All the Way

by Beverly Bird

  “I’m getting.” She dove into the back seat. “You don’t like that guy, do you?” she asked when Liv was behind the wheel.

  “Not even a little bit.” She’d loved him so much. Her hands fumbled with the keys. Liv started the engine.

  “Why not?” Vicky asked.

  She had to skate the edge of honesty here, Liv realized. Delicately. Carefully. “I knew him a long time ago, and he hurt my feelings.”

  “Is that all?”

  “That’s a lot.” Liv drove hard out of the riding academy lot, her tires kicking up dust.

  “Mandy Singapore hurt my feelings, but I only hated her for one day.”

  “Because you have a heart of gold, baby,” Liv said. But her tone was a snap, belying her words.

  “Well, you should try it.”

  Liv didn’t answer. She just kept driving. There was no reasoning with a teenaged eight-year-old.

  Hunter watched the BMW spume out dust from its rear tires and head for the highway. His eyes narrowed. If Liv had still been nearby, she would have recognized the look. Bulls reacted pretty much the same way when confronted with a red flag.

  She wasn’t going to let him anywhere near the child, Hunter realized. Victoria Rose. His Victoria Rose.

  He’d given Livie his last, best chance. And she’d betrayed him. One more time. She hadn’t let him speak more than a few words with his little girl. But if he was getting his facts right, he didn’t need her approval to have a part in his daughter’s life.

  Hunter stepped away from the barn just as the riding instructor headed his way. He’d had enough confrontation for one day. Now it was time to start lining up allies.

  Chapter 5

  T hree days passed without another skirmish or sign of Hunter. By Friday Liv was almost able to convince herself that he’d given up and left town.

  Almost.

  She thought about it as she sat at the computer in their little office beside the kitchen, checking the e-mail on their Web site and confirming reservations. Then she rested her chin in her hand and stared out the window at the barn and the garage until her frown started to hurt her forehead.

  She groaned and rubbed the ache there. It was possible, she supposed. The wind could have called to him again. But that would be predictable, and the only predictable thing he’d done since she’d met him in Delaware was turn up in Jerome in the first place.

  She’d thought he’d come pounding at the door here to see Vicky, but he’d gone to Mustang Ridge instead. She’d thought he’d harass her hourly, but now it seemed that he was lying low.

  Why?

  Impulsively Liv reached for the telephone. When she got the desk at the Connor Hotel, she asked if Hunter Hawk-Cole was registered.

  “No, ma’am.”

  No? Liv thanked the man and hung up again. That told her nothing, she realized. Hunter wasn’t admitting to being who he was—except to Vicky—so his room could very well be in another name.

  Liv gave up trying to concentrate. She signed off on the computer and pushed back from the desk to go upstairs and change. Tea today would probably be a quiet affair. The Endelmans had gone, and the nuns had taken avidly to riding with their sidesaddles. They’d barely come in from the trails for two days running now.

  She arrived in the parlor to find only the writer and the newlyweds. More guests were expected that afternoon, but they hadn’t arrived yet. Liv shared what she knew of the old Phelps Dodge Mine with Ed Stern and wondered idly what he was writing about, then she slipped out in time to get to Mustang Ridge by 3:30.

  She never made the same mistake twice.

  Vicky was just getting off the bus when she arrived. She flung herself at Liv for a quick hug, then she raced off to the barn to change her clothes and saddle her mare. Liv looked around for Lila and found her in the feed room.

  “Hi,” she said, sticking her head into the room. “I’ll have those saddles back to you by Sunday. The nuns are checking out tomorrow.”

  Lila looked up from the grain bin and laughed. “That must be some sight. Wish I could have seen it.”

  Liv found a smile. She cleared her throat. “Um…by the way, has that guy been back? The one who was hanging around here on Tuesday?”

  Lila shook her head. “I haven’t seen him. I would have called you if I had.” Her eyes said she wanted to ask what was going on.

  Liv stepped back out of the door quickly. “I’ll go see how Vicky is coming along.”

  She found her backing the mare into cross ties for saddling. “Hey, baby, I meant to ask you. Have you seen that guy who was here the other day? The one we met in Delaware?”

  Vicky didn’t even look at her. She was concentrating on hefting the saddle onto the mare’s back. “Hunter?”

  “Right. Him.”

  “Nope.”

  Liv almost breathed. “Not at school or…or…I don’t know. Anywhere?”

  Vicky rolled her eyes. “Mom, I just told you.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “You know, you’re paying good money for this lesson. You shouldn’t distract me while I’m getting ready.”

  Liv wondered if there had ever been a time when Vicky had actually been a kid. “I’m leaving now,” she said, chastened.

  She went to lean against the railing of the arena and pretended to spend the next hour watching the lesson. Her gaze hitched restlessly. To the barn. To the parking lot.

  He didn’t show up.

  There was a strange, settling feeling to her heart by the time Vicky was finished. Relief, she told herself. Pure relief. She wouldn’t have to tangle with him today.

  He’d always lit up her life like no one else had ever been able to do—with anger, with passion, with joy. But she didn’t want that. Not anymore. She wanted peace. She’d moved mountains to achieve it. It was hers now and maybe…just maybe, he really had gone.

  She stopped at the mailbox on the street when they got home and left the car to grab the day’s mail. When she turned around, her gaze fell on the BMW’s wrinkled bumper again. She had to get the car fixed, she decided. The sooner she got that bumper ironed out, the sooner she’d be able to live without reminders of him again.

  Except when you look at your daughter, a little voice whispered in her head.

  How long had it taken her to get over that the first time around? she wondered, rubbing her forehead as she got back in the car. She tried to remember as she headed up the drive to the inn. She’d spent months praying that Vicky’s blue eyes would eventually go dark like her own. The baby had been as bald as a cue ball for six of those months, then her hair had come in jet black. To the best of her recollections, Liv hadn’t been able to stop seeing Hunter in her daughter until sometime between the chicken pox and that shocker of a ballet recital when Vicky had suddenly determined in midact that her solo needed a handstand and a cartwheel for a grand finale.

  That, Liv thought, sliding the car into the garage—yes, that was when Hunter’s memory had finally receded a little, just enough that she had begun to feel like Vicky was her baby, her girl, something she had maybe done by immaculate conception. Because Hunter hadn’t been there to bring down the pox fever and he hadn’t been there to face the horrified ballet teacher who had, in spite of Liv’s pleas, never given Vicky a solo again. Hunter hadn’t been there to go to the school when Vicky had suddenly piped up with one of Kiki’s pet phrases, and he hadn’t been there when Liv would have given her eyeteeth for a break during those first colicky months.

  Now he wanted to come back into their lives. He wanted to be a happy-good-times parent, here today, gone tomorrow. Resentment bubbled up in Liv again, hot and acidic.

  She followed Vicky back toward the inn, flipping through the mail, not watching where she was going. She came across the certified-mail envelope at the same time she tripped on her own feet. The envelope was from a lawyer. She felt her blood drain.

  “That was graceful,” Kiki said dryly.

  Liv looked up sharply to see her partner
standing on the back porch. “What?”

  “The half gainer you almost just did on the asphalt. Anyway, tea’s cleaned up and I’m taking off. I’ll see you in the morn—” Then Kiki broke off. “What’s wrong?”

  “He got a lawyer.” Liv’s voice was a croak.

  “What? How do you know?”

  Liv held up the envelope.

  Kiki bounced down the steps to snatch it from her hand. “Don’t rush to conclusions. Maybe we gave someone food poisoning and they’re suing us. Hey, come on,” she said sharply when Liv swayed a little. She caught her elbow and shoved her forward again, not gently.

  “Where’s Vicky?” Liv asked.

  “She headed straight upstairs to her room. We’ll open the envelope. We’ll see what we’re dealing with.” Kiki got her inside and planted her at the table. “Where’s the brandy?”

  “We can’t keep drinking brandy every time Hunter acts up,” Liv said feebly. “This is getting ridiculous.”

  “We’ll stop as soon as he’s gone and people quit suing us. As it is, I’ll pour.” Kiki began opening and closing cupboards.

  It wasn’t like her not to remember where she’d put something. She was rattled, Liv realized. She tore open the large legal-size envelope. Then her gaze flew over the caption, and her gut seized. The papers fell from her hands to the kitchen floor just as Kiki found the brandy and turned back to the table.

  “Not food poisoning?” she asked, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

  “He wants custody of Vicky.”

  Kiki took a deep breath and nodded. She put the bottle back. “Then we don’t need this. We need a lawyer.”

  It took them several hours on the phone to find a good one. Adele Trawley—the mother of one of Vicky’s classmates—swore by her attorney. They actually got more recommendations for a man in Sedona, but his name already appeared on the top of Hunter’s Petition for Custody.

  Liv found herself in the lawyer’s office at 11:30 the next morning. She felt dazed, half wondering how she had gotten there, barely remembering the drive. It was a small place, little more than a storefront, with a secretarial area off to one side of a tiny, two-chair lounge. The art on the walls was cliché and the secretary was pretty, harried and abrupt. Liv told herself that that was a good thing. The attorney obviously had a thriving practice if she brought in a secretary on Saturdays—and that woman could barely take a moment to look up from her keyboard.

  Ingrid Small swept into the waiting area five minutes later. She was short, pleasantly plump, with a dark-brown pageboy she had tucked behind her ears. She wore blue slacks beneath a man’s oversize shirt. She didn’t look like a high-powered attorney, Liv thought, but then again, Ingrid was seeing her today on an emergency basis.

  Liv came to her feet.

  “Hi,” the woman said, holding out a hand. “Come on into my office and let’s see what you’ve got there.”

  Liv wasn’t sure if she should shake Ingrid’s hand or put Hunter’s envelope into it. She was so out of her element. Hunter had destroyed something inside her when he’d walked out all those years ago. Now he was trying to snatch away all she had left. Liv started to shake.

  Ingrid solved the problem for her. She took both the envelope and Liv’s hand, as well. “Coffee?” she asked, leading the way back to her office.

  “Maybe arsenic,” Liv whispered.

  The woman heard her. “For you or for him?” she asked, sitting behind her desk. “I’ve specialized in family law for ten years now, so I always keep some on supply.” She grinned—and in that moment Liv decided she liked her.

  “You weren’t my first choice,” Liv admitted, sitting as well.

  “No, that would have been Max Montague down in Sedona.”

  Liv felt her mouth pull into its own smile. “That’s the guy.”

  “Well, I’m better than he is. He just charges more. Gives people the impression he’s worth all that money.”

  “Exactly how much is this going to cost me?”

  “I don’t know yet,” she said honestly. “Let me see what you’ve got first.” Ingrid upended the envelope and poured the papers out onto her desk. She motioned at the coffeepot in one corner of the office. “Help yourself while I read.”

  Ten minutes later, when Liv’s foam cup was drained, Ingrid looked up. “There’s not a judge in this country who’s going to give this man full custody.”

  The rush of relief that swept through her was so sweet, so intense, Liv almost felt light-headed. “Amen.”

  Ingrid began ticking points off on her fingers. “A—he’s had absolutely no relationship with the child since her birth. No judge is going to yank her out of her home and drop her into one with a stranger. B—she’s a little girl and she needs at least some quality time with the same-sex parent who’s all she’s ever known. And C—Max is going for full custody because he knows he’ll never get it. He’s shooting for the sky and hoping for joint, figuring the judge might give him half of what he asks for.”

  “Joint?”

  “Custody. Some time with you and some time with…” She glanced down at the papers again. “Hunter Hawk-Cole? No way. The race car driver?” She blinked, obviously picking up on the name for the first time. Except on the petition’s caption, he was referred to as Plaintiff.

  Liv’s elation vanished. She sank a little lower into her seat. “Right.”

  Ingrid put the papers aside. “Okay, big whoopies. Now tell me your side of the story.”

  Liv did. She tried desperately to keep it cut-and-dried, but her heart bled through into her words, rang in her voice. Ingrid listened; she nodded sympathetically; she shrugged. She got up to pour them both more coffee. She didn’t interrupt. Liv talked for nearly an hour.

  “Your weak spot is that you never told him,” Ingrid said finally, sitting again and leaning back to twine her fingers behind her head. “Normally, I’d angle to get this before a female judge who would be more inclined to understand that decision. Unfortunately, we only have one of those in Verde County. Samantha C. Woodingham. She has a reputation for somewhat outlandish verdicts. I’d like to stay away from her if at all possible.”

  Liv sat forward worriedly. “Is it possible?”

  “Maybe. Mr. Hawk-Cole’s petition is being heard under what’s called an Order to Show Cause. That means he’s in a hurry to get it in front of a judge because he has limited time.”

  “I can’t imagine that he’d want to take too many weeks away from the NASCAR circuit.” The simple truth tweaked Liv’s temper all over again. “He was hurt a few weeks ago, which is probably the only reason he’s in Jerome now. He probably can’t drive for the time being—at least not safely.”

  “I saw that race.” Ingrid nodded. “Of course, Max Montague is implying that the child is going to suffer irreparable harm if this isn’t heard by a judge right away. He’s not uttering a peep about his client’s famous schedule.”

  “‘Irreparable harm’?” Liv was staggered. She hadn’t read that part. She hadn’t read all of the petition. She’d tried, but it had sickened her. “How?”

  “He says that your Victoria Rose shouldn’t go a day longer without knowing her real father, not while she’s tucked into her formative years as she is. Ya-da, ya-da, ya-da.”

  Liv felt her blood boil. “He wants to be a father but he doesn’t want to interrupt his season for it any longer than his health demands?”

  “That would be my take on it. If Max didn’t submit this as an Order to Show Cause, a normal petition wouldn’t come up on the docket for at least a month. As it is, it’s set to be heard in a week—this Friday. In front of Judge Woodingham.”

  Everything was pounding inside her, Liv realized. Her pulse, her brain. “That’s the judge we don’t want.”

  “Right.” Ingrid nodded. “But here’s what we can do. I don’t want you to officially retain me until Monday. That is, no money can change hands until then. Got it?”

  “What good will that do?”

  �
��If you’ve only just hired me, I can conceivably plead that I need more than a couple of days to prepare. As it is now, our answering petition would be due on the judge’s desk no later than Wednesday. If you don’t hire me right away, I can call the court on Tuesday and beg a few days’ extension. If I can get this bumped off Friday’s docket, chances are we might end up with a different judge.”

  “That’s sneaky,” Liv said, rubbing her temples.

  “That’s law.” Ingrid brought her hands to the desk again. “So, what do you think?”

  “I think you’re hired.”

  “Okay, then. Bring me a check for twenty-five hundred dollars on Monday. If we can settle this in one hearing, that’s all it’ll cost you. If it somehow mushrooms on us, it’ll be more.”

  Liv blinked at her. “For that kind of money, you ought to have more than a storefront.”

  The woman looked startled, then she laughed. “Max Montague charges six thousand up front and he drives a Porsche. I, on the other hand, give generously to the women’s shelter. Does that help?”

  Liv rubbed the ache in her head again. She stood. She wasn’t sure if she felt like dancing or crying—she had someone on her side. “I think so.”

  Ingrid stood as well. “There’s no way in hell that man is going to walk out of that court with custody of your daughter. I’d bank my reputation on it.”

  Liv nodded woodenly. Fear still clawed inside her. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

  When Liv pulled up to the garage, Vicky was inside, sitting Indian-style on the concrete like a skinny Buddha. Liv lowered her window and leaned out. “What does this mean?”

  “I want to go to Mandy Singapore’s house. She called and asked if I could come over.”

  Liv hesitated. Her head was still pounding and she didn’t want to drive back into town any more than she wanted, well, to meet Hunter in court. But the inn was so far out on the edge of Jerome that she tried not to complain about scooting Vicky hither and yon to see her friends. There was no one to play with nearby unless one of the guest parties included children, which wasn’t the case at the moment.

  “I thought you hated Mandy Singapore,” Liv said, hoping for a miracle.