If he’d known that day in the store what he knew now, he’d have pummeled Russ into mincemeat until the police arrived. But if he had, he wouldn’t be able to sit here and support Tori now.
She looked shaky after her emotional testimony. Tiny compared to the mass of Russ. The big bully—it took a tiny man to raise a fist to a woman. Especially a pregnant woman.
But she’d told her story in blow-by-blow style as much as Russ’s lawyer would allow and Brant had vicariously lived each of the beatings during her testimony. Brant felt like settling things himself. It was a wonder the baby had survived that last beating.
The baby was still undetectable to anyone who didn’t know. Even at four months. But Brant had noticed the small bump where her stomach used to be flat. She’d taken precautions today with a loose blouse and short sleeved blazer.
Garrett, Tori and the other cowboys had testified. And now it was Brant’s turn.
“Mr. McConnell, please tell the court when you first met Tori Eaton?” The prosecutor managed a casual stance.
“February fifteenth.”
“Please explain the circumstances of that meeting.”
“My friend, Garrett Steele, had offered to let me stay at his guesthouse any time I wanted, so I wouldn’t have to commute from my Fort Worth apartment to Aubrey to serve as the song director for our church.” A bead of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. “On that night, I’d performed at the Fort Worth Championship Rodeo and decided to drive on to Aubrey and stay in Garrett’s guesthouse.”
“And did you stay in the guesthouse as planned?”
“No. When I got there, Tori Eaton was staying there.”
“Why did your friend offer you the guesthouse if it was already occupied?”
“Tori’s arrival was a bit of an emergency. Russ Dawson had beaten her up and...”
“Objection, Your Honor.” Russ’s court-appointed lawyer sprang to his feet. “Leading the witness to supposition.”
Sweat stopped trickling and started rolling down Brant’s spine. Couldn’t somebody bump the thermostat down?
The prosecutor held up his hand. “I’ll withdraw the line of questioning. Was there anything interesting about your encounter with Ms. Eaton?”
“She had a black eye and she threatened me with a fire poker.”
“Why do you think she threatened you with a fire poker?”
“She was frightened. She didn’t know I was coming and she’d just been beaten up by...”
“Objection, Your Honor.” Russ’s lawyer jumped up again. “Supposition.”
“Overruled.” The judge turned to Brant. “Please, no elaboration, Mr. McConnell. Just answer the questions.”
Brant clamped his mouth shut. I’m trying. But you won’t let me.
“When did you next see Ms. Eaton, Mr. McConnell?” The prosecutor shot him a we-went-over-this look.
“On February twentieth.”
“And where did you see her?”
“I was shopping in a gift store at the Fort Worth Stockyards. The manager of the shop told us there was trouble next door at Worthwhile Designs and the owner needed our help. I ran over there with several other men.”
“And what did you see when you arrived at Worthwhile Designs?” The attorney’s polished shoes clicked across the hardwood flooring.
“I saw Tori Eaton cornered by Russ Dawson.”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Your Honor.” The prosecutor turned to the judge. “If I may, I’d like to learn why Mr. McConnell felt Ms. Eaton was cornered.”
“Objection denied.” The judge finally ruled in their favor.
Russ’s lawyer did a cinematic sigh and sank into his chair.
The snake-bellied lawyer hadn’t given any of the other cowboys this much trouble. Maybe he’d saved all his venom for Brant because he was the final witness? Or come to think of it, the other cowboys hadn’t colored their testimony with opinion. Because they hadn’t gotten to know Tori. Or fallen in love with her.
“Mr. McConnell. Why did you get the impression that Mr. Dawson had Ms. Eaton cornered?”
“She was in a corner of the store facing him. He was facing her, standing close to her with a piece of jagged glass in his hand.”
“How close?” The attorney approached a bailiff. “Pretend Mr. Proctor is Ms. Eaton. Tell me when to stop.”
Brant waited until the prosecutor stood a foot away from the bailiff. “There.”
“Did he say anything to her after you arrived?”
“No.”
“What did he do?” The attorney turned back to face Brant.
“He tried to get away. But we managed to block him off.”
“And what did he do after the police arrived?”
“He tried to get away again and threw a punch. But they managed to cuff him.”
No objection. Maybe because the punch was in the police report.
“Your witness.” The prosecutor turned to Russ’s attorney.
Russ’s lawyer stood—cocky and sure of himself. Defending a man who’d beaten a woman up. How did the man sleep at night?
“Mr. McConnell. Who else was in the store when you arrived?”
“Jenna Steele, the owner, was there.”
“And what was Mrs. Steele doing?”
“She was—” Brant bit his lip to keep from smiling “—holding a bronze statue over her head like a weapon.”
“Is it possible that Mr. Dawson was the one cornered?”
“No. Mrs. Steele was nowhere near him. She was simply—”
“Is it possible my client was merely helping to pick up the glass in an effort to help clean up the mess he’d accidentally made when he accidentally knocked the lamps over?”
Really? Brant considered his words before answering. “I can see accidentally breaking one lamp, but six?”
“Mr. McConnell. Answer the question. Yes or no.”
“Well if he was trying to help clean up, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. He only picked up one measly piece of glass.”
“Mr. McConnell,” the judge barked. “If you continue to color your testimony with your opinion, I’ll be forced to hold you in contempt. Answer the question—yes or no.”
Brant’s mouth went dry and his mind went blank. “To be honest, Your Honor, I’ve forgotten what the question was.”
The judge’s mouth flatlined.
“Scout’s honor.”
“Mr. McConnell.” The lawyers’s tone let on that he was as fed up as the judge was. “Is it possible my client was merely helping to pick up the glass in an effort to help clean up the mess he’d accidentally made when he accidentally knocked the lamps over?”
The judge’s face was set in stone. Just waiting for Brant to mess up again. Brant caught Tori’s gaze and wished he could tell her how sorry he was for what he was about to say.
Chapter 8
“Yes.” Surely Brant’s ears would billow steam.
Tori gave him a weak smile.
“And the punch you mentioned earlier. Did my client punch anyone?”
“No.” He tried to punch a Texas Ranger but he was too drunk to land it. But if Brant mentioned that, he might end up as Russ’s cell mate and unable to help Tori.
“No further questions.” The rotten lawyer with no conscience turned away and reclaimed his seat beside Russ.
“You’re excused, Mr. McConnell.” Brant stood and returned to his seat with Garrett and Jenna.
“Fifteen-minute recess.” The judge banged his gavel.
“All rise.”
Everyone stood as the judge left the courtroom.
“For a minute there I thought you were gonna be keeping Dawson company in jail,” Garrett whispered.
“That no-account lawyer of his wouldn’t let me say half of what I had to say and twisted what I did say.” His gaze caught Tori’s. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” She closed her eyes.
“Don’t worry.” Jenna patted Tori’s arm. “We’ve still got the trump card. Everything Russ Dawson did in my store was caught on tape.”
* * *
The jury wouldn’t look at Tori. Was that a good sign or a bad sign? She scanned their expressions, but couldn’t read them.
All eyes had been glued to the large screen in the middle of the courtroom as the surveillance tape from the store played. How could Russ think the tape would show anything in his favor?
Tori had shivered as she watched Russ purposely knock over the lamps, then stoop long enough to pick up the glass, and advance toward her another step.
But without hearing what he’d said to her, with a huge stretch of imagination, could it look like he picked up the glass to help clean up? She’d told the courtroom what he’d said to her—his veiled threat—before he broke the lamps, but that was early this morning. Would the jury even remember her testimony? Surely, there was no way anyone could think he’d broken the lamps by accident.
Now they waited for the jury’s decision. Lord, please let them see the truth.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?”
“We have, Your Honor,” the jury foreman answered.
He looked like a nice man—not the kind who would threaten or hit a woman—as he handed the bailiff a piece of paper.
The judge took the paper and read it. His gaze met Tori’s then flicked to Russ. “On the charge of damage to property, this court finds the defendant guilty.”
Tori gasped.
“On the charge of drunk and disorderly conduct, this court finds the defendant guilty. On the charge of terroristic threats, this court finds the defendant guilty.”
The pressure slipped from her chest and she breathed fully for the first time in months.
“This court will reconvene in a week for the sentencing phase. Until then, Mr. Dawson will remain in custody. Court adjourned.” The judge rapped his gavel.
“All rise.”
As everyone stood, her gaze caught Russ’s. Pure evil and hate emanated from him.
Oh, God, when he gets out, what will he do to me?
The pressure settled across her chest again and she trembled as a deputy led him away.
Brant’s arms came around her and her shaking grew worse.
“It’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore,” he whispered.
But his tender words couldn’t stop her trembling. The tears came and once again she soaked his shoulder.
“It’s over.” Jenna rubbed comforting strokes on Tori’s back and pressed a tissue into her hand.
It. Would. Never. Be. Over.
“No.” Tori peeled herself off Brant and mopped her face. “He’ll get out. Probably sooner rather than later.”
“We’ve got a restraining order against him and you can stay at the ranch as long as you need to.”
But even if she stayed at the ranch, she wasn’t there 24/7. And men like Russ didn’t obey restraining orders.
“I can’t stay there forever. I’m twenty-eight years old. At some point, I need to get a place of my own.”
“We’ll worry about all of that later.” Jenna turned to Mitch. “How long do you think he’ll get?”
“Well the domestic abuse charges didn’t stick and neither did the resisting arrest. My math comes out to $4500 in fines or 360 days in jail.”
“That’s less than a year,” Tori wailed.
“Yes, but he couldn’t make bail. So he probably won’t be able to pay the fine.” Mitch checked his watch. “I gotta get back to the office.”
“Thanks for your help.” Jenna took up the social graces Tori had forgotten all about.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Her friends flanked her, leading her out of the courthouse.
“Wanna ride with me?” Brant shot her a wink. “We could swing through McDonald’s.”
A bubble of laughter caught in her throat and turned into a sob.
Back in Brant’s arms with Jenna rubbing her back—both murmuring soothing words.
But despite her fear and defeat, his arms sure felt good around her.
* * *
Powerless. Brant had never felt so powerless.
Mitch had been right. Russ got $4500 in fines or 360 days. He couldn’t come up with the money, so he was in prison. But what if he managed to scrape up the fine?
How would Brant keep Tori and her baby safe?
All he could do was stay near. So here he was. At Jenna’s store.
The bell dinged above the door as June’s hot breath shoved him inside. Tori was helping a customer amongst the artwork and bronze statues.
“Hey, Brant, nice seeing you here again.” Jenna wore a knowing smile.
“I thought I might buy something for the house.”
“You don’t like my decor?” Jenna propped her hands on her hips.
“I didn’t say that.” Brant laughed. “Let’s just say it’s a bit satiny and lacy for my nephew and me. We need something to man it up.”
“Hmph. Typically male. What did you have in mind?”
His gaze strayed to Tori.
“I see. You just look around and let me know if you need any help.”
“Thanks.”
Jenna busied herself with some sort of catalog at the counter, leaving Brant free to watch Tori in peace. The customer was indecisive, but Tori’s smile never slipped as she made suggestions and showed the lady items.
Come on, lady, buy something and move it along.
Tori noticed him. “Jenna, Mrs. McLemore is interested in your custom designs.”
“Great.” Jenna left her catalog. “I’ll show you what we can do.”
Thankfully, Jenna took over and Tori slipped away.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He felt like he was in high school again. Tongue-tied over a girl.
“I got the impression you were waiting for me.”
“I was looking for something to make the new house more manly.” He cleared his throat. “Hunter and I are tired of lace. We need to make it our house instead of Jenna’s. And I was wondering if you’d like to come to the rodeo this weekend and see my show?”
“Um, I’m not really rodeo material.”
“Oh.” A knot lodged in his throat. “Well, it’s just that while Garrett was the headliner, people came to the rodeo in droves. Since he left and I stepped in, attendance has fallen off.” He infused poor me into his tone and hunched his shoulders pitifully. “I’m trying to drum up the crowd, so I don’t lose my job.”
And got a grin out of her. “And you think me coming—just one person—will help.”
“Every seat occupied counts. And you could tell two friends. And they could tell two friends. And...”
“Okay, I’ll come. And I’ll even tell some friends.”
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”
But his knees might.
* * *
Tori had barely said two words since Brant had picked her up.
They made beautiful music together for the Lord. But she made it clear she wanted nothing more. Could he live with that and not want more?
Brant pulled his truck into the Stockyards main drag. Cars inched along the narrow brick street and the sidewalks teemed with pedestrians.
Since Tori didn’t work weekends, he’d purposely chosen Saturday night. That way she couldn’t walk across the street to the rodeo after work. Instead, he’d picked her up at the guesthouse. Like a date.
This was the first time
he’d been alone with her since the guitar lesson. Since their musician discussion. And they hadn’t shared that kind of openness or closeness since. She’d definitely kept him at arm’s length except that day in the courtroom when she’d been upset.
“Where do you want to eat?”
“Eat?”
“You know, you scoop up food with your fork and shove it in your mouth. Only women usually do it more daintily than that.”
“Smart aleck.” Her smile softened her words. “I thought we were going to the rodeo.”
“We are, but I need some supper. How ’bout you? You’re eating for two.”
“We ate already.”
“Oh.” That’s what he got for trying to turn her agreeing to go to the rodeo into a date. A growling stomach.
“You can eat if you want though. I’ll stop in the store or check out the gift shop.”
Not exactly what he’d had in mind. “No biggie, I’ll grab something at the concession stand.”
“I don’t want to ruin your supper.”
“You dissing the concession stand?”
“No. But you obviously had something more in mind.”
A lot more. “It’s fine. I love their pulled pork sandwiches anyway.”
He parked in the back and before he could get around and open her door, she was out of the truck.
But midstride, she stopped and clutched her stomach.
Something was wrong. “You okay?”
“I think the baby’s moving.”
“Really?” He grinned.
But she didn’t. Her eyes got too shiny. Like she was gonna burst into tears.
“It’s a good thing for the baby to move right? Lets ya know everything’s okay.”
“Yeah. It just surprised me.” She blinked several times, sniffed, and started walking again. “So, you use the back entrance?”
“It’s for staff. I’ll get you to your seat, then worry about my own belly.” He ushered her to the entrance and through the back lobby.
“Whew! It’s rank in here.” She pinched her nose.
He hadn’t even thought about the manure. “It won’t make you sick, will it?”
Rodeo Family Page 8