by Beverly Bird
Vicky rolled her eyes. “Mom, you weren’t listening. I said I only hated her for one day.”
Liv sighed. Then she had an insidious thought—if Hunter had his way, maybe she’d never have another chance to drive Vicky around again.
“Hop in,” she said, her voice going a little thin.
Vicky scrambled to her feet and ran for the car. Liv backed out of the driveway again.
“Where did you go?” Vicky asked.
Liv scowled into the rearview mirror. Her thoughts were snarled and distant with visions of courtrooms. “What do you mean? When?”
“Just now. Aunt Kiki said you had to go into town.”
Liv’s stomach somersaulted. She felt her heart race off in a way that couldn’t be healthy. In that moment she felt the full enormity of what Hunter was doing.
For nearly twenty-four hours now, all she’d considered was what he was doing to her. Trying to strip her of the one thing he had left her with all those years ago: a child who had become her reason for living. She knew he was punishing her for not telling him the truth all those years ago. He was tearing her soul right out of her. But now, finally, she realized that he would be punishing her little girl, as well.
He would uproot Vicky’s life. He would dismantle her world. He would change it, rock it, take everything that was good and sweet and trusting in her and turn it into something unsure and unsteady. Just like what had once happened to Liv.
So she lied to her daughter for the first time in her life. To buy time. Because maybe, maybe, if she won this, Vicky would never have to know how close she’d come to disaster.
“Business,” she said shortly. “Inn stuff.”
Liv was as glad to see Mandy Singapore’s driveway as she had ever been to see anything. She watched Vicky scamper out of the car and thought briefly of tracking Hunter down now—right now. She wanted to find him, to hurt him, to scream and cry at the man who had once healed her own heart only to visit the same nightmare upon their child now.
She didn’t trust herself to do it, Liv realized. Because she knew, in that moment, that she might well be capable of killing him.
Sunday passed without a word from him. On Monday morning Liv ran into town and took a check to Ingrid Small’s office. The woman was in court. Her secretary took Liv’s money and promised that Ingrid would call her.
Ingrid did, the next day. Liv was chatting with the week’s new guests at tea when Kiki appeared in the parlor door. “Excuse me,” she said, smiling around at everyone in a brittle, too-bright way. Kiki wasn’t a people person.
Liv rose from the settee and went to join her in the door. “What is it?”
“Phone.”
Liv’s legs turned to water. She could only think of three people Kiki might interrupt tea for, and one of them, Vicky, was getting on a school bus and heading for Mustang Ridge right about now. That left Hunter or Ingrid.
Liv hurried from the room without even asking which it was. She jogged through the kitchen and grabbed the phone in the office. “Hello!”
Ingrid’s voice came back to her. “I’ve got an update.”
Liv sat quickly in the desk chair. “Good or bad?”
“A little of both. Which would you like first?”
“The bad.” When she’d been little, she’d always eaten her vegetables first, too, loathing every bite, so she could finish off each meal with something she loved.
“Woodingham is our judge,” Ingrid said.
Liv had gripped the edge of the desk, but now she relaxed her fingers. She’d expected much worse. Maybe Judge Woodingham was a little unorthodox, but that was better than having someone unilaterally decide to snatch her child away from her without even the mercy of a court hearing. “What’s the good part?” she asked finally.
“We got the postponement. Woodingham has backed it up to the following Friday. She didn’t much buy Montague’s bid for expediency. Unfortunately, in the process of making that decision, she read his petition and the case intrigued her. She wants to keep it for herself. Seeing as how she’s presiding judge of the family court, it’s her call to make.”
Liv breathed again. “I can live with all that.”
“You haven’t heard the other bad part yet.”
“There’s more?”
“She wants to see all parties in her chambers tomorrow morning at 8:30 sharp.”
All parties? Liv felt her blood drain. “Vicky,” she whispered.
“No, no, not the child,” Ingrid said hastily. “Woodingham doesn’t like to put the little ones through the court scene unless it’s absolutely necessary. Just me, you, Montague and your ex.”
“He never married me,” Liv said helplessly, inanely. “Why? Why would a judge do something like this?”
“Truthfully, I have no idea. I warned you. I just can’t read this woman.” Ingrid paused. “I’m sorry, Olivia. I really would have preferred to avoid Woodingham, but it was the luck of the draw.”
Liv nodded as though Ingrid could see her. She tried to think through the clamor inside her head. “Exactly how did she get this reputation for being eccentric?”
“She tends to go to the wall for the kids, to preserve the rights and the hearts of the children caught up in custody battles and divorces. She doesn’t much care for adults. She’s come up with some outlandish decisions.”
“I see.” That was a good thing, Liv decided. She wanted someone to protect Vicky.
“Olivia, what I’m trying to tell you is that I doubt she’ll be sympathetic with your reasons for not telling Hunter Hawk-Cole he was a father eight years ago. She won’t give a damn about your broken heart. The only thing that will concern her is that your little girl doesn’t have a father.”
“She does! She sees Johnny Guenther occasionally!” Oh, God, Liv thought, would Woodingham take Vicky away from her just to prove a point about the merits of a nuclear family? “If she sends Vicky to Hunter, she won’t have a mother!” she cried.
“There’s that,” Ingrid allowed. “But you’re missing the gray area I mentioned the other day. There’s always joint custody.”
Liv’s heart stalled. “Tomorrow? She’d order this tomorrow?”
“No, no, she won’t render a decision until the hearing. I’m not sure what tomorrow’s all about. And I’m hoping Mr. Hawk-Cole’s unstable lifestyle might sway her even from that. It’s how I’ll argue when the time comes.”
“I guess it’s the best we can do,” Liv muttered.
“There’s the spirit. I’ll meet you in the coffee shop in the courthouse at 8:15 tomorrow,” Ingrid said. “It’s on the second floor.”
Liv hung up the phone.
Kiki poked her head into the office. “Well?”
“I need to get to Mustang Ridge,” she said absently, glancing at her watch. It was 3:30.
“The lawyer! What did the lawyer say?” Kiki demanded.
Liv pushed to her feet and paused for a moment to make sure her legs would hold her. “The judge wants to see us all in the morning. Can you finish tea for me? Make my apologies? I’ve got to run.”
Kiki pasted on her too-perfect smile again. “Sure.”
“Just don’t talk about microbes this time.” Kiki had done that once, much to the bemusement of the guests.
“It was photons. I was explaining why ghosts can scientifically exist.”
Liv headed for the back door. She didn’t want to hear it. If Kiki’s theory was right, then Hunter would probably haunt her for all time.
What did one wear to impress a judge who hated grown-ups?
Liv stood in front of her closet the next morning feeling physically ill. Her Vicky, her baby. She had to do everything right. Dear God, she couldn’t lose her. Her stomach heaved.
She worried about the effect that a skirt or a dress would have on the judge. Would it look as though she was trying to impress her? That might tick her off. Or worse, it could look as though Liv was such a savvy and enterprising businesswoman that she had limited time fo
r her child.
Liv groaned aloud and gripped her head in her hands. She wondered if she was getting the flu. It was early in the season for it, but she felt achy and groggy and feverish. Then again, she hadn’t slept. That could account for the first two symptoms. The third could be pure unmitigated fury at what Hunter was doing.
She finally went for what she thought of as her “mom” look—nothing too fancy, the sort of thing that normally took her from tea to soccer to riding lessons without missing a beat. She chose turquoise jeans, a white turtleneck, and a teal-turquoise-and-white cardigan sweater. Flats or boots? Boots. She brushed her hair, kept her makeup to a minimum and rushed downstairs at 7:30.
“Can you give Vicky a ride to the school bus?” she asked Kiki, hitting the kitchen.
Her partner was at the sink, and she turned away to dry her hands. “What do I tell her if she wants to know why you’re not doing it?”
“Inn business.”
“That’s going to get old in a hurry.”
“Maybe not.” She would not drag Vicky into this until a gun was held to her head. But Hunter was busy gathering up the ammunition, she thought. “I’ve got to go.”
Thirty seconds later Liv peeled out of the garage. She arrived in the coffee shop before Ingrid and she ordered tea. Maybe it would settle her stomach, she thought, pressing a hand to it. She sat and took her first sip just as Hunter walked in. It nearly came back up through her nose.
He took several strides into the room before he noticed her, then his face went to stone. Her heart began thudding. There were no other tables available.
He crossed to hers and scraped back the other chair, lowering his frame into it. He looked arrogant and sure of himself, she thought helplessly. He hadn’t gone for the “dad” look. He wore a suit. Was that good or bad?
She had never seen him in a suit before in her life.
It was navy blue and it made his shoulders look like slabs of mountain. He’d gotten his hair cut, too, though it still swept back from his forehead and tickled his collar. But there was something in his eyes that looked dangerous and primal no matter how civilized he tried to appear. The polished clothes couldn’t conceal the hunger in his gaze or the restlessness that seemed to move right beneath his skin like something palpable.
Liv found her voice. “That seat’s taken.”
“Stop making everything so difficult.” He settled back, getting comfortable.
The pressure inside her head made her eyes hurt. “I didn’t file this suit!”
“Got your attention, though, didn’t it?”
“Hunter. Don’t do this.” Oh, God, she was pleading with him again. She would, she thought. For Vicky, she would—again and again and again until her voice went hoarse.
Something flared in his eyes. “I just want to see my daughter, Liv.”
“You saw her last Tuesday.”
He leaned forward so suddenly she jerked back. “You snapped her out of that riding academy before I could say two words to her.”
“Because I didn’t trust what you might say! Obviously, you’re capable of anything!” She realized she was shouting. Other patrons were looking their way. “Please,” she said more quietly. “Don’t put her through this.”
“Knowing me won’t hurt her, Livie. It only threatens you.”
His voice dropped a notch, too. It reminded her of what it had once felt like when his breath had touched her skin, whispering things both sweet and provocative. A fist grabbed Liv’s throat, and yearning rocked through her. It was too fresh, too real, now that he had touched her again the other night.
She couldn’t allow that—all those treacherous old feelings—to complicate this.
Before she could recover enough to answer, Ingrid stepped up beside their table. “Mr. Hawk-Cole,” she said in greeting, then she looked at Liv. “I didn’t expect to find you two so cozy. Have we resolved this without the need of court intervention?”
Liv pushed to her feet. “No,” she breathed. She kept her eyes on Hunter. “I’ll fight you to the death.”
“Those are dangerous words, Livie. They sound like a challenge, and you know how I react to challenges.”
“I don’t remember. You were a long time ago, Hunter, and not that memorable in the first place.”
Liv fled from the table, from the coffee shop, stopping only when she reached the second floor lounge area because she had no idea where to go.
Ingrid caught her elbow. “Calm down,” she cautioned.
Liv felt tears stinging her eyes and she blinked furiously. Ingrid switched her briefcase to her opposite hand and pointed down the corridor. Liv fell into step beside her.
A law clerk showed them into the judge’s chambers and told them to have a seat, though Woodingham wasn’t yet present. The moment the man left and shut the door again Ingrid seemed to transform. She placed her briefcase on the floor beside one of the chairs and crossed her arms over her breasts almost militantly. She’d gone from slacks and a man’s shirt—on the one other occasion when Liv had personally met with her—to a charcoal-gray pantsuit that did nice things for her robust figure. She looked taller, more imposing, colder.
“Woodingham won’t turn up until Montague and your ex get here,” she explained. “She doesn’t want either side to think the other had any time alone with her.”
“He’s not my ex,” Liv said again halfheartedly.
She went to sit on a sofa against the rear wall. Then she sprang to her feet again when it occurred to her that Hunter could well arrive to sit right beside her. There was only one other chair. She started to move that way, then the door opened again. She swiveled.
Hunter and Max Montague entered the room.
The appearance of the other lawyer shocked Liv. She’d expected someone sleek and sharklike. But he was short, round, with a balding, freckled pate and wire-rimmed glasses. His suit looked slept in and she was reasonably sure that a bit of food was stuck in his bristly mustache. But she’d heard too many tales of his courtroom prowess to be misled by any of it. Liv felt sicker by the moment.
Hunter and his lawyer sat next to each other on the sofa. Liv could feel Hunter’s gaze pulling at her. She refused to meet his eyes.
The door opened again and the judge arrived. She looked like a shark, Liv thought—a pretty, intimidating shark with the unique kind of grace only a tall woman could really muster. Her hair was strawberry-blond and thick, sweeping just past her shoulders. She rounded her desk and sat seamlessly, crossing long legs under her robe.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Same to you, Judge,” Montague said shortly, almost rudely. Liv was surprised by his manner.
“Good morning, Your Honor.” Ingrid took a place beside the chair in the room, pushing down on Liv’s shoulder until she sat hard there, like a bullet shot to earth.
Judge Woodingham smiled and showed teeth. “Get up, Max. Let the other lady have that seat.”
He did, grumbling. “You ought to be prepared for more than three people in your chambers at any given time.”
“I detest crowds,” Woodingham said mildly, then she sat forward and linked her hands together on her desk. “I particularly loathe being forced into these prehearing conferences.”
What did that mean? Liv thought desperately. She had called this conference! Liv looked questioningly at Ingrid who had gone to sit on the sofa. The lawyer seemed to shrug.
“I’ll get right to the point, as I have a docket piling up, waiting for me in Courtroom A,” Woodingham continued. “Did any one of you frustrated, angry people even bother to determine if we genuinely have a case here?”
Ingrid’s jaw dropped a little. Montague’s face went florid. Hunter showed no expression at all.
Liv had no idea what the judge was talking about, but she felt her pulse shift, going sluggish with dread.
“Is this little girl the biological product of Mr. Hawk-Cole?” Woodingham continued. “It strikes me that we ought to ascertain that r
ight off the bat. Obviously, the plaintiff and the defendant had an affair several years ago. Clearly, a child exists now. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to drag that child through the legal mire until I know for sure that she’s the result of that liaison.”
“You want a paternity test,” Montague said flatly.
“Yes, before I waste any more of the court’s time.”
“No!” Liv cried.
She felt the eyes of the others come around to her. Wings of panic beat in her chest. Needles, she thought. Doctors. Blood. And Vicky would have to know why it was happening to her.
She shot to her feet again.
“You’re declining to produce the child for such a test?” Woodingham asked.
“I—”
“Excuse me,” Ingrid interrupted, coming to her feet as well. “I’d like a private word with my client.”
“Make it quick,” Woodingham warned her.
Liv found herself guided forcefully out of chambers by her elbow. “Not cool,” Ingrid said when they were outside in the hallway. “You need to let me do the talking. Olivia, you never denied to me that Hunter Hawk-Cole was your daughter’s father.”
Liv swallowed. “Because he is.”
“Then what the hell was that all about?”
“I don’t want to put Vicky through a paternity test. I…I…” Liv trailed off and dragged air into her lungs. “She has no idea any of this is going on. I haven’t told her yet.”
“Oh.” Ingrid pursed her lips together. “You know, this test could be to our advantage.”
“How so?” Liv pleaded.
“If we walk back in there and admit paternity, Woodingham would probably accept that and forgo the test for the child’s benefit. But then we’ll be in court next Friday. Whereas if we don’t admit paternity and we force the blood test, that’s going to take some time. It’ll be a week before we can arrange the test and another two before we get conclusive results. We could successfully drag this out for another month and that’s precisely what Montague doesn’t want. He knows—as you’ve implied yourself—that Mr. Hawk-Cole won’t stay in town that long.” Ingrid paused. “Think about it, Olivia. But think fast. I’m not sure how long Woodingham’s patience is going to hold with our little private conference out here.”