Shared Secrets

by Pam Mantovani

  She placed a hand on his arm, squeezed once. The gesture was so straightforward and unconscious he figured it was something she’d done to soothe countless clients. He needed to remember that he was only a client to her. Just as he needed to remember she was simply his son’s attorney.

  So why did everything between them feel the same as it always had?

  “He’ll know,” she said.

  He looked down at her, and compassion darkened her green eyes. No doubt she knew what he was going through, even without their past she would know. It was her job to know. Still, he felt some of their personal history creep between them. She had been the only person he’d ever confided in about his shame and anger at his father’s drinking.

  Her understanding at the time had meant the world to him. Her confidence in him had driven him to be a better man. In return, he’d wanted to give her everything she’d never had. She’d made him believe it was possible.

  “He seems like a fine young man, Lucas.”

  And just like that, with those few words, he felt something inside of him ease. “Thank you.”

  He turned and started for the courthouse again, although this time he did slow his steps.

  “When we arrive, I’ll sign in with the bailiff,” Taylor began.

  “I remember the drill.”

  He’d sat enough times in a courtroom watching his father get charged with yet another drunk and disorderly. He’d tried everything—from being the perfect kid so he’d earn his father’s respect to being a hellion in hopes of his father sobering up long enough to punish him. Until, eventually, all he’d had left in him was the desire to walk away without a backward glance. It was one of those times in this very courthouse that resulted in him and Taylor meeting for the first time.

  The secondhand quality of her blue jeans and T-shirt had not hidden the curves of a lovely young woman. Standing on the courthouse steps, with his first look at her, he’d felt a connection that included the emotional as well as the physical. The physical attraction had been a punch and a half.

  Lucas glanced over to the sleek, confident woman walking beside him now. Quite a change from the insecure teenage girl she’d once been.

  Her hair was the one thing that had not changed, not the style nor the color. While the ends were just short of dropping onto her shoulders, she still wore the bangs a little too long. She apparently clung to the habit of brushing at them when nervous. No matter how many pictures he’d seen or how vivid his memory, Lucas had never quite managed to mix a stain to match the golden oak color of her hair.

  Today, she wore linen slacks and a silk blouse, diamond stud earrings, designer shoes. And she wore them as if she’d been born in them.

  He didn’t begrudge her success—he just wished he’d had a hand in helping her achieve it.

  Because he looked at her, he saw more than heard her suck in a breath. He watched her features crease with disappointment and worry an instant before they slipped behind the mask of composure. Following her line of vision, he saw Stephanie sitting on a stone knee wall at the bottom of the courthouse steps. Wedged between two young boys.

  Lucas felt an unexpected flare of something fierce and protective inside of him. Stephanie’s skirt had inched up high on her thighs, her smile too inviting. So very different from her mother at that age.

  “Hey, Adams,” she called out. “Now don’t freak on me. I know you wanted me to wait on you, but come on, it was boring just sitting in that diner.”

  “You agreed you’d wait if I didn’t take you where someone could keep an eye on you.”

  “There was nothing to do,” she argued, and then shot a glance at Tommy sitting on her left. “Being out here is so much more interesting.”

  Tommy slung an arm around Stephanie’s shoulders. Lucas had to clench his fists rather than step forward and knock the boy’s arm away. “It is now.”

  Taylor stepped forward, extended her hand. “I’m Taylor Adams, Stephanie’s mother.”

  “And here I thought maybe you were her sister.” Tommy grinned when Stephanie groaned. Since Taylor continued to hold out her hand, he had little choice but to take his arm off Stephanie’s shoulder and accept the handshake. Lucas silently cheered the maneuver.

  “I’m Tommy Newman and this”—the boy released her hand to jerk a thumb toward the other boy—“is Brant Hayes. How ya doin’ there, Lucas? I heard all about what happened to Micah.” He didn’t even try to disguise his amusement as he nodded hello at two people walking by.

  “Stephanie,” Taylor said. “Since you didn’t want to wait at the diner, you might as well come inside with us.”

  “Why can’t I stay out here?” Stephanie complained.

  “I’d rather have you with me.”

  “You didn’t think that a short time ago.”

  Taylor’s smile was thin. “My mistake.”

  “God, you are so playing this mother act way too extreme.” Taylor said nothing more, simply stared at Stephanie. “All right, I get it, you’re the boss. For now, anyway,” she added before sharing a flirtatious smile with both boys. Lucas had the feeling the smile, and the invitation, were more to irritate Taylor than to entice the boys. “Once Adams gets busy with this trial thing, we’ll have plenty of time to spend together.”

  “I’ll be around,” Tommy agreed.

  “What do you know about him?” Taylor asked as they again made their way to the courthouse steps.

  “He and his father came here from Texarkana a little more than a year ago,” Lucas answered. “Stan is the editor at The Prentiss Press.”

  “Reporters are nothing more than blood-sucking vultures,” Stephanie commented, in a tone that emphasized her opinion. Taylor ran a soothing hand up and down Stephanie’s arm—a comfort made and received so absently that Lucas wondered if either one of them were even aware of the gesture.

  “From what I’ve read, you usually handle the press well,” Lucas said.

  “That’s when I set them up so I’m not blindsided, or come across as if I have something to hide.”

  “We don’t have anything to hide,” Lucas lied as he took an impatient swipe through his hair. “And it wouldn’t be an issue if I’d been in the house rather than in the workshop that night.” He turned away and started up the steps of the courthouse.

  “You shouldn’t feel guilty.”

  The softly spoken words had Lucas coming to a standstill halfway up the steps. Someone walked by, slowing long enough to pass a look between him and Taylor. In defiance of the circumstances, he had the fleeting wish it could be just the two of them, as it had been all those years ago. He wished this meeting on the courthouse steps was for a reason other than the charge against Micah. He wished…hell, he silently swore as his mind took control of his heart. It did no good to wish. Life was the way it was, and it rarely followed your dreams and plans. Few had learned that bitter lesson more so than he.

  The hand curling tight around the handle of her briefcase was the only outward sign of any nerves that might live beneath the surface of Taylor’s calm exterior. She gestured for Stephanie to precede her up the steps and into the courthouse. After a moment, during which he damned himself to hell and back for watching the sway of her hips, Lucas followed.

  Chapter 4

  While Lucas and Stephanie found seats, Taylor checked in with the bailiff and spoke with the prosecutor.

  “Your Honor,” she addressed the court after Micah’s case had been announced. “The defense requests the posted bail be reduced to twenty-five thousand. The defendant has lived in Prentiss his entire life. His father owns a home and business in town. The client himself has been employed on a part-time basis at Brewer’s Florist for the past two years. Surely the court can see that neither Mr. Black nor his father present a threat to leave town in order to avoid a trial.”

  “It’s the safety of the female population of this town that concerns the prosecution.”

  Taylor eyed the prosecutor. Mr. Oates was proving to be a tough ne
gotiator despite his grandfather-white hair, gentle smile and impeccable manners.

  “It’s the concern of the defense as well.”

  “The defendant has a juvenile record.”

  “Misdemeanors,” Taylor clarified, although the judge no doubt had a list of Micah’s priors on the papers before him. “For which Mr. Black either paid damages or worked in lieu of payment.”

  “Everybody in town,” the prosecutor persisted, “knows Lucas Black would do whatever it takes to protect his son. We have no guarantee that wouldn’t include helping him to escape.”

  “My client has no intention of leaving Prentiss. He welcomes the chance to prove his innocence.”

  Taylor glanced down at Micah. He sat with his gaze lowered to the hands he held clenched together on the table top. She sympathized with how he must feel, to be here in front of people he’d known all his life. For that very reason she made a mental note to speak to him about presenting the court with a more positive image. A note made all the more relevant by the prosecutor’s next comments.

  “The evidence against Mr. Black is rather overwhelming, Your Honor.”

  “I was under the impression,” Taylor interjected, “trial date has not yet been set.”

  “Correct,” Judge Williams answered with a warning glance at Mr. Oates.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” He pressed a fist to his mouth as he cleared his throat. “I must point out however, that while Ms. Adams enjoys a sterling reputation throughout the state, the fact that she no longer resides in this county adds to the flight risk of her client.”

  Taylor was so astounded by the veiled implication that it took a moment before she could speak. When she did, indignation shot into her voice. “Your Honor.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, Ms. Adams.” Judge Williams removed his glasses to stare at the prosecutor. “Mr. Oates, that was unnecessary. I hope I won’t have to remind you of proper procedure and respect throughout the duration of this trial.”

  “Yes sir, I apologize.” He nodded in Taylor’s direction. “It won’t happen again.”

  When bail had been agreed upon and the trial date set for three weeks later, Taylor leaned down to speak to Micah before the bailiff escorted him out of the courtroom.

  “Ms. Adams?” She straightened from returning papers to her briefcase and found the judge watching her.

  “Would you mind,” he spoke, looking over the rim of his half-moon glasses, “indulging the court’s curiosity for a moment? This is off the record of course.”

  “What would you like to know, Judge Williams?”

  “I remember you often sitting in this courtroom, observing the proceedings before you left Prentiss.”

  Taylor took a quick glance at the prosecutor, seeking some sort of hint as to where the judge might be leading. She looked back at the bench. “I wasn’t aware you noticed my presence, Your Honor.”

  The judge chuckled. “Trust me. I see more than I let on.”

  “I won’t forget that, sir.”

  “I’m sure you won’t.” He signed papers his clerk placed before him. “If I remember correctly, when you lived here you were friends with Lucas Black. I assume you’re representing his son as a personal favor.”

  Taylor resisted the temptation to glance behind her. “That’s correct.”

  “Are your plans then to remain in town while preparing your client’s defense?” He finished signing the papers and drew off his glasses. “Or will you be returning to Little Rock for the duration?”

  “Your Honor?”

  Taylor shifted to find Lucas standing.

  “Yes, Mr. Black?”

  “Ms. Adams and her daughter.” Lucas waved a hand to indicate Stephanie sitting to his right. “Will be staying at my home as guests of my son and myself.”

  Taylor choked, looked at Stephanie and saw her daughter smirking. She could feel heat blazing across her own cheeks and barely—just barely—managed to hold back from storming down the aisle. Lucas kept his gaze on the judge.

  “That’s very neighborly of you, Mr. Black.”

  “She is my son’s attorney. And, as you said, an old friend.”

  “Yes, of course.” The gavel banged down. “Next case.”

  Taylor all but threw papers into her briefcase. Finished, she looked up to discover Lucas and Stephanie standing close by. He didn’t back down from her stare. Her training kicked in and she somehow managed a civil tone.

  “The bailiff has papers for you to sign before Micah will be released. Stephanie and I will be down the hall.”

  The only outward sign of Taylor’s temper was the speed with which she walked down the hallway toward one of the conference rooms set aside for lawyer and client consultations. She nodded hello to people who spoke to her, those who looked familiar and those who were strangers. She didn’t stop to talk. She didn’t dare.

  Until she spotted one person with a camera hanging around his neck. She zeroed in on him, exchanged a few quick words and then again moved to the conference room. With deliberate care, she set down her briefcase on the long table just as Stephanie entered the room.

  “You didn’t know Lucas planned for us to stay with him?” Stephanie guessed.

  The hint of amusement had Taylor’s temper straining for release. She would dearly love the freedom to kick one of these old battered Queen Anne chairs across the room. She settled for pacing around the table. Less than twenty-four hours after seeing Lucas again for the first time in eighteen years, she felt a rush of emotion trying to push past all the barriers she’d fought so long and hard to establish.

  “No.”

  “Then why did you agree to it?”

  “What else could I do?” She paused and made the effort to keep her voice soft. The walls of a courthouse were often thin. “Lucas made the announcement in court. Even if all that was off the record,” she added under her breath.

  “Where had you planned for us to stay?”

  “I don’t know,” she snapped out. And she was angry at herself for not thinking ahead and planning.

  “How does it feel?”

  “What, to be manipulated?”

  “No, to be back where you grew up.”

  Taylor stopped her pacing, reined in her self-centered thoughts and looked at her daughter. Stephanie sat in one of the chairs, her legs tucked under her. The exact way she had when she’d been seven and sat for the first time in the big leather chair behind Taylor’s desk. Her mother’s heart quickened with something close to panic at the realization of how her daughter had grown beyond those gentle, tender years. Then her heart constricted with regret at the gulf that now separated them.

  Stephanie had asked the question quietly, almost too quietly. Taylor started to shrug it off, to give Stephanie any of the quick, pat answers she’d always relied on whenever questioned about her childhood. For the time being it appeared Stephanie had lost some of her animosity toward her. Now Taylor had two choices—continue the divisive pattern or take a chance that this could be the start of repairing her relationship with her daughter. She sat down in the chair opposite Stephanie.

  “A little bit ago, as Lucas and I waited for the chance to speak to Micah, I was surprised to feel a sense of homecoming.”

  “Why did it surprise you?”

  “I guess because Prentiss was just one of the many places I lived as I grew up. I learned at an early age to not let myself become comfortable in a town or attached to the foster family I was placed with.”

  “Why didn’t…”

  “Go ahead, you can ask.” Taylor tilted her head. “You’ve never asked before.”

  “Daddy told me not to, that it would upset you.”

  “I thought that might be the reason.” She smiled a little. “Stephen always tried so hard to shelter both of us.”

  “Why didn’t anyone adopt you?”

  “I’m sure this will surprise you, but I wasn’t exactly a sweet-tempered little girl of four.” She was the one surprised when Stephanie didn’t quickl
y agree with those words. “It doesn’t take long for someone in foster care to get a reputation for being difficult. And, adoptive parents prefer little babies.”

  “Didn’t you ever want to search for your parents?”

  The hands in her lap linked together. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Again Taylor found it impossible to offer anything but stark honesty. “I was afraid that even if I found my mother, she still wouldn’t want me.” She glanced down at her hands, realized with shock that they trembled slightly. “I remember…all I remember is the day she left me on the street corner.”

  And remembering brought back the terror, the wildness that had enveloped her when strange people tried to reach for her. She had not cowered in fear, instead she had fought. Later, when Stephen managed to pull strings and get her records, she read that attending psychologists believed her reaction was due to some sort of physical trauma sustained prior to abandonment. There had been no signs of sexual abuse, but there had been obvious emotional scars to go with some scrapes and bruises.

  “She left you on a street corner?” Stephanie asked.

  “I didn’t know the name I’d been given at birth, my birthday or even my age. I just remember standing there with her beside me and then.” Her fingers flexed as if flicking something off the tips. “I was alone.”

  “You really didn’t know your own name?”

  “No. I was named for the two police officers, Taylor and Adams, who found me wandering the street.”

  “Were you scared?”

  “I was angry.” She felt a thin smile curve her lips. “As I said, I created problems for myself with a confrontational attitude. It took some time, but I finally figured out I’d be better off keeping to myself and staying out of trouble. For the longest time it worked.”

  “What changed?”

  “I came to Prentiss. For the first time I knew what I wanted to do with my life, so I had a goal and focus in school. Then I met Lucas. He changed everything for me.” The near-whispered admission slipped free of her heart. “He was someone who wanted to spend time with me, even when I tried to convince myself he wanted nothing more than to get me into bed. But he listened to me, encouraged me, believed in me. He was the first who ever had.”