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The tiny, bespectacled woman behind the counter peered over her dark frames. “You do this week. Judge Ramsey is out sick and we’re covering any emergency situations.”
“Emergencies?” No one really had emergencies; they just thought they needed something done now and called it an emergency. She and Dianne had had that conversation often enough.
“There are already two cases scheduled.” Dianne rounded the desk, her arms loaded with files. She moved from desk to desk, delivering a few to each clean blotter.
“Can’t they be rescheduled?” Emily picked up the datebook that served as the department’s master calendar, needing something to hold on to.
“No.” Dianne grabbed the datebook and slapped it back on her desk. “It’ll be good for you.” Dianne’s blue eyes sparkled behind those infernal glasses.
“No. It won’t.” Emily knew there was no way this was going to end well.
No case was simple, not in family court, and certainly not in the juvenile arena. Emily didn’t like messy cases, and it drove her crazy whenever she had to preside over one. That was why she’d left that division. Well, part of the reason, anyway. “Do I even have any of the reports?”
“Nope.” Dianne glanced up at the old clock on the wall. “You’d better hustle if you’re going to get over to Ramsey’s courtroom in time.”
How did Dianne take control like that? Who was in charge around here, anyway? Emily resisted the urge to smile. Dianne, of course. Magistrates and judges came and went over the years, but good law clerks were priceless and Dianne was the best. She’d been in the building for nearly twenty-five years.
As Emily hurried through the familiar dim halls of the courthouse, her mind worked. She’d never had second thoughts about her job. Heck, she’d never been one to look back or second-guess her actions, period. Right now, though, she was tempted.
Reminding herself that she knew how to do this, she headed to the second floor. Still, as she climbed the steps, her hand curled tightly around the cool bar of the handrail, her heart raced.
To save time, she cut through the common area. She wasn’t supposed to mingle with the public on court days, just in case she ran into one of the case participants. But she didn’t have time to go all the way around to the back stairs.
Still, all the people crowding around her set her on edge. By the time she reached Judge Ramsey’s chambers, her palms were damp and her heart had hit a painful pace.
She barely had time to catch her breath before Rita, the judge’s clerk, descended. The distraction shook Emily out of her impending panic.
“Oh, thank goodness.” The older woman jumped up. “I’ve tried to get hold of you, but didn’t have your cell number.”
Emily refrained from telling her that no one had her cell number.
“The first case begins in ten minutes.”
“But I haven’t reviewed the files yet,” Emily protested.
“That’s okay. There aren’t any. Just listen. The first is a pretty obvious bad situation we need to get the kids out of ASAP. The one this afternoon is pretty cut and dried. You can look at those files over lunch.”
The woman grabbed the file and put it into Emily’s hands, then guided Emily toward the inner door. Was People Moving 101 a class in law clerk school?
“Then why is it an emergency?” Was that her blood pressure going through the roof? Rita looked over her glasses, much as Dianne always did. Emily frowned, reminding herself she was the magistrate, but they both knew she abhorred situations where a child was at risk.
“Mother’s missing. Dad’s overseas with special forces. The uncle’s requesting temporary custody until Dad’s back.”
Emily’s entire body tensed. Her heart froze in place. No she could not, would not do this. Images of William Dean’s face came to mind.
“Not permanent?” Her mind worked even if the rest of her seemed frozen in place.
“No. He’s convinced his brother is coming home and will take over full parental responsibility. He just wants it temporarily.”
Shadows from her last juvenile case stretched out to her and she shivered.
Cut and dried, indeed.
“The first participants will be here any minute.” Rita’s voice pulled Emily out of her thoughts.
Opening a small closet, Rita grabbed a thick black robe and helped Emily slip it on. Before she could ask, Rita explained. “Dianne sent it over first thing this morning.”
She’d always loved her judicial robe, and today it felt like the shield she often envisioned it to be. A shield that could protect her from all the hurt and pain that entered her courtroom each day. A shield that kept her emotions hidden from the people sitting in the seats below her bench.
The ritual complete, Emily met her reflection in the door’s glass. Gears in her mind shifted, and she left behind Emily Ivers and became E. J. Ivers, magistrate.
* * *
WYATT DRESSED EACH morning in jeans, a button-down shirt and his hat. Black Stetson in the winter. White straw in the summer. He was a traditional cowboy.
Over the past two weeks, he’d struggled to understand his nephew’s enchantment with T-shirts. Seldom-white T-shirts with words, pictures and at times, sayings that could be taken more than one way. Every day, Tyler pulled the T-shirt down over his worn jeans and slipped on battered tennis shoes that he never tied.
In the kitchen, filling his morning’s first cup, Wyatt leaned against the counter. He had to admit he looked forward to each day’s billboard or insult.
Today, Tyler didn’t disappoint. He came barreling into the kitchen at breakneck speed. Across his thin chest was a tabby cat, ears perked, fangs exposed and claws extended. Wyatt took a deep swallow of his coffee as he read the bold orange words: Stressed out! He smiled. It wasn’t typical for most eight-year-olds. But then, Tyler wasn’t a typical eight-year-old.
Tyler wasn’t exactly stressed, but he was definitely in training to lead a type-A-personality life. The pockets of his jeans bulged and Wyatt wondered what he’d stuffed inside.
“That what you’re wearing to court?” Wyatt asked softly, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter to him. He’d learned that pushing Tyler was like pushing DJ at that age. A waste.
“S’all I got.” Tyler didn’t look at Wyatt. He busied himself dragging a box of cereal out of the cupboard and grabbing the milk carton from the fridge.
“We could stop at the store and pick up a button-down shirt for you. We have time.”
Tyler stilled. “I ain’t got no money.”
“You know, your dad does. We’ll use his.” Wyatt had learned early on that Tyler didn’t like taking money from him. He’d sworn he “wasn’t no charity case.” That backbone would serve Tyler well, later. Wyatt had circumvented the boy by telling him it was DJ’s job to support him. Tyler liked that idea. Wyatt used it all the time now.
“Well, I s’pose I should look businessy.”
The kid seriously needed grammar lessons, but Wyatt knew that was the least of their problems at this point. “Then it’s settled. Hurry and finish breakfast so we can get going.”
“I can wear my jeans, right?” Tyler looked up, panicked, from his cereal.
“Yeah, those are fine.” Wyatt wondered what was important about those particular jeans.
Another thing he’d learned was that Tyler’s emotions weren’t hidden, they just didn’t always make adult sense. Settling in the kitchen chair, Wyatt finished his coffee as Tyler worked out the games on the back of the cereal box.
Again, Wyatt cursed DJ as he reminded himself that DJ didn’t even know he had a son.
Taking care of Tyler until DJ came home was all Wyatt could do right now, and this afternoon’s court date would get that ball rolling. As he looked down at the boy, Wyatt realized it wasn’t enough. But it was all he had.
Tyler was silent the entire trip into town but by the time they reached the courthouse, the new white shirt already had a dirt smudge on one elbow. Wyatt could only shake his head and smile.
Despite the quiet trip, the whole process of getting into the courthouse fascinated Tyler. His eyes grew wide with wonder as they went through security. The guards smiled at his questions, and Wyatt felt an innate sense of pride for his new nephew.
Now both of them stared at the double doors leading into the courtroom. “Well, here we are.” Wyatt spoke with as much reassurance as he could.
“Yep,” Tyler whispered.
“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” The sound of Wyatt’s boots and the scuff of Tyler’s tennis shoes seemed loud as they pushed open the doors and walked across the marble floor.
The courtroom didn’t look at all like the intimidating rooms he’d seen on TV. This room was smaller with only two tables, a desk that sat up on a dais and a high chair, which he presumed was a witness chair. A brass tag on the desk read, E. J. Ivers, magistrate.
“That desk is big.” Tyler’s eyes were still wide with wonder.
“Sure is.” Just then, the young attorney Wyatt had met with a few days ago arrived. She smiled distractedly and guided them to the table on the left.
Soon a woman came in and sat down at a small side desk and a man in a uniform opened a door at the back of the room. The judge entered and the entire mood of the room became formal.
Wyatt saw Tyler swallow, and he resisted the urge himself. He put his hand on Tyler’s shoulder and squeezed.
* * *
“YOUR HONOR.” THE attorney finally spoke. Emily forced herself to concentrate on the young woman’s words instead of on the faces of the man and boy seated at the big table. They weren’t the ghosts in her mind, she reminded herself.
“We’re asking that Mr. Hawkins be given temporary custody of Tyler Easton until his father, David James Hawkins, returns from overseas.”
“Temporary?” Emily looked over at the boy, Tyler. “What about the mother?” The sadness that filled the child’s eyes was quickly blinked away.
“She’s abandoned him.” The attorney lifted a thin sheet of paper. “I’ve labeled her letter Exhibit A.”
“Could you bring that to me?”
The woman’s heels were a sharp staccato on the tile floor as she approached the bench.
Emily read the letter and frowned. “Is this correct?” She faced the man sitting beside the boy. “Your brother doesn’t even know he has a son?” Mr. Hawkins looked surprised at being addressed.
“Uh, yes. We’re trying to reach him. He’s special forces, so it’s tough. He hasn’t been informed yet, as far as I know.”
“What makes you believe he’s going to be willing to take on a child, when and if, he returns?”
“My brother will accept his responsibilities.” The man’s voice was hard, telling Emily that even if his brother didn’t want Tyler, this man would do everything in his power to make him accept the boy.
She leaned back in her chair, the swivel giving her a better view of the man. Her stomach did a strange little flip-flop and she struggled to ignore it. “Who’s the caseworker?”
“Elizabeth Morgan is assigned to this case. Unfortunately, she just went out on maternity leave,” the attorney said.
Messy, Emily reminded herself. Juvenile cases were always messy. She knew the answer to her next question, but needed it in the record. “Can’t we get another caseworker on it?”
“The county is already overloaded. With the recent budget cuts, all caseworkers are carrying double loads.”
Emily sighed. They didn’t need a caseworker today, but she would prefer one. If she’d just gone on leave, there should be a preliminary report here somewhere. Damn. She wished she’d had time to review the whole file thoroughly.
“I’m not comfortable with the state of this case,” she said directly to the attorney. “What did the caseworker recommend?”
“There are no recommendations in place yet,” the attorney explained.
“What about provisions in case something happens to the father?” Emily nailed the attorney with a direct stare. “The military requires that.”
“Yes, ma’am. But the father left without knowing the boy existed. That’s not been set up.”
Emily looked over at the man. His jaw moved and he seemed to want to speak. She held up a hand. She needed to think without being interrupted. “Temporary custody isn’t an option here.” She met both the attorney’s and the man’s stares, daring them to disagree. “I’ll only grant permanent custody.” There needed to be someone there for the long haul, someone who’d be there when the parents didn’t show up or take on their responsibilities.
“No!” Tyler spoke for the first time.
Emily looked down at the boy, who seemed unable to remain in control any longer. “Don’t you want to have your uncle as your guardian?” Images of The Boys Home flashed in her mind and she cringed. Families needed to stay together.
“I don’t want it to be forever.”
“Why not?”
“Mama’s coming back. She promised.”
Emily’s heart broke and hurt for the boy. This was part of why she hated juvenile cases. People didn’t keep promises, and unless she forced them to, this boy would end up a ward of the court like so many before him. No, this man needed to be held accountable and not just for the short-term.
She drummed her fingers on the desktop and leaned forward in her chair. “Young man, why don’t you come up here so you and I can talk?”
Tyler glanced up at his uncle, the apprehension strong in his eyes.
“Go on, Tyler. It’s okay,” the man urged, his big hands patting the boy’s shoulder.
“Right here.” Emily tore her gaze away from the poignant sight and walked down the two steps to stand beside the witness chair. Tyler walked slowly toward her, and she helped him climb up into the high seat.
“There, now I can see you better.” She smiled to reassure him.
“I can see you better, too.” He grinned and her heart caught. He was going to be a looker someday, and the resemblance to his uncle was all too close. She cleared her throat and her mind. “So, Tyler. Do you know why your mom left?”
He shrugged. “Nope. She just said I’d be better off and safer with my dad.”
“Not your uncle?”
“We didn’t know my dad was gone.”
Emily nodded, not pleased with the lack of family connections.
“Does your mom have family?”
Tyler nodded. “Grandpa and Grandma Easton are old. Too old, Mama said, for a boy like me. My aunt Nancy has two kids. Mama said they caused enough headaches since Uncle Willie left last year.”
This story just got better. Emily realized his mother—Tammie, was that her name?—would have no secrets if Tyler knew them. She could pump him for information, but didn’t think she needed to. Not yet, anyway. The knowledge did give her a higher level of comfort.
She looked back at Wyatt Hawkins. “Do you know any of these people?”
He shook his head. “I’m in the process of trying to find them. No luck yet.”
“Keep looking,” she instructed then turned back to Tyler. “So you’ve never met your dad?”
“Nope. But Mom told me lots of things. And I have stuff that proves I’m his kid.” The boy’s chin notched up.
“You do?”
“Uh-huh.” Slowly, Tyler stood and reached into the bulging pockets of his jeans. He pulled out a couple plastic lizards, an old playing card and a key that had been wound with neon-green yarn. “This is stuff Mama said my dad gave her.”
She couldn’t wait to hear this one. “What are they?”
“These two lizards are like the ones on the beach where they met. In Florida.” He handed Emily each one very carefully. “This is a card from when they played stip poker.”
“Stip?” She nearly bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have asked but the question just came out.
“Yeah. When you bet your clothes.”
Emily was proud of herself for not reacting, though she heard a stifled groan come from his uncle. “And the key?”
“She said it went to somethin’ he had back home where he kept his really special stuff.”
Emily took the key and held it up. “Do you recognize this, Mr. Hawkins?”
He was looking at them both, his gaze intense, and he squinted at the key. She walked over to the table where he sat and handed him the key. He turned it over a couple times.
“Yeah.” His voice broke. “It goes to Dad’s old shop.”
His voice sounded sad and wistful. For a long minute, she looked down at the seated man, realizing that she had possibly misjudged him. He tilted his head back and their gazes clashed.
There was no angry glare, no macho attitude. Just emotions she couldn’t quite identify, and a pleading question. Her gut told her he was a good man. She swallowed, uncomfortable with the idea. To give herself a moment to think, she walked slowly back up to the judge’s seat.
“I’ll make you a deal.” She faced Tyler, hoping she wouldn’t regret this, and made an offer. “I’ll make it provisional. If at any time, either of your parents returns, we can meet again. Okay?”
Tyler responded, “What’s ‘probisional’ mean?”
“It means it can be changed,” she explained. “But until they come back, your uncle’s responsible for you.”
“It’ll work out, Ty,” the man mumbled as if he didn’t want her to hear. She appreciated his reassurances to the boy, but she couldn’t quite let herself believe him. The expression on the boy’s face told her that he wasn’t buying it, either.
“And—” she said.
The man stared at her.
“Until the caseworker is back to work, I want you to meet with me. I’ll be your caseworker for now.”
“Your Honor, that’s rather irregular,” the counselor objected.
“I don’t much care. This case doesn’t make me comfortable. Until it does, I’ll keep an eye on things. Write up the orders, counselor, and I’ll sign them. Anything else?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“We’re adjourned.” Emily stood and didn’t bother to look back at the man or the boy. She needed to keep a clear head in her work and that small face and those reassuring hands were already tugging at something she never allowed in her courtroom.
Her heart.
CHAPTER THREE
A WEEK LATER, Wyatt found himself headed toward the county court offices. The building was old. Not ancient old as to be pretty, but built-in-the-1970s old, with harvest-gold siding. Wyatt stared at the ugly-as-sin building and frowned. Why had the judge asked to see him without Tyler? What was she up to?
Not knowing the answer made him uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. He’d climbed out of his truck into the late-spring heat and headed for the glass doors. By the time he entered the cool air-conditioned inside, he was irritated.
He hadn’t dealt much with the legal system—that was his brother Jason’s arena—but he’d been in the cattle industry a long time, so he had plenty of experience with government agencies. This felt very similar.
Hat in hand, the brim cupped in his wide palm, he took a calming breath and approached the desk. The brunette sitting there looked up at him over a pair of half glasses that seemed to practically glow in the dark. What color were those supposed to be?
“Can I help you?”
“I have an appointment with Magistrate Ivers.” Wyatt didn’t even recognize his own voice. So formal. So distant.
“I’ll let her know.” The woman stood and walked down the short hall to disappear behind a thick wooden door.
He sat down on one of the chairs lined up neatly along the far wall. He was the only person here and the room was quiet. Where the outside of the building had hurt his eyes, this office was polished and modern. He liked the marble and glass.
A rack of brochures on how to be a guardian caught his eye. He’d just read the titles on the third row when the woman returned. “She’ll be right out.”
Wyatt nodded and stared at the sign beside the door. E. J. Ivers. He leaned closer to read her full name printed in smaller letters beneath. His frown deepened.
In Wyatt’s book, E. J. Ivers, magistrate, was not supposed to be Emily Ivers of the soft, feminine variety. Before last week, he’d had a vision of a graying older man with a booming voice. Or maybe one of those polished judges like on TV. Showed what he knew.
All through court, Wyatt had been stunned by the much younger, much prettier, definitely female judge. The long, black robes had hidden everything except the collar of the vibrant pink blouse that had set off her dark hair.
On the bench she’d been thorough and direct, and intelligence had snapped in her dark eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Now here he sat outside her office wondering what the hell to expect next.
* * *
EMILY GLARED AT the stacks of papers and files lined up on the conference table that took up nearly half her official chambers.
Even if she wanted to have a meeting here, she couldn’t. The piles never really seemed to shrink, though she knew Dianne frequently shuffled them around.
Emily stalked past the stacks and flopped down into her desk chair. She arranged the current file neatly on the blotter, reluctant to add more to the table.
She was tired. Court had been exhausting this week, covering for Judge Ramsey as well as her own responsibilities. And then there’d been Wyatt Hawkins and his nephew.
Emily leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Half of last night she’d tossed and turned, seeing Wyatt’s handsome face and feeling his reassuring hand on her own shoulder. She’d awoken before dawn this morning from a particularly vivid dream so clear she’d known there was no sleep left.
Now here she sat, waiting for the man to arrive at her office, barely able to keep her eyelids open. Shaking herself out of the stupor, she sat forward and opened the file.
Tyler Easton was an adorable kid. Instead of seeing the brown folder, she pictured his earnest young face. He wanted so badly to believe his mom was coming back for him and that his dad would want him. He’d pulled every worldly possession from his pockets to prove to her how important he was, to prove he belonged.
She smiled, wondering at the depth of those pockets. How could a boy carry so much around with him?
Once again, Wyatt Hawkins’s face came to mind. He cared for the boy—it showed in the softening of his eyes as he watched Tyler, in the protective hand he kept on the boy’s shoulder as they sat together and the reluctant smile that tugged at his lips. By granting provisional custody, she’d preserved Tyler’s hopes and given the uncle an out, if necessary.
Emily flipped through the file and reread her notes. Next she pulled out the preliminary caseworker’s notes that had been in the file, but which she hadn’t had time to review until afterward. She frowned as she reread the tightly typed paragraphs.
Wyatt Hawkins lived in the country in an aged ranch house. He’d owned it for just over five years. He was single and his family lived in Austin, a two-hour drive away. No one here to help him raise a child. No wife. No mother. No sisters. Not even a girlfriend?
That thought lingered just a moment too long.
The caseworker had managed to visit the house before going on maternity leave, billing for eighteen point seven miles from town. The house had been clean, uncluttered and drafty. It sat just yards away from the barn and outbuildings. An environment fraught with potential for risk and danger.
Emily almost smiled. She’d grown up on a farm far from the safety of city streets with their gang shootings and drug deals.
The woman’s final remarks were short and to the point. The caseworker didn’t believe Wyatt Hawkins could provide a safe family environment for a little boy.
Emily sighed. Why did she feel as if he was the enemy? She’d never felt like this before about a case or a man. It totally unnerved her. He unnerved her.
One last look at the caseworker’s notes and she moved them to the back of the file. Something about all this didn’t feel right. She needed to figure out what that something was.
Dianne didn’t bother knocking when she came in. She never did if Emily was alone. She grinned broadly and winked at Emily. “A hunky cowboy is here, right on time. Whew.” Dianne fanned herself. “That man’s sure got somethin’ goin’ on.” She grabbed half a dozen files off the table. “And if you don’t want some, I’m ready for a hefty helpin’.”