Baby Vs. The Bar. M.J. Rodgers

      Chapter Three

      Remy snatched up the morning newspaper and ground her teeth as she read the extra-large headline. But the steam really began to curl out of her ears when she read the caption below the three-column picture of Truesdale straddling her with her skirt over her head.

      She slammed the paper down on the lab table in her office and snatched at the coffeepot.

      “Good morning, Remy,” her sister said as she rolled her wheelchair over. “Sorry I’m late, but I’ve been fiddling with... Hey, what’s wrong?”

      Remy shoved the nozzle of the coffeepot into her mug and poured. “That’s what’s wrong, Phil. Did you see it?” she asked as she nodded at the newspaper.

      Dr. Phillida Moore shifted her wheelchair and glanced over one of her well-muscled shoulders at the headline. “Oh, yeah, that.” She tsk-tsked. “Really, Remy. And you assured me yesterday morning you were only going to the courthouse to give testimony.”

      Remy squinted her eyes. “Oh, very funny. I swear that’s the last time I ever put on a dress and heels again.”

      Phil’s mouth twisted into a crooked grin. “Look on the bright side. You were wearing sexy underwear, at least. Why, right this minute there are probably dozens of love-starved men out there who are cutting this picture out of their morning paper so they can make you their latest pinup.”

      Remy shook her head. “How marvelously comforting that image is. Thank you so much.”

      Phil chuckled. “What shall your big sister do? Track down this attorney and run over his feet with my wheelchair? Or should I go after the photographer? The newspaper editor? The caption writer?”

      Remy grinned as the anger drained from her thoughts. Phil was great for getting Remy’s thoughts away from those things she couldn’t do anything about. Which was precisely what Phil had intended to do, of course.

      “I already took care of the attorney.”

      “Now that’s my little sister talking,” Phil said proudly, the expression on her strong angular face matching the humor in her tone.

      “You can don your avenger cape and start with the photographer, though,” Remy added. “Want some coffee?”

      “I would sell my right wheel for a cup,” Phil said, grabbing a mug off the table.

      Remy smiled as she dumped a couple of sugar cubes and then some coffee into her sister’s mug. “You were starting to tell me why you were late?”

      “Oh, the wheelchair ramp on my van got stuck again. The guy from the auto club finally came by and fixed it.”

      But not until Phil had sworn and fussed, trying to fix it herself for a couple of hours, Remy was certain. Phil hated not being able to do everything for herself, because she could so clearly do most everything for herself. She simply refused to let the wheelchair stop her. Phil was the strongest and most determined person Remy had ever known.

      “You could have left the wheelchair, put on those new steel-strong plastic legs the doctor fitted you with and hailed a taxi. I thought you walked really well in them last time.”

      “Yeah, sure. I saw the video of how well I walked. Kind of reminded me of Frankenstein’s monster.” Phil laughed. “Too bad the faculty’s Halloween party next month isn’t a costume ball. Talk about typecasting!”

      Remy’s brow furrowed. “That’s nonsense and you know it. Just let your hair grow a bit, put on some makeup and walk in wearing a long black dress. You’d be smashing.”

      Phil chuckled with very little mirth. “Oh, I’d be smashing, all right. Into everything.”

      “Phil, if you don’t try—”

      “Hey, I don’t need phony legs, Remy. Or any phony compliments about how gorgeous I could be all dolled up. I like this old mug of mine. I like my wheelchair just fine, too. I can move faster with these wheels than most people can walk, present company excepted, of course. I know what’s best, kiddo. Always have.”

      Yes, Phil always seemed to. For as long as Remy could remember, she’d been following her older sister’s advice. And benefiting from it. Phil was strong where it counted. She had taught Remy to be strong, too.

      The telephone rang. Remy answered it with her name as she always did when she was at work.

      “Dr. Westbrook, this is Kate Saunders from Channel Five. I’d like to interview you sometime this morning about—”

      “No,” Remy interrupted coolly. “No interviews.”

      “But—”

      Remy hung up the phone quickly and turned to Phil. “That’s the third newsperson this morning and it’s not even ten o’clock.”

      She downed some of the steamy coffee, forgetting to sip in her pique. It burned her throat. She paid little attention. The thoughts firing through her mind were suddenly a lot hotter.

      Phil grinned. “You should get harassed by the press more often. Puts a nice color in your cheeks.”

      Remy ignored the tease this time. “Three of them were waiting for me when I drove up this morning. Fortunately, Braden got here at the same time and misdirected them over to another building so Nicholas and I could sneak inside and lock the door. Although, we were still waylaid on the steps by some fool dressed in a knight’s armor who went down on bended knee and proposed to me.”

      “No kidding? Ha!” Phil yowled, her head thrown back. “What a hoot! Who was he?”

      “One of my students a semester ago. But he’s not the worst of it. You wouldn’t believe the guys who have been making a play for me. Last night after the TV news flashed my picture and mentioned the reason for my appearance at the Bio-Sperm trial, I got a call from a plumber who once fixed my sink, the owner of the dry cleaners I frequent, and even the guy who sold me my car—all asking for a date.”

      “What did you tell them?”

      “Let’s just say the last time I repeated that type of language I was twelve and you washed my mouth out with soap.”

      Phil smiled.

      “And, as if these news hounds and money-hungry lotharios weren’t enough,” Remy continued, “my first call this morning was from an attorney who said he’d be happy to represent me in my fight to get the Demerchant money, and he’d do it for only a third of the estate.”

      Phil shook her head. “They sure start crawling out of the woodwork when a lot of money is mentioned.”

      Remy took another sip of her coffee. “It’s Binick’s fault. He’s the one who made up that lie about Nicholas being Louie Demerchant’s great-grandson.”

      “Are you sure it is a lie, Remy?”

      “Of course it’s a lie. Think about it. Binick knows he’s responsible for destroying David Demerchant’s sperm. If Louie Demerchant wins that ten-million-dollar suit against him, Binick’s going bankrupt. He told me that himself when he and the process server arrived on my front doorstep with the subpoena.”

      “He actually told you the ten-million-dollar award would bankrupt him?”

      “Yes, like he thought that would influence me. And when I made it clear it didn’t, he acted like I should be pleased to learn I had received David Demerchant’s sperm. Probably thought I’d jump at the opportunity to claim the dead man’s money.”

      “Which reminds me,” Phil said. “Why aren’t you?”

      “Phil,