The Rancher's Christmas Promise Page 6

  “My client is innocent.”

  “Spoken like a defense lawyer.”

  “I am a defense lawyer. Just a poorly paid one, thanks to the great state of Wyoming.”

  “If he’s your client, why is someone else handling the trial?”

  Her lips twisted. “That, my friend, is the fifty-dollar question.” She rolled carefully to one side so that she could deposit Layla on the couch cushion and then slid off the couch to sit on the floor.

  It was almost as interesting as watching a circus contortionist.

  Once she was on the floor with her back to the couch, she tugged her shirt down over her flat stomach where it had ridden up and blew out a breath. “This place of yours has a lot going for it, I’ll grant you, but you need air-conditioning.”

  “I have a window rattler upstairs in my bedroom.” He wondered why he didn’t tell her there was another one in Layla’s bedroom, too.

  She slanted a look toward him from the corner of her eye. “Meaning?”

  He smiled slightly. “Meaning I do have air-conditioning. Just not down here. I wish Mrs. Pyle would have told me.”

  “She must have her reasons. She’s known since Monday.”

  He sat forward and offered her the unopened water bottle. “Why didn’t you say something about the trial when you chased us down the street the other day?”

  “Because it was Mrs. Pyle’s business to tell you.” Her fingers grazed his when she leaned over to take the water.

  Adelaide had done her best to give him an appreciation of beauty and the visual arts. She’d always been asking him, But what do you see? and he never knew exactly what kind of answer she wanted. But he figured he must have learned something from her after all, given his appreciation of the way Greer tilted her head and tipped the bottle back, taking a prolonged drink. Her neck was long and lovely. Her profile pure. Watching her was almost enough to compensate for her and Mrs. Pyle’s keeping him in the dark.

  Greer handed him back the half-empty bottle.

  Her lips were full and damp.

  Even though he didn’t need the trouble it would likely bring, he didn’t look away from her when he took the bottle from her and finished it.

  Her gaze flickered and she looked away as she pushed to her feet. She tugged at the hem of her T-shirt as she paced around the couch. “Did she give you any other reason to be quitting?”

  “Maybe you should ask Mrs. Pyle.”

  She gave him a look and he relented, proving that he needed more willpower to resist the women in his life. “She tells me she’s a housekeeper. Not a nanny.”

  “Because scrubbing floors is so much easier than heating a bottle?” Her voice rose a little and she pressed her lips together self-consciously.

  “Layla doesn’t use a bottle anymore. She only uses her cup. The pink cup. And if the pink cup isn’t handy, she screams bloody murder until it is. Trust me, Counselor. Cleaning house is easier than childcare.” He waved at Layla, who hadn’t budged an inch from where she had rolled onto her side against the back couch cushion. She drooled all the time these days, and now was no exception. But the leather had survived him growing up, so he assumed it would survive a while longer.

  “Did she say when she’s leaving?”

  “She gave me a week’s notice.”

  “Even if we haven’t found a nanny by then?” Greer propped her hands on her slender hips. “Did she say anything else?”

  “Yeah. That I’d be better off finding a wife than a nanny.”

  Greer’s eyebrows rose halfway up her forehead. Then she scrubbed her hands down her face. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  She dropped her hands. “That she said something so...so insensitive!” She pressed her lips together again and watched Layla warily, as if expecting her to wake because her voice had risen once more.

  “Insensitive how?”

  A small line formed between her eyebrows. “Your wife passed away less than a year ago,” she said huskily. “I’m sure remarrying is the furthest thing from your mind.”

  “It was until my housekeeper brought it up. But she had a valid point. Layla deserves a mother.” At least he’d had Adelaide when his mother had died. He leaned back in the chair again and propped his feet once more on the couch arm. He linked his fingers across his stomach. “You never knew Daisy, did you?”

  The line deepened slightly as she shook her head. “I never met her. But Grant has been talking more about Karen these days.”

  “The man actually talks?”

  She gave him a look. “What she did has been hard on him, too. He was Karen’s brother, but even then, the court wasn’t ready or willing to hand over Layla to him.”

  He grunted. “She was never Karen to me. She was Daisy Miranda. That was the name she used when we met, the name she used when we got married and the name she used when she left me. She never said she had a brother at all. Either he didn’t matter enough for her to mention, or I didn’t matter enough. Considering the way things went down, I’ll give you a guess which one I’m more inclined to believe.”

  Greer tucked her hair behind her ears. Her forehead had a dewy sheen. “Regardless of her name, you loved her enough to marry her. You don’t just get over that at the drop of a hat.”

  “You been married to someone who ran out on you? Ever gone through a bunch of tests just to make sure she didn’t leave you with something catching to remember her by?”

  “No, but—”

  “Ever married at all?”

  She needlessly retucked her hair. “No. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. That I have no appreciation for the pain involved when you lose someone. Hearts don’t heal just because we decide they should.”

  He couldn’t help the amusement that hit him.

  And she saw it on his face. The line between her brows deepened even more. “What’s so funny?”

  He schooled his expression. “Nothing.”

  She let out a disgusted sound and his lips twitched again. Stopping the smile would’ve taken more willpower than he possessed.

  She glared at him even harder and her eye got that little twitch she was prone to.

  “Relax, Counselor. You don’t have to worry that I’m withering away with grief or anything else because of my beloved wife. You do recall that she ran out on me, right?”

  “And no matter what you say now, I’m sure that was very painful for you. But you know—” she waved her hands in invitation “—if you feel the need to pretend otherwise so as to maintain some false manly pride, be my guest.”

  He watched her for a moment. Then he pulled his feet off the couch again and sat forward. “Want a beer?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  He stood. Layla was still sound asleep. Snoring even, which meant that although he’d showered off the hay dust, she’d still probably gotten a whiff of it and her nose was getting congested. The pediatrician had warned him that Layla seemed to be developing some allergies. “A beer,” he repeated, and headed into the kitchen, where he grabbed two cold bottles from the refrigerator.

  Greer was standing in the same spot when he returned and handed her one. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” He twisted off the cap and set it on the fireplace mantel.

  Still looking suspicious, she slowly did the same.

  He lightly tapped his bottle against hers and took a drink.

  After some hesitation, she took a tiny sip.

  “Let’s go out back. It might be cooler.”

  She looked at Layla. “But—”

  He scooped up the baby, who didn’t even startle, and transferred her to the playpen. Then he picked up the baby monitor and turned it on, showing Greer the screen where the black-and-white image of his living space, including the playpen, was flickering to life. “Happy?”

  Beer
and monitor in hand, he headed out through the kitchen door, and Greer followed.

  It wasn’t any cooler outside. But at least there was a slight breeze and the gambrel roof provided shade from the sun. He gestured with his bottle to the picnic table and benches that he’d found stored in the root cellar when he’d bought the place.

  “Wouldn’t have expected something so fanciful from you,” she said as she straddled one of the benches and set her bottle on the cheerfully painted table. “Flowers?”

  He took the opposite bench. “Daisies.” He set the baby monitor on the center of the weathered table and took a pull on the cold beer. “Twenty-five cents if you can guess who painted them.”

  “Ah.” She nodded and fell silent.

  He exhaled and turned so his back was against the table and he could stretch out his legs. The rolling hillside was his for almost as far as he could see. Beyond that was his by lease. His closest neighbor was ten miles away as the crow flew, and just to get to the highway meant driving down his seventeen-mile driveway, three miles of which were actually paved. Until he’d bought the place, he felt like he’d been looking for it his entire life.

  But his housekeeper did have a point about his place being remote. “Mrs. Pyle’s grandson going to get off?”

  “It’s a jury trial, so you never know until the verdict comes in. But I believe the facts are on Anthony’s side.”

  “Doesn’t it bug you not being there in court?”

  “There are a lot of things about my job that bug me.”

  He took another drink and looked her way.

  “Yes. It bugs me. But we’ve built a solid defense and Don Chatham—much as he annoys me personally—is a fine attorney. I can zealously represent my clients through the fairest plea negotiations to resolve their cases as well as anyone working in the PD’s office. But when my client refuses to plea, or when they’re truly better served going to trial?” She rolled the bottle between her fingertips. “Anthony is in good hands. Better than mine, when it comes down to it, since Don’s experience before a jury exceeds mine by about a decade.”

  “When’s the verdict likely to come in?”

  “Before six tonight. The judge runs a tight ship and he likes to be home for dinner with his wife every night by seven. If the jury is still deliberating, he’ll call a recess and resume tomorrow morning. But he’ll be in a bad mood because he doesn’t like working on Fridays any more than Don does. Did you move here because of Daisy?”

  Her abrupt question was surprising. “No. We didn’t meet until after that.” He rolled his jaw around. “Not long after,” he allowed.

  “So why did you buy this place? Did you ranch in New Mexico?”

  “I did a lot of ranch work. For other people. Along the way was some rodeoing. A few years in the service. Did you always want to be a lawyer?”

  “What branch?”

  “Army.”

  She smiled slightly. “My dad, too. Way before I was born, though.” Her smile widened. “And I wanted to be a lawyer from the very first Perry Mason novel I read. My dad has a whole collection of them from when he was a kid and I started reading them one summer when I was grounded. I had romantic visions of defending the rights of the meek and the defenseless. And I also fancied following in Archer’s path.”

  Ryder lifted his eyebrows.

  “My older brother. Half brother, to be accurate. On my dad’s side. I have a half sister on my mom’s side who’s also an attorney. But I didn’t grow up with Rosalind the way I did with Archer. They’re both in private practice.”

  “Classic yours, mine and ours situation?”

  “Sort of. I have another half sister, too, who is a psychologist. Hayley lives in Weaver with her husband, Seth, and their baby. What about you?”

  “No sisters. No brothers. Half or otherwise.”

  “But you have an aunt Adelaide with a pug named Brutus.”

  “Lawyers and their penchant for details.”

  “I’d be worried about my memory if I couldn’t recall something you mentioned less than a week ago,” she said drily. “What about your parents?”

  “What about them?”

  She waited a beat, and when he said nothing more, she took a sip of her beer. She squinted and her cheeks looked pinched.

  Her face was an open book, which for a lawyer was sort of a surprise. Maybe it was a good thing she didn’t face juries very often. “Not your cup of tea?”

  “It’s fine.”

  He rolled his eyes and took the beer out of her hands. “I suppose you’re a teetotaler.”

  “Not at all. I just... Well, wine is more my thing.”

  It was his turn to pull a face. “And not mine. Whiskey?”

  “If the occasion calls for it.”

  “We’ve at least got that in common.” He got up and she looked alarmed. “Don’t worry. I’m not bringing out a bottle of the good stuff. A cold beer at three on a hot afternoon is one thing. We’ll save the whiskey for cold nights and staying warm. I’ll get you a soda.”

  * * *

  Greer chewed the inside of her cheek, watching Ryder head inside his house.

  She thought she’d done pretty well not falling right off the couch when she’d wakened to find him sitting there. He’d obviously showered. His hair was dark and wet, slicked back from his chiseled features. His T-shirt was clinging to his broad shoulders. His feet sticking out from the bottom of his worn jeans had been bare.

  And her mind had gone straight down the no-entry road paved with impossibility.

  She hadn’t expected to doze off along with Layla. But then again, she hadn’t expected to be so pooped out after spending six hours taking care of the baby, either.

  When she’d arrived out at the house, it had been early enough to relieve Doreen Pyle so she could get into town before court started. But Ryder hadn’t been there, even though Greer had spent most of last night sleeplessly preparing herself for the encounter.

  Doreen had told her that he’d headed out more than two hours earlier. “Haying,” she’d said, as if that explained everything.

  Foolishly, Greer had assumed that Doreen would have told her employer that Greer was pinch-hitting that day. And why.

  She turned the baby monitor so she could see it better. Layla had turned around in a full circle inside the playpen, but still looked to be sleeping.

  She reluctantly set the monitor on the table when Ryder returned. He set a bottle of cola in front of her. “Better?”

  She rarely indulged, but it was still better than beer. And it was wonderfully cold. “Thank you.”

  His lips stretched into a brief smile. Then he sat down again, but this time he straddled his bench the same as her. “Why choose the public defender’s office to zealously defend your clients?”

  She’d been asked that question ever since she’d passed the bar. She’d always given the same answer. “Because I wanted to help people who really needed it.” Her eyes strayed to the baby monitor. She couldn’t help it. That grainy little image fascinated her.

  “And do you?” His question dragged at her attention. “Help people who really need it?”

  She twisted open the soda and took a long drink. The fact that she wasn’t really sure what she was accomplishing anymore wasn’t something she intended to share. “Everyone deserves a proper and fair defense,” she finally said, which she believed right to her very core. “More than eighty percent of criminal defendants in this state end up in the public defender’s office. I do my part as well as I can.”

  “Just not in front of a jury.”

  She realized she’d picked up the monitor again and made herself put it down. “Not generally. Although, honestly, I stay busier with my cases than Don does. We have a handful of trials a month. Unless it’s something really big like the Santiago thing that’s been on the news, Don spends mo
st of his weekends fishing while I’m chasing around between courts and jails and—” She broke off. “I’ve never had a caseload that drops under one hundred clients at any given time.”

  The slashing dimple in his cheek appeared for a moment. “Do they all say they’re innocent?”

  She smiled wryly and let that one pass. “We cover a few counties here. But I know some offices with caseloads that are even heavier. We all make use of interns, but getting them can be sort of cutthroat.” She shook her head. “The real problem is there’s never enough money in the coffers to equip our office with everything and everyone we need.”

  “Now you sound like a politician.”

  On the monitor screen, Layla had turned around and was facing the other corner, her little rump up in the air. “Not in this lifetime,” Greer responded. “Though I’d probably make more money if I were. Nobody I know has ever gotten rich working as a PD.”

  “Do you want to be rich?”

  She laughed outright at that. “I’m more about being able to pay all the bills on time.”

  “What about that house of yours? That’s gotta be a money pit.”

  “I’ll take the fifth on that. I love my house. It has character.”

  “Like your car?”

  She gave him her best stern look. The one she’d learned from her father. “Don’t be dissing my car.”

  He lifted his hands in surrender.

  “It was the thermostat, by the way. So thank you for that heads-up.”

  “Ever considered private practice?”

  “Most lawyers do.”

  “Well, then? It’s not like you don’t have an in with people in the business.”

  “Much as I love Archer, I have no desire to actually work with him. Rosalind is with her father’s practice down in Cheyenne and does mostly tax and corporate law. Bo-ho-ring. So—” She took another drink just so she wouldn’t pick up the monitor again.

  “So...?”

  “Why are you so interested?”

  “Shouldn’t I know more about the woman who’s been watching Layla behind my back?”

  “For one day. Don’t imply it’s been a regular occurrence.” She nudged the monitor with her fingertip. “We all fell in love with her, you know.” She brushed her thumb across Layla’s black-and-white image. “Right from the very beginning when Linc called in Maddie because he’d found a baby on his doorstep. The only identifying clue she had on her was the note Daisy left with her.”