He rested his palm on her desk and leaned forward. He had a big hand, with pads of thick muscle in the heel and prominent veins. Hazel sensed strength there, but little gentleness.
"I'd have to meet her first. Talk with her, get to know her, before I could even make a decision on whether or not I would feel comfortable as her advocate."
Jess nodded as though he'd foreseen that objection and was prepared to counter it. "Fourth of July holiday starts tomorrow, and court's recessed until Tuesday. I'm driving down to Pleasanton first thing in the morning to talk to Silvia. The best thing would be for you to come with me. I'll even spring for lunch. You choose the place."
"How long until her parole hearing?"
"Four months."
Hazel took a moment to consider. "In that case a postponement shouldn't hurt the baby too much," she said slowly, "although foster care is never the best choice for a newborn. The need to bond with the mother or mother figure is most critical in those first few months."
"So, how about it? Naturally I'll pay for the consultation, whatever you—"
"Lunch will be fine," she interrupted, glancing at the clock. Any minute now her next patient would be arriving. "If my schedule permits, that is."
She took her appointment book from the drawer and turned to the next day, Friday the first. "I'm sorry, Jess, but I have three appointments tomorrow," she murmured sucking absentmindedly on her pen. "Saturday, Sunday and Monday are free, however."
When she looked up again, Jess discovered there was a smudge of blue ink on her lower lip and found himself wondering if he would taste ink as well as woman if he kissed her.
"What time's your last appointment tomorrow?"
"Eleven, but—"
"I'll pick you up at noon sharp." He got to his feet, thought about kissing her again and decided against it, mostly because she looked far too adorable this afternoon. It was the tumbled hair, maybe, making her look as if she'd just left a man's bed. Or maybe it was the off-white dress he figured had to be silk, because it seemed to flow over her like colored water when she moved. Reminding himself that he'd made her off-limits a long time ago, he gave her a quick grin and turned to leave.
"Now wait a minute. I didn't say I'd go—" But Jess was already halfway to the waiting room.
"Jess, wait—"
The outer door opened, and Rhea Angelou and her mother walked in.
"Noon sharp," Jess repeated as he caught the door before it swung completely shut. He was gone by the time Hazel stopped sputtering.
* * *
Time to make his move.
Jess hugged the saddle tight and hard, urging the big gelding to the limit of his power. Beneath the leather of his chaps, he felt Stinger surge.
High desert brush whipped past in a blur, reminding him of the gauntlet of frenzied spectators who'd once cheered him on.
His fingers handled the reins with the sensitive touch of a lover, guiding the horse the way he'd once guided the sleekest of racing cars.
Iron-protected hooves pounded the hard earth in a throb of pure animal power, adding to the rush of adrenaline that flooded Jess's body.
Fifty yards ahead was the old stone post that served as the finish line. Next to him, Ty McClane shouted encouragement to his young Appaloosa stallion, his words whipped aside by the wind.
Jess noted the jut of Ty's chin and grinned. Ty was going to win this time or bust a gut trying.
Screw that! he thought, stretching lower over the bay's flying mane. Jess Dante never lost a race without a fight.
Ten yards from the finish the bay edged ahead, his powerful legs stretching for each inch. Jess sensed the animal's final spurt and felt a visceral surge inside himself like the rush a man got an instant before climax. Unable to stop himself, he let out a rebel yell loud enough to bounce off the Sierra foothills.
"Hot damn, Sting!" he shouted close to the horse's ear. "We did it!"
There was nothing like winning, he thought, patting the bay's lathered neck. It made a man feel strong again. Invincible.
Still high, Jess reined his horse to a walk, savoring the victory. Hat in hand, Tyler swerved the Appaloosa closer.
Jess grinned, enjoying the look of pure disgust on his old buddy's face. He'd seen that look before on other men he'd edged out in the stretch. Twice at Indy, once at LeMans.
But that had been a long time ago, when he still had both arms and a hunger for life in the fastest lane. Now the only races he won meant nothing to anyone but him. And even the thrill he got from that was beginning to wear thin.
"Thought I had you that time for sure," Tyler declared when the dust settled.
"Almost did. Would have, too, if Sting didn't hate the thought of losing to a kid half his age."
"Happens to us all, sooner or later."
"Like hell it does!"
Jess rode Stinger into the corral. The gelding strained at the reins in an effort to angle right toward the stone stable and dinner.
Some said Jess's maternal great-grandfather, an unreconstructed Rebel, had built the old barn shortly after the War Between the States. Others, Jess's father included, claimed that Spanish soldiers during the time of Father Serra were responsible.
No one knew for sure, and Jess didn't much care. He'd grown up loving every inch of that old barn and the land that held it.
As soon as he'd been old enough to sit in the saddle without sliding sideways, his daddy had taught him to ride in this same corral.
He'd learned to rope there, too, while his old man and the hands shouted advice. Every time he missed, the wrangler would be on his butt, egging him on.
Throw that loop, boy. Now! Before that little bitty bull has you singin' soprano the rest of your life.
Use your wrist, son, like I showed you.
Put your shoulders into it. Nothing better'n ropin' to make a man of you.
Jess smiled to himself. The first time he'd held a lariat, he'd been so scared his teeth had chattered and his knees had knocked together, but his pride hadn't let him quit until he'd made himself into the best roper in the county.
Jess reined Stinger toward the center of the corral, away from the old building. Tyler followed. Both horses would need a good cooling out before they were unsaddled and groomed.
Tyler waited until both men had dismounted before reaching into his shirt pocket for the twenty he'd put there earlier.
"Cait's gonna kill me when she finds out I lost again," he muttered as he stuffed the twenty into Jess's breast pocket.
"So don't tell her."
"You know Caitie. She has a way of finding out all my secrets sooner or later." Tyler shook his head. "I tell you, Jess. It's hell being married to a shrink."
"Yeah, I can see how miserable you are every time I stop by the house."
Thinking that Tyler was one lucky man, Jess rubbed Stinger's nose with the hand that still held the reins. On solid ground again, he was just a guy with a handicap he couldn't hide and a bunch of bittersweet memories.
* * *
Red's Place was little more than a dive, a patched-together shack where tired, thirsty ranch hands could wash down the dust with cheap beer and trade lies for hours at a time.
Jess bought. The remainder of Tyler's twenty was still on the bar. Both men had a boot firmly planted on the bar rail and a hand wrapped around a cold frosted schooner of Red's best – and only – lager.
"So how's Cait feeling these days?" Jess asked when he'd taken the edge off his thirst.
Ty's face softened the way it always did when he talked about his wife. "Great, now that the morning sickness has passed."
"How do you feel about having another kid?"
"Probably the same way you felt when you won at Indy the first time."
Returning Tyler's grin, Jess felt a familiar tightening in his gut. "That good, huh?" He kept his tone light, the way he always did when someone mentioned the past.
Tyler took a handful of peanuts from the old wooden bowl and tossed them down. "B
y the way, in case you haven't figured it out already, Cait and I would like you to act as godfather for the new baby. Okay with you?"
Jess ignored the sudden rasp in his throat. "Hell, yes, it's okay. As long as I get to spoil him like I spoiled Jesse."
Tyler laughed. "Sorry, old son. He's a she."
"No lie!"
"Not unless that sonogram operator turns out to be totally incompetent."
"Heck's fire, Ty. You'll be an old man before Jesse and this new kid are out of high school."
"Naw, Cait won't let me get old. Says we have too much time to make up."
Jess had met Cait when Ty had been on trial the first time. Cait had been his sister-in-law then, instead of his wife, and instrumental in urging her sister to take her daughter's statement to the police. At the time no one had believed that a mother would coerce her own daughter into lying, but that was exactly what Crystal McClane had done. It was only after Crystal's death, when Kelsey had gone to live with Cait, that the truth had come out.
Jess had been hard-pressed to like the woman who'd helped send his best friend to prison. He'd changed his mind when she and Hazel had helped Jess win Tyler another trial.
After his acquittal, Ty had convinced Cait to take him on permanently, and a year later Jesse Fielding McClane had arrived with an enraged bellow and his father's stubborn disposition.
"Hazel's already agreed to act as godmother again," Ty added, as though it were an important afterthought.
Jess nodded before returning his attention to his beer.
He and Hazel had been in the waiting room when Jesse had been born. And at the christening, and at every one of Jesse's birthday parties. And every time he'd been with her, he'd wanted her.
That part had been easy to understand. O'Connor was what he and his adolescent buddies had called stacked. All her curves were generous and in just the right places to spike a man's blood with a restless, urgent heat.
But it was her smile that he liked best, that and the way she had of looking up at a guy with those golden eyes of hers, as though she considered him the most fascinating man she'd ever met.
His ex had had eyes like that, too. And she'd been just as sexy and intelligent and exciting. What she hadn't been was faithful or even particularly kind.
"Hey, is that clock right?" Ty asked the bartender just as Jess was about to suggest another round.
"Dead on," Red Arnold shouted back. A hair shy of seventy and still tough as a redwood burl, he'd lost most of his hearing working in the lumber mills and consequently never spoke in a normal tone.
"Then it's time for me to call it a day." Ty downed the last of his beer and got to his feet. "Hey, why don't you come along?" he said. "Kels and Jesse would love to see you."
Jess was tempted to pretend that he really was part of a normal, happy family for a few hours. Because he knew he wasn't and never could be, he forced himself to decline.
"Naw, I'll take a rain check, okay? I'm not like you world-famous surgeons who only work when you feel like it. I've got some work to catch up on tonight."
Ty grinned. "Same time next week? Same distance?"
"Why not? I need the money."
After Tyler left, Jess ordered another draft. Maybe he would stop for a pizza on the way home, he thought, watching Red draw off the beer. Or maybe he'd watch the guys in the back room shoot a few games of pool before he tackled the long drive down the hill.
Anything to keep from going home before he was tired enough to fall into a dead sleep the minute his head hit the pillow.
He rarely dreamed then, but when he did, he was never maimed in those dreams, never awkward or helpless or ugly. And when he smiled at a woman in his dreams, she smiled back. And when he opened his arms, she melted into them.
Jess lifted the mug to his mouth and drank deeply. The cheap beer had a kick like a mule and a bitter aftertaste. But, like his law practice, his restored 1959 Mercedes, and a lot of memories he sometimes wished he could forget, it was better than nothing.
* * *
Chapter 2
«^»
Hazel closed her eyes and imagined herself on a beach on Maui, soaking up the radiant healing sunshine and sipping an icy Mai Tai.
Mentally, emotionally, she blocked out the clang of barred doors slamming shut deep within the prison's bowels and instead summoned the soothing swish of waves flowing across sand.
In her mind she changed the air from dank and sour to warm and benign, then perfumed it with plumeria and ginger instead of strong disinfectant.
Unlike the tepid coffee from the machine near the guard's station, the rum in her drink would be potent and laced with heat, like a man's eyes right before he makes love.
"O'Connor?"
"Hmm?"
Hazel allowed a lazy smile to curl the corners of her mouth. That same man would have a distinctive voice, deeper than most, with a gritty timbre and a hint of a western twang. She could grow to love a voice like that, she decided.
"Hey, wake up, O'Connor. No sleeping on the job."
A very large, very masculine hand hovered over her right shoulder, then gripped lightly, returning her instantly to the small bare room with dingy walls and a cold cement floor.
"Welcome back." Jess reclaimed the chair next to hers, abandoned earlier when he'd gone seeking information.
Hazel sat up straighter and rotated her neck, working out the kinks. "What time is it?"
Jess consulted his watch. "Just past five."
Santa Rita Women's Facility reminded Hazel of the Veteran's Hospital in San Diego, where she'd done her internship. Gray walls, dirty windows, even the clothing worn by the few inmates they'd passed in the halls was drab. It was enough to make even the most insensitive person hurt inside.
She and Jess had arrived at a few minutes past three, only to discover that the woman they'd come to see had gone into labor hours earlier. Since then, they'd been caged in the small anteroom off the infirmary wing.
His restlessness had been palpable from the moment they'd walked through the gates, his frustration at their inability to do more than wait even more evident.
While Jess had paced, she'd tried to meditate. After the first sixty minutes she had begun to feel the walls closing in. After the second she'd had to resort to mind games to keep from feeling smothered. Putting herself somewhere else was one of those.
"Looks like I dozed off for an instant," she murmured with a self-conscious shake of her head. "Sorry about that."
His smile came and went, no more than a brief lessening of tension in his dark, enigmatic face. "No problem. Happens that way sometimes after a long day."
"Any word on Silvia?"
"The infirmary clerk I collared said any minute now." His mouth flattened, and Hazel sensed the hard edge of the emotion he was holding inside.
"How's she doing?"
"Not well, from the look on the clerk's face."
"Too bad they couldn't lock up the guard who did this and throw away the key instead of slapping his wrist with a punitive transfer."
Upon arrival Jess had discovered that the man had been identified through an anonymous tip. He'd been demoted and sent to another prison, nothing more. Jess's fury had been carefully controlled, but Hazel sensed it nonetheless.
"Silvia refused to admit that it was rape."
"I take it you tried to change her mind."
"Yeah, I tried." He gave a snort of derision.
Hazel let her gaze linger on his face. He looked exhausted, like a man who'd pushed himself to the limit too often and wouldn't admit it.
Someone ought to convince him to ease up on himself now and then, she thought. Someone who saw him as a flesh-and-blood human being instead of a courtroom machine. Someone who cared about him, perhaps a bit more than he knew.
"Were you this tough on yourself when you were racing cars?" she asked very casually.
"Racing was my job. Tough had nothing to do with it."
"But you expected to be the best."
He shifted his gaze to a spot on the far wall, and his eyes narrowed until the blunt black lashes were nearly touching. Hazel wondered if he were looking back to a time before one decision had altered his life irreversibly, a time when his body was strong and whole and his spirit was intact.
"If you mean, did I expect to win every time I climbed into the car, the answer is no. Losing is part of learning how to win, and I could always tell myself that there was another race next week, and another after that. People like Silvia only get one shot at winning."
"But you can't possibly expect to win every case, either," she exclaimed softly. "Not even Clarence Darrow did that."
He turned slowly until his gaze was on hers. In the harsh light, his eyes seemed to splinter into shards of black ice.
"Are you telling me you don't expect to help every kid who comes through your office door?"
Hazel saw the cynical curve of his mouth and decided that Jess would be a devastatingly handsome man if those hard lips ever really relaxed into a genuine smile.
"I learned years ago not to demand the impossible of myself. But I'll admit I do believe in miracles, even with the toughest cases."
"No offense, O'Connor, but I learned a long time ago that relying on a miracle instead of yourself is a fool's game." His voice had turned flat. Like a smooth hard slab of granite. Like the wall he kept between himself and his emotions.
"Just like a lawyer," she countered, shooting him a teasing smile. "Already he's twisting my words."
"Who, me?" He didn't smile, but he looked as though he might – with the right encouragement.
"Yes, you, Clarence. Here I'm talking about believing in miracles, and you're telling me I'm really talking about relying on them." She shook her head and clucked her tongue. "Not the same thing at all."
"Does it matter?"
"Of course it does!"
He raised his eyebrows and contemplated her quizzically. "Why?"
"Well for one thing—"
ONCE UPON A WEDDING Page 2