putting his father’s love to the test, looking for proof.
Someone ought to tell Sam how Ethan felt.
Ideally, that someone should be Ethan. But how likely was that to happen, with Sam’s latest arrest?
Maybe someone else should do it. Like her.
No way! She barely knew Sam, she was the judge who’d sentenced him.
Cynthia tried to chase the thought away, but couldn’t she of all people understand how it felt to have a father who didn’t readily show his love. And she’d at least had the security of knowing Jonah always wanted her in his life, even if his feelings weren’t as unconditional as she’d like. Poor Sam…
Having finished presenting his evidence, the lawyer sat down. The clerk turned to Cynthia. “Almost noon, Your Honor.”
“We’ll take a two-hour recess,” she announced.
CYNTHIA FOUND SAM picking up litter around the kids’ playground at Stonewall Gardens.
“I don’t have to listen to you,” he said as soon as she got within reach. “We’re not in court.”
“No, and you won’t be in my court, either. I’m going to ask the clerk to send your case over to Gonville.”
He paled. “But—still in the state court, right?”
It always amazed her how much the kids who got into trouble knew about the legal system. She nodded. “I’m transferring you because I might have a personal interest in the case.”
“I don’t want to hear about you and my dad.” He picked up a Sprite can, crushed it in his palm and threw it in the trash.
Too bad. “I’m here to tell you what your father’s not saying.”
He snorted, he scuffed the grass with his foot.
“Let’s go sit in my car for a few minutes,” she said. “The air-conditioning’s on, it’s nicely chilled.” It had to be nearly a hundred out here, and humid as anything.
The appeal of getting out of the sun swung Sam’s cooperation. He pulled off his work glove with his teeth and stuffed it in his pocket.
In the car, Cynthia turned up the air, then twisted to face him. “Sam, I had to come. I just realized you have no idea how your father feels about you.”
“What the—” He put his hand on the door handle.
“You don’t realize how much he loves you.”
Sam flinched. “What is this?”
“The truth,” she said. “Your father is making a total hash of it, but he loves you so much, just looking at you gets him all choked up.”
As he made to open the door, Cynthia hit the central lock.
“Hey!” He half lunged toward her, before he got himself under control.
“If he could hold you in his arms and tell you he loves you—”
“He’d better not try.” Sam’s voice cracked. “Let me out of here, this is abduction.”
With a good enough lawyer, he was right. Cynthia quashed her alarm. She couldn’t stop now. “Ethan’s afraid to admit the depth of his feelings. Not just to you, to everyone. He’s bottled his emotions for so many years, he’s scared that if he lets them out—”
“Telling me this crap isn’t going to fix me,” Sam said. “I know what I am to Ethan, and that’s just one more problem kid, like all the other problem kids.”
Cynthia balled her fists in frustration. “He’s crazy about you. He told me he loved you the instant he heard you existed.”
His brows drew together.
“It’s true,” she insisted. “Sam, your dad can be dumb about showing it…”
“He’s not dumb,” he said, and for a moment she thought he was defending his father. Then he added, “He knows exactly what he’s showing me. Dumb people don’t have law degrees.”
“He doesn’t—” Cynthia stopped. “Ethan has a law degree?”
“Yeah,” Sam said impatiently. “Which means he’s not dumb, so you’re wrong. The reason he can’t show he cares is because he doesn’t.”
She set aside her curiosity about Ethan’s education. “He told me he hates the way he’s messing up with you. That he wants to get to know you—you should have seen the longing in his face.”
She caught the same longing in Sam’s face. For one second, before he wiped it. “Why are you saying all this?” he asked.
“Your dad won’t be happy until he puts things right with you, and the same goes for you. Give him a chance, Sam, to show you his love,” Cynthia said. “It’s tough, but someone has to go first. Open up to him and you won’t regret it.”
“Why? So you and him and me can be one big happy family?”
So. He’d heard the gossip. She ran a hand over her face. “Sam, the only time I’m a hundred percent sure my dad loves me is when I’m getting something right that matters to him.”
He stilled.
“Even then Dad never really shows me he loves me. I hate that,” she said. “I want to be certain he loves me all the time, just for who I am. You have the chance to know that about your father. Take it.”
He stared at her. Then he blinked rapidly. He cursed and slammed his palm against the window. “Open up, or I’m calling the cops.”
She’d said what she’d intended, so she let him out. He stomped away without looking back. Had she got through?
Cynthia started the engine. As she drove, she mulled over Ethan’s alleged law degree. Why hadn’t he told her? His qualifications didn’t make him any more appealing to her, of course. She already thought he was incredible. But her father would like him better for it.
She imagined Ethan sitting down with her dad and Megan, talking about some case that was in the headlines. In her scenario, every so often he would reach across the table and squeeze her hand. There would be such tenderness in Ethan’s eyes that Megan would sigh and say, “No wonder you love him.”
She screeched to a halt at a red light, drawing a friendly wave from a pedestrian. “I don’t love Ethan,” she said aloud.
Yes, I do. The knowledge hit her heart and mind simultaneously. She’d fallen in love with him, without even noticing.
The light turned green and she inched forward, automatically returning a salute from Jackson Bream.
“This is silly,” she muttered. Okay, so Ethan understood her, admired the woman beneath the judge’s surface. He made her feel desired and cherished for the way she was, not for her career potential. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t think any less of her if she decided to be something other than a judge.
Then there was his determination, albeit misguided, to make amends for the past and reconcile his family.
She groaned. Who wouldn’t love that?
And now that she’d admitted it, what the heck was she supposed to do about it? How was she supposed to just walk away from him and from Stonewall Hollow if they couldn’t iron out the differences between them?
what if he doesn’t love me back?
She would go see Ethan tomorrow…. No! Tomorrow, Justice Pearson would be here. Cynthia flicked her turn signal and drove into the courthouse parking lot. She pulled into the parking space marked Judge and turned the engine off.
She had to go ahead with her interview with Justice Pearson. If things didn’t work out with Ethan…it was all very well saying she didn’t want her old life back, but
where would that leave her.
Cynthia opened her door. She would go see Ethan tonight.
I’ll tell him about my talk with Sam. She would make Ethan see how critical it was that he open up to his son—and to her. She would make it happen.
Tonight.
ETHAN CALLED CYNTHIA BEFORE she could call him, which she took as an excellent sign.
“Come for dinner,” he said. “Sam’s out with his buddies, it’ll be just you and me. I’d like us to talk.”
“About anything in particular?”
“Just, you know, sharing stuff,” he muttered.
She found herself beaming into the phone. “Stuff being feelings?”
“I guess.”
“An offer I can’t refuse,” she said brightly, and was pretty sure he groaned.
She was singing under her breath as she got ready to go out and drove to the Double T. She was once again wearing the yellow sundress, which she was now sick of the sight of. Tomorrow she would go online and order a new dress.
No, tomorrow Justice Pearson would be here. Everything else would have to wait. She’d better tell Ethan about the justice, along with all the other things she had to say.
“You look amazing, as always.” Ethan greeted her with a kiss that soon grew seriously hot.
“Mmm.” That low, humming sound came from somewhere deep within her. His kiss was sweet temptation of a kind she’d never known.
At last, he released her. “If we’re going to eat, I’d better get some self-control.”
“I guess.” Her appetite had disappeared but they still had all that talking to do.
He poured them both a glass of red wine, then pulled a bowl of chicken pieces sitting in some kind of milky mixture from the fridge. “Fried chicken,” he said. “My housekeeper prepared it, all we need to do is cook it.”
“You mean, deep-fry it?”
“As long as the oil’s the right temperature, so it doesn’t get absorbed, this is practically health food,” he assured her.
She raised her glass to him.
When he dropped the pieces in a pan of hot oil, they sizzled and spat.
“It’s important not to walk away at this stage,” he said. “That’s how you burn the house down. Think you could set the table for me?”
“Hey, I have a Harvard law degree, magna cum laude.” That wasn’t subtle, but she was dying to know the truth about Ethan’s degree.
“You’re eminently qualified to set tables,” he approved.
“How about you?” she said. “What’s your qualification to fry that chicken?”
“I’ve been doing it once a week for ten years.”
Rats. She pulled knives and forks from the drawer he indicated. “Did you ever get to college?”
He used a slotted spoon to separate two pieces of chicken that were trying to stick together in the bubbling fat. He said nothing for so long, she started to think about how she could rephrase the question without being too obvious.
Then he said slowly, “Matter of fact, I did a criminal justice degree.”
“Really?” Sam hadn’t had it quite right, but it was almost as good as a law degree. “Which school?”
“Ohio University. They have a great distance-learning program.”
Not Ivy League, but who cared? “Did you ever use your degree in your work?”
He shook his head. “I met Paul Siddons right after I graduated and he offered me a job out here. We just clicked, I was keen to work with him.”
His lack of a father figure might have something to do with that, Cynthia suspected. “But I suppose your studies gave you your passion for youth offenders.”
“I told you, I used to be a bad kid.” He removed a piece of chicken with a slotted spoon and set it to drain on a paper towel. Then he went back in for another one. It was careful work, with the fat still spitting; he didn’t look at her. “I was worse than you imagine.”
“You don’t know what I imagine.” That came out way more seductive than she intended.
His eyes darkened, a smile curved his mouth. “Are you deliberately saying that when I can’t do anything about it?” He removed the pan from the stove. “Give me one minute and you’ll have my full attention.”
“I can just about wait one minute,” she said happily.
They heard tires on gravel outside. Ethan groaned.
“Is it Sam?” she asked.
He shook his head. “It’s not the Mazda. Sounds like the sheriff’s cruiser. He lives out this way. Can you get the door while I wash my hands?”
“Gee, am I interrupting something again?” Sheriff Davis’s raspy voice bore unmistakable amusement when she opened the door.
“Come on in.” Cynthia led the way to the kitchen.
“Beer, Mike?” Ethan asked.
The sheriff fingered the brim of his hat. “I’m here on business. I should have phoned but my shift just ended—thought I’d stop by on my way home.” All trace of humor had vanished; he sounded quiet and serious.
Ethan put the chicken in the oven to keep warm. “Is there a problem?”
The sheriff put his hat on the table. “Sam’s been arrested again.”
Ethan swore; Cynthia gasped.
“More shoplifting?” Ethan asked.
He sounded almost hopeful, and Cynthia could guess why. Young offenders tended to escalate their crimes, not do the same thing again. Not armed robbery, please.
“Arson,” the sheriff said grimly. “Or, lucky for him, attempted arson,” he amended. “We caught him just in time.”
“So he’s been charged with…?” Cynthia asked.
“Criminal trespass,” the sheriff said. “He was found in back of the community hall in possession of an accelerant, a lighter, some rags and papers.”
“Unlawful purpose.” She sighed.
“In this weather, a fire would be out of control in no time,” Ethan said grimly.
The sheriff nodded. “Bill Lavender’s on duty, if you want to go pick Sam up.”
“I’ll go now.” Ethan grabbed his jacket, slung over a chair at the kitchen table. Cynthia picked up her purse.
“You’re coming, too?” Ethan asked.
“Of course.” And not just for Ethan’s sake. She hurried outside with him, shivering although it was still warm. Had her visit to Sam in some way triggered his latest rampage? Would he tell Ethan it had, whether that was true or not? She picked up her pace.
“We’ll take my car,” she suggested to Ethan. “It’s best not to drive when you’re upset.”
“I’m not upset,” Ethan said. “I’m just going to kill him.”
The sheriff nodded his approval.
“You can bring Sam’s car home,” she reminded him.
Cynthia needed to tell Ethan she’d visited Sam…. She shuddered at the thought of the hall burning down.
In the Volvo, they started down the long driveway. “Ethan, about Sam…”
“I’m glad you’re with me,” he said, as he buckled his seat belt. “It feels right.” He reached over and squeezed her hand on the wheel.
She managed a halfhearted smile. Would it feel so right when she told Ethan Sam had apparently decided to burn down the hall right after her little chat with him?
Maybe he didn’t need to add that to his pile of worries just now.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
HUDDLED IN THE CORNER of a police cell, Sam looked far younger than his eighteen years. When he saw Ethan, tears started to his eyes. “Dad.” He came over to the bars.
Cynthia wondered if he’d been this emotional after his previous arrests.
Ethan didn’t smile but his face was relaxed. She couldn’t imagine how he achieved such serenity. Resentment glimmered in Sam’s expression.
“You’ve messed up, Sam,” Ethan said, his voice way too even for a dad whose son was a match-strike away from a prison sentence. “When you’re done with the legal process, we’re going to have to make some changes. I can’t stand by and let you destroy your
life.”
Sam wrapped his fingers around the cell bars. “You’re throwing me out?”
“I’m getting you some counseling, which you will attend if you want to eat in my house.” He glanced at Cynthia, as if she would be pleased. That’s right, she’d expressed concern when they met that Ethan didn’t hook up with any counseling programs. But now, she knew exactly what Sam needed, and it wasn’t another stranger to talk to.
“Screw you,” Sam said.
Ethan’s lips tightened. The door from reception opened and Sam’s lawyer, Tom Cadman, walked in.
Cadman had appeared before her several times; she rated him the best in town. She nodded reassurance to Sam, but was reluctant to draw attention to herself in case he mentioned their little “abduction” episode. She would confess to Ethan tonight. It would sound better coming from her.
“I don’t need to tell you, this is serious.” Tom eyed her.
“It’s likely the case will be heard in Gonville,” she said. “But if it makes you more comfortable, I’ll leave.”
Out in the office, Deputy Lavender was making coffee. “Bad business,” he said, with a nod toward the cells. “The kid’s in court tomorrow on that shoplifting charge. The D.A. will probably tack this escapade on, too.”
“Hmm.” He didn’t need to know Cynthia would be telling the D.A. to take his case elsewhere.
Hopefully without alerting Justice Pearson to the fact she was in love with the father of one of her defendants.
IT WAS TEN O’CLOCK by the time Cynthia and Ethan walked out into the parking lot. Not late, but she was exhausted. Ethan was, too, she could tell from the lines beneath his eyes. Sam had refused to come home. He planned to stay the night at his friend Dean’s house. Since he was eighteen, his dad couldn’t force him to return to the ranch.
Ethan’s shoulders were rigid. “The sooner I get Sam into some serious counseling, the better.”
“If you send Sam to a counselor, he’ll see it as another rejection,” she warned.
He stopped halfway to her car. “What do you mean another rejection? And you’re the one who was gung ho about counseling.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “Sam’s been rejected by his mom, he came here looking for love.”