Staking His Claim

by Karen Templeton

  "Not if I can help it."

  The young woman laughed, then said, "There's a lot of folks gonna be real sorry to see you go."

  "Go? I'm not going anywhere."

  "Oh, I don't mean right this minute, but none of you stick around forever, you hear what I'm saying? Well, except Miss Menendez, but she's different. The others, though, they all leave sooner or later. But that's okay. That's just the way life is. Anyway, you have a good night, and I'll be sure and let you know how everything turns out."

  The minute the woman and her chicks left, every last ounce of energy drained from Dawn's body. It was past eight—theoretically, and according to the people who paid her salary and whose names she hoped would soon be joined by hers, she wasn't supposed to spend more than ten percent of her time working pro bono cases, which meant sneaking in what she thought of as her "real" work after regular hours—and she knew she needed food. But right now she was too damned tired to do anything about it.

  She let her head fall forward onto her folded arms, feeling a hairpin slither out of the Gibson girl hairdo she wore for work. Brother—if she felt like this now, what on earth was she going to feel like at eight months?

  "Should I just throw a blanket over you and turn out the lights?"

  Dawn smiled at the sound of Gloria Menendez's voice, forcing herself to look up at the still-beautiful fifty-something face surrounded by a mane of thick brown curls. "You have no idea how tempting that is."

  "I got something better to tempt you with," her boss said.

  "Chinese food."

  "You're on." Dawn unlocked the bottom drawer to her desk and dragged out her purse. "Except I gotta pee first."

  "Didn't you just go a half hour ago?"

  "Too much tea," Dawn lobbed back as, suddenly energized by her full bladder, she scurried across the floor.

  A few minutes later, shivering in the damp October breeze, the two women walked up Lexington Avenue toward the cheapo Chinese restaurant Dawn saw more than she saw her own apartment. Gloria tucked her hand into the crook of Dawn's jacketed arm. "So," she said, swiping a curl off her forehead. "When were you planning on telling me?"

  "Telling you what?" As they neared the restaurant, the scent of egg rolls and fried rice revived Dawn enough to pick up her pace.

  "Baby, you're starting to show."

  Eggs rolls forgotten—for the moment—Dawn froze, then shifted her gaze to Gloria's. "Busted?"

  "Uh-huh. You might still be wearing your regular clothes, but your face is fuller, your boobs are bigger, and you're in the bathroom every five minutes. So when are you due?"

  Dawn pressed her lips together for a second, then said, "First week of April."

  "And the father is…?"

  "Nobody you'd know. And if I don't get an egg roll in this stomach within the next five minutes I refuse to be held accountable for my actions."

  "Fine. But don't even think that's a ploy to make me drop the subject."

  And, since Gloria was nothing if not true to her word, they'd no sooner been seated at their regular booth when she said, "So talk."

  So Dawn talked. About everything except Cal's calling almost every night because…well, because no matter how she worded it, someone—in this case, old eagle ears on the other side of the booth—might get the wrong impression. About their relationship. Or something.

  "And you honestly believe this is gonna work?" Gloria said. Salivating in anticipation of that first, soy-sauce-laden bite, Dawn watched in reverential silence as several silver-lidded dishes clunked on the Formica table in front of them. The instant their server left, both women attacked their meals with the zeal of a horny teenage couple finding themselves alone for the first time. Gesturing with a half-eaten eggroll, Gloria said, "How on earth do you think the two of you are gonna raise this kid with roughly a hundred states between you?"

  "People do it all the time," Dawn muttered around a mouthful of pork fried rice.

  "Not well, they don't. And would you listen to yourself? All the time you spend trying to get fathers to do right by their kids, and here you'd keep your own from his or her father."

  "But I'm not," she said, chewing. "Not forever, anyway." At Gloria's snort, she added, "I never said it was ideal. And at least I told him."

  "You want a medal for that?"

  "No. But a little support wouldn't hurt. That's not my home anymore. This is. Even Cal understands that."

  "Home's not a place, honey. It's where family is."

  "And which Chicken Soup book did you get that out of?"

  Gloria jabbed her chopsticks in Dawn's direction. "Watch it. Cynicism gives you gas. Besides, just because something's corny doesn't mean it's not true." She narrowed her eyes. "This…Cal. You say he's an old friend?"

  "When we were kids, yeah."

  "But not later?"

  "Not the same way, no."

  "Yet you slept with him."

  "What's your point, Glory?"

  "I'm not sure. But then, I don't think you are, either."

  "It was a fling, okay? A crazy, dumb, impulsive one-time thing. Combined with a friendship that more or less fell apart once we hit puberty, I'm not exactly seeing a terrific foundation for marriage, are you?"

  Gloria's eyebrows lifted. "Who said anything about marriage?"

  "Well…you did. Didn't you?"

  "Not me, honey. First time I heard that word was when it came out of your mouth two seconds ago."

  Dawn shoveled in a piece of steamed broccoli. "Well, pretend you didn't hear it, because it's not an option."

  They ate in silence for a good minute or two. Then: "What's he like?"

  "Glory, I really don't want—"

  "I'm only gonna keep bugging you until you tell me, so you might as well give in now."

  "Okay, fine. He's…I don't know. Your typical guy. Six-something, light-brown hair, green eyes, great smile, dimples—"

  "Dimples?"

  "Yeah, you know, those creasy things some men get in their cheeks when they smile—"

  "You want this egg roll in your lap, smartass? I mean, what's he like? As a person?"

  Dawn decided the only way to get through this was to pretend this was somebody else talking. As if she were an actress playing the role of a pregnant woman sitting in a Chinese restaurant, describing the guy who'd knocked her up. "Calm. Dependable. Honest. Good with kids. No—great with kids. And animals. He raises horses, did I mention that?"

  "As in, faded jeans? Cowboy boots? Bob Redford in The Horse Whisperer?"

  "Well, kinda. But without the soft focusing."

  Gloria blinked. "And…he's not right for you why?"

  "Oh, oh!" Dawn's hand shot up over her head. "I know this one! Because, if you saw the girls he dated in high school—and there were many of them—"

  "Thought you said you lived in some tiny town?"

  "Oh, trust me, they sniffed him out from all over northeast Oklahoma. Anyway, if you saw these girls, and then compared them with what you see here—" she pointed to herself "—you would understand. In no way, shape, form or fashion am I what Cal Logan wants in a mate."

  "He tell you that?"

  "He doesn't have to. That's just been a given from the time we were twelve. Now can we please drop the subject?"

  "Suit yourself." More face stuffing, more chewing, then:

  "So. When do you think you'll hear whether or not you make partner?"

  Dawn sucked in a breath and nearly choked on a piece of pork. "Friday," she got out around her coughing.

  "You think you've got a good shot?"

  "Considering the amount of blood they've gotten from me over the past several years, I should hope so. My billable hours were down a bit last year, but so were everybody's." She leaned forward. "I overheard two of the divorce attorneys talking about how their workload's slacked off because nobody can afford to get divorced anymore."

  Gloria chuckled, then frowned. "You've been spending a lot of time up here, though. Bet that doesn't sit well."
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  Dawn waved away her friend's concern. "It's never interfered with my work for the firm. Besides, if I make partner, I'll have more clout with some of these class-action cases we've got coming up." Grinning, she doused her next helping of fried rice with soy sauce. "I feel really good about this, Glory. Like I'm right on the cusp of a major turning point in my life."

  Dark eyebrows lifted. "And if that turning point doesn't take you in the direction you'd planned on?"

  "It has to, Glory," she said over the chill zipping up her spine. "I've worked too damn hard…" With a shrug, she popped a shrimp into her mouth. "It just has to."

  * * *

  What Crawford Reynolds, the firm's senior partner, lacked in stature he more than made up for in an intimidating preciseness, from the cut of his megabucks charcoal-gray suit to the styling of his megabucks haircut to the tasteful gold signet ring on his megabucks manicured pinkie.

  That is, until he opened his mouth and channeled Robert De Niro.

  "So…" He tented his fingers in front of a barely smiling mouth. Behind his black leather chair, a massive, Technicolor Southwest landscape vibrated against a charcoal-gray wall.

  "Dawn—" Dooawn. "—I suppose you know why I've called you in."

  Seated on a charcoal-gray upholstered chair across from Crawford's über-contemporary teak desk, her taupe Naturalizers firmly planted in the plush, charcoal-gray carpeting, Dawn willed her stomach still and her accent to die.

  "You've made your decision, then?"

  Dark-brown eyes bored into hers for three or four seconds longer than necessary before the man got up and walked around to lean one hip onto the edge of his desk in front of her.

  "You're a hard worker, no doubt about it. And I've noticed you don't get all caught up in office shenanigans." He pointed one finger at her. "I like that. Shows you put your work ahead of personality."

  His hand dropped to his lap to link with the other one, which was when she knew, with a sickening thud, where the conversation was going. "Unfortunately," the senior continued, "some of the other partners questioned whether you were as dedicated to what we do here as you are to your pro-bono clients. Don't get me wrong, we all commend your selflessness, but we're still running a business here. And we can't help but feel, well, that perhaps your focus is more divided than it should be."

  "I see." Despite the blood rushing in her ears, not to mention the futility of her argument, she felt compelled to say, "The vast majority of what I do for the clinic is on my own time. I've never let it interfere with my work for the firm, or been late on any project—"

  "Which is exactly what I told the others. But I think some of my colleagues detect a certain…lack of enthusiasm on your part, as evidenced by your billable hours, which unfortunately fall somewhat short of the mark."

  "But everyone's hours are down!"

  "True. Then again, I think it's safe to say that some people are just more naturally suited to rainmaking than others? And, I hate to say this, because I'm sure you never did this intentionally, we've had a…complaint here and there from a client, that perhaps you weren't giving them quite as much attention as they thought our hourly fees entitled them to."

  To her horror, Dawn felt her cheeks get hot. But damned if she was going to let her voice waver. "I've never neglected a client. I swear."

  "I'm sure you didn't think you did. But part of being successful in a firm like ours is being able to know which clients need a little more hand holding, if you know what I mean. And the consensus seems to be that maybe your other duties…distract you from being able to give a hundred percent here."

  She swallowed down the hot, hard lump at the back of her throat before saying, "I honestly wasn't aware…I mean, these are areas I could certainly work on improving…"

  "I'm sorry, Dawn," Crawford said gently. "The other partners simply don't feel you're a team player." He glanced at his hands, then back at her. "We really think you'd be happier working in another environment."

  "You're…firing me?"

  "Things are tough all over, Dawn. You know that. You're smart as a whip, and conscientious, but your qualities aren't commensurate with what we need at the moment." He got up and held out his hand, her signal to stand. Even in the low-heeled shoes she'd thought a more prudent choice today, she still stood eye-to-eye with him. "Is three weeks enough time for you to tie up any loose ends?"

  "I'll be out of here in two," she said, wishing like hell she'd worn the four-inch Manolos anyway.

  * * *

  In her sweats, sitting cross-legged on her sofa, Dawn hugged a pillow to her middle, tuning out her neighbors' muffled laughter filtering through the living room wall. Since moving to the city, she'd come to define quiet as any noise that had nothing to do with her. Usually she savored the aloneness, letting it cocoon her from the demands and pressures of her day, her life. The life she'd chosen. Tonight, though, it seemed to slap her upside the head, taunting her about the one thing she'd sworn she would never do:

  Fail.

  She felt hollowed out. Numb. Swallowing back tears, she glanced around the apartment she loved so much, even if she could only fit her double bed into the tiny bedroom by pushing it up against one wall. But the place was a bargain, by Manhattan standards, and even after three years she still felt a tingle of victory every time she opened the door and knew there were no roommates lurking on the other side of it. Tonight, however, the events of the day had barged through the door with her, fighting for space in what was supposed to be her sanctuary, like passengers scrambling for seats on a crowded subway train.

  For nearly a month she'd used work as a barrier against reality. But tonight, faced with this new reality, she realized she'd been so busy helping others piece together the shards of their shattered lives she hadn't even noticed the bleeding wounds from stumbling around in her own.

  Twelve years she'd spent studying and working and toadying, mindlessly pursuing a goal she couldn't even define anymore. Twelve years spent driving herself to that next level, never stopping, never breathing, never giving whoever might be on her tail a chance to plow her down and get "there" before her.

  But…what was "there"? And who, exactly, were these phantoms she'd been so determined to keep one step—if not two or three—in front of?

  Dawn keeled over onto her side, more weary and confused than she could ever remember being, just as her portable phone chirped. She fumbled for it, even though she knew it was Cal. Or maybe because it was Cal. She no longer knew. Or cared.

  "'Lo?"

  "Dawn? What is it?" She could hear the apprehension in his voice, thought it was sweet in a distant, fuzzy kind of way. "Is something wrong with the baby?"

  She shook her head, then remembered he couldn't see her. "No, no…the baby's fine. But…" She hauled in a breath, hugging the pillow more tightly. "But I didn't make partner," she said in a tiny voice. "In fact, I was canned."

  "Are those people idiots or what?" blasted through the line.

  "You worked your tail off for them. And I thought you said you thought your chances were better than good?"

  "They were. Just…not good enough, I guess." She filled him in, her recitation frequently interrupted by Cal's repeated "That's B.S. and you know it!" When she'd finished, though, he said, "You know what? He's right about one thing, honey—you don't belong there. If they can't appreciate you, they don't deserve you! You'll find another job, Dawn. A better one. You hear?"

  Despite the heaviness inside her, she had to smile. "You're remarkably confident for someone who basically knows nothing about what I do."

  "Yeah, well, I've known you since you were a snotty little know-it-all—"

  "Hey!"

  "—and now you're a less snotty, though equally aggravating, big know-it-all. You have always known what you wanted, and for the most part, you've gotten it. So you're not real used to setbacks. Which is all this is, honey. A setback."

  She blinked, then said, "You're not going to tell me this is a sign I'm supposed
to move back to Haven?"

  Silence. Then, in a genuinely surprised tone, "Why would I do that? I mean, is your work there finished?"

  "Well, no. But—"

  "Then why the hell would you come back here?" Before she could wrap her head around this about-face, he added, "What about that free clinic?"

  "What about it?"

  "If you don't find another job with a bigger firm, maybe they could hire you full-time."

  Her heart pounding, she pushed herself back upright. "Oh my God, Cal—you're brilliant! I mean, it would mean a huge cut in pay, but I've been very careful with my money, I've got enough put away to get me through if I can't find something right away, which is very likely with the way things have been—"

  "And that's the kind of work you really want to be doing, anyway, right?"

  She felt as though a dark, ugly cloud had been lifted from her brain. "Yes. Yes, it is. Oh, Cal…thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you…for calling right now, for being a pain in the butt, for—" she clutched the phone "—being there."

  After a long moment he said, "You're welcome, honey."

  Then he hung up before things got any sappier than they already were.

  * * *

  Cal stared at the phone on his desk for probably a full minute before dragging his carcass outside. It was getting on time to bring in the herd for the night, and he still had a couple of stalls to muck out, what with having to mend that fence on the north side of the pasture today, since Frank, his only hand at the moment, couldn't do it. The older man had never missed a day's work, going back as far as Cal could remember, but his arthritis was beginning to slow him down more that he wanted to admit. Meaning Cal could really use another pair of hands to at least help out with the routine stuff. However, not only did unsold horses mean more work, they also meant smaller profits. Cal couldn't afford to hire somebody else as well as keep Frank on. And there was no way he'd ever let him go.

  Just as there'd been no way he wouldn't've given Dawn that pep talk. Hell, the devastation in her voice had nearly done him in. The kicker, though, was that he'd meant every word of it. Of course, that made the loss of his sanity official, but that had been all over but the shouting for some time, anyway. Thing was, though, nobody believed hard work deserved a payoff more than Cal did. And nobody'd worked harder toward something than Dawn. In fact, if it hadn't been for the baby, he probably wouldn't even be all twisted up inside like he was now.