Five years ago…
Home at last.
It wasn’t under the best of circumstances, but Rachel was still back in Bourbon Springs. She walked through her new home, feeling giddy and guilty at the same time. Giddy because she had her own wonderful new home, but a little guilty because the only way she had been able to afford it was because her grandfather had died and left her some money. She’d paid off her student loans, quit her state government job, bought a home, and returned to Craig County.
Her boyfriend hadn’t been thrilled with her plan, and had declared he wasn’t about to go live in “backwater Bourbon Springs.” Rachel solved his problem by dumping him on the spot when he insulted her hometown.
She didn’t want to leave home that glorious summer morning. The pool looked particularly inviting, and she knew she had a long day ahead as a new public defender, the job that had drawn her back to Craig County.
The one thing that did make the expected tediousness of her first day on her new job a little less onerous was the possibility—maybe the probability if she went to court—of seeing Brady Craft again.
They’d kept in communication, though increasingly infrequent, after he’d returned to Bourbon Springs. Rachel had emailed Brady a few weeks earlier, but he’d never replied, so she figured she’d just say hello whenever she saw him again. She knew there would be no avoiding him since he was a prosecutor and she was going to be a public defender, and was looking forward to working with him again.
When she arrived at her new job, there was little time for introductions or getting to know the office floorplan. She barely had time to look at her own tiny closet of an office.
“Time for your baptism by fire,” Mira Miller announced as they crossed the street from the public defender’s office to the Craig County Courthouse.
“This sounds ominous,” said Rachel, hurrying to keep up. She’d worn low heels and a skirt well below the knee, but was still having trouble keeping up with her new boss, a stout woman with short blonde hair in her late forties.
As they walked, Rachel caught little glimpses of some of the decorative and clever changes throughout downtown Bourbon Springs. According to her parents, with the recent addition of a new visitors’ center at Old Garnet Distillery, more and more tourists were flocking to Craig County, Kentucky. Thus the town had spruced up for its guests, going very heavy on the bourbon theme. The tall, brown city trash cans were all shaped like bourbon barrels; the tops of the ornate, old-fashioned streetlamps sported decorative bottles in the same distinctive, iconic profile as the Old Garnet bottle; and the sidewalks flanking Main Street were dotted with used bourbon barrels cut in half and filled with lush ferns, petunias, and vines.
“Motion hour and arraignments,” Mira said. “You didn’t clerk for a trial court judge, did you?”
“No, but I did clerk for a Supreme Court justice,” Rachel reminded her, a little insulted Mira had apparently forgotten this point or gave it little weight.
“You’re about to see the real grunt work, the in-the-trenches lawyering.”
“That’s what I signed up for,” Rachel said with a sigh as they reached the front doors of the building.
They passed through security quickly, and Rachel was pleasantly surprised to see Kyle Sammons, a local cop, passing through. After a brief reunion with Rachel and Kyle giving each other a hug, Mira pulled Rachel away. They headed toward the elevator and the courtroom on the third floor.
“You know him?” Mira asked.
“High school friend.”
“Word is that he’s going to run against Fuzzy Davenport for sheriff at the next election,” Mira said, pausing briefly. “Kyle’s a sweet guy. Not like a lot of the cops or sheriff’s deputies. Quiet, not macho,” she said in a low voice. “I hope he runs and wins.”
The elevator doors opened and the two women stepped on the third floor. Rachel heard Mira grunt in a disapproving manner and then saw her head dip in the direction of the courtroom doors to the right.
“If Kyle Sammons has a polar opposite in this world, there he is,” Mira declared, looking toward the courtroom entrance and frowning. There was only one person there, his hand on the door and about to enter. “Brady Craft,” Mira continued before Rachel could even speak his name. “The most uptight jerk of an assistant prosecutor you’ll find in Craig County, Kentucky—or anywhere, for that matter.”
“Doesn’t sound like the Brady I knew,” Rachel said. Mira gave her a confused look as they pushed through the large wooden double doors leading into the courtroom, following in Brady’s wake. Rachel gave a brief explanation of how she knew Brady. “He was always a nice guy to me,” she concluded.
Mira said nothing and they went to one of the two long wooden counsel tables in front of the bench. After Rachel deposited her few materials on the table, she ventured over to where Brady sat alone, at the other counsel table.
“Brady?” Rachel asked as she put her fingertips on the table and stood over him.
Frowning, his head snapped up from reading a file, and the harshness of his expression startled her. He blinked a few times before the flicker of recognition passed across his face, slightly softening his features. “Rachel?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”
“New job,” she replied.
He finally stood. “Don’t tell me you’re with the public defender’s office,” he said.
So much for a hug or even asking how she was doing.
“I am indeed. I sent you an email telling you I was coming back to Bourbon Springs.”
“Didn’t see it,” he said, his attention wandering back to a document on the table. “Probably filtered out as junk.”
“Well, good to see you again,” she muttered, thrown off by his lack of warmth. “I suppose we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
“What? Oh, yeah, in court.” He nodded, and she knew that she’d been dismissed.
Rachel returned to sit by Mira, completely flummoxed by the reaction she’d gotten from Brady.
“Who crapped in his punchbowl?” Rachel asked.
Mira laughed. “Just an uptight prosecutor with designs on higher office. Apparently the man lives like a monk or something, at least he has for the past few years. No girlfriends, no hookups, no nothing reported in this little old town. Little wonder he’s so damned edgy.”
“Higher office?” Rachel asked, intrigued by the tidbits about Brady’s personal life. “He wants to be the Commonwealth Attorney some day?”
Mira shook her head. “Nope. He wants to be a judge. Thinks he has to have a squeaky-clean, uptight image to get there. And he’s probably right in a little town like this.”
Rachel glanced over at Brady, who had retaken his seat and was reviewing his files. As though he knew eyes were upon him, he looked to his left and directly at her. She smiled at him—not a very strong smile, but a small expression of warmth. She thought she saw his face brighten for a moment before he turned away and looked down once more at his work.
Chapter 3
“I’m warning you for the last time, counsel,” Judge Richards cautioned.
“I’m sorry, but I just don’t—”
“That’s it. Mr. Craft, you’re in contempt. I told you three times that my ruling was final on your objection, but you continued to argue, disregarding my warnings.”
Brady and defense counsel were huddled before her at the bench, out of the hearing of the jury. They were right in the middle of a robbery trial, her first criminal trial as the new judge.
And Brady was acting like an asshole.
Why did he continue to question her ruling? Any smart attorney knew not to keep arguing after a judge ruled, and to shut up when warned.
But Brady wasn’t acting very smart that day.
“Members of the jury, we will need for you step out of the courtroom for a few moments while we resolve an issue,” she said, turning to the twelve people sitting to her right underneath oil portraits of long-deceased judges. “I’m sorry for this de
lay.”
A bailiff ushered the jurors to the jury room at the back of the courtroom while Brady and his opposing counsel returned to their respective counsel tables. When the bailiff closed the door to the jury room, Rachel spoke.
“Mr. Craft, just so the record is clear, I will repeat my ruling,” she said. “You’re in contempt. Court is adjourned for an hour so you can pay the clerk a fine of $100.”
Rachel adjourned court and retreated to chambers, relieved to be away from the courtroom for a short break.
“I saw everything on the monitor,” Sherry said as Rachel fell into her desk chair. “What the hell was that all about?”
“I’d like to know the same thing.”
“Want to hear my theory?”
“Spill it,” Rachel said as she adjusted the waistband of her dress. She was wearing a simple navy dress with long sleeves. She regretted wearing the piece; she’d gotten hot underneath her long black judicial robe as she’d gotten increasingly frustrated with Brady.
“He’s jealous of you.”
“My thought as well,” Rachel said, sighing and running a hand through her long dark hair. “I’m sure that he’s going to use this stupid incident against me: she held me in contempt because she knows I’m going to run against her,” she mocked. “I can hear it now.”
“There’s a problem with that scenario, judge,” Sherry said.
“Like what?”
“Like everybody else in the courtroom saw what he did,” Sherry said. “I was watching everyone’s face on the monitors. All the cameras picked them up—the jailers, defense counsel, and the bailiff.”
“So?”
“Every one of 'em was completely appalled! The jailer’s mouth dropped open and defense counsel kept giving Brady the meanest death stare I’ve ever seen! Compared to them, your face was nothing but pleasant.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rachel said. “He’ll soon start complaining about my alleged motives for fining him.”
“Big deal. Doesn’t mean anyone will care or believe him,” Sherry said, returning to her desk.
Rachel hoped that was true, but she still felt horrible for holding Brady in contempt—during her first week on the bench and just days before Christmas, too. He would forevermore hold the dishonor of being the first person she’d held in contempt as a judge.
Why the hell did it have to be him?
Rachel sat in her office, looking out at the courthouse square. A gentle snow fell, covering everything in a soft hazy white that late January day. The next week was the deadline for judicial candidates to file their papers, and Rachel had already sent hers in. She expected to get the news any minute that Brady had filed against her. Though still clinging to a shred of hope, over the past few weeks she had come to terms with the fact that she simply couldn’t beat Brady.
Rachel originally had some hope in that happy time just after she’d been appointed that she could carry on and win the election. But he was a prosecutor, and she had been a public defender. No contest as to which candidate the voters would prefer, and she knew he would draw the contrast between their backgrounds. He’d be the enforcer, the lay-down-the-law candidate, and cast her as someone that tried to get guilty people out of trouble. She would still run to keep her judgeship—she wouldn’t willingly give up—but she had adjusted her expectations.
A soft knock at the door pulled her out of her melancholy.
“Mira’s here. Are you available?” Sherry said as she poked her head into Rachel’s private office.
“Of course. Send her in.”
After Mira entered and took a seat, she cast a squinty stare at Rachel and asked what was wrong. Rachel confessed her worries, but Mira was upbeat.
“Well, I’m sure Brady will file against you, but that doesn’t mean he’ll win. Besides, I’ve heard something that might change everything. That’s why I’m here.”
Rachel figured Mira was about to dish some dirt on Brady, and sat up eagerly in her chair.
“Did you know that this judicial circuit is actually approved for two judges?” Mira asked.
Rachel nodded. “Yes, but the legislature has never appropriated the money for the salary.”
“My sources at the capital say that is about to change, and there could be a new judge here as soon as spring,” Mira said.
“But where would they put another judge?” Rachel asked. “These offices—there’s no room—”
“Rachel, who cares? Think about what I’m saying! If they do appropriate the money, that means there will be another judicial opening!”
“Wait, is Brady being considered for that appointment?”
“Of course!” confirmed Mira. “If there’s another judgeship, he’ll get it. Brady’s supporters will lobby the governor hard to appoint him since they think he should’ve been appointed instead of you.”
“Then he wouldn’t have to run against me!” She felt like an idiot for not initially understanding the import of Mira’s news.
“Exactly!” Mira cried. “Problem solved!”
“But wait—where would we both go?” Rachel said, her happiness ebbing, and looked around her tiny office. “There’s not much room in these offices.”
“Isn’t that answer obvious as well?” Mira said, tilting her head at Rachel like a teacher showing disappointment in a student’s logical reasoning skills.
“You mean—share this little space?” Rachel asked.
“For the tenth time, no.”
Rachel was standing in her chambers, in her robe, arms crossed, waiting to go on the bench.
Well, she had to admit that they weren’t just her chambers anymore.
She had to share.
With newly-minted Craig Circuit Judge Brady Craft.
“There’s plenty of room for the two of us in this space,” he declared.
“But how could we share this one little office, Brady?” she countered. “What do you suggest? Putting up a sheet as a wall? Or a shower curtain? The other room has more than adequate space for you,” Rachel said, pointing to a small adjoining area beyond a door in her office wall.
She was tired of his whining. When he had gotten the appointment, one of the first things he’d done was come to her office and looked around—when she hadn’t been there. Sherry had told her all about it. It hadn’t been the best way to win over his new secretary. Because not only did Rachel have to share office space with Brady, she had to share the secretarial skills of Sherry.
“But that’s where the law clerk goes,” he said dismissively.
“I—we—don’t have one, remember? It’s just storage in there.”
“But I’d have to cross through your office to get to that area, Rach,” he said.
Rach. She hadn’t heard him call her by that name since they’d both been back in Bourbon Springs.
She cleared her throat. Hearing him use that name had inexplicably rattled her focus, and Brady gave her a curious look in the wake of her confusion.
“What about putting in another door?” she suggested, pointing to a section of the wall in the reception area. “If you had a door there, you’d have your own entrance and access to our reception space.”
“But what about the door that’s between your space and the clerk’s space?” he asked.
“I’d keep it closed,” she said, looking at her watch. “I’ve got court now. Think about what I said, OK?”
He nodded and said he’d talk to her later.
The arraignments went quickly, and she was off the bench in an hour. But when she got back to her chambers, Brady had left.
“He’s gonna be trouble,” Sherry said without looking up from her computer screen. “But we both knew that already, didn’t we?”
Yeah, Rachel knew.
Sharing an office again, just like when they clerked together. Granted, they had more space in their judicial chambers, but it still felt really familiar.
But if it was familiar, why did she feel so unsettled about the whole situation?
Brady headed home after looking at the layout of his new chambers. He only lived a few blocks away down Main Street; commuting to work had never been a problem since he always walked.
Brady had longed to be a judge and had always known it was going to happen for him. Everything had finally fallen into place for him.
But when Rachel had snagged that first appointment—God, had that hurt.
He’d thought Rachel might try for a seat on the district court, the court below the circuit bench. But a few months earlier that judgeship had gone to Cara Forrest, solo practitioner who’d specialized in probate and whose husband, Todd, was a local real estate developer and big donor to the governor’s last campaign.
Seeing Rachel in the robe the first time when she’d been sworn in had felt like a punch in his gut—even though she’d looked absolutely regal up there on the bench. Her long, shiny hair had been up in a bun off her neck, and Rachel had been perfectly—how to describe it? Judicial? Prim? No—elegant.
And just what the hell had gotten into him that day she held him in contempt? His boss, the elected Commonwealth Attorney, Eleanor Giles, hadn’t scolded him, but he’d withered under her look of disappointment as he recounted the story sitting in her office after that trial.
For a long time, Brady hadn’t been able to explain the situation to himself; the only reason he had identified for his behavior was that he simply couldn’t believe Rachel was a judge. He’d been in prosecutor-arguing-with-defense counsel mode that day. Or maybe he’d lapsed into thinking they were still clerking for Justice Nolan. Man, had they had some epic arguments back in the day about how they thought the cases should be decided.
But he’d finally figured it out: Rachel had moved ahead of him, leapfrogged him. He’d always seen her as the junior clerk. Now she was technically the senior circuit judge. He was junior. He saw that reality reflected in the office layout. He got the leftovers, even though he held the same office she did.
Secret Blend (Bourbon Springs Book 1) Page 3