Forever, Alabama

by Susan Sands

She held up a hand. “I mean, women say yes all the time to you, don’t they?”

  He made a face. “Not sure I want to hear this.”

  “You’re so confident everyone will fall at your feet and adore you. You expect attention as your due, while the rest of us have to earn respect to gain notice.”

  “Do you honestly think, with your looks, that you have to do anything but enter a room to get attention? That’s a bit hypocritical of you.”

  “I work hard to gain respect, despite my physical appearance, and despite that I’m a woman. I often don’t get taken seriously because of how I look. People assume I’m successful because of my looks. So, it’s different.”

  He could only stare. “Why did you agree to have dinner in the first place?”

  “Because I was rude to you and you didn’t deserve it. I appreciated your bringing my phone back, though if I’d been less-fortunate-looking, I wonder if you’d have bothered. Maybe lost and found would have worked just fine.”

  He ignored the comment because he didn’t want to analyze the truth of her words. But he’d seen her softening, the shame at her behavior toward him. “Well, I guess I should be honored that you even stooped so low as to meet me.” The way her mind worked bugged the crap out of him.

  “You’re intentionally taking this the wrong way. I’ve been completely honest with you.” She seemed to be struggling with herself not to be rude, but unable to dig out of it.

  “Honest? Your assumptions about my character, without even knowing me, and your pretty pathetic stab at minding your manners have been entertaining. Irritating, but entertaining.”

  She lowered her head. “I’m sorry. Your reputation precedes you. I must admit to being somewhat—no—very—biased against you.”

  He frowned. “Has someone been talking trash about me?”

  Her face turned bright red. “I—I really can’t say.” She picked up her purse from the unoccupied chair and stood. “Thank you for dinner—and for returning my phone. I appreciate both. Can we part ways now?”

  He waved off her attempt to settle half the bill and paid the check. They made their way out to the lot where they’d parked a few spaces apart. He climbed in the cab of his truck, shaking his head with wonder at her prejudice against him.

  Ben started the truck and waved a hand as Sabine zipped past in her tiny, red sports car. He thought he could let it go. But damn if he didn’t mumble and curse all the way home.

  Chapter Two

  Sabine’s decision to have dinner with Ben Laroux likely had shocked her more than him. She’d had no intention to see him again for dinner or otherwise.

  Truth was, Sabine had come to mostly unfavorable conclusions about Ben Laroux’s character in an entirely rational way. He was a favorite topic of her female patients. Either they claimed incurable heartbreak after a short and passionate affair with him, wanted to regale her with his, um, considerable charm and skills as a lover, or they’d just plain crushed on him since high school. It was nauseating, really. She wondered if he understood his part in these women’s inability to let him go completely.

  Of course, it wasn’t her place to counsel him. Unless he asked. But could she help? Or would she lecture him on his serial dating habits and leading women on? His happy oblivion was almost entertaining to watch, really.

  After that night, Sabine was successfully able to put him out of her mind, except, of course, when she had to listen to those who continued extolling his virtues on a weekly basis.

  Besides patients, Sabine had managed to keep her social footprint pretty small here, just outside Ministry.

  Her clients, on the other hand, kept her posted on the town’s goings-on as it pertained to their lives. She had several patients with serious issues, as she’d told Ben. But she also counseled those who used therapy as their weekly spotlight for “let’s talk about me.”

  Of course, Sabine didn’t judge, and eagerly waited for the opportunity to give constructive advice. If anything serious was revealed, she was there at the ready with real help. And she wanted to help.

  The phone on her desk rang, startling Sabine out of her musings. She picked up the receiver.

  “Honey, I’m planning on making a shrimp gumbo tonight. Sound good?”

  Sabine’s thoughts were broken by her mother’s plans for dinner. “Perfect. Do you want me to run by the store to pick up anything on my way home?”

  “I went earlier, but forgot the rice. Grab a bag, if you don’t mind. Long grain—not Uncle Ben’s, okay?” It was a huge step for her mother to venture out on her own these days, and Sabine was thrilled for the progress.

  “Of course. I’ll be leaving here soon.” They hung up.

  As she locked the exterior office door, Sabine caught sight of a black sedan disappearing around the corner. Had that been a fleur-de-lis decal on the back fender? Her heart nearly dropped to her toes.

  Since Sabine and her mother had left—fled might be a better term—Louisiana a year and a half ago and changed their last names, they remained cautious. Hopefully, this was her paranoia working overtime.

  Ben couldn’t believe he stood facing Sabine O’Connor in Judge Haney’s chambers. He’d just gotten the memo that the expert witness had been injured in a car accident, and Dr. O’Connor was to replace him. She wore a cranberry-colored suit, just short of all the way red. Her lipstick matched the color and his eyes were drawn to her very full lips.

  They’d had to admit to the judge knowing one another. Ben tried hard to focus on the judge’s questions instead of her lips.

  “What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Miz O’Connor?” The elderly Judge Haney eyed Ben through his thick spectacles as if Ben’d been caught stealing candy.

  “It’s Dr. O’Connor, Judge Haney. She’s got a PhD.”

  “Is that so?” The judge’s bushy gray eyebrows shot up in a high V.

  “Yes. I returned her cell phone at a bar, and we had dinner together one time. We’ve not had contact since.” Oh, that sounded ever-so-simple. Ben could smell her perfume, a light jasmine scent that he’d remembered for days after their last encounter.

  The old judge turned his rheumy eyes toward Sabine. “Do you concur with Mr. Laroux’s statement, Dr. O’Connor?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” she answered, not sparing Ben a glance.

  “So, to be clear, there’s no personal relationship ongoing between the two of you?” The judge asked again, just as Ben dragged his gaze away from Sabine.

  He hoped he could keep it together when the time came for cross-examination. What in the world was it about her that got him so cranked up?

  “No, sir.” They answered in unison.

  Judge Haney motioned to the district attorney. “Do you have any objection to Dr. O’Connor testifying as an expert witness in this case?”

  The DA shook his head. “No sir.”

  “The matter is settled then, and the trial will resume with a forty-eight-hour delay for Miz—uh—Doctuh O’Connor to familiarize herself with the case.”

  Ben let out a breath. He’d prepared his cross-examination for the witness without realizing it was to be Sabine. She was testifying on behalf of the prosecution and he represented the defendant.

  As they left the judge’s chambers, neither chanced a glance or conversation. Of course, they’d been completely honest, but he resisted the niggling of guilt that there was still something between them—at least on his end. This was based on his physical response to being within a few feet of her again.

  He would definitely keep his distance in the courtroom, lest he embarrass himself for everyone to notice. But the next time they faced off would be in his domain, so she’d better be prepared. And she’d be under oath.

  When the trial resumed, no matter the outcome of these proceedings, there wouldn’t be any winners here. It was a wrongful death suit involving a terminally ill child brought to the emergency room with complications from treatment.

  The issue was with the ER doctor on s
taff and how the delay of a request for test results had affected the efficiency of care during a particularly busy time in the hospital. Sabine’s testimony related to the stress level and decision-making ability of the physician and if he could be held liable for the child’s delay in treatment.

  Ben’s client was the physician on call that night. The only way to handle this kind of case was with the utmost compassion for the family who’d lost their child too soon. No winners here.

  Two days later, Sabine answered the questions calmly and competently. She stated facts and supplemented her testimony with well-documented sleep-deprivation and behavioral studies to support her responses.

  Her testimony was only a small part of this complicated puzzle. The most relevant information would come from the timeline that night, and how quickly the child was sent through triage, tests performed, processed, and the call made for treatment. A single person’s mental status under stressful conditions could hardly tell the entire story.

  Sabine had tried to explain this to the prosecutor, but he’d been deliberate in pushing forward with this line of questioning. All she could do was be truthful and protect the facts and her reputation in the process.

  Ben fired away at her, asking pertinent and direct questions. He didn’t succeed in stumping her, yet neither did the prosecutor prove his point succinctly either. In her point of view, she’d been a waste of time and money as a paid witness, even though she’d done precisely as asked.

  It had ended in a draw. But Sabine could say, grudgingly, that Ben Laroux was an excellent attorney.

  Damn, she didn’t want him to deserve any merit at all. It still didn’t make him a good person—no matter how Google expounded his charitable works. Any man who did with as many women what those women said he did wasn’t worth real estate in her brain, even for a moment.

  She climbed into her car, started the engine, locked the doors and proceeded to read a couple of texts that had come in while she’d been in court. Sabine was so intent on a message from her sister that she shrieked loudly and came off her seat at least a foot at the tap on the driver’s side window.

  Mortified, she rolled it down a crack to face Mr. GQ lawyer, lover of all the women. “Did I scare you?”

  “No, I just won the lottery. I was excited.”

  He grinned at her obvious lie. “Great job in there. The prosecutor made an ass of himself.”

  “That was his fault. He didn’t ask the right questions to sway things to his advantage. I won’t put my reputation at risk for his case, no matter how empathetic I am toward the family.”

  “You’re for real aren’t you?” He appeared surprised.

  “If you mean that I can’t be intimidated, then, yes.” She’d dodged her share of corruption within her own family, and she didn’t ever want to mar her professional life by lying or cheating to get ahead.

  “So, do you want to have lunch?” He grinned.

  “Are you kidding? We swore to the county judge that we have no connection to one another.”

  “Your testimony is over.”

  “Yes, but if anyone sees us together during the rest of this trial, it’ll appear we’re in cahoots. Especially after the prosecutor’s debacle today.”

  “Is cahoots a legal term? I’m unfamiliar.” He tapped his temple as if puzzled.

  “You’re the attorney. You know how foolish that would be.”

  “So shoot me.” He slid her a lopsided lady-killing grin.

  “Nice try, slick.” How could she let her guard down with this one for even a half a second? She couldn’t. “Sorry, I’ve got to go call my sister. See you around.” This was the truth.

  “Okay, I can take a hint. I guess we’ll see each other again when you come to your senses and call me.”

  “Don’t count on it. Take care.” Sabine meaningfully slid her gearshift into reverse, causing him to take a quick step backward. Wise move.

  She threw up a quick wave, clicked the button for the window to close automatically and didn’t glance his way again, leaving him standing next to an empty parking spot.

  What was it about him that made every bitch hormone in her commence z-snapping whenever he got within fifty feet? Well, besides the stuff she knew about him? That stuff made her want to run in the other direction as fast and far as possible—or climb him and beg him to show her how that worked.

  Of course, it was only because of the stuff she’d been privy to lately during her sessions. In fact, it was as if there was some sort of bragging rights affiliated with having been linked with him romantically in this town. Like a contest of sorts.

  Sabine had no idea how true any of the, uh, information her clients felt the need to share with her was. But they made certain she knew.

  Shaking her head, Sabine pulled into her small drive. Somehow, she’d made it across town without noticing her charming surroundings, damn the man.

  Maybe she was using him as distraction to avoid calling Rachel. Her sister’s communications could mean there was a problem, or not at all. Rachel was a talented freelance photographer who’d figured out that the best way to distance herself from the family was indeed distance. Sabine had no idea where her sister was at the moment.

  Rachel’s text asking her to call might be simply just a check-in. But Sabine had a sixth sense when it came to her siblings, and, right now, she had a lead weight sitting in the pit of her stomach that didn’t bode well.

  As Sabine got out of the car, she noticed something odd. Well, two things, actually. A truck was parked in front of her house—a slightly familiar one—though she couldn’t place it right off. The other was rarer and strange. It was the rich sound of her mother’s laughter from the backyard.

  Sabine stood beside her car, almost unable to move. It was a sound from her past. One that brought back warm and wonderful flashbacks from her childhood. The one before all the bad things happened.

  Sabine inhaled the aroma of freshly-cut grass mixed in the evening air. Another reminder of happy times. Who was in her backyard with Mom? Making her laugh? Instead of heading toward the front door, Sabine took the small cobbled pathway around the side of the cottage.

  Unlatching the gate, she tried not to appear sneaky in her approach. “Mom?” Sabine called out.

  “Sabine? We’re over here.” Her mother’s voice held a note of excitement and something else she’d not heard in—maybe never.

  The mystery was quickly solved the moment she rounded the back corner. Norman Harrison was the truck’s owner. That made sense as to why it seemed familiar. “Hi, Norman. What a surprise.” Sabine smiled at the older man.

  Norman’s handsome, weather-beaten face cracked into a huge grin. Instead of shaking her hand or a polite nod, he closed the gap between them and gathered her up into a great big bear hug. “How the heck are you, Sabine? It’s been too long.”

  Sabine’d nearly forgotten how warm a few of the true friends she’d made since she’d been here were. “I had no idea you knew my mother.”

  Mom piped in, “We’ve run into each other a few times at the nursery. Today, I tried to carry a bag of mulch—” They looked at one another and burst out laughing again. It was then that Sabine noticed her mother’s filthy clothing. Her mother rarely wore dirt.

  “Oh, looks like you took on a little too much.” But Mom didn’t appear self-conscious.

  “Norman was kind enough to offer his truck for delivery services.”

  “It was my pleasure, Eliza.”

  Eliza? Nobody but her dad had ever called her mother Eliza. Mom was Elizabeth.

  “How’s Grey?” Sabine asked Norman about his son.

  “Oh, he’s just fine. Busy, you know. Cammie, Samantha, and the new house are keeping him hopping—not to mention the Preservation Society contract.”

  Norman Harrison’s son, Grey, was a historical architect and former client whose ten-year-old daughter still came to see her as a patient on a regular basis. The child lost her mother two years ago in a single car drunk-dr
iving accident. Samantha was making good progress, but her abandonment issues still created some alienation between her and Grey’s new wife, Cammie.

  Cammie was Ben Laroux’s twin sister. Small towns; go figure. Everybody was related or connected somehow.

  So, the connection between Sabine and Norman, her mother’s new friend, was that of a recent happy ending with a client and his family. At least she knew Norman wasn’t an old gold-digger.

  “Well, thanks for bailing her out,” Sabine said.

  “Of course.” Norman bowed slightly. He was clearly smitten. “I’ll look forward to seeing the fruits of your efforts later this spring.” He grinned at Mom.

  She blushed. “I like to wear gloves, an apron and kneel on an ergonomic cushion while I plant annuals in prepared flowerbeds or pots. This is just for the top dressing on my annuals. I do it a little at a time. No heavy stuff for me. I’m a lightweight.” Something was definitely happening between the two of them.

  “Mom, I love the flowers you plant around here. They make everything brighter.” Sabine wanted Mom to feel good about her contributions to their home.

  Norman looked around the tiny yard; there were various planters ready to pot with annuals, flower beds, weeded, some with flats of young plants beside them. “This is a nice space. Spring is the most fun for planting.”

  Sabine loved the yard, with its large old oak tree in the rear that provided shade in the evening. The patio overhang from the roof was screened and would allow them to sit outdoors without mosquitoes being a pain in the summer. The gas grill sat off to the side, and if history repeated, promised to be as well-used as last year.

  The two of them normally got on well together. They were comfortable here. It was a very different setting than the enormous Garden District house/mansion in New Orleans where she grew up, but change was good most of the time. She hoped her mother felt the same.

  “Norman, you’ll have to join us for dinner one day soon. Sabine is a wonderful cook. She doesn’t tell anyone, but she’s almost as good as me.”

  “She lies. No one is as good as her,” Sabine said, hoping to reestablish their earlier relaxed and pleasant atmosphere.