by J. D. Mason
“Perhaps that’s it,” he said.
She took a deep breath. “So, he lived here?”
Again with another long pause. “He lived in Dallas; however, he was seeing a woman who lived here.”
Jordan was really careful how he explained that to her, which raised more flags for Abby.
“He was having an affair,” he reluctantly admitted.
Abby nodded slightly. “He was? And this woman killed him?”
The image of that woman’s picture immediately came to mind. Maybe she was the mistress.
“No.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.
“Can I show you something?” she asked, surprising herself with that question.
Abby started toward the back door. “Wait here, please,” she said over her shoulder as she went inside, emerging moments later carrying that photograph. “One of my guys found this when we were renovating,” she explained, holding it out to him. “It’s old. Do you know if this is her?”
The look on his face spoke volumes. It turned stone cold, and Abby could tell just by looking at him that he hated her.
“What was her name?”
He glanced at Abby and held the photo back out to her. “Ida. Ida Green.”
Abby took a deep breath. Maybe she’d just met one of her ghosts. “What was your father’s name?”
“Julian,” he said. “Gatewood.”
You Want a Lover
“OF ALL THE GIN JOINTS, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.”
“Really?” Robin said, turning in her seat to look up over her shoulder. “You’re still using that old Casablanca line, believing it’s going to work?”
Alex Richards laughed and bent to kiss her cheek. “I keep hoping you’ll find me too handsome and charming to resist and that, yes, it will work.”
Without waiting to be invited, he sat down at the table in the chair next to her.
“Still as classically polished as ever, I see,” she said, smirking.
Alexander Richards was never seen out in public in anything that wasn’t Italian made, expensive, and tailored to fit his tall, lithe frame like he’d been born in it. Piercing blue eyes hid under heavy, dark brows. A perfectly trimmed goatee framed surprisingly full lips, and sharp, chiseled features gave him an animated appearance, almost sinister until he smiled. Then he looked downright adorable.
“What in the world are you doing sitting here all alone?” he asked, taking hold of one of her hands between his.
Robin and Alex had gone to law school together and then became inseparable friends all the way through graduation. After that, their respective careers carried them both off in different directions, Robin to her beginnings as a corporate attorney in California, and Alex to the world of criminal defense, mainly for celebrities, politicians, and CEOs.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” She smiled. “I’m having lunch.”
He gave her an inquisitive side eye. “All by your lovely self?”
It was never a secret that Alex had a crush on Robin. But even though she’d considered being more than friends with him, she could never seem to get past that point.
“No,” she responded. “I’m waiting for a friend.”
“You should never have to wait for anyone, my lovely friend.” He raised her hand and kissed it.
“What are you doing in town?” she eventually asked. “I thought you were in New York.”
Just then, a waiter appeared. “May I get you something to drink, sir?”
“No,” Alex said, leaning back. “I’m on my way out. Thank you.” The waiter left, and Alex continued. “A case brought me here.”
“Still saving rich bad guys?”
“Actually, this one was a poor bad guy, or alleged bad guy,” he explained. “I defended Frank Ross, the defendant in the—”
“Lonnie Adebayo case,” she said, finishing his sentence. “I had no idea that was you. He got off?”
Alex shrugged. “Hung jury.”
“So, when’d you start doing pro bono work?”
Alex never took a case for any client not worth a few million dollars, and for him, even that was considered charitable work.
“You know better than that.” His eyes twinkled.
“From what I remember hearing about the case, the guy was far from rich. Some ex-cop or something. Right?”
“With friends in high places.”
“Ah,” she said with a dramatic nod. “So, someone is paying that high price tag of yours.”
He just smiled.
“Hung jury. Is the DA going to retry?”
Alex sighed. “That’s the plan.”
“Any idea when?”
He shook his head. “They’re going to need a whole lot more than the circumstantial shit they’ve got now if they stand a chance in hell of getting a conviction.”
“Still as cocky as ever, I see.”
“That’s confidence that you’re seeing, Robin my love. There’s a difference.”
“So, are you going to take up temporary residence in Dallas until the next trial?”
“Not likely,” he said with a distasteful expression. “I’m more of an East Coast man. Too many cowpokes in this town for me.”
“Don’t let the cowpokes hear you say that.”
“Indeed.”
“Robin?”
Her lunch date had arrived and stood next to her.
Alex took a deep breath. “My cue to leave?” He stood up, adjusted his jacket, and held out his hand to the other gentleman. “Alex Richards. Robin and I are old friends.”
“Donovan Adams,” her lunch date responded, shaking Alex’s hand. “Robin and I are new friends.”
The two locked gazes for a moment like bulls before Alex finally leaned down to kiss her hand again. “It’s been good seeing you again, Ms. Sinclair. Enjoy your lunch.”
“Call me before you leave,” she told him.
“Absolutely.”
Donovan waited until Alex left before taking a seat at the table. “I apologize,” he immediately said. “I must’ve gotten the time mixed up. I thought we’d agreed to meet here at one?”
“We did,” she assured him. “But I was close by, so I arrived a bit early.”
Donovan Adams, star wide receiver for the Dallas Cowboys, six two, dark and gorgeous, was seven years her junior and, as young as he was, was starting to consider retirement to pursue a commentator role in the NFL.
Before saying another word, he leaned back and openly admired Robin.
“You’re going to make me blush,” she said, shifting in her seat.
He looked a bit surprised. “Me make you blush? I’m the one blushing. You finally agreed to break bread with me. I’m feeling pretty good.”
She laughed. It was true that he’d been pursuing her for months. The two had met at a fund-raiser where he was the featured speaker. The man was a celebrity and hero in Dallas who literally had his pick of just about any woman he wanted. Robin had finally accepted an invitation from him a week ago.
“Good afternoon, sir,” the waiter said, returning. “May I get you something to drink?”
“Just water, please.”
“How was practice?” she asked after the waiter left.
“Practice was practice. Tough, as usual.”
“Yes. But so are you.”
This was her attempt to be interested in someone else besides Jordan. She needed the distraction from him, because he was still sending a message that he wasn’t ready to commit. Sometimes, Robin felt that she pushed too hard, came across as too eager and too desperate, which would only push a man like him further away. Besides, begging wasn’t her style. Loving Jordan was frustrating, and Robin needed to back off, for her own sake more than his. This was her attempt at doing just that.
“For so many years, my career came first,” she found herself explaining as they ate. He was easy to talk to, and Robin relished letting her guard down with him in a
way that she’d never been able to do with Jordan. “Time gets away from you,” she said reflectively. “The next thing you know, you’re forty and wondering where it all went. Marriage, family.” She shrugged. “I always believed that those things would come naturally. They haven’t.”
“It’s not too late. You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman, Robin. A man would be lucky to be married and have a family with a woman like you.”
He was dropping not-so-subtle hints, and she was flattered. For all the wonderful things that he was, however, Robin couldn’t ignore the fact that she had spent the whole hour that they’d been together anticipating the vibration of the phone in her purse with a call or even a text from Jordan. Donovan was wonderful, but he was not Gatewood. And that was a realization she just could not shake.
They finished eating, and Donovan paid the bill and walked her outside, where she handed her ticket to the valet and waited for the driver to bring her car around.
“Can we do this again?” he asked, hopeful.
“I’d love to,” she lied. “Call me?”
He smiled. “I definitely will.”
Tears filled her eyes as soon as she drove away. She should’ve spent her Saturday afternoon with Jordan. She should’ve been spending Saturday night with Jordan and waking up next to him on Sunday morning. Half an hour later, Robin pulled into the parking garage of her building and pulled out her phone. She’d gotten nothing from him, so she decided to take the initiative.
Her call went to his voice mail. “Hey,” she said, hiding her frustration. “Just wanted to check in to see how your weekend is going. How’s that ranch of yours? Anyway.” She swallowed and wiped a rogue tear from her cheek. “Call me. Maybe I could come out and, I don’t know, help wrangle some horses or something.”
She hung up knowing good and damn well that the next time she heard from or saw Jordan would be in the office on Monday.
How High She Flies
PRETTY, DOE-EYED ABBY RHODES. It wasn’t this house he’d come to see. Jordan had come to satisfy an unusual curiosity about her. Following the sound of the music coming from her backyard, Jordan had stopped inside the gate and watched her without her realizing it before finally approaching her. She wore cutoff jean shorts, and a black T-shirt with a Batman insignia on the front. Abby’s tousled hair was pulled together into a puff on top of her head, and she was barefoot.
Why did he feel like he was in some sort of trance when he was close to her? Her looks weren’t dramatic or overtly striking, just comforting, easy to take in, and difficult to ignore. He began to understand that the attraction to him was not solely physical. Jordan felt like he needed something from her, but for the life of him, he didn’t understand what or why. He had a feeling of expectation with her. As if she might say or do a certain thing that would become his own personal revelation. As if she were the key to unlocking a door.
He and Abby had gone inside the house, and he waited patiently on the sofa, sitting across from her while she did an Internet search of Julian Gatewood, which, of course, would ultimately lead to Jordan. In a little over a month, she’d turned this place into a dream house compared to what it had been when he’d first seen it. Abby had taken down walls, replaced floors, and remodeled the whole kitchen in that short period of time. It was charming, bright, and comfortable. It was indicative of what he suspected her personality was like.
“Oh, my goodness,” she murmured, slowly raising her gaze from the laptop screen in her small office to look at him.
Jordan looked back at her, knowing instinctively what her next words would be.
“You’re Jordan Gatewood?”
“I am.”
Abby swallowed. Her eyes widened with disbelief. “You didn’t tell me that the first time we met.”
“No,” he said without elaborating.
“It said in one of these articles that you were shot not too long ago. That you almost died.”
He didn’t respond.
“So, that’s what made you want to come back to this house? You weren’t close to your father, but I guess the fact that he got shot and you got shot would make you curious about him?”
Not everyone from Texas spoke with the twang, but Abby seemed to relish the accent, and it rolled off her tongue like a melody. He liked the sound of it.
“I suppose you could say that,” he agreed.
He could almost see the curiosity churning behind her eyes. “Did you know her? Ida Green?”
“I saw her, at the trial,” he explained.
“The article says that her daughter, Desdimona, was on trial for killing him. She went to prison for it.”
“Her daughter didn’t kill him.”
“But she went to prison.”
“She didn’t kill him.”
“Ida killed him?”
Jordan had hated that woman his whole life, believing that she was ultimately responsible for his father’s death and his mother’s heartache. But now he knew better.
“My mother killed my father,” he continued.
It was so important for this woman to know the truth for some reason. And of all the people in his life, she was the only one that he didn’t seem to have a problem confessing it to.
Abby’s lovely eyes widened in astonishment. “Whoa,” she whispered. “But it doesn’t say that in any of these articles.”
“And it never will,” he simply said, deciding to leave it at that, even if she did pursue the subject.
He saw no need to weigh down this conversation with all the details of what had transpired here three decades ago. Abby seemed to understand that and closed her laptop.
“What is it that you hope to find here, Jordan?” she asked earnestly, as if she really expected for him to have a clear and concise answer.
He actually hadn’t truly pinpointed the answer inside himself, and Jordan had to think about it. “I think I’ve misunderstood my father,” he finally admitted.
Shit. He’d never been to therapy a day in his life, but all of a sudden, that’s exactly what this felt like.
“I believed that I knew him, but circumstances, recent circumstances, may prove to the contrary.” Jordan searched for answers internally. “I don’t know what I expected when I came here. For some random reason on that random day, something drew me here.”
Jordan reached for Ida Green’s photo on the small table in front of him and stared at it.
“He spent a great deal of time here with her, Abby. If you knew my father, then you’d know that it doesn’t make sense that he would.” He looked up at her again. “Julian Gatewood was a grand man, larger than life.” Jordan could hardly remember a time when Julian wasn’t wearing a custom-made suit and tie. He spoke with such authority, commanding attention when he walked into a room.
“He would not fit in a place like this, in her life. And I’m not talking about physically. But it seems that he was happier here than he was in that Dallas mansion I grew up in. My mother is a beautiful woman—always was. On the surface they were perfect. It made sense for him to be with her.”
“But not Ida?” she asked softly, looking almost as if she had personally been insulted by his explanation.
Jordan looked at Ida’s picture again. Ida was not the beast of a woman he’d remembered during that trial. Jordan had been a kid; he was in college, twenty, maybe twenty-one years old. Back then, he thought she was hideous, too dark, fat, an ugly woman. But looking at this picture now as a grown man and not some confused, angry kid, she was none of those things.
“He loved Ida,” he concluded. “He loved her so much that he’d rather have been here with her than at home. A man who had absolutely everything would rather spend his weekends in this small house with this small and insignificant woman than in the kingdom he’d built in Dallas.”
“Then Ida wasn’t insignificant,” Abby responded protectively. “You can’t see it because you’re not him. He saw something in her that no one else in the world did, and he needed it. Whatever it w
as, it was important enough to keep him coming back.”
She was a romantic. Jordan never had been.
“If you knew my father, then you’d know that the idea of love being the reason that he was obsessed with this woman was ludicrous. Julian loved Julian,” he said shrugging. “He loved his business. I guess, I’d be stunned to know that he risked everything to be with Ida over something as basic as love.”
“But what else could it be?”
“I’d like to know.”
“Why do you have to know? It was private between the two of them. Maybe it’s not meant for you to know.”
Too much of his life had mirrored that of a man that he’d come to realize he hardly knew. Jordan had inherited the man’s business, his legacy, even the care of his wife. He’d almost inherited his father’s demise, but by some stroke of fortune, he was still here. And he’d inherited a void. Julian had had one, too, Jordan was positive. But he’d filled his with time in this house and with another woman. Why this woman? Why this town, this house?
“I need to understand,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, even though he was starting to unravel inside. “He died trying to protect her. He sacrificed everything for her and I’ve never been able to grasp that.”
“People do things like that when they’re in love. You’ve never felt that way about anybody?”
No, he hadn’t. Jordan decided not to say that out loud. From the look on his face he concluded that his expression had answered it for him.
“I wish I could help.” She shrugged. “It makes sense to me that whatever he felt for her died with him. It’s not like finding a photograph or a trinket, Jordan. Sounds like it was just love. And maybe it really was that simple.”
Was it his imagination or was the air slightly warmer around Abby? Was the world a bit quieter when she spoke? Jordan felt easy in her presence, that constant hum of defensive energy flowing through him felt stalled and even unnecessary for the few hours he’d been here with her. Abby distracted him and not in a bad way.