CASSIDY'S COURTSHIP

by Sharon Mignerey

  She resisted smiling. "I thought we had just met."

  "Then it's true, because it's also the first thing you've said to me."

  The corner of her mouth lifted. "Okay."

  He took a sip of his coffee. "Nice outfit," he said, indicating her uniform. "Makes you look about fifteen."

  His tone echoed her sentiments exactly. She glanced down at the green and white uniform, bobby socks and tennis shoes. "Makes me feel about fifteen."

  "That can't be all bad." His voice became light and teasing.

  "The worst year of my life was when I was fifteen." The confession fell from her lips without conscious thought and was followed by an instant of disbelief that she had spoken aloud. Blindly, she picked up glasses and debris from the adjoining table. "I've got to get back to work."

  She never slipped. Not ever. Her defenses were bone-deep and governed by a simple rule. She never talked about herself. She couldn't afford to. This time, her anger was directed at herself.

  By rote, she moved through the bar, doing her job. Unwanted memories interrupted her concentration.

  Two deaths and Brenna's entrance into adulthood had marked her fifteenth year. First her mother, then Nonna.

  Her mother had been powerless to defuse the growing resentment between father and daughter. When Brenna had decided to leave home, her mother did the one thing she could—let go. At the time, Brenna hadn't understood or appreciated how difficult that choice had been for her mother.

  And her grandmother. Nonna had been the one person who cared enough to reach out to an angry adolescent and love her unconditionally. Even now, when Brenna felt herself slipping into an abyss of hopelessness, all she had to do was close her eyes and think of her grandmother. Within moments, Brenna would feel better.

  She didn't think anything would ever be as devastating as being fifteen and discovering she had just one person she could depend on—herself. Eleven years should have been long enough for the shattering desolation to be gone. It might as well have been yesterday.

  Chewing the inside of her lip and lost in her thoughts, she waited on her customers without responding to their banter, straightened chairs and wiped down tables. Other customers left the bar, but Cole remained, nursing coffee that Theo refilled several times.

  Brenna wanted to ran from his attention, and she wanted to rant at him for stirring long-dead, painful memories. She wanted to sit with him to find out how he got calluses and scraped knuckles, and she wanted time alone to absorb his subtle flirting.

  Months ago, that first day in his office giving the deposition, she had been intensely aware of him. He dominated her memories of that day, and he dominated her awareness now. What was it about the man?

  The night dragged by at a snail's pace, and she knew exactly when Cole left. Fifteen minutes before the bar closed. The tip he left her was average, but a note left for her on a napkin was not. She stared at the words, unable to make sense of the bold strokes of his handwriting. She set it on the tray with his empty coffee cup.

  Behind the bar, she set the tray next to the sink. "Theo, can you decipher this?"

  Theo glanced at the napkin. "See you soon."

  "See you soon," she repeated, staring at the three words, then putting the napkin in her pocket.

  "You knew him before tonight, didn't you?" Theo asked.

  "Yes."

  "Are you two good friends?"

  "No. Not friends. We met last year, but I haven't seen him in a while," she said. Two months and three weeks exactly, she thought, remembering that last day at his office.

  "Might as well pack it in," Theo said, glancing at his watch. "When is your bus due?"

  "It comes by at five of."

  "Get going then. I don't want you to have to wait another half hour for the next one."

  After changing into jeans and a loose T-shirt, Brenna pulled her hair out of the rubber band and brushed it out.

  She found it impossible not to think about Cole and gave up trying. She had seen him as an extension of Harvey Bates—a man intending to do her harm. But that wasn't the man she had seen tonight The Cole Cassidy she met tonight was charming. Nice. A man she could like, a man she found … alluring.

  "Grow up, Brenna," she told her reflection. "You and Mr. Cole-Justice-Cassidy? Not in your wildest dreams."

  What's so wild about wanting him to see you as an interesting woman, came the persistent voice inside her head that had once made her think almost anything was possible. What if you had met him some other way?

  But I didn't.

  But, what if you had? What if he liked the person you are?

  Fat chance of that.

  She threw her hairbrush in the bottom of the canvas tote bag that had once been beige, but that was now held together with patches in a variety of faded colors and shapes. In her mind, the tote bag symbolized their differences perfectly. Cole was cordovan leather, and she was patched canvas.

  Even if they had met some other way, it was just that simple.

  Hoisting the tote bag over her shoulder, she held that thought firmly in mind as she walked out of the bar and into an empty night.

  The traffic was a little less than usual, even for the middle of the night. The homeless man who had slept on the bus-stop bench the last two nights was nowhere to be seen. The only pedestrian on her side of the street was a drunk sprawled against the building, his legs bent, a hat pulled over his eyes. A couple of other men stood in front of a bar at the other end of the block, their arms wrapped over the top of a parking meter, their laughter carrying to Brenna.

  This neighborhood wasn't as rough as some where she had worked, a fact she had pointed out to her brother Michael when he told her no sister of his was going to sit at a bus stop in the middle of the night. The conversation seemed stupid to her, since she had been following similar patterns for years. She wasn't about to impose on her brother by having him pick her up from work at one o'clock in the morning. Michael hadn't agreed willingly, but he eventually had agreed.

  Giving the block one last perusal, Brenna left the shelter of the entry and walked the block and a half to the bus stop. If she was lucky, the bus would be early tonight, instead of ten to fifteen minutes late it sometimes was.

  She was halfway to the bus stop when she saw movement next to the shadowed building out of the corner of her eye. Automatically, she reached for the cylinder of pepper gas in her tote bag that she should have been carrying in her hand.

  A man materialized out of the shadow, his voice and his eyes dark as the night. "Hey, baby, wanna party?"

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  Brenna had never seen this man before. Avoiding a direct challenge, her own gaze skittered away from his sharp eyes, her assessment quick. Baggy jeans, black T-shirt, a narrow face and the wiry muscularity of a jackal.

  Dirty. Drunk. Dangerous.

  A predator to whom she could show no weakness. Making sure she didn't turn her back to the man, she edged away from him.

  Did she want to party? Not hardly. She didn't trust her voice to be as stern as she wanted, so she shook her head and kept walking toward the bus stop. With every step, a lurch in her stomach kept pace. She fought the urge to run. It was too far back to the bar, and she doubted she'd find any good Samaritans driving down Colfax at this time of night.

  The man lengthened his stride to catch up with her. "Hurrying home to your boyfriend?" He reached for Brenna, and she sidestepped to avoid his grasp. "Hey, I'm just trying to be a nice guy," he protested. "Ain't safe around here for a pretty thing like you. Betcha your boyfriend don't know where you've been." He nodded toward a strip joint across the street. "You a stripper?"

  Brenna looked down the street, hoping she would see the bus, hoping the man didn't have the money or the inclination to board the bus when she did.

  "Whatchername?" he asked.

  Brenna didn't answer. Instead, she walked toward the bus stop. Purposeful. Calm. Her fingers closed around the
pepper spray in the bottom of her bag. Again, she looked down the street. For the moment, it was deserted as a country road.

  Where was the bus?

  His glance followed hers down the street. "Expecting someone?" he asked.

  Brenna met his gaze. "Yes," she said, her voice crisp with the conviction of truth.

  Bus or no bus, at the moment she'd be happy to see anyone. Otherwise, she might have to spray the guy.

  And hope her reflexes were faster than his.

  He was too close, enough so she could smell his sweat and the beer on his breath. She edged toward the curb, trying to put some distance between them. He followed, his swagger more confident.

  A single car drove past, its driver staring straight ahead. No help there. Where was the bus? A cop? The cavalry?

  Ahead of her, a black Jeep came toward them. Brenna recognized the driver.

  Cole Cassidy… An unlikely answer to her prayer.

  She waved.

  Cole stared hard at her, then made an illegal U-turn in the middle of the block. He pulled to a stop next to the sidewalk.

  "Brenna?" His eyes swept over her then went to the man on the sidewalk next to her.

  He set the emergency brake and got out, his movements as controlled as a lion stalking its prey. He had taken off his coat, revealing muscular shoulders that had been only hinted at beneath his jacket. Brenna was struck with the raw power of his presence. He had rolled up the cuffs of his dress shirt, and the muscles of his forearms bunched when he curled his hands into loose fists. He looked altogether … dangerous.

  Next to her, Brenna felt the man shrink back a little.

  "Hi," she said, her voice breathless.

  "Are you all right?"

  Brenna nodded and glanced from Cole to the other man, who moved closer to Brenna, his chin high, his chest out.

  She touched Cole's arm. "You're late," she said, urging him back toward his Jeep.

  One of his eyebrows rose and his gaze again fastened on Brenna's uninvited companion.

  "Sorry," Cole said, taking her arm in a possessive gesture that she normally wouldn't have allowed.

  "Your boyfriend?" the man asked. When neither Brenna or Cole responded, he added, "Hey, man, that's a fine set of wheels."

  "Back off," Cole said, pushing his hand into the man's chest.

  "Hey, man, I ain't doing nothing." He shook his shoulders. "In fact, I've been doing you a favor. This neighborhood is downright dangerous for a pretty filly like your woman."

  "Get lost," Cole snarled.

  Cole's complete lack of civility stunned Brenna. She stole another glance at him. He looked ready to kill. Quite literally.

  Cole opened the Jeep door for Brenna and held his hand out to her. He wasn't looking at her, though, she noted as she took it and climbed into the vehicle. He watched the man with unblinking intensity.

  The man shrugged his shoulders and walked away, grumbling under his breath. Cole skirted around the vehicle and climbed in behind the steering wheel. Without a word, he put the car into gear and drove down the street.

  A breeze swept over her as the vehicle gained speed. Brenna shivered, nerves stretched taut. As much from Cole's close proximity as their brush with the drunk.

  "Thanks," she said. "You don't know how glad I was to see you."

  "Where's your car?" he asked.

  "I don't have a car. I was headed for the bus stop." She motioned toward the end of the block. "This bus stop is a little too close to that guy back there. If you'll just let me out at the next stop—"

  "You ride the bus?" Disbelief filled his voice.

  "It's the usual way of getting to and from work if you don't have a car." She brushed away strands of hair that blew across her face.

  He jerked his head in the direction they had driven from. "And how often does that happen?"

  "The guy?"

  "The guy," Cole confirmed impatiently. "The one you're so eager to get away from that you'll put up with my company."

  Brenna glanced at him. His anger tonight was far different from his courtroom persona. This man was … earthier. No suave sophistication here.

  "How often?" he repeated. "Weekly? Nightly?" He pinned her with a hard glance. "What would you have done if I hadn't come along?"

  "I'd handle it," she said. "Just like I'm used to doing."

  "I could see how you were handling it," he said. He shook his head. "You shouldn't be out here at this time of night."

  "What I should or shouldn't be doing is none of your damn business," Brenna said, her temper slipping. Never mind she agreed with him. She pointed toward the end of the next block. "You can let me out down there."

  "And then what?"

  "And then I'll wait for the bus," she replied. "Just like I do every night when I get off work."

  "Great," he muttered. "And I get to go on my merry way, worried about the next scumbag who makes a grab for you."

  She pulled the pepper spray out of her tote bag. "Next time I'll be ready." Again, she gestured toward the bus stop ahead. "You can let me out there."

  "Not bloody damn likely," he muttered.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "What kind of man do you take me for?"

  He glanced at her when she opened her mouth.

  "On second thought, don't answer that," he said. "I don't want to know. But, for damn sure, I'm not letting you off to wait for the bus." He jerked a thumb toward the canister. "What if the nozzle jammed? What if he took it away from you? What if—" Abruptly, he closed his mouth and wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel. "I'm taking you home."

  "That's not necessary," Brenna said tightly.

  "You might as well tell me where you live, fair lady. You've got two choices here. I'm taking you home."

  "That sounds like one choice," Brenna said.

  "Your home." He looked at her. "Or mine. Lady's choice."

  Clearly, he had called her bluff. She didn't know him at all, but she had no doubt. The man was serious.

  His attention returned to his driving, which gave her a chance to study him. She had simply hoped for an easy way to get away from the drunk, and if anyone had a right to be angry about the encounter, she did. Cole's unexpected anger puzzled her, intrigued her. As did his confession that he would worry about her.

  I took no pleasure at all in wining Bates's case. Cole's statement floated across her mind, and with it, his expression that last day in his office. "Handle it," he had said to her attorney. "Tell her she's confessing to a felony." Brenna frowned. Cole's intervention had made even less sense to her than John Miller's actions had. She'd assumed he had some complicated legal reason for his actions. Now, nine months later, she wondered if he'd tried to protect her.

  Protect her. Just as he had tonight. Was it that simple?

  He glanced at her. "What's it going to be, Brenna?" His voice had thawed some, as had his expression.

  "Why are you doing this?"

  "My good deed for the day," he said shortly.

  Pointedly, she looked at her watch. "One per day, and a mere few minutes past midnight. It's a good thing I caught you early, isn't it?"

  "Brenna."

  There was no mistaking the warning in his voice. She gave him the address for her brother's apartment that was within walking distance of the University of Colorado Medical School where he worked. Telling the man where she lived shouldn't have been a big deal. Except it felt like one.

  At rare moments in her life, she recognized the forks in the road where a simple decision led in a whole new direction. This was one of those moments.

  The high road, or the low? She didn't know. Would her life include Cole Cassidy, at least for a while? If it did, she was sure things would never be quite the same again.

  When she looked back at him, she found him watching her. He smiled. "Was that really so hard?"

  "You've no idea," she grumbled. Darn the man for smiling, for being nice … for having a protective streak that made her feel cared
for, for showing up when she really did need help. Her well-guarded dislike of him slipped another notch.

  "You always this stubborn? Or is it just me?" That smile invited her to respond in kind.

  "Stubborn is my middle name." Brenna slid down in her seat a little, wrapping her arms more firmly around her tote bag. What did he want? Really?

  "That's what I figured."

  "Why were you still here?" she asked. She never had this kind of luck. There had to be another reason why he conveniently showed up in the nick of time. "You left the bar quite a while ago."

  Surprisingly, a stain of color appeared on his face and he ducked his chin. "I … wanted to see which car was yours."

  "Were you thinking I might have an asset I hadn't told the court or Harvey Bates about?"

  "Hell, no." He glanced at her as though genuinely shocked by the train of her thoughts. Meeting her gaze, he repeated, "No."

  "Then why?" she persisted.

  The flush returned to his cheeks. "I was curious," he said finally. The traffic light turned red, and Cole braked. His gaze direct, open, he added, "You know—find out where the lady works, what kind of car she drives. Find a way to be around her a bit until you figure out if she'll say yes or no when you ask her out."

  It was Brenna's turn to be shocked. Sure, she had sensed his interest—except deep down, she had been convinced she was mistaken, sure that he must have some other motive. She hadn't expected an open declaration that felt like the truth.

  A long moment passed while Brenna mulled that over, her impressions again altered. A couple of hours ago, she had been sure what kind of man Cole Cassidy was—and he wasn't one she wanted to know.

  How could she continue to nurse her dislike of him?

  Easy. Look at everything you lost because of him.

  Not him. Harvey Bates.

  He cleared his throat. "You have every reason to think the worst." He glanced at her, the smile gone. "I wasn't stalking you. I was just … interested."

  She met his gaze. "I believe you."

  The light turned green, and he pressed on the accelerator.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. For an instant, she allowed her imagination to take flight, wondering where Cole lived. A Jeep, not a BMW. She stole a glance at his hands, noting the lack of a wedding ring.