Montana Homecoming. Jillian Hart
whispered until the past was all she could see. “You’re being evasive.”
“Me? I’m not the evasive sort.” That grin of his could make a girl’s neurons fail completely.
Fortunately not hers. She was immune to a man’s charm, thanks to her last boyfriend, Darren. “Then why are you at the courthouse early on a Monday morning?”
“I’m not a thief and, no, I’m not a lawyer. Although if I’d chosen differently, I might have been one. Both of my parents are, they’re off in L.A., and that’s what they expected me to be. A summer volunteering in Ecuador changed that.”
“You volunteered?” She raised one eyebrow. This man with his magazine-cover polish, perfect black suit and patterned tie? With a briefcase clutched in one hand? “Wait, don’t tell me. Probation?”
“Funny.” His chuckle was as warm as she might have expected. “I volunteered as part of my church’s youth group. We stayed in a village that had no electricity or running water. We worked to put in a water system and irrigation for crops. I liked it so much I volunteered every summer until I was out of college. Because I had to work for a living, I decided to stick closer to home with my volunteer efforts.”
“I’m not impressed.” Fine, maybe a little. But she didn’t have to admit that out loud.
“Didn’t expect you to be.” Dimples played at the corners of his smile. “Let me guess. You’ve done a lot of volunteering, too. Animal shelters?”
“Yes. Good guess.” She hesitated, not knowing how to explain. She felt akin to those animals forgotten in cages. She’d lost so much of her life after Darren’s betrayal and her trial, and she’d lost herself, too. Helping in the city shelter gave her the chance to make a difference and to work with animals, something she’d always wanted to do with her life. “I put in a lot of time at the shelter close to where I lived. I was there so often, I knew every animal by name.”
“Busy? That on top of a job has to keep you hoppin’.”
His voice dipped low, interested.
“At times.” Uncomfortable, she shrugged. She didn’t try to explain. A man like him, so polished and confident, would never understand. What did he see when he looked at her? She gave her thrif-store sweater a tug. “I like to keep busy.”
“Busy is good,” he agreed.
She risked another sideways glance at him. Strong profile, thick dark hair, a straight nose, square-cut chin, a man who radiated a quiet integrity that anyone would believe in. But did she?
“Volunteering keeps me out of trouble.”
“Oh, sure. Me, too.”
“You volunteer still?”
“Guilty. I can’t help myself.”
They shared a smile. She could read in his eyes the truth, the same truth she couldn’t say aloud. There was true need in this world. She’d never been able to turn her back on it. Neither could he.
“See?” His smile deepened, making his dimples irresistible. “We’re more alike than you first thought. We stand on common ground.”
“Maybe a tile or two,” she quipped, feeling uneasy again because the lights in his blue irises shone genuinely, with no falseness.
Everyone hid things, she reminded herself before she could start to believe him. Everyone had places within them they kept secret. Buried disappointments, shortcomings, failures. She swallowed hard, looking at the yawning doors, fighting the trace of panic setting in.
She hadn’t been in a courthouse since her trial. This was a different place, but the sounds were the same. The buzz of conversation echoing in the corridor, the tap of her shoes on the cold white tile, the cavernous seriousness that wrapped around her like a tomb. Trying not to remember, she played with the hem of one sweater sleeve, seeing in her mind the judge’s bench, the witness box and the empty chairs for the jury. She blinked hard until the memory faded.
“Brooke McKaslin? Is that you?” An aggressive woman tore through the crowd. A brown, curly cap of hair, assessing eyes and a cat’s grin locked on her. “Tasha Brown with Action News. Tell me, how does it feel to step foot in this courtroom?”
A reporter. Shock rocked her back on her heels. She hadn’t prepared for this. She despised reporters, always digging up dirt and thriving on it. Why did someone have to unearth it now? It happened so long ago. The shame of the past struck her hard. She gasped, fisted her hands, lost sight of the doorway. Her vision blurred.
“No comment.” The words squeaked out of her, full of pain. But did the reporter stop?
No. The woman jabbed her handheld recorder closer. “Your family isn’t any stranger to courthouses. First your father—”
“Excuse me,” she interrupted, unable to see a way out. People surrounded her in every direction, closing in to get to the courtroom. Panic raced through her veins. She couldn’t breathe. There just wasn’t any air. And how could she escape? She was trapped by people everywhere.
A steady hand clasped around her elbow. Liam. Strong but gentle. The comfort of his touch reminded her she wasn’t alone.
Over the whir of panic she heard the resonate rumble of his voice, keeping the reporters at bay. He tugged her close to the wall and blocked her with his body.
“Thank you.” She drew in a ragged breath, feeling a little foolish. She definitely felt wrung out.
“No problem,” he answered kindly. “I—”
“There you are!” Colbie burst into sight like a fish swimming against the current, weaving around people filing into the chamber. Her violet eyes shone with caring. “Court is about to start. C’mon.”
Brooke felt her sister’s unspoken sympathy wrap around her like a hug. Colbie understood. Colbie who had so faithfully written letters all those years when Brooke had been away, cut off from life, behind barred doors and windowless walls.
Lord, help me to do this. She gathered all the strength she had. She could walk into that courtroom, sit beside her sisters and ignore the reporters. She was strong and tough. Not once would she remember being perched in her chair beside a defense attorney with her world in tatters. Colbie’s hand slipped around hers as Liam let go.
She turned to him at a loss, unsure what to say. He’d witnessed her panic attack, the remnants of which were still quaking through her. But did he ask questions? No. Kindness softened his deep eyes and made him amazing.
Just amazing.
With Colbie’s hand in hers, she set her chin, squared her shoulders and walked into the courtroom as if the past had no claim on her.
* * *
At times his fellow colleagues miffed him, and it burned through the morning session. Liam sat in the back where he could watch the entire courtroom, not that there was much going on other than opening arguments and preliminaries. He was on assignment, so he was interested in the case but he had a hard time concentrating. He could still hear Brooke’s gasp of pain at Tasha Brown’s question. Interrogating family members outside the courtroom. He clenched his jaw, hands fisting.
Fine, so he felt protective of Brooke. He would respond the same way toward anyone in a similar situation. And if a little voice in the back of his head wanted to argue, he simply ignored it.
She hadn’t glanced his way once all morning. He had a perfect view of her, seated with her family down front. They nestled together in an unbreakable circle around Brianna. Brooke’s sleek dark hair glinted in the lights, and he remembered the feel of her arm, fine-boned and soft beneath his hand. Asking her for a quote hadn’t even occurred to him. Why had Tasha done it?
The Backdoor Burglars had been big news a while back, before he’d moved back home. Thieves had preyed on restaurants when employees were