Wills & Trust (Legally in Love Collection Book 3)

by Jennifer Griffith

  Especially if LaBarge or his meanies came knocking on Brooke’s door. It hadn’t escaped her when he menaced with the words I know where you live. She shuddered off the thought.

  Dane’s eye twinkled, and she almost got sucked in by it. Still, nobody in a fifty-mile radius would fault her for hesitating to trust Dane, based on his family’s record of trustworthiness.

  And while Dane had been there for her at key points, he’d also pushed things a little far— all in fun, most likely. Playful joking around, kissing her, getting her all hot and bothered, making her think he meant it. For two seconds. Yeah, super fun.

  Fun for him, sure. He clearly enjoyed kissing her. And he would try to kiss her again, that was obvious.

  But when the gossip mill started dragging its heavy millstone to grind the wheat of Maddox, Brooke Chadwick and her salacious kiss in front of Pastor Walden and Mrs. Proust and all the world had been ground to the finest flour ever milled in Maddox.

  She wasn’t sure if she was ready to open herself up to getting ground into dust again.

  Not if Dane was only in it for a makeout roll in the hay.

  I have to know.

  “Truth or dare?” she said, taking a french fry from the sack. “Come on. Play along.”

  “I’m always willing to play.”

  That’s what she was afraid of.

  “Truth.”

  Good. She’d expected him to say dare. Leave it to Dane to do the unexpected thing. Always. “Fine. Why were you really there today? You didn’t have a client named in that will-reading. The heirs had to be present to win, as they say on raffle ticket rule lists.”

  Dane gave her a long, hard stare. He ate three fries, and then said, “Well, let’s just say Vonda, my clerk at Tweed Law, didn’t have Harvey Jarman’s will reading on my official calendar for today.”

  Hmph. Just as she expected. “Who put you up to it?” Then without waiting for a response, she knew. “Olivia. And Quirt.” Quirt! No wonder he was at the dunes before practice yesterday.

  “I owed him a favor.”

  “You owed him several punches in the solar plexus.”

  “That, too.”

  Brooke couldn’t believe it, on several levels, not the least of which was Quirt’s never-ending opposition to her being anywhere in Dane Rockwell’s personal vicinity.

  “Was he paying you? Was this a monetary arrangement?” If not, this meant she was a mercy case. “What favor, exactly?”

  Dane shrugged it off, and then with a touch more intensity, he set down his food and said, “The Chadwicks are family. All of them. At least I’d like them to be.” At this, he made steady eye contact with her. A searing beam from his eyes penetrated all the way to her heart.

  “Oh.” What all was that supposed to be?

  Brooke swallowed hard. He’d skipped work. He’d prioritized her personal emergency. He’d come in her moment of need.

  “Dane, I—”

  Dane’s phone sounded a text. This was about the fifth one he’d ignored.

  “You need to get that?” she asked when the slurp of only ice left in the glass sounded at the bottom of her straw. “Somebody wants you.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I hope so.” The flirt.

  But he checked his phone, and the flirtatious Dane disappeared, replaced by a businessman.

  “It’s work. I have to go soon,” was all he said, allaying her instant suspicion about a city girlfriend.

  “I can walk from here. Left Field is only a block.”

  He should have gotten up to leave. It was time. His office was calling.

  “I’ll figure out a way to get your Honda back by your shift in the morning,” he said, tweaking her nose, his fingers a little rough. Masculine. What she really wanted was for him to kiss her mouth. Four out of five days in a row she’d been inches from him, smelled his cologne, felt his breath on her skin, and still no kiss.

  Traitorous chemistry. To protect herself, she’d better keep a healthy distance from him. Dane saw her as a pleasant pastime. Someone to flirt with during baseball community service. He had a real life, probably a real girlfriend, back in Naughton, whether that text came from her or not.

  She’d better work on rebuilding the wall he’d spent the past several days demolishing with that dastardly dimple of his.

  The clock tower at Thunder Chadwick Field chimed four o’clock, and Brooke’s brain shifted into high gear. She dragged her eyes away from Dane’s dimple. He was supposed to leave, but he hadn’t yet. Her stomach stirred, and not just from the Dr. Pepper’s carbonation.

  “You’re still here.”

  “I am.”

  “Okay, then.” Brooke pulled out her phone and started to dial. “You want to stay for a meeting with money?”

  “I like money.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  Everything that had happened today— from the ball to getting such personal attention from Dane Rockwell— floated her balloon of hope for the first time in over a year. Maybe the lucky streak would extend to an interaction with somebody who’d been waiting for this moment almost as much as Brooke had herself.

  “Mr. Earnshaw? I may have good news. How soon could you meet me at the Maddox First National Bank?”

  __________

  Twenty minutes later, Earnshaw rolled up to the bank in a silver sedan, which was possibly made of real silver, knowing the depth of Earnshaw’s pockets. He’d been in Naughton for the day, so the trip was quicker than if he’d had to come in from Richmond or D.C., his two bases of operation. Luckily, this time Brooke was already in her business attire from the will reading, so she looked far more professional than at their last meeting. Success floated in the springtime wind.

  And Dane, her lawyer, was at her side. Talk about leveling up the professionalism.

  As Earnshaw strode into the bank in his overabundant Polo cologne and boots, Brooke projected her most confident smile, the kind she’d practiced for her pageant interview.

  “I hope this isn’t some stunt, Miss Chadwick.”

  Uh-oh. She hadn’t expected a cranky mood. Well, this would lighten it.

  “Come with me, Mr. Earnshaw.” She took him to the safety deposit boxes, where the bank employee held one key and Brooke the other, and from a long metal drawer, she pulled the day’s acquisition. “I haven’t had time to look at all the provenance myself, and we’ll still have to research to verify its authenticity, as I just received it today. Serendipitous might be the right word. Never saw it coming.”

  From the black lacquer box, she carefully pulled the baseball. Maybe she should have on protective white gloves. She didn’t know. “It’s coming up on a century old, so I imagine handling with care is in order.” But instead she tossed it to Earnshaw, who caught it with a slap.

  “1932, eh? An old ball? Nice, but still not a big monetary draw, I’m afraid.”

  “Think, sir. World Series.” She pointed to the printing on the side of the ball, and Earnshaw examined it while she pulled several documents from their slot in the velvet lining of the box. She scanned the first one, and Dane read it over her shoulder as her heart rate doubled.

  This wasn’t just good. This was excellent. She blinked about fifty times. “Uh, I—” She handed it to Earnshaw. “I knew we had something, but …”

  Earnshaw set down the piece of documentation he’d been holding, the one Fawn had read earlier describing the ball.

  “Is this for real?” Earnshaw looked up, humility and shock in his face. “This— Brooke! I had no idea this even existed.” He used her first name, yanking shut the professional gap. Two Yankees fans now stood eye to eye.

  “Until today, neither did I.”

  “How— ?” Earnshaw shook his head, and Brooke explained about the will.

  “You ever hear of Harvey Jarman?” She figured Earnshaw might know. “Because I’m in the dark.”

  He just shook his head and murmured, “Never,” while he marveled at the ball, turning it over and over in his hand. �
�I mean, this is the biggest find in the history of baseball.”

  “That’s exactly what Brooke said,” Dane chimed in. “She recognized its importance instantly.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Earnshaw was still starstruck, or at least dollar-sign struck.

  Brooke handed him the next paper she’d just pulled out, the provenance. “Oh, but there’s more. Check this attached letter.”

  Dane read it aloud.

  This certifies that I saw Parley Jarman retrieve a homerun ball from the fifth inning of the October 1 World Series game in Chicago. I saw this as an eyewitness.

  “It’s signed, Franklin Delano Roosevelt.” Dane gulped visibly. “FDR is part of the provenance?”

  Brooke choked a little, too. It was too much. Their eyes met, and Dane’s sparkled as much as Brooke’s soul bubbled, an equal ratio. He was finally catching on to just how big this thing could be.

  “Astronomical.” Earnshaw wagged his head back and forth slowly. “You realize…this intersects with multiple areas of collecting: baseball history, Yankees fans, political history, fans of FDR, collectors of Depression-era memorabilia. Big dollars in all those. Big, big dollars there, Miss Chadwick.”

  Brooke clenched her stomach and asked the salient question. She gripped Dane’s hand hard as she said to Earnshaw, “So, you’re in? Financially? You’re ready to back Left Field?”

  Three ticks of the clock elapsed, while the man holding the purse strings also held and admired the Called Shot Ball. Brooke couldn’t breathe. It was so close. Aunt Ruth’s dream lived or died in this moment.

  Earnshaw looked up. “Watch for the paperwork. I’ll have my secretary send it over.” Earnshaw set the ball down and took Brooke’s hand to shake. “We have a partnership.”

  As soon as Earnshaw left the safety deposit area and the sound of his heel-clicks faded, Brooke couldn’t contain her elation another second.

  She threw her arms around Dane and buried her lips against his neck, breathing in his scent, all while jumping up and down and hugging him at the same time.

  He tugged her up against him. “I like it when you get excited like this. We should arrange for more millionaires to invest in your museum.” He lifted her up and placed her, seated, on the viewing table in the safety deposit room.

  Brooke ignored his “It happened! It really happened!” She buried her lips against his neck. “I can’t believe it. He agreed to partner up.”

  “I know how he feels,” Dane said, his eyes sly and happy and full of mischief, and she slowed down and let herself bask in his gaze and his embrace. “Partnering up with Brooke Chadwick sounds like a dream come true for a lot of different men.”

  Firecrackers shot through her tummy. At long last, the kiss that he’d been teasing her with since they met at the rainy ballfield— it was going to materialize and she’d get to see whether the insane volcano of chemistry that had erupted in that church house last year was only a fluke or whether it still curled her toes.

  “Dane, I—” she breathed. “Are we— ?”

  His phone screamed a three-alarm signal.

  Brooke exhaled, frustration tearing her lungs out.

  “Sorry.” He extracted himself from her embrace and pulled out the screen. “Bat signal. I’m needed downtown.” An apology on his face, he smirked and went for the door.

  “Go save Gotham, Bruce Wayne.” She buried the disappointment in a chipper quip, but she followed it with, “But come back to me. I’m waiting.”

  Dane halted, and he glanced over his shoulder. “That’s a guarantee.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Probation

  Dane rolled back into Naughton at a minute to five, his blood speeding, still smelling her perfume on his collar, still sensing the feel of her arms around his back.

  Brooke, Brooke, Brooke. She danced in his mind as he took the elevator up to the main offices of Tweed Law. How close she’d been to him, how nearly he’d come to kissing her again after all these months of yearning for her, sent his blood coursing hot through his veins.

  She wants me. Bad.

  But then he walked into his office, where a sickening memory of what had happened with Mrs. Jackson last night slammed him like a fully loaded freight train. A few files still lay askew on his desk and floor from when he’d exited so fast he probably left a jet trail behind him.

  On his desk lay a note in Vonda’s handwriting. Why his secretary hadn’t messaged— or straightened his office, he didn’t know. Oh, yeah. Ignored texts.

  Tweed wants to see you the second you get in.

  Twice in two days? That partner board worked fast. Dane brightened, his step light as he covered the distance to the boss’s office.

  “Mr. Tweed?” he said after Tweed’s secretary granted him access. “You wanted to see me? Because Ballard is progressing well. I’m nearly done with opening arguments, and I’ve got three ways to skewer Insura-Care.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. Shish-kebabed opponents.” Tweed sat back and straightened his tie. “But what I don’t like to hear about is you screwing around with the partners’ wives.”

  Dane peripheral vision went black, as if he’d been shot and started to bleed out instantly. “I’m sorry?”

  “You should be,” Tweed said, willfully mistaking Dane’s meaning. “You might think that because you’re a rainmaker you have the right to take whatever you want around here.” Under his breath he muttered, “Moron.”

  “Hey. Hey, now. That is absolutely not something that happened.” His face went from cold to hot to cold again. He had to find out exactly what he was being accused of. “Not in a million years. Did someone tell you something like that?” Even under extreme duress he tried to order his thoughts, dredge up his skills at deposition.

  Tweed futzed around at his computer screen for a moment before swinging the monitor toward Dane, and there, in grainy black and white resolution from a security camera, there he was, Dane himself in blurry work mode.

  He’d been on camera all this time? Maybe it shouldn’t surprise him, what with Ullman Tweed’s reputation for general paranoia.

  The time-stamp read 12:38 a.m. And yep. There entered that barracuda in all her drunken majesty. It was painful to watch reenacted, even more painful than the experience itself, perhaps, as at the time he’d been too stunned to react emotionally.

  Now he alternated between nausea and revulsion. The woman was even less appealing on camera.

  “I categorically deny any guilt on that count.”

  “The facts remain: an incident occurred late last night. Two parties alone remained in the office.” Tweed twisted his tie tack. “One a man, the other a woman of high standing in this organization.”

  Ugh. Maybe she’d complained to her husband. Bile crept up from Dane’s gut, but he muscled it back down, frowning hard.

  Tweed went on. “This report came from the woman herself.” And then Tweed made his first mistake: he let out a contemptuous sigh.

  Dane narrowed his eyes. “And you listened.”

  Tweed answered too quickly. “Of course I did. She’s a woman of high standing in this organization.” He used the same rote phrase; practiced and phony. Meanwhile, his tone betrayed his real opinion. He didn’t believe the woman’s assertion. Dane was on to him now and didn’t intend to let go of his line of argument.

  “You gave it all the credence it deserved, naturally.”

  “Naturally.”

  Another glance told Dane all he needed to know about Tweed’s position in the matter, and he and Tweed were clearly of one mind. The boss’s hands were tied, but he’d probably seen effects of the Nastiness in the past— likely in far greater detail than Dane Rockwell would ever want to know.

  Nevertheless, Dane’s skin crawled with worry. This was not going to go well for him. Punishment of some kind would have to be doled out, or the woman of high standing in this organization wouldn’t rest. Not while her husband was partner.

  Dane steeled himself and said, “Some
one is going to have to pay a price, I take it.”

  Tweed walked around a bit, rubbing his hair into a mess, then returned to his chair and sat heavily in it. He glanced around the room, up at the security cameras, and then pointed at the centerpiece, looking a little paranoid. Did he think the room was bugged?

  Taking the hint, Dane spoke carefully. “I can understand that,” he said, “but I’d like a chance to explain. Obviously.”

  “Oh, you’ll get to explain, all right.” Tweed tugged at his shirt sleeves and twisted the cuff links. “Sometime in the next month or so, there will be a hearing at the county courthouse with a panel of ethics hearing officers from the Virginia Bar Ethics Commission.”

  Who would pass judgment, he knew, probably without even listening to Dane’s side. Sexual harassment was a guilty until proven innocent game. And almost nobody was ever proven innocent.

  “And until that hearing?” Dane asked.

  “You’re suspended from Tweed Law.”

  Suspended! Dane thought his peripheral vision had gone dark before, but now it was closing in on him all around. Only a pinpoint of light remained, and Tweed sat dead center in it. This was far worse than he’d imagined. Suspended. Or fired?

  “But what about Ballard?” he choked out.

  “I appreciate your dedication.” Oh. Dane heard the unspoken but there’s nothing we can do. “Most guys would be asking about what to do with all their free time in the interim, but not you. You’re focused.”

  And suspended.

  Suspended. Stopped. Left hanging. The word meant a lot of different things.

  “What all does suspension entail, sir?”

  Tweed leaned close and pitched his voice very low, too low for any bugging to pick up. Dane had to strain to hear it.

  “I’m not stupid, Rockwell. I saw the tape. But I also know this Jackson woman— and the attorney she’ll hire. She’s vicious.”

  Tweed twisted his tie-tack and then spoke in a normal tone again. “Suspension means for the next few weeks, maybe months, you’re to do everything in your power to stay off her radar.” He frowned. “You can practice law. I know you young bucks have loans to consider. Just keep it off Tweed Law campus. Go to the country— do some estate planning, keep it boring.”