Rodeo Daughter (Harlequin American Romance)

by Leigh Duncan

  They spent hours reminiscing before she asked, “What do you do in your free time?” She kept her voice light enough to disguise a deepening interest, adding, “Besides attending charity events.”

  “Between chauffeuring my daughter around and my work schedule, my spare time is at a premium… Why waste it?”

  She couldn’t agree more. As his arm slipped around her waist, Amanda stepped forward. Ever so softly, Mitch brushed his lips across hers. She sighed into his kiss, letting her eyes drift closed. The gentle pressure of his mouth stirred her hunger for more, and when his tongue swept against her lips, she opened to him.

  Tasting the sweet punch they’d sipped, Amanda smiled without breaking contact. She rose on tiptoe, her hands languidly stroking Mitch’s broad chest. In response, the teasing flutter of his kisses deepened. She melted against him as music rose from the barn and floated in the air around them.

  Amanda breathed in the heady blend of Mitch’s aftershave mixed with the same indefinable something extra she’d noticed earlier. The strangest sensation of coming home filled her being. She gave herself over to the thrill of the moment, the press of Mitch’s hands against her back. She skimmed her fingers over the rough embroidery of his shirt, then buried one hand in his hair. Desire tugged at her core, turning her breath so ragged she barely heard the band leader announce the final dance of the night.

  Sounding as breathless as she felt, Mitch groaned and broke their kiss. He gazed into her upturned face.

  “We need to put in an appearance,” he murmured. The long fingers of one hand gently tucked an errant lock of her hair into her braid. “How ’bout we pick this up later?”

  “Yeah,” Amanda whispered. They weren’t kids anymore, and she placed her hand in his outstretched one, content to follow the evening wherever it led.

  By the time they stepped into the barn’s spill of light, the crowd inside had thinned to several dozen couples who swayed to the slow strains of a country ballad. Wait staff circulated among the tables, collecting dishes and utensils. Last call had long since passed. Behind the bar, the bartender loaded boxes onto a dolly.

  Eager to return to Mitch’s embrace, Amanda moved toward the dance floor. At the sound of a familiar voice, her footsteps faltered.

  “Hate to interrupt.” A decked-out cowboy stepped from the shadows near the door. “We’re pulling out at seven tomorrow. You need to be back from—” his eyebrows wiggled suggestively as he jerked a nod toward Mitch “—from wherever you’re headed, early enough to help with the horses and your gear.”

  “Uh-huh,” Amanda said with an easy grin. “The same goes for you, Royce Jackson. Or did I not see you earlier surrounded by adoring fans?” Smothering a laugh, she turned to introduce one of the rodeo circuit’s most renowned practical jokesters to Mitch.

  Only Mitch wasn’t smiling.

  Gone was the adoring expression of the man who’d been kissing her only moments earlier. A stony look had taken its place. His hand relinquished its hold on hers, and his gaze dropped to the floor.

  “Sorry. It’s later than I realized. I have to go. Thanks for the dance, Mandy, and…” Mitch had the good grace to stumble over his words. “Well, good luck.” He turned abruptly, strode across the barn and out the door without so much as a single glance over his shoulder.

  “What was that all about?” Amanda stared after the man who was fast making a habit of abandoning her in drafty old barns.

  Apparently, Mitch Goodwin hadn’t changed as much as she’d thought since she’d seen him last. Well, she had. And this time she wouldn’t shed any tears for Mr. Hot and Cold.

  Chapter Two

  Mitch’s swift, take-no-prisoners pace down the wide corridor of the Moore Justice Center slowed at the sight of the woman seated outside Family Courtroom 2. He turned away, his gaze sweeping the bare concrete walls and heavily trafficked carpet before he dared take a second look at a pair of trim calves and firm thighs. His chest tightened. There was no mistaking those legs. It didn’t matter if the last time he’d seen them they’d been encased in buckskin. He’d recognize them anywhere.

  A silent oath escaped his lips as he glanced upward. Gone were the twin braids, replaced by a businesslike bun, but less than two weeks ago those honeyed strands had rested against his shoulder. Even though she leaned over paperwork now, her face hidden, he had no doubt.

  The one woman he would’ve sworn had ridden out of his life forever was sitting on a wooden bench outside the very courtroom where he planned to argue the most important case of his life.

  What is she doing here?

  Mitch refused to believe she had just happened by. After five years with the state attorney’s office, he’d learned there was no such thing as coincidence. Something, or someone, had led her here at precisely—he checked his watch—nine forty-seven on August 13. Before the bailiff summoned him, he had to discover the reason. He settled on a line of questioning and let his feet take him where they wanted—straight to her side.

  “Mandy.”

  She looked up from the yellow legal pad in her lap, gray-green eyes widening.

  “Mitch,” she exclaimed. Her full lips curved into a surprised-to-see-you smile.

  He didn’t buy her act, not for a second. He was willing to bet good money she’d noted his arrival the instant he’d emerged from the stairwell. The same way he’d narrowed in on her presence. And in the seconds it took her to gather her paperwork and gracefully unfold a frame that barely came to his shoulder despite a pair of black stilettos, he wondered at the pretense.

  She stuck out a hand. “Good to see you again.”

  A whiff of alluring fragrance stirred through the justice center’s stale, cold air. The scent reminded him of green grass and daisies and how well she’d fitted into his arms while they’d danced. Without thinking, he rubbed the soft flesh between her thumb and forefinger. When her eyes darkened, he released her hand and gave himself a stern warning to keep his distance. No matter how much he might be attracted to her, a footloose rider on the rodeo circuit had no place in his life. Not anymore.

  Yet here she was.

  Has she been called to testify?

  Mitch brushed a speck of lint from his lapel, wishing he could just as easily knock off the devil perched on his shoulder. Because only a certifiably evil spirit would bring his single indiscretion into the courtroom where his daughter’s future was at stake. He should never have asked the rodeo performer to dance, never bent down to place his lips against hers, never tried to rekindle what they’d had as kids…but he had. He worried what that error would cost him.

  “Mandy, we need to talk.”

  One golden eyebrow arched. “Amanda,” she corrected as, across the hallway, heavy doors swung wide. “We will. But not now. I hear Judge Dobson is a stickler for starting on time. You already brushed the pole once. I’d hate to see him penalize you.”

  Mitch scoffed. “What are you talking about?” He understood her reference to the rodeo event, but he hadn’t taken a wrong turn in the law since he’d decided to put criminals in jail instead of freeing them.

  “From what I hear, Dobson is the only family court judge in the county who hasn’t had dealings with you. He wasn’t too happy about canceling his annual fly-fishing trip to the Carolinas in order to hear this case.”

  Her words thinned Mitch’s smile and straightened his spine.

  “That’s privileged information,” he said, wondering what was going on, and determined not to let his confusion show.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I suppose it is.”

  He tried not to watch as she bent to pick up a leather satchel. He lost that battle, though he won the war against letting her catch him. By the time she straightened, he was staring through a wall of plate glass overlooking acres of cattle pasture, as if he hadn’t noticed the swivel of her softly rounded hips.

  She didn’t volunteer anything more and, wanting to maintain the air of control that served him so well in criminal court, he didn’t ask.
Their silence continued when she fell in beside him. Despite their difference in height, she matched him stride for stride, cutting across the crowded corridor the same way they’d cut a swath across the dance floor.

  As they made their way down the courtroom’s rows of churchlike pews, Mitch watched for her to peel off and take a seat among the witnesses and spectators. Instead, she kept pace until they reached the tables reserved for attorneys and their clients. Out of habit, he veered right. The misstep put him face-to-face with the woman he’d turned his back on before things could go too far.

  Once more, she extended her hand. Once more, he wrapped it in his own.

  “Amanda Markette,” she said smoothly. “Attorney for the plaintiff.”

  “What is this, some kind of joke?” He stared at her, fighting a sudden urge to yank his fingers from her grip.

  “Not at all, Mitch.” Her tight smile vanished. Her eyes narrowed. “Your ex-wife hired me after her last attorney quit. I’ve been playing catch-up ever since, though I’m sure I faxed official notification to your office.”

  Mitch fought back a groan. Convinced he had right on his side, he hadn’t paid much attention to his secretary’s announcement that there’d been yet another change in his ex-wife’s revolving door of representation. But peering over Amanda’s shoulder, he spotted Karen at the plaintiff’s table. He had to admit she appeared sedate, settled. In fact, casual observers might mistake her for any one of a thousand suburban housewives…unless they caught the malice-filled glare she aimed his way.

  Summoning his best don’t-give-a-damn expression, Mitch returned the favor, marshaling his thoughts as he took his place on the hard wooden chair at the defendant’s table. He snapped open the latches on his briefcase and dug out a raft of paperwork, flipping through it until he reached the fax containing a name he’d have recognized if he’d bothered to read it. Scanning quickly, he noted credentials that exposed a glaring hole in his ability to sum up a person’s character with a single look, a single kiss. Evidently, a lot more than Mandy’s—Amanda’s, he corrected—appearance had changed since the summer they’d spent together.

  “All rise for the Honorable Jeffrey Dobson,” the bailiff announced.

  Standing, Mitch squared his shoulders.

  With a rustle of black robes, a white-haired man took his place behind the raised desk at the front of the room. He nodded briefly to those in attendance. Wood creaked and feet shuffled until everyone had settled back into their chairs. Mitch’s gut tightened as the bailiff read the petition for custody of Hailey. His mouth went cotton-dry at the thought of losing his little girl.

  “Counselors?” the judge asked.

  At the other table, Amanda stood and gave her name.

  “Ms. Markette,” Judge Dobson murmured.

  Then it was his turn. “Mitchell Goodwin for the defense, Your Honor.”

  The man seated on the dais adjusted rimless glasses and draped a hand over his microphone. Blue eyes hardening in an unsmiling face, Dobson stared down.

  “You’re familiar with the old adage that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client, aren’t you? You intend to be that fool, Mr. Goodwin?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Mitch snapped, though the only thing he was truly certain about was the need to protect his daughter.

  * * *

  AMANDA CROSSED ONE leg over the other, shifting just enough to keep Mitch in her peripheral vision. Thank goodness she’d been sitting down when he’d stepped through the stairwell door. One peek at his carefully tousled hair and sculpted features, one whiff of his woodsy cologne, and the same weak, loose-limbed feeling that had practically been her undoing at the dance had flared again. She’d nearly succumbed to it that night. Probably would have if he hadn’t suddenly abandoned her on the dance floor, leaving her with bruised lips and a crushed ego.

  She eyed the man across the aisle and assured herself it wouldn’t happen again. He might’ve broken her heart once upon a time, but she wasn’t the kind of girl to chase someone who didn’t want her. Especially when that someone was her client’s ex-husband.

  She guessed, in a way, she should thank him. That Sunday morning after she’d loaded all the gear and Brindle onto her dad’s trailer, she’d gone straight to her office to prepare for her newest case. The moment she’d seen Mitch’s name in her files, the second she’d discovered she would face him in court, her stomach had performed a set of acrobatics that had made her ride the night before look tame. If they’d actually spent the night together…

  Well, that couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it.

  Or so she’d sworn. Until just a few minutes ago, when all her nerve endings had tingled at Mitch’s touch. She’d almost reconsidered the whole idea of representing his ex-wife, only now it wasn’t just her heart at stake, but a child’s well-being, too. Her client swore that Mitch’s self-centered and career-driven attitude had destroyed their marriage and was taking its toll on their daughter.

  Amanda resisted the urge to wince. She hated to think that the boy she’d loved and lost had grown into such a hard-hearted man, but if even half her client’s claims were true… Well, a little girl was entitled to more than an absentee father, one who never had time for pillow fights or school plays.

  Determined to do her best for the child, Amanda drew in a steadying breath. Her hands stopped trembling. She folded them neatly and forced her lips into their trademark half smile, the one she’d perfected during countless rodeo performances and a short stint as the nation’s top barrel racer. As recently as ten days ago, her confident air had assured thousands that, no matter how dangerous the stunt, she had everything under control. That same expression came in handy whenever she wanted to impress a judge.

  Or get under the skin of a particularly thorny opponent, like Mitch.

  Her client stirred restlessly and tapped her long nails on the tabletop. Amanda gave the woman a warning glance while, at the front of the room, the judge sorted through paperwork associated with the case. Karen rolled a shoulder before whispering, “Do you think I’ll be able to take Hailey home with me today?”

  “I doubt if he’ll rule on custody right away,” Amanda answered. “If things go smoothly, though, we’ll get you the visitation you deserve.”

  Even in family law, possession counted for something, and for the past four years Mitch Goodwin had had sole custody of his daughter. Judge Dobson might resent having to cancel his vacation to hear this case, but he wouldn’t rip a healthy, reasonably well-adjusted child from the only home she’d ever known. Not without good reason. And the odds were against a seasoned attorney like the man at the other table committing an act so egregious it forced the judge’s hand.

  Eventually, Amanda intended to prove that Hailey was better off with the parent who could spend the most time with her. It might take months—such cases often did—but given that Mitch carried the heaviest caseload in the state attorney’s office, she’d do it. She had only to prove how far he worked into the night—every night—leaving the care of his little girl to a parade of nannies and housekeepers, and the judge would rule in favor of her client.

  Permanent custody and adequate child support was their long-term goal. Visitation, on the other hand, was practically an inalienable right. She’d lock that in today.

  “You have to be patient. We’ll start with an afternoon visit and go from there.”

  Karen sighed and flipped bottle-blond hair over one shoulder. The platinum color was popular among the nightclub set, but according to judicial insiders, Judge Dobson was quite the conservative. Amanda made a mental note to suggest a subtler shade before their next court appearance.

  At the bench, the judge swept papers into a pile. He rapped their edges against the desk, the solid thunk sounding throughout the confined space.

  “All right.” His baritone voice drew everyone’s attention.

  Amanda gave Karen’s hand an encouraging squeeze and faced forward.

  “Having read the custody
suit and the defendant’s responses, I’d like to ask the plaintiff a few questions.” He turned to Karen.

  In rapid-fire succession, Judge Dobson ran through the list Amanda had expected. Karen answered just as they’d practiced. She expressed remorse over the breakup of her marriage, insisted Mitch had denied her every attempt at being a part of their daughter’s life. Looking every inch the mother who’d been wrongfully stripped of her parental rights, she assured the court that she intended to make Brevard County her home. Bella Designs, the upscale dress shop where she worked, closed early enough that she’d be home before dinner. Her two-bedroom, furnished apartment wasn’t the Ritz, but a social worker had approved it. She was even was saving for a house, a place with a yard her daughter would enjoy.

  When she finished, the judge jotted down a few quick notes, letting everyone in the courtroom take a much-needed breath. Amanda reached beneath the table and patted her client’s hand. Karen had given no indication that she was anything more or less than what she claimed to be—a woman who deserved to see her little girl, hold her in her arms and be her mommy. As long as nothing destroyed that image, their case was solid.

  A glance at Mitch told her the man would try his best to undermine it. She didn’t envy him. From the way Dobson’s face hardened, her opposing counsel faced an uphill battle.

  “Mr. Goodwin, your ex-wife appears to be making a new start under what must be trying circumstances. I think we can agree that, for whatever reason, she abandoned your marriage and her child. But that’s in the past.” Though Dobson’s expression never changed, his voice softened. “Let’s cut to the chase here. The plaintiff has reestablished herself in our community.” Ticking off items one by one, he held up his fingers. “She has a job, an apartment and no arrest record. Although I’d like further time to monitor the situation, I see no reason to keep Ms. Goodwin from her daughter. Let’s start with a forty-eight-hour visitation every other weekend. We’ll meet back here in three months to see where things stand.”