The Bride Next Door

by Hope Ramsay

  David looked away from his laptop screen. “What? Is there a problem with Klempert vs. Klempert?”

  “No.” Matt crossed the room and sat in one of the leather-covered wing chairs. David’s office was sumptuous in comparison to Matt’s small cubbyhole. David had two gigantic windows overlooking the parkland in front of the county courthouse a block away.

  Matt swallowed hard. “I have something I’d like you to see.” He handed David a folder that contained all the relevant facts pertaining to Avery Johnson’s property, located north and west of town.

  Mr. Johnson was a hillbilly from a long line of hillbillies who had lived up on the ridge since before the Civil War. He owned a parcel of land off the unpaved section of Good Shepherd Road, where his family had been raising chickens and pigs for more than a hundred years.

  But a year ago, on a three-to-two vote, the County Council outlawed the raising of pigs in that area. Not too surprisingly, Avery Johnson refused to comply with this rule. So the county fined him, and now the fines amounted to more than Johnson’s land was worth. GB Ventures had already approached Mr. Johnson with an offer to buy his land. Mr. Johnson was holding out for more money.

  On its own, that wasn’t much of a case. But it turned out that GB Ventures had bought a huge parcel of land off the paved section of Good Shepherd Road, adjacent to Mr. Johnson’s land, six months before the County Council outlawed pig farming. For the last eighteen months, GB Ventures had been building million-dollar homes right next to Mr. Johnson’s pig farm. Clearly GB Ventures wanted Mr. Johnson and his smelly pigs out of the way, and they’d gone to the chairman of the County Council, Bill Cummins, to make it happen.

  David read these facts while the grandfather clock in the corner of his office ticked the minutes away in ominous fashion. As he read, David’s eyebrows lowered in a frown Matt found difficult to read. Was he angry or outraged? Or possibly both?

  Minutes passed with no other sound except for the ticking clock and David’s methodical turning of pages. Matt’s hands started to sweat, and he wondered if he’d done the right thing.

  Finally, his cousin looked up. “Didn’t Uncle Charles tell you not to pursue this?”

  Damn. He’d hoped David would see the injustice. Matt nodded. “And August Kopp also said there was a potential case here. I told Avery Johnson to contact the Blue Ridge Legal Aid Society, and he’s done so. So, we have a client if we want one. And for the record, I did this after hours. On my own time.”

  “How did you get the information about the penalty amounts?”

  “Arwen knows someone.”

  “So Arwen spent time on this too?”

  Matt nodded. “She’s the one who discovered this, David. You know that. But she’s only worked on it after hours.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?”

  “I want us to take Avery Johnson’s case pro bono. And I want to sue the county for abuse of power, or maybe the unconstitutional condemnation of private property.”

  David let go of a long breath and leaned back in his chair. “Matt, I understand your outrage, but you have no experience in this sort of thing. And neither do I.”

  “Mr. Kopp does.”

  David nodded. “Yeah, he does. And he only takes paying clients. You do understand that this case wouldn’t be anything like our normal pro bono work. A case like this could go to the State Supreme Court. Who’s paying for our time?”

  “No one, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take the case.” Matt said.

  “No. It doesn’t. But this is the kind of case that requires help from the American Civil Liberties Union or, better yet, the Institute for Justice. Those guys live for cases like this. And they have independent funding to pursue them. You should talk to those guys.”

  “Don’t you live for a case like this?”

  David pressed his lips together. “Look, here’s the thing. In the long run, farmers like Avery Johnson are going to get squeezed out of Jefferson County no matter what we do. And the people buying those mansions on Good Shepherd Road will be happy to see the pigs go.”

  “So you think justice is reserved for those who can pay for it?” Matt stood up, too angry to sit.

  David shook his head. “No. I’m just saying that your solution isn’t a legal one. You’re likely to win the case, at enormous cost, but lose the war.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “If you really wanted to change the world, you’d have to run Bill Cummins and his cronies out of office. That means you’d have to elect two or three additional council members who don’t care about the property tax base, which, as you know, affects the quality of our schools.”

  Matt sat back down. “You’re saying it’s hopeless, aren’t you?”

  David shook his head. “No. I’m saying that it’s hard. I don’t like the way Bill Cummins runs this county. But I’m not going back into politics. And if I touch this case, it will lead me right back into that rat race. I have no heart for it, Matt. It’s not who I am. And it’s not who Uncle Charles is either.” He handed the file back to Matt.

  “So you think I should give this up?”

  David scrubbed his face with his hands. “No. But if you do this, you do it on your own. I admire you for tilting at windmills, but remember that if Charles hears you’re spending regular office hours doing this kind of thing, he’s going to be furious.”

  “So that’s it? You won’t help?”

  His mouth twitched. “Feel free to ask for advice anytime. But with another baby on the way, I’m out of the windmill-tilting business for the foreseeable future. When Natalie was a baby, I was chairing the County Council and I never had time for her. I missed out on a lot. I’m not going back to that life. This time around, I want to be there for my child.”

  Another Monday night and Courtney was walking into the Jaybird Café and Music Hall at 6:00 p.m. so she wouldn’t be home when Matt returned from work. Mondays and Tuesdays were the hardest because she had all day to think about ways to avoid Matt. Workdays were easier because they both worked long hours. She’d only heard him once, last Wednesday.

  And even though the weather had been unusually beautiful, with bright sunny days and low humidity, Courtney had refrained from dining alfresco on her balcony for fear of another reenactment of Romeo and Juliet.

  Willow was right. She and Matt Lyndon were not friends. But they weren’t lovers either, which was probably a good thing, even if Courtney was having a hard time forgetting about their one-night stand and the pleasure he had given her.

  It was like she’d told Allison—sex wasn’t everything. But maybe when it came to Matt, sex was the only thing.

  She needed a drink. And she probably needed to join a group for middle-aged singles. Not to find Mr. Right, but to find a few girlfriends she could commiserate with. Arwen had officially abandoned her. Had she found someone?

  What an awesome and depressing thought.

  She battled against the self-pity, and since she was flying solo, she bypassed her favorite table and took a seat at the Jaybird’s bar, where she ordered guacamole and chips and a Manhattan. Thank goodness Rory was tending bar because Courtney wasn’t in the mood to have Juni reading her aura tonight.

  But when Rory placed the Manhattan in front of her, he leaned against the back edge of the bar and asked, “Where’s the lovely Arwen tonight? We’ve missed her at the open mic these past two weeks.”

  Funny. In the two years Rory had been tending bar for Juni, Courtney had never once had a real conversation with him. She’d ordered drinks from him. She’d said hello to him. But that hadn’t been the same as actually talking to him. And since when had Rory started to notice Arwen’s comings and goings?

  “She tells me she’s crazy busy at work,” Courtney replied with a shrug.

  “It sounds to me as if you don’t believe that’s true.” Rory cocked his head and studied Courtney the way bartenders study drinkers the world over.

  Great. Just great. Maybe
it would have been better if Juni had read her aura after all. She didn’t want to talk about Arwen to the Jaybird’s bartender. So she gave him a long, hard stare, which bounced right off.

  “Ah,” he said, “so I’m right. You don’t think she’s been busy at work. What is it, then? Has she finally found her kind and sincere man?”

  “Are you telling me that you actually listen to Arwen when she sings? I mean, she’s always singing about that mythological man who is both kind and sincere.”

  “Of course I listen. Why would that surprise you?”

  She took a sip of her drink and thought about his question. “I thought I was the only one who listened.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Aye. I know that. But I think you’ve been filling Arwen’s head with the idea that no one ever listens. And you’re wrong about that, Courtney Wallace. The people who matter have always listened to Arwen.”

  Courtney didn’t know how to respond. Was he suggesting that she’d been holding Arwen back somehow? How was that possible? She showed up every time Arwen screwed up the nerve to sing in public. And she held her hand. And she loved her songs.

  Rory’s black Irish smile widened. “The people who matter aren’t the ones who clap for Kent Henderson and his tired rendition of ‘Tennessee Stud.’”

  Courtney finally found her sense of humor. “And that would be who? You, me, Juni?”

  He shrugged. “And one or two others.” He leaned a little closer. “I’ve missed her music these last few weeks. Would you tell her that for me?”

  Whoa. Wait. What was up with Rory? Did he have a crush on Arwen? In a million years Courtney would never have seen that coming. Arwen was so middle-of-the-road about everything except her music. And Rory…well, he was the walking embodiment of a black Irish rebel.

  “I’ll tell her. But I have to be honest, something’s up with that girl. She’s been avoiding me.”

  “Has she, now?”

  Courtney looked down at her drink and played with the cherry for a moment. “I miss her too. And I have a feeling someone has swept her off her feet. Someone romantic. You know the kind. A guy who sends flowers, takes her out to nice restaurants. She’s hungry for that sort of thing.”

  “Is she, now?”

  What the hell? She hardly knew Rory, so pigeonholing him into one of her ten male types would be wrong. But the tattoos, earrings, and leather suggested a guy who was carrying around lots of pain and anger. If she had to bet, he was probably another example of the Emotionally Unavailable Man. Or maybe an Irish version of a Man Baby—one of those guys who thinks his emotions are more important than anyone else’s.

  “Yeah, Arwen’s a sucker for romance. She’s also a nice Jewish girl. You might want to keep that in mind.”

  “I’ll do that,” Rory said as his gaze drifted toward the door just as Ryan Pierce arrived.

  Oh, great, her night was complete. She should have stayed in and ordered pizza.

  “Drinking alone?” Ryan asked as he took the stool next to hers.

  “Not now.”

  Ryan ordered a Coke. Rory headed down the bar to fill the order while Ryan scanned the dining room as if he were looking for someone.

  “Juni hasn’t shown her face tonight, if that’s who you’re looking for,” Courtney said.

  Ryan stilled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said.

  Suddenly the world made no sense. “You know, Ryan, you come in here almost every evening. You sit at the bar and drink a Coke, and you watch Juni. But for all her aura reading, she’s utterly unaware of your focus.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” he said. “By the way, did Matt Lyndon ever win his bet?”

  She said nothing, but she had the horrible feeling that Ryan Pierce was as good at reading body language as she was. So she took a huge gulp of her drink.

  “I thought so,” he said as Rory placed the soft drink in front of him. Thank God Rory didn’t stay to chat. Instead he moved down the bar and started filling drink orders for a group of guys at the corner. “I think Rory has a crush on Arwen,” she said.

  “You’ve just now figured that out?”

  “How did I miss that?”

  “Maybe because you’re too busy passing judgment on people.”

  Ryan’s criticism was justified. She did pass judgment on people, especially men. And she probably needed to stop. People were more complicated than her man classification system.

  Ryan Pierce might not be the emotionally unavailable one. Maybe that label fit Juni even better. And any man who truly listened to Arwen Jacobs’s songs couldn’t be a Man Baby.

  Was Matt really a Hook-up Artist when he hadn’t brought a single woman home with him over the last week? She knew because she’d been listening for just that sort of thing. And besides, he quoted Shakespeare, had apparently adored his grandmother, and loved cats. And once, he might have proposed marriage to someone who might have played him.

  Damn it all, she loved every single one of Matt’s inconsistencies. Despite all her efforts to keep him at arm’s length, to push him away, to be careful with her heart, she’d fallen for him anyway.

  If only she were braver. But she was as big a coward as Ryan Pierce. The object of her desire lived only five steps away from her front door, and she didn’t have the courage to make that journey. But if she didn’t take a risk on someone soon, she’d be spending the rest of her Mondays here at the bar alone.

  On Monday evening, Matt walked home slowly, turning over David’s advice in his mind. Was he tilting at windmills?

  Maybe. David was right, though, about one thing. Matt was a fool to think he could stop the development that was changing Jefferson County. The sad fact was that Shenandoah Falls was becoming a suburb of Washington, DC. Its rural character was disappearing.

  Still, that didn’t give the county the right to work hand in glove with GB Ventures. The close connection between the fines and the land sales suggested graft. Or even abuse of the public trust. Matt hadn’t found evidence of real corruption, like kickbacks, but there was the possibility of that. Maybe he should get his younger brother, Jason, involved. Jason had just finished the FBI training course, so he had to know more about how to run an investigation than Matt did.

  No. Matt couldn’t leave things alone. Something had to be done about the cushy relationship between Bill Cummins and GB Ventures. But what?

  Should he run against Cummins in the next election, which was only a few months away? The party hadn’t put up a candidate yet. And the filing deadline was looming. Should he run for office?

  No way. Who would vote for him?

  The sun hung low in the sky as he walked down Rice Street. The mockingbird who lived in the tree on the corner serenaded him with evening song. A trace of something sweet, like honeysuckle, hung in the air, and a soft breeze blew away the day’s heat. He’d come to love this walk from the office to his apartment, especially on nights like this, when the humidity wasn’t so bad.

  Tonight, as in every night over the last week, he glanced up at Courtney’s balcony half a block before he reached home. And tonight, as in every night for the last week, he was disappointed. She hadn’t come out on her balcony once since the night of the lasagna.

  But she was at home most nights. He usually arrived after dark, and her living room lights shone through her French doors like a beacon guiding him safely home and unleashing a deep longing for something more than his lonely apartment. But today her windows were dark, leaving him oddly adrift. Where was she at eight thirty on a Monday night?

  The answer came to him as he started up the stairs. She was probably having dinner with her friends at the Jaybird. He hesitated midflight. The Jaybird was a short walk. It wouldn’t break any rules for him to go down there for a drink. Plus he could really go for one of the Jaybird’s Swiss burgers.

  He jettisoned the idea. Ambushing Courtney at the Jaybird would be stupid and immature. If he wanted to have a conversation with her, he’d have to cross the hallw
ay and knock on her door.

  He climbed the rest of the stairs and entered his apartment.

  So it wasn’t like some place out of a magazine. It was still comfortable, and he hadn’t spent much money on furniture. He’d even gotten creative over the weekend—buying some slate-gray paint and rolling it on the long wall as an accent. He liked it. And it gave him a sense of pride that he’d done it himself instead of calling up some chichi decorator.

  He paused a moment, just inside the door, taking it all in.

  He should enjoy it while it lasted. Because he knew darn well Mom had not given up. One day he was going to step inside his front door and feel like he’d walked into someone else’s world. When would Mom—and Aunt Pam, who was clearly egging her on—get out of his life?

  Short answer: never.

  But for now, his apartment was neat and tidy, the way he liked it. And best of all, Ghul came racing out of the bedroom to greet him as if the cat had missed him while he was away.

  He dropped his briefcase and snagged the cat for a quick cuddle and a scratch behind the ears. Ghul wasn’t all that into affection though. Not like Doom, who’d moved in next door. Or more precisely, the cat who had been stolen from him.

  The thought annoyed him for some reason, and so did his empty refrigerator. He grabbed a beer and ordered a pizza and then fired up the fifty-inch flat-screen TV he’d bought over the weekend. He flipped through several channels and settled on the Nats game, which was tied in the bottom of the fourth inning.

  He collapsed on his couch. Waiting.

  Waiting for the pizza man to arrive. Waiting for the Nats to score. Waiting for his father’s respect. Waiting for Mom to swoop in with fabric swatches. Waiting for real life to begin. Waiting for Courtney to come home.

  Dammit.

  Courtney wasn’t going to bridge that gap between his apartment and hers, was she? If Matt wanted her, he’d have to go after her. But how could he do that honorably? He’d never lied to any woman about his intentions, and he wouldn’t lie to Courtney.

  Of course, he’d been perfectly happy to let women lie to themselves. But Courtney didn’t do that sort of thing. Courtney was always so honest with herself.