“I don’t have time to take you to the vet.” She was already late by Tina Marie’s standards, even though it was only seven forty-five. The vet wouldn’t open for another fifteen minutes.
She slowed as they reached Main Street, obeying the speed limit. Jason’s truck was parked at Rupert’s law office.
Her stomach felt as unsettled as Stogey’s.
What did those two have to talk about?
Bigamist.
She tried to remember more of her wedding to Jason, but all she recalled from that Las Vegas trip was a red, satin-covered, round bed and the luxury of room service.
Forget Vegas! Forget marriage! Forget consequences, inheritances, and legacies!
Jason had done so for over a year. She could too.
She pulled into the courthouse parking lot, braking hard when she saw Tina Marie’s car parked in George’s reserved spot. “No. That’s just wrong.”
Stogey whined. She wanted to whine along with him.
Luckily, she found a parking spot in the back underneath an ancient pine tree beside the small park where employees liked to eat lunch. No one used the space because the tree dripped sap and needles. But hey, she’d found a spot. And there was a cool breeze this morning. All she needed to do was let Stogey water the tree, crack the car windows, and stow the dog in the car for a few short minutes until she told Tina Marie to move hers. Then she could come out, take Stogey to the vet, and park in her own space.
Easy, right?
* * *
Rupert’s secretary showed Jason to a conference room, where Iggy paced.
It was a nice conference room, as those things went. Dark paneling, dark wood table, serious-looking leather chairs. It all added up to one conclusion: Rupert didn’t come cheap.
Jason held his cowboy hat in his hands, turning it nervously, not quite knowing where to stand or sit. His impromptu visit to Darcy on Saturday hadn’t led to the reconciliation he’d hoped for. But she hadn’t declared that her love for him was dead. There was still hope. If only he didn’t feel as if he were hanging on to a bull with a bad position and a premonition that he was about to be flung to the dirt.
“When Tom gets here, let me do the talking,” Iggy said, disrupting Jason’s thoughts. He’d put on a blue button-down shirt and black tie, although he still wore jeans and cowboy boots. “You don’t have to say a word.”
“I think that’s Rupert’s line.” Jason gave his business partner a grim smile, subtly shifting his aching leg.
“Rightly so. Neither one of you should talk.” Rupert entered carrying a thin folder. He sat at the head of the table and indicated Jason and Iggy should sit to his right, facing the door. “This is a preliminary meeting, the purpose of which is to gauge how much money it will take to avoid going to court.”
“We’re not paying a dime,” Iggy bit out, clearly outraged.
“If you haven’t heard, the interim judge is Darcy Harper.” Rupert studied Jason, presumably because he knew they’d been an item since they were twelve, not because he knew they’d been married for over a year. “I’d prefer settling to taking a case before her. New judges are notoriously unpredictable.”
“Wouldn’t she declare herself unfit to rule the case or whatever the lingo is, given she used to sleep with Jason?” Iggy managed to both frown and smirk at the same time, as if he wrestled with both bad news and the joy of rubbing Jason’s failures in his face.
“She might recuse herself.” Rupert flipped open his folder. “Or either party could ask her to do so.” He lifted his gaze to Jason. “Do we need to ask?”
Yes, because she’s my wife.
No, because she’s infinitely fair.
Jason shrugged, hoping it wouldn’t get that far.
Rupert’s brother Oliver entered, followed by a fuming Tom Bodine.
“Hey, Tom.” Jason stood and extended his hand across the table.
Tom snubbed him, glaring at Iggy like dudes did before they threw the first punch in a bar fight.
Jason sat back down and did his best to look like this was just a couple of fellas getting together to talk about cattle. But it wasn’t. Tom scowled at Iggy. Iggy stared at Rupert. And the Harpers? They were making small talk as if they were getting ready to watch a big game on TV. No big deal.
“What can we do for you, Tom?” Rupert asked.
Tom jabbed his forefinger on the tabletop. “I want what I paid for.”
“You got what you paid for,” Iggy said, half under his breath.
Tom had excellent hearing. “Prove it, Ignacio. Let’s conduct a DNA test.”
“Seems like a reasonable request,” Rupert began in an equitable tone. And then his voice hardened as he explained how a DNA test would be inconclusive. “How does my client know your heifers were only impregnated by Samson’s sperm?”
“Are you questioning my word?” Tom leaned toward Rupert, no longer scowling. He was glaring now. “Or my ranching ability?”
Oliver held up an arm and used it to edge Tom back into his seat. “We can all agree that the test means nothing. We’ll settle for restitution. The purchase price refunded plus ten thousand dollars in damages.”
“What damages?” Jason blurted.
Oliver gave him a cool look. “Suffering.”
“Until we see your client suffering…”—Rupert let the word hang in the air before continuing—“we’re only prepared to offer a refund.”
“Refused.” Tom stormed out, a heart attack waiting to happen. Seriously, the man had anger issues going back to his wife’s death.
“Gentlemen, why don’t you grab a cup of coffee while the legal teams confer?” Rupert gestured toward the conference room door.
Jason and Iggy returned to the reception area. Jason poured himself a cup of coffee and then sat on a leather couch that looked as if it had just been delivered from a showroom. It smelled like it too. The coffee table was a tree slab with bark around the edges, rough and ready to snag someone’s fancy clothes. Trendy, Jason supposed, but impractical as all get-out.
Iggy grinned, perching on the arm of that new sofa. “That went well.”
Jason nearly dropped his coffee. “In what universe?”
“Tom didn’t punch anybody.”
“There is that.” Didn’t mean Tom wouldn’t punch anyone later.
“Want to ride a bull today?” If Iggy was trying to make light of the situation, he was doing a poor job of it.
Jason’s leg twinged, causing his foot to jerk out toward the coffee table. “Our bulls are so domesticated, they’re not much of a challenge anymore.”
“Still, you look like you could blow off some steam.” Iggy tipped his hat back. “We can take the quad out on the paintball course.” The one they’d made in one of the sloping pastures behind their business. “It rained last weekend. We can ride mud.”
“No, thanks.” They were good at getting stupid. But stupid didn’t appeal to Jason today.
A few more minutes passed, and then the Harper brothers stepped into the hallway.
“See you in court this morning?” Rupert asked Oliver.
“I wouldn’t miss her debut for free tickets to the Super Bowl.” Oliver smirked. “She’s going to fall flat on her face.”
Jason assumed the “she” Oliver referenced was Darcy. Something fierce and primitive gripped his insides and balled his fists.
The Harpers chortled. Jason’s jaw muscle ticked. And then Oliver left.
Rupert waited until his brother was in his fancy car to convey the bad news. “We couldn’t come to an agreement. Looks like we’re going to fight this out in court.”
“Figures,” Jason muttered, still upset that the two lawyers wanted Darcy to fail.
“Gentlemen.” Rupert shook their hands, grimacing when Jason gave a bone-crushing squeeze. “I’ve got a brief to write and clients at the courthouse. I’ll let you know when we’ve got a court date.” He retreated down the hall.
“Come on, Ignacio.” Jason tugged his business
partner out the door.
“Where?”
“To court.” He’d take any opportunity to prove to Darcy that they were better as a team, and he had a feeling that she needed a familiar face in her corner.
* * *
After twenty minutes of a dead-end argument with Mama in the Saddle Horn’s parking lot, Bitsy was ready for a hot cup of tea, some comfort food, and a visit with her friends.
Mama veered away to check on her customers, as pleased as punch with the outcome at Rupert’s. However, the Widows Club board was on its way out, which meant Bitsy would be drinking that tea alone.
“Come on.” Edith marched past. “You’re going to miss it.”
“What?” Bitsy stared longingly at the booth the widows typically occupied, the one Alsace was bussing. The two-year twitch was ruining everything. “If it’s club business…”
“You’ll miss Darcy’s debut as judge.” Mims hooked Bitsy’s arm, turning her around.
“Once the seats are filled, they aren’t going to allow anyone else in.” Clarice was already walking ahead at a good clip considering her walking stick. She had her hearing aids in and wasn’t shouting.
“Hottest ticket in town.” Mims patted Bitsy’s arm. “You can tell me about your morning along the way, and I’ll update you on Darcy and the Date Night Auction. You’re curious, aren’t you?”
Bitsy was. But the right thing to do would be to stay at the diner and continue her campaign to make Mama see reason.
Unbidden, Rupert’s face came to mind, hard-edged and proud. Bitsy wanted to sigh contentedly. Conversely, she wanted to tell Mims about her attraction and beg her to talk her out of it.
Instead she allowed herself to be led away, caught up in the flow of things that were easier than heartbroken mamas and misdirected twitches.
Chapter Nine
Darcy should have known Stogey would have a second meltdown the moment the car door divided them.
The howling. The desperate intent to dig his way out of her economy sedan. Darcy took a step back, testing the waters.
A-eee-hoo-wooooo!
A piece of faux leather might have been flung toward the passenger seat.
A couple entering the courthouse stopped and turned to see what the commotion was. At this rate, someone would report Darcy for dog abuse, and Pearl would get her way.
She grabbed a large cloth grocery bag from the back seat, tucked Stogey’s small dog bed in the bottom, and then placed him in the bed. He settled in, as snug as a bug in a rug, staring up at her with love in his big brown eyes. “This is only for today.”
She needed to calm down, take a breath, and run, because court began in thirty minutes.
Darcy’s courthouse reception was no better this morning than it had been last week. The cold stares. The eye rolls. And then there was the impact of the stink bomb Stogey left in their wake—generating sounds of disgust and mean-spirited laughter.
They think it’s me. They think I’m a bundle of nerves.
They’re half-right.
“Good morning, Tina Marie. Don’t park in my space again.” Darcy didn’t slow to gauge her administrative assistant’s reaction to her command.
She shut the door to her office, tossed the black judge’s robe over a chair, and unpacked Stogey and his bed, tucking them both under the desk. The apprehensive little dear circled several times before dropping down with a puff of air. And then Darcy collapsed into George’s big, creaky desk chair with a sigh that was almost a wail. What was she going to do with Stogey? And more importantly, what was she going to do in court?
She didn’t know.
Don’t panic, George cautioned.
Too late. She was panicking, thoughts racing. She had to make a good first impression or she’d be outed as a fraud.
She should have taken yoga at some point in her life. It might have helped her center herself.
Or she should have learned how to phrase positive affirmations.
Stogey tooted.
Positive affirmations. Positive affirmations. Darcy needed a personal pep talk. She cast about her rattled brain until she came up with one.
This bigamist judge, who smells like old dog, is going to walk into that courtroom and command everyone’s respect.
No. No. No. That hadn’t come out right. It was horrible!
Semper fi. Seize the day. Run, Forrest, run. Those were positive affirmations.
I’m going to march into that courtroom and command everyone’s respect.
Better. So much better.
Who was she kidding? She was a clunky, smelly bigamist. She was doomed.
Darcy put her head in her hands.
“Fifteen minutes to court,” Tina Marie’s voice crackled through the intercom.
A printed sheet of paper on George’s desk listed the cases on the docket. Darcy opened her paper files, quickly reviewing each of the morning’s cases. Reckless driving with witnesses. Reckless driving without witnesses. Indecent exposure. Drunk and disorderly. Darcy scribbled notes on Post-its for each one, including sentencing guidelines. She was going by the book, adhering to the letter of the law. No one could find fault with that.
All too soon, Tina Marie was barging in. “Heaven help us. Here we go.” She marched across the office and through the door to the courtroom the way Darcy should.
Darcy stood and put on her voluminous robe and then gathered her case folders. “Wish me luck, Stogey.”
The little dog stood as well, following her to the courtroom door.
“No.” Darcy shook her finger at him. “Stay.”
Stogey went to stand in front of the door, staring up at her with those soulful eyes. And he didn’t even toot.
Darcy tried to shoo him to one side, but he was determined to go where she did. “Okay. All right. Change in plan.” She prepared the big grocery bag once more with his bed and tucked Stogey inside. “But you’re not getting out. And please, no stinkers.”
He gave her a toothless doggy grin that she took for agreement to her terms.
“Wish us luck.” She opened the door and faced George’s music.
“All rise for the Honorable Judge Harper.”
Darcy didn’t miss the sarcasm from Ronald, the bailiff. She dwelled on it like a bitter cup of tea, missing the rest of his introduction and call to order. She clumped up the steps to her seat, placing her stack of cases on the desk and Stogey underneath.
She’d been in courtrooms as a child, witnessing the justice system from the defense side. She’d watched George run the courtroom both when she’d clerked for him and after their marriage. She knew what to do, what to say, what procedure to follow. Except she’d never sat in his chair and been the focus of so many stares.
The courtroom was packed. It shouldn’t have been. She was sentencing inconsequential cases today. There were her detractors in the front row—Rupert and Oliver, grinning like suited Cheshire cats. And her cheerleaders—Avery sat with Lola opposite the Harpers. Midway up the aisle sat the Widows Club board, including Bitsy, who looked guilt stricken. Was that an omen? And there, in the back, sat Iggy and Jason.
Jason. My husband.
Words stuck in Darcy’s throat.
For years she’d dreamed of being Jason’s wife. And now their marriage was going to ruin everything. Not just her temporary judgeship but her entire legal career!
“First on the docket,” Tina Marie prompted in a voice loud enough that everyone could hear.
The courtroom shifted.
Darcy’s gaze connected with Jason’s.
Go on, he mouthed.
She drew a deep breath and drew herself up taller in the chair.
Beneath the bench, Stogey ripped a raspberry but not with his mouth.
The courtroom erupted in chuckles.
“Excuse me.” Darcy glanced down at the first case, cheeks heating. “I’ve got”—George’s—“my dog under the bench.”
“There are no dogs allowed in the courtroom.” Ronald stuck his thumbs
in his utility belt.
If Darcy had to put Stogey somewhere, there’d be damages. Not to mention more injury to Stogey physically and emotionally. The dog needed a therapy dog.
A therapy dog…
“Stogey is an emotional support animal and will not be removed,” Darcy said as firmly as she was able. She might have even fooled some of those present with her fake front of authority.
Lola gave her a thumbs-up.
Ronald stepped forward. “But—”
“My courtroom. My rules.” Darcy stared at Ronald with false bravado. “First case for sentencing.”
“Sy Smithcorn,” Ronald said mulishly.
An old man stepped to the bench ahead of Oliver. His face was tan, thin, and just as wrinkled as his worn clothing.
The district attorney, Keli Connelly, stood next to Tina Marie’s desk, holding all her case files in the crook of her arm.
Darcy opened the man’s file. “Mr. Smithcorn, you’ve been charged with indecent exposure, to which you’ve pled no contest. This carries a maximum penalty of five hundred dollars or six months in jail. Do you have anything to say before sentencing?”
“My client is homeless.” Oliver wore a knowing grin. It didn’t escape Darcy’s attention that he left off her title: Your Honor. Or that he was taking a pro bono case the public defender could be handling. “Mr. Smithcorn was washing his clothes down by the river.”
“All his clothes?” Darcy asked.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Keli said in a flat voice. “Mr. Smithcorn chose to do his laundry in the buff in full view of the highway. And then there was the dancing.”
“I’ve never been shy about my assets. Ain’t about to start now.” Mr. Smithcorn guffawed. “And the Lord meant us to dance.”
There’s an image. George chuckled, showing up late for court.
“There’s a time and place for dancing naked,” Darcy said absently, trying to rationalize a punishment that fit the crime without dwelling on a naked old man busting a move. Fining the defendant would only result in a default, given the state of his financial affairs. Jail time would be a waste of resources, although, from the look of Mr. Smithcorn, he could use a free trip to the dentist. She perused the visiting judge’s notes to buy time, catching the sleeve of her robe on a drawer knob. She tried to gracefully and unobtrusively free herself. “Were you arrested when the citation was issued?”
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