The Proviso

by Moriah Jovan

  Her reverie was interrupted by the wail of sirens behind her and she nearly swallowed her tongue. Of course, on a day she decided to speed because she was late again, she’d get pulled over.

  The state trooper was young and must have been regularly stationed somewhere other than Chouteau County because he didn’t believe her when she told him she was an AP.

  “Ma’am, I happen to know there is no such thing as a female Chouteau County assistant prosecutor and insisting that you are one is going to make me mad.”

  She showed him her badge and of course, that made her shoulder holster visible.

  He arrested her for carrying a concealed weapon without a permit and impersonating an officer of the court. The only thing she could think of was to say, “Please call Knox Hilliard and ask him.”

  “Don’t need to, ma’am. Everybody in Missouri knows how Mr. Hilliard works. Except you.”

  Mr. Hilliard would blow his top, that was how Mr. Hilliard worked—and she’d to be on the receiving end of it, very loudly and very publicly. At least it amused her colleagues.

  Much commotion surrounded her arrest and Sheriff Raines didn’t bother to hide his delight. Defense attorneys looked at her askance, wondering whether to laugh or offer their services. Raines felt perfectly free to book her, process her (in a white blazer!), and detain her regardless.

  Knox would probably say it served her right and she wouldn’t be surprised if Knox had ordered him to let her cool her heels for being late. So she took off those heels and put them on the bench beside her, slouched against the wall, and folded her arms over her chest.

  She was so going to blog about this.

  An hour passed before the jail cleared and she was the only one left in the holding cell block. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Raines slip into the deserted area and approach her cell arrogantly, his keys jangling tauntingly in his hand.

  “So,” he said, looking through the bars and leering. “I see you got yourself all gussied up some time back ago. Trying to catch Hilliard’s eye, I bet. I seen how you look at him and mebbe I want you to look at me that way.”

  Justice gulped. No, Knox would never have kept her here on purpose and at Raines’s disposal. When Raines opened the cell door, Justice felt real fear slice through her; Knox didn’t know she was here and she had no way to defend herself. Except one.

  Surreptitiously, she picked up one of her shoes and stood to meet him. Heart thumping in her chest, throat dry, she felt anger seep through her, replacing the fear.

  “If you touch me, I’ll kill you,” she snarled, surprised that that had come out of her mouth and how viciously.

  That did take him aback, this new and different Justice McKinley. He hesitated, then bucked up and chuckled. “Naw, ya won’t, girl. You might even like it. Now, you put that shoe down and we can have a little fun before I let you call Hilliard to come bail you out.”

  She hefted her shoe in her hand, feeling for the right angle, looking at him through narrowed eyes. She couldn’t remember ever being so outraged.

  You have to walk barefoot through fire on broken glass.

  The feeling—it was never a thought—infused her with strength and courage. She fired her shoe at him with such force that the heel drew blood where it hit him in the face, barely missing his eyeball. He howled, clutching at his cheek.

  She picked up her other shoe and aimed for his crotch. Once he’d doubled over, she slid across the smooth concrete floor in her stockinged feet and plucked his gun out of his holster. Stepping back, firm on her feet then and pointing it at him two-handed, she said, in a terrifying voice, a voice she didn’t know she had:

  “You picked the wrong woman, Raines. That girl who walked in here five months ago is long gone. You want me to drag your sorry ass upstairs to Knox and let you tell him what happened or do you want me to blow your face off?”

  “No need,” came Knox’s emotionless baritone from the door to the holding cell block. He stepped aside to allow in a couple of deputies and said, “False imprisonment and attempted rape. I’ll figure out what else I want to add to the list and arraign him myself.” He looked at Justice, his eyebrow raised. “You’re late for work. Again. Get your shit together and get to my office.”

  He left. Just like that.

  She rolled her eyes and collected her shoes, but didn’t put them on, preferring instead the stability of flat feet; now that the crisis had passed, her thighs and knees trembled and threatened to buckle. The property clerk handed back her holster, gun, badge, briefcase, and purse. She was still missing one thing.

  She looked around the office and saw the trooper who had arrested her. He looked miserable. “You—” she snapped and pointed at him. He barely looked up in time to duck her car keys, thrown at him so hard it put a hole in the plaster behind him, right where his head had been. “Find someone and go get my car.”

  Every man in that office looked at her with an awe and respect they had never shown her—and she liked it.

  She shrugged into her shoulder holster and put away her gun. Blazer, badge. She straightened her dress and didn’t care who looked at her nearly-uncovered ass when she bent clear over to do it, her hands up her skirt to adjust the lining. She glanced up to see that the state trooper was still there.

  “Why are you still here?” she barked, making him scramble.

  Justice jogged up the stairs, shoes in hand, purse over shoulder. She strode into the office like she owned the place, her large copper curls bouncing. She looked neither left nor right and proceeded directly to Knox’s office, shoving the door open so hard it banged back against the wall. She thunked her shoes on his desk, right on top of the file he was studying.

  “The county owes me a new pair of shoes,” she demanded, daring him to challenge her.

  Knox looked up at her slowly then and she realized why he sat at his desk, not prowling around like a caged lion as usual. His eyes were the darkest blue she’d ever seen them and she sucked in a breath, her own eyes wide, wondering if she could get away with closing the door and staying awhile.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he muttered tersely, grabbing the shoes, dropping them in a desk drawer.

  “Thank you,” she said and turned on a heel.

  “McKinley.”

  She stopped, but didn’t dare look at him.

  “The next time you’re late—most likely tomorrow—you better have a better excuse than you had today. And I hope you’re not planning to go into a courtroom with bare feet.”

  “Nope.”

  And she slammed the door behind her on the way out.

  * * * * *

  Justice went home that night with a new and profound sense of purpose. Knox had tricked her into marrying him, but she’d chosen to come back—and it had been the right decision.

  I promise you, there will come a day when all this will have been worth it and you’ll be glad you persevered.

  Yes, Giselle had known what would happen to her, how Knox felt about her—had known from the minute he touched Justice in class and sent her out to buck Sherry up against a tree until she nearly passed out.

  Now she wanted more. She wouldn’t live in that wreck of a house one more second. She really wanted to be his wife publicly, but she knew that wouldn’t happen until the handoff of OKH had taken place: Fen would have no reason to hunt her down and Kevin could stay clear of any association with Knox. Justice wanted children with Knox, but not before the deadline. Of course, they hadn’t done anything to prevent that.

  But for right now, today, she wanted some stability in their marriage and their life together and it had to start in the kitchen.

  She walked in the house and yelled. “Knox!”

  “What?!” he yelled back from the basement.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  She waitedwaitedwaited and then heard his footsteps on the stairs and waited some more until he was fully present and engaged. “What?”

  “I want a new kitchen.”

>   His jaw dropped. “You what?”

  “I want a new kitchen. This is a piece of shit and if I had the means to call a tow truck and have it towed, I would. If I’m going to live here the rest of my life, I am NOT—repeat, NOT—going to live in this Brady Bunch monstrosity with chipboard furniture.”

  He leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms. “You planning on living here the rest of your life?”

  “Yes, I am,” she said defiantly.

  “What if I want to live somewhere else?”

  “Then you’ll build me a house to my specifications.”

  “You’re awfully uppity today. Was it the shoes?”

  She ignored that. “And also? I want natural gas. Electricity is useless to cook on and I’m just not going to live like this. You might be okay with a bed and a roof, but I want a home. We can keep the bed,” she muttered as an afterthought. “I like it.”

  “Well, you’re on a roll; first Raines, then that poor little state trooper you terrified out of his wits, then storming into my office demanding new shoes. And now you want a kitchen.”

  “And you know what? You’ll do it, too, because you love me.”

  That wonderful sunshine of a grin slowly took over his face. “So what if I do? That doesn’t mean I’m going to give you everything you want.”

  “I’ll give you a blow job.”

  That surprised a bark of laughter out of him. “You’d do that anyway. You like giving me blow jobs.”

  “Well, okay, that’s true.” She turned to go to the bedroom and, over her shoulder, said, “But I still want a new kitchen.”

  She squealed with laughter when he grabbed her around the waist and spun her around. He put her back down and turned her around to kiss her.

  “Knox, did you know I’d been arrested?”

  “No. You’re never more than a half hour late, so when it was going on an hour, I was starting to get worried. I thought for sure Fen had found out about you and gotten to you. One of the defense attorneys who’d seen you brought in came to me and told me what happened. She was worried what might happen to you in Raines’s jail.”

  “How much did you see?”

  “All of it. I would’ve stepped in if you were in over your head, but I knew you had him dead to rights the minute you picked up your shoe. And you know what?”

  “What?”

  “You were hot. Come to bed.”

  * * * * *

  95: PIXIE DUST

  Justice awakened at midnight only to find she was alone, and she waited for Knox to come back, but he didn’t. Dim light pierced the darkness as usual and she decided to go find him. Not in the basement. Probably out in the barn.

  It had grown cold at night now, so she had to put on socks and Crocs and a heavy robe over her nude body before she went trudging outside and across the lawn, the Puccini growing louder with each step. She rounded the corner, not surprised to find him and Sebastian in the middle of a yelling match.

  She sighed and marched herself in to break it up, only to stop short when she saw the canvas. She stepped back, looking up and up and up, and gasped, her hand over her mouth and her eyes wide.

  The music died abruptly and Sebastian yelled, “Knox, it’s none of your business!” and walked across the barn toward Justice. “You like?”

  “Oh, Eilis!” Justice whispered, awed and reverent. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Yes,” Knox sneered as he approached them, “and Sebastian just can’t bear to go back to her and beg and grovel for forgiveness.”

  “Look, I tried to explain. I’ve emailed her. I’ve called her but she won’t take my calls. She doesn’t feel needed at HRP, so she’s pretty much stopped going to work except to sign paychecks and nobody misses her. She won’t let me in her gate. Giselle won’t tell me when she’s at their house so I can ambush her. I can’t seem to get to a tribe party when she’s there because of business and I do not want the tribe to know about our relationship since it seems to be dead in the water. I’ve begged and groveled every which way I know how. What the hell am I missing? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  Knox wiped his hand down his face and relented with a sigh. “I don’t know, Sebastian. She asked me about you.”

  “Yeah, tell her to talk to me personally instead of mooching information off her brother.”

  “I did. But. In case you forget, she,” Knox went on, pointing up at the goddess, “is as much my business as Justice is yours.”

  “Not true. She,” Sebastian said, pointing to the canvas, “can help us. Queen Mab here,” he said, throwing his thumb at Justice, “is crucial. She doesn’t get pregnant, you’re done and then I’m at war. She’s the woman you love and gave everything up for and she’s the woman who chose to come back, knowing all the ramifications.

  “I was just fine with doing it your way once Kenard and Oakley threw in with me, but now that you’ve got a chance at meeting the proviso with her, I’d like you to at least try to fight your own fight. There’s still the election, although I’m pretty sure Fen’s gone through his funds by now and, as Mab continues to remind me, I’m going to end up in the hot seat whether Kevin’s elected or not and there’s still HRP to deal with.”

  “A—Bryce is dealing with HRP, so that dog don’t hunt. B—You’ve been enjoying the hell out of this takeover since you acquired cohorts. You’re not exactly a martyr. C—It’s not like you’re going to be in that hot seat all by your lonesome, so go whine at someone else. You get summoned to Capitol Hill, so do I. And Bryce. Hell, let’s make it a party and bring the women along for shits and grins because at this point, they’re all knee deep in it, too. D—Whatever happens with a baby is up to the Lord and you know how I feel about having one before the deadline anyway.”

  Sebastian ignored that and speared Justice with a look. “Are you pregnant yet?”

  “No.”

  “Get that way,” he snapped and stalked out the opposite barn doors.

  Knox looked at her and chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and walking her to the barn doors where the light switch was. Then he picked her up and took her in the house and laid her down in the bed.

  “Why has everyone started to call me Queen Mab?” she asked when Knox kissed her slowly, teasing.

  “Queen Mab is a faery queen, the bringer of dreams,” he whispered. “Shakespeare refers to her in Romeo and Juliet: ‘She gallops night by night through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love . . . ’ I’d quote you the whole thing but you’d fall asleep.”

  “So?”

  “So you look like a faery queen, Iustitia. Queen Mab, bringer of dreams. You brought my dreams to me.”

  * * * * *

  96: FERTILE SOIL

  Eilis gardened. She didn’t have much to do at HRP and she hadn’t yet thought of any other business projects she wanted to pursue, so she went out to her garden and worked from sunup to sundown.

  She dug in the hard clay soil by hand, something she hadn’t done since she got her backhoe, because she needed that kind of backbreaking labor. On the weekends, Giselle would often come, sometimes with Bryce, to learn about plants. Eilis wasn’t sure if she was really interested or if she was faking it for Eilis’s sake, though she did seem more interested in cooking herbs than anything else. Either way, Eilis was grateful for the company and support of her family.

  Justice and Knox showed up a couple of times a week for dinner; neither she nor Justice could get enough of Knox’s tales of the Dunham tribe and the stories of his growing up. Eilis came to know her brother better and like slowly turned to love, the same kind he had for Giselle and Sebastian and Bryce, and filled in the holes in her soul that Trudy and Fen had shot into it. Justice, Giselle, and Eilis spent a lot of time at the spa and it felt good and right to have other women to talk about sex with, who could help her smooth out the few remaining nicks in her psyche.

  One Saturday morning, she opened her gate to find a delivery truck idling. As Bryce directed it in, he pointed
to a spot where she’d once absently said she wanted something that looked like Hadrian’s wall. The truck door slid open and she gasped as five pallets of river stone were unloaded, along with a pallet of cement mix, bagged sand, wood, and other assorted tools that looked brand new.

  “Oh,” Giselle said brightly as Eilis watched all this in shock, “did I forget to tell you Bryce works stone? Congratulations. You get your wall. Bonus!” Eilis flinched, because that was such a Sebastianism, but Giselle didn’t seem to notice. “Bryce has actually studied Hadrian’s wall. Personally, I’m glad he has a new project. He’s clad everything in our yard and I had to put the brakes on so we’d have a patch of grass.”

  So Eilis and Bryce spent that day marking out where she wanted it to go, how she wanted it contoured, where she wanted it to curve. On the weekends Giselle and Bryce or Knox and Justice didn’t come to see her, there was a tribe party and she had been welcomed with open arms. A hundred-plus people using any excuse to have a party was an understatement. Eilis had suddenly been beset by family she’d never had and she enjoyed every minute of it.

  Nobody talked about Sebastian. It was as if he didn’t exist and Eilis found herself wishing, wanting, waiting for a word, anything, to know that she hadn’t dreamed him up.

  When she finally asked Knox about him, he slid her a glance and said, “I don’t think you want to know my opinion, Eilis. If you want to know about Sebastian, talk to Sebastian. It’s not as if he hasn’t been trying to get you to talk to him.” She felt like she’d been spanked and put in a corner with her nose to the wall, but Knox didn’t seem to hold it against her.

  As autumn came on, she slowed down quite a bit but kept her grass immaculate. This wasn’t a chore so much as a soothing activity, what with her lawn tractor. Hadrian’s wall was coming along nicely, but would have to stand over winter as Bryce wouldn’t work stone in the cold.