The Road To Echo Point. Carrie Weaver
He checked out a speck of dirt under his fingernails. Never let ’em see you sweat. Good strategy on the football field, even better in life.
“Have you been listening to a word I’ve said? Still need that job of yours? Remember, no Daisy, no driver’s license. No license, no job. That would be a shame.” He made a tsk-tsking sound.
Her chin came up, her full lips compressed into a line. “A good attorney will make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“So you think your lawyer’ll make it all go away? Pull the proper strings?”
“That’s the way the world works.”
“Yeah, unfortunately you’re right,” he conceded. “But, see, Judge Tanner is more than just an old coot playing at law. He’s part of one of the oldest ranching families in Arizona. This is kind of a…retirement job.”
“Retirement job?” She nibbled on her lower lip. Nice teeth. He had her now.
“Sure. He was a Superior Court Judge till his heart attack about ten years ago. Then he decided to come home to Echo Point, where he could make the rules and play the game his way. Eccentric, I think they call it. But he’s got more pull than any lawyer you could hire. And you know what? He’s been Daisy’s…uh, admirer for most of those ten years.”
“Oh.”
She pulled her robe more closely around her. It was almost disappointing to see the light of victory fade from her eyes. A good challenge always revved up his competitive juices. But not this time. The risk was too great.
“Hey, look, truth is, sometimes I don’t want to be here. But Daisy needs me. And she needs you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make her happy. Not you, your job, or anything else is going to get in the way of that. Now it’s time to set a few ground rules. About your vocabulary—”
“She’s your responsibility, not mine.”
It was true, too true. His debt, his responsibility. All the crap he’d put his mom through—the cops dragging him home in the middle of the night, the petty theft, the scum he’d hung out with. That, on top of his dad’s death.
Yeah, he owed her. Big time. And he’d promised to keep her safe, in her own home. And in one split second, this she-devil had almost destroyed the house of cards he’d built. Annabelle was the only thing standing between Daisy and a nursing home. He couldn’t do it alone, much as he wanted to.
No, Vi was the only solution. Otherwise, he’d have to break a string of promises. And he didn’t break promises.
“Lady, you did the crime, you do the time. You can consider her your responsibility, too. For the next month treat her as if she were your own mother.”
CHAPTER THREE
VI ABSORBED Ian’s statement, but couldn’t comprehend it. She wasn’t quite sure how normal people treated their mothers. Maria Davis Peralta had kept her sanity, Vi supposed, by cocooning herself in denial. Denial that their life was a nightmare, and half the time, denial that she had any children at all. It was easier to pretend they didn’t exist. That is, until Patrick died. Then she was the grieving mother, so broken-hearted she had to divorce her husband, leave her two daughters, remarry and move to San Diego.
So when Ian instructed her to treat Daisy like her own mother, it exposed a raw nerve she refused to explore. Instead, she propped her fists on her hips and challenged, “Not only am I to keep the lady from wandering off and getting herself killed, but you want me to be all warm and fuzzy and treat her like family? You’ve got the wrong woman, buddy. If she were my mother, I’d put her some place where she could receive appropriate care.”
She watched her statement sink in. Ian’s eyes were shadowed for a moment. Guilt? Uncertainty? It was gone before she could identify it. Replaced by white-hot anger.
Vi backed away until her hips met the kitchen counter. No escape. She lifted her chin and waited. But the raw frustration in his face made her squinch her eyes shut.
When the blow didn’t come, she cautiously opened her eyes and saw him standing before her, defeat evident in the slump of his shoulders.
Relief washed over her. She’d stared down fear. Something she couldn’t have done five years ago. He wouldn’t destroy her. Couldn’t make her cower. No matter how big or how strong he was.
Step by step, she forced her feet forward until she stood toe to toe with the hulk. Craning her neck, she made sure she didn’t lose eye contact.
“I think I’ll just call a few of my attorney friends. Find out a little about Judge Tanner,” she challenged.
Green, clear and steady. Ian held her gaze. The seconds ticked by, neither of them moving.
When he leaned one elbow back against the breakfast bar, she exhaled slowly. He was giving her room to breathe. Or enough rope to hang herself.
“Go ahead.” He nodded toward the phone on the kitchen counter. “I’m sure your legal beagles will get a hoot out of this one.”
Vi reached for the phone, then stopped, her hand suspended midair.
She studied his expression, searching for a weakness, an inconsistency. He didn’t blink, just gave her a cocky half grin.
Damn.
He set down his coffee cup, the one that proclaimed Ruggers Do It Down And Dirty, and retrieved the phone. Shoving the receiver in her hand, he said, “Here you go. Need privacy?”
“Nooo…that won’t be necessary.”
It was necessary to keep this whole fiasco as quiet as possible. He might be bluffing. But what if he weren’t? It was bad enough she had been banished to this godforsaken place for a month. A month where she was seriously out of the loop. A month for that weasel in the Scottsdale office to suck up to the big boss without any competition. No, she didn’t need to compound the problem by making a laughingstock of herself.
Or worse, find her butt parked at a desk in Underwriting. That’s exactly where eight points on her driver’s license would get her. The big boys upstairs took a dim view of impulsive behavior, especially if it opened up the company to liability. The boss would cover for her to a point. But if it became common knowledge around the legal community…
This little episode had to be erased. Like it never happened. No points on her license, no reminders.
“I—I believe you. I’ll stay.”
For now.
Ian eyed her suspiciously. Maybe she’d capitulated too fast.
Shrugging, she spread her hands wide. “Hey, you’ve got me over a barrel.”
The taut line of his shoulders visibly relaxed. “I’m a pretty mellow guy. Just be good to Daisy and we’ll get along fine.”
“Sure. Fine.” She flashed him a smile, an earnest, kid sister kind of smile. If she couldn’t beat him, she’d join him. Their goals were the same, after all. Get the dog back on its feet ASAP. “And since it looks like I’ll be here a while, why don’t I get dressed and you can tell me exactly what I can do to help Daisy and her four-legged friend.”
He still looked at her warily, but didn’t respond. Just frowned.
Then he shrugged his shoulders and said, “We’ll meet in the den in, say, about half an hour? The den is down the hall, to the right.”
VI EASED INTO the battered old wingback chair. The torn leather armrest scratched the tender skin on the underside of her forearm. It reminded her of home. Only their furniture hadn’t started out as nice as this.
She suppressed a shudder. Someone needed to tape some holes, or better yet, scrap the chair entirely.
“Okay, shoot,” Vi prodded, notebook open, pen handy.
Ian