Wills & Trust (Legally in Love Collection Book 3)

by Jennifer Griffith

  LaBarge had to be stopped.

  Ames still didn’t answer, but he turned to stare out at right field again.

  A text came in on her phone. She glanced at the team— the pitcher had lobbed two balls and a strike. Everything hung on this moment. “Go, Batmen!” she called softly, so as not to interrupt the pitcher’s concentration.

  “You should know,” she said. “It’s a risk to put you on the stand during the hearing.” He could totally burn her. Then again, the longer she stood out here talking to Ames, the more she risked something even more precious to her than that baseball she’d thought until now she wanted more than anything. Now she knew something else mattered even more: Dane’s trust.

  Everyone in little league could see her standing here talking to Ames Crosby. In two shakes of a lamb’s tail, this information would fly into every ear in town. It could get back to Dane, who hated Ames and didn’t trust him as far as he could push him off the dock into the Chesapeake.

  “You testify about LaBarge, and then after the hearing, I listen to whatever it is in the world it is you have to say.”

  “With an open mind?”

  That was hard to say. “As open as it can be.” There. That could be construed as truthful.

  “Really?” He looked shocked and relieved at once. And vulnerable. Imagine that, Ames Crosby, vulnerable. Never in a million years would Brooke have expected such a thing. “Okay, testimony, then you’ll listen. Capiche?” He let his face go grim. Before she could stop him, he’d leaned in and kissed her cheek. The spicy scent of his cologne was a time machine that shot her back to when she loved him. “You won’t be sorry. I promise,” he murmured.

  Brooke couldn’t help it. She believed the guy. Whether or not she should.

  Ames bounded out of the dugout just as the pitcher threw a ball straight through the strike zone. Heavy Gargantua Hitter swatted it clean. It sailed straight over the shortstop’s head, where it plunked down on the lawn between left and center fields.

  Neither fielder dove for it.

  Heavy Hitter rounded the bases, and he made it to third, getting his compadre into home for a run.

  Brooke sighed. “It’s okay, guys.” She clapped. “Make sure you call them.”

  Then she remembered the text. It was from Dane. Norvin compromised. No expert available in the area. Sorry.

  But— having a handwriting expert testify that the handwriting on the addendum was genuine was the crux of this whole case. Now what?

  At least they had a character witness against LaBarge. Probably. Depending on what Ames actually said on the stand. And whether Dane would even agree to put Ames up there.

  Brooke needed to tell him. She pulled out her phone to start to send him the text, but she stopped herself.

  This conversation had better happen in person.

  Meet me for church tomorrow?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  No Contest

  Dane’s head ached. He stared at Brooke as they stood on the steps of the white clapboard chapel.

  This was asking too much.

  “You’re actually expecting him to testify on the stand on your behalf? You’re not serious.” He’d come to church with the intention of sitting beside Brooke on the pew, putting an arm around her, and possibly effecting a repeat of the public and passionate kiss of last year. It wasn’t looking like it would play out that way. Not with Ames Crosby’s flashy sports car glinting in the parking lot. He must already be in the chapel.

  “I can’t help it if Ames Crosby decided to show up for church. Church is for everyone.”

  “You’re saying you didn’t invite him.”

  “I’m saying I had no idea he was coming. And no, I didn’t. Geez, Dane.”

  If that jackwagon was in there, Dane would stay out here, thanks.

  “He’s lurking. He’s too attentive. It’s suspect.”

  “This isn’t about his testimony, is it?” Brooke frowned. “This is about whether I’m susceptible to him.”

  Dane hated that her words struck him like an arrow. “What he’s given us already is sufficient for the trial. We can take that and run with it.”

  “And where else are we going to dig up a willing character witness before Tuesday?” She put her hands on her hips. It drew Dane’s eye to her small waist, and he had to dig his fingernail into his palm to stop his mind from going there. “Especially one who knows about LaBarge’s secret baseball obsession.”

  “A nebulous obsession, the concrete proof of which we don’t even have in written form from a witness interview.” Dane’s patience level waned. “Come on, Brooke. We don’t know what kind of a wild card he would be.”

  Gooseflesh raised on his arms. LaBarge had a dangerous edge, and Ames’s testimony might be her only protection against it, long term. But Dane wasn’t ready to admit that.

  “We’ve heard he’s a man obsessed, Dane. Obsessions can be dangerous.” Brooke hit on that same word, too. His goosebumps rose a notch. But she didn’t come to the same solution as Dane because she said, “Maybe Ames’s testimony could throw light on it for the court.”

  “Crosby is not going to agree to that.” Dane’s eyes narrowed. “Or is he?” What had she done to convince him? Suspicion was poisoning his soul.

  “We’ve already seen some dangerous stuff,” she said. “Uh, the bomb, for instance.”

  Dane could see her point— he hadn’t lost all logic and reason. But she should see it from his point of view, too. There’d already been a bomb threat. She was opening herself up to more danger if she let Sarge LaBarge’s dubious son-in-law in on their case.

  “I swear he’s not as black-hearted as you think.” The ruffled hem of her church dress fluttered in the wind and gave him a tantalizing peek at her legs. He forced his mind back to the issue at hand.

  “I swear he’s a lot more black-hearted than you think.” He clenched his jaw. “I’m not giving him any insight into our trial preparation.” Couldn’t she see the danger here? Chances were strong that Ames was more like a hostile witness than anything else. Or worse, a mole for LaBarge. She was being unreasonable. This request was unreasonable. “I’m not putting him on the stand.” Who knew what that two-faced coward disguised as a doctor would do?

  Brooke’s eyes, usually so wide and trusting when she looked at Dane, hardened. “You’re being stubborn.”

  “I’m being smart. There’s a big difference.” Dane dug in his heels.

  “But you were there. You heard him. He said he had information about LaBarge— something we could use.”

  Maybe it was too many nights of sleeping in the bed of his truck, or not enough exercise, or the fact that the Rockwell Rockets had lost their game yesterday afternoon, but Brooke’s insistence that Dane trust that liar felt like nails on his soul’s chalkboard.

  Oh, who was he kidding? It had nothing to do with sleep or exercise or little league. He just hated the guy. Not least because she’d once loved him enough to agree to marry him.

  “When we talked to him, something clicked for me. He knows something, Dane. I can tell. He lived with those people. He’s willing to tell the court.”

  Oh, right. Now Crosby’s words were clicking for her. Great.

  “We’ve got everything we need from him. Seriously, Brooke. I don’t want to hear any more about Ames Crosby.” Maybe Dane was being unreasonable for not bending on conducting an interview. But so what? He was also being logical on a deeper level— considering Crosby could be a spy for LaBarge. Any more up close and personal talks with the guy were fraught with danger.

  “Dane—”

  Something inside him hardened. If Brooke wanted time with Crosby, she could have it. After the hearing on Tuesday.

  Organ music from inside the chapel rolled out through the doors. Dane could hear the congregation begin to sing “Praise God From Whom all Blessings Flow” in unison. Church was starting. Brooke obviously wanted to go in, but Dane’s feet grew roots into the sidewalk.

  “Hey, come
on. We’re late,” Quirt said as he and Olivia jogged up. “They’re singing already. And Mrs. Proust probably already took our pew for herself and her purse and her hat.”

  Quirt held the door for Olivia. Brooke turned to go with them, but Dane didn’t uproot— especially when he saw who appeared in the doorway after Quirt and Olivia entered to hold the door.

  “I thought I’d find you here.” The toothpaste commercial smile gleamed as Ames let his eyes roam up and down Brooke in her Sunday best. “I finally made it to church. A year late, but I’m here.”

  Brooke shot a look at Dane— pleading.

  “You go on ahead. I have a quick text to send.” Lie. A bald-faced lie right here on the church property. Where was the lightning? I’m being a total Rockwell today. “I’ll just see you Tuesday at the trial. Four o’clock.” He numbed as he said it.

  Brooke blinked a few times at him, her face cloudy.

  “Let’s go. It’s the opening prayer,” Ames beckoned.

  Brooke looked torn for a second, but the organ music ended. “Tuesday?” she asked.

  He gave the world’s shallowest nod, and Brooke disappeared inside the church doors. Dane stood there loathing himself for his stubbornness and for feeling like her choosing to go into church meant that she was choosing Ames over him. Illogical, but this girl was all he’d wanted for the past…forever. And even when her eyes had pleaded with him, his pride had prevented him from going in there. Not with that jerk who didn’t care about her.

  If that jerk couldn’t show up for church until a year late, there was no way he was someone they should hang their hopes on during the trial.

  Didn’t she see that he might get on the stand— as her own witness— and then switch his story and say something extremely damaging at the last minute? What made women so blind? Good looks? Money? Charisma? A diploma that read medical doctor? Dane would do almost anything to rip the blinders off Brooke’s eyes at this point.

  But he couldn’t. There were women out there who insisted on being blind. And there was nothing Dane could do about it.

  The wind hit his face in a gust, peppering it with bits of sand, this side-effect of coastal living stinging almost as much as his conversation with Brooke just had.

  He should go in there; just sit down in the chapel and stake his claim. Brooke had been his, and this interloper had no right to interfere. Not with all that had happened. Feeling defeated, Dane headed back out to his truck, where he put his head on the steering wheel and pulled out his phone. Turned out, there was a message there which he hadn’t heard come in.

  Tweed: You heard, right? The ethics commission moved your hearing to three-thirty. The sooner it’s over with the better, I say.

  Normally, yeah. But today wasn’t normal. Today he wasn’t likely to get the perk of winning a case. Up to now he would’ve been thrilled to have one less hour to wait before kissing Brooke again. Except now it fell thirty minutes earlier than Brooke’s hearing, which meant Dane could potentially get disbarred before he had the time to serve as her counsel.

  Ha. His laugh came dry and hard. And here he’d thought his news about having to skip out early to go to his hearing was too tough to deliver. Now she really couldn’t count on him.

  How could he ever dream of telling her this?

  Then again, did it even matter? She had just walked out of his life and back into Ames’s, as far as Dane could tell. After all, she’d gone to the guy’s house the second she found out he was in town. Just then she’d walked into church beside him, her hips swaying, with only the briefest backward glance at Dane.

  The glance had held longing. He’d seen it. But still—

  Why would Brooke Chadwick want a disbarred, disgraced Rockwell when she could have a doctor with a toothpaste commercial smile and probably a fat alimony check from his ex-wife? She’d be set for life. The museum wouldn’t need to even happen. Ames’s salary would cover Aunt Ruth’s financial needs in her old age. Brooke could quit working as a nurse, or help her former baseball star husband in his clinic, saving the community one case of strep throat at a time.

  Good for them.

  Sour grapes tasted good once in a while.

  The ring he’d bought in hope months ago hung heavy in his sport coat pocket again. Dead weight. Dead hope.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Unconditional Discharge

  Brooke sat down in the chapel, her heart emptying. What was Dane’s problem? It was like he didn’t want to win the hearing anymore, like he figured it was impossible now that they knew what a tornado Sarge LaBarge could be.

  Like Dane didn’t care one way or another. The hurt and anger in his face burned in her, blurring out all the music and singing people around her. She felt her eyes well up and couldn’t contain a sniffle.

  Dane had given up on her. The tone of his voice when he’d said Tuesday sounded to her as though he never wanted to see her again, before or after their court date.

  The song went into a third verse. Brooke looked in her purse for a Kleenex.

  Ames came and sat beside her. Close. Too close. She’d taken a detour through the ladies’ room and waited until the music started to sit alone and away from him, hoping to avoid this.

  Pastor Walden got up to speak, but to Brooke everything was muffled except one word from a scripture he quoted: “Forgiveness.”

  Forgiveness. The word buzzed around in the air above Brooke’s head, humming and darting until it floated in through her ear canal and lodged in her brain.

  Ames put an arm around her. It felt cold, even on this too-warm day. She leaned a few inches away, but he didn’t take the hint, so she got up and moved to a new seat. Olivia and Quirt made room for her on their row.

  The last thing she needed was this complication of Ames claiming territory he no longer had a right to.

  Pastor Walden finished up his recitation of the parable of the Prodigal Son, and then said, “The father loved both his boys. He forgave them both. But they both had weakness— the one who stayed and the one who left and returned.”

  It was too much. She saw too many parallels to this moment. Dane, Ames, staying, leaving and returning. It slapped her from every direction. Scriptural application to one’s own life could be crushing.

  She opened her Bible and thumbed to the Gospel According to Matthew. Her father’s teachings had included forgiveness, too. Always.

  Her eyes flicked to Ames, who was sitting a few pews ahead— and who had turned around to look at her. He stood up and approached her pew, moving to sit by her again. She refused to scoot over, so he stepped past her and sat down.

  By now, the whole congregation was watching this buffoonery.

  “I’m here for church, Ames,” she said.

  “Me, too.”

  She rolled her eyes and tried to listen to Pastor Walden, but her thoughts kept intruding.

  Dane needed to forgive, too. Couldn’t he see that she was only doing what she needed to do in order to defend herself on Tuesday? The best defense is a strong offense. Amesfor now was their only potential weapon. Surely he had to see that.

  But can’t you see? A little voice invaded her thoughts. What Dane sees is you, choosing Ames over him.

  No. It couldn’t be. Dane was way too confident, way too cocky. He assumed every would woman chose him. He was Dane Rockwell. Women threw themselves at him, like that time in the park way back when she played catch with him, like that cougar who got him in trouble at work. Probably lots of others.

  “The son who stayed home was given all his father had,” Pastor Walden continued.

  Minus the fatted calf. Couldn’t Dane see? All Brooke was giving Ames was a fatted calf— a chance to speak on her behalf in court, to make up for past transgressions. At its heart, that was what she was giving him. And that was all, despite whatever else Ames might think her deal entailed— as he put his unwelcome arm around her. Again.

  He could forget about rekindling old feelings.

  No, thanks.

&n
bsp; Brooke wrested herself out of Ames’s embrace and surged to her feet. “Just getting some air,” she murmured as she slid past Quirt and Olivia, weaving past their knees and out of the pew. “It’s roasting in here.” Her brother and sister-in-law shot each other knowing looks. How annoying. Brooke would have told them to shut up if Mrs. Proust hadn’t been the next person blocking her exit from this too tight space.

  She exited the chapel, but Pastor Walden’s voice carried over the intercom into the foyer. Before she could escape, Brooke heard him say, “The Lord has said, ‘I the Lord will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men.’”

  That was it. Her limit, and way past it. Brooke pushed her way toward the exit. The fickle spring air outside was eighty-five degrees with eighty-five percent humidity, but much less stifling than in the chapel.

  The buckle on her sandal came undone, and she bent down to fix it or she’d have been flat on her face in a second. She had to stumble out the door to avoid hearing any more of the pastor’s lecture— “Often we see the faults in others most clearly treat them harshly when we secretly harbor the same faults in ourselves …”

  Slam. The door swung shut, blessedly cutting off any further accusations.

  Dane’s truck was gone. The way they’d parted left her stinging. She pulled out her phone to call him, unsure whether he’d want to hear from her right now. See you Tuesday, he’d said with finality. Hopeful to the bitter end, Brooke dialed his number and waited.

  Days and days had passed since he’d kissed her. Too many days.

  He seemed mad enough today— it was possible he didn’t even want her anymore. That she’d squandered her chance with him.

  That dull knife of a thought ripped a ragged gash through her. If being away from Dane for a single day felt like being surgically separated from him, how would parting from him forever feel?