Earth to Emily (11 page)

“Why not?”

He huffed out a tense breath. “It’s possible we’re wrong, and we don’t want to get a good guy in trouble if we are.” He shook his head, opened his mouth, then shook his head again.

Jack stepped over to me and put a hand on my upper arm. “It’s complicated. You’re going to have to trust me on this. Okay?”

I looked around me. Usually I loved it when Jack touched me, but every eye was on me, and I felt conspicuous. Why should I trust Jack, I wondered, when it seemed he and Mickey—and probably Laura—all knew something I didn’t? But it was his ranch, and his law firm, and, honestly, while he wasn’t very open with me about his personal life, he wasn’t untrustworthy, per se. His family trusted him. His secretary, Judith, trusted him. In fact, everyone in his life seemed almost fanatically loyal to him. I sighed, and as I did, I felt a little vertigo, like I was on the back of a horse that had spooked out from under me.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll trust you.” I turned and walked out.

The next morning, the kids were still wearing the same clothes we’d found for them the evening before. They sat side by side at the big plank table in the kitchen. Greg’s eyes drooped and Farrah’s were closed completely. Snowflake snuggled in Farrah’s lap. Jack was in the kitchen, leaning toward them across the breakfast bar. I grabbed a mug of coffee and joined the kids. Even though they were right in front of them, neither appeared to have noticed the names carved into the table: JACKSON. JULIA. The names of Jack’s children. I could hardly look at the etching without getting emotional, myself, especially after Jack’s story yesterday.

I cleared my throat, and four eyes opened, a little, and looked in my direction. “Jack and I are joining Mickey and Laura for church this morning. We’d love for you to come, too, if you’re willing.”

Neither kid reacted, and I took one sip, then two. “After our talk yesterday, I didn’t want to force it on you, um, Frannie.”

She blinked. “No one has ever asked me if it was okay before.”

I smiled at her.

“Yeah, it’s cool. I figure there’s one God and he probably would rather me do something instead of nothing.”

I laughed. “Me, too. I’ve been trying to find the right place for myself to do something back home.”

“How long have you been looking?”

Since I was twenty-one. I did the math. “Nine years.”

Jack’s voice came from behind me. “Where all have you tried in Amarillo?” I heard a pop from the toaster.

“Well, Believers, of course, because of my mother. I’ve given it several tries actually, but I’m too different. Then Unitarian with Wallace, but there, I don’t think I’m different enough.”

Greg snorted. “You want different? Our last foster family made us go with them to Mighty is His Word. That new place halfway to Oklahoma. Weird as shit.”

“I think I can pass on ‘weird as shit.’” I laughed. “What do you mean by weird, though, like what kind of stuff?”

“They hate everybody. They make you sign pledges to go to war—that’s what they call it—against other religions, anyone they think are sinners, people from other countries, which sucks, because Far—”

“Frannie?” I interrupted.

“Yeah, because Frannie was right there.”

“That does suck. And suddenly my mother’s Believers sound pretty normal after all.”

Jack brought a plate stacked with cinnamon-raisin bread in one hand and a tub of butter with a knife in the other. Two young hands snagged toast almost before the plate hit the table. I grabbed a piece, too.

“I can promise you the church we’re going to today is nothing like that.” Jack returned to the kitchen. “Orange juice in a pitcher and some glasses on the counter. We leave in half an hour.”

No one answered him. We were already chewing. Jack brought a mug of coffee and glass of orange juice to the table and joined us. I had so hoped that Laura and Mickey would change their minds about the kids, but the time had come to address the fact that the plane was heading back to Amarillo after church, and that the kids needed to be on it.

“Listen, guys, Jack and I are flying back to Amarillo after church,” I said.

I heard a door open and close in the front of the house. Footsteps approached.

“Morning,” Jack shouted.

Laura turned toward us down the hall from the entryway. “Morning.” She had a little color in her cheeks.

“Good morning,” the kids and I chorused.

Farrah immediately redirected us to the topic we’d been discussing. “What are we going to do when you go back to Amarillo?” She held her toast poised in the air, but she didn’t take a bite.

Laura took a seat at a barstool behind us. I turned to look at Jack beside me at the table, but he kept his eyes on the plated toast in front of him. I kicked his ankle and he jerked upward. When he looked at me, though, his eyes were so soft and helpless that I let him off the hook.

I chose my words carefully. “Well, I think the best thing to do is keep you with me, so you can ride back with us.”

In a rush, Greg said, “Wait, what about—”

Laura spoke over him, to Jack, and Greg yielded to her. “Aren’t you coming back here for Christmas?”

Ever verbose, Jack said, “Yep.”

She nodded. “If it’s okay with Emily, the kids could stay here and help us a little around the ranch. We don’t pay a lot, but it’s a good Winter Break job.” She got up and walked around to the coffee setup. “Probably best if they stay at Mickey’s and my house, though.”

A moment of stunned silence followed her words. I had given up on her too soon. Not that Laura was a filly, but I couldn’t help but think she’d taken to the cinch after all.

“Emily, please?” Farrah said. Her dark eyes bored into me.

“It would be so awesome,” Greg added.

I wrinkled my face, pretending to think about it, and their wide eyes stayed on me like I was Santa Claus deciding if they’d been naughty or nice. “Well, I suppose so.”

Happy noises erupted in the kitchen. Young arms grabbed me and hugged me, and my heart took flight.

***

Snowy fields flashed by on either side of the highway as we crossed onto the reservation. Jack, the kids, and I were following in the Suburban behind Mickey and Laura’s Silverado. A steepled stone building about half a mile away rose out of the blanket of white, a hill tufted with snow-topped desert bushes behind it. ST. JOSEPH’S APACHE MISSION PARISH, the sign read. An announcement bulletin with crooked letters spelled out DON’T LET WORRY KILL YOU OFF—LET THE CHURCH HELP. I wanted to giggle, but worried that it would be rude. I giggled anyway.

Farrah touched my shoulder. “What’s so funny?” She was so pretty in a red dress Laura had loaned her.

I pointed to the announcement. She laughed, too, and her normally evasive eyes looked clear and happy. We pulled into the parking lot.

“You Catholic?” I asked Jack.

“I come here when I’m in town.” He turned off the ignition.

Which didn’t exactly answer my question. “Where do you go in Amarillo? St. Mary’s?”

“No.”

He opened his door and got out. So did I. Four doors slammed. Jack started walking toward the building with Greg beside him in jeans and a button-down shirt that would fit him in about ten years. Maybe. Laura and Mickey had parked closer in than we had, and we caught up with them.

“Good morning, Mickey,” I said.

Mickey smiled. “Hey, everyone. We’re only going to be five minutes late. That’s good for us.”

Laura’s olive cheeks had a rosy glow at the cheekbone, the kind from fresh air and improving spirits. Mickey had his hand on her shoulder.

A new voice interrupted us, from my left. “Begays. Holden. Good to see you this morning.”

All heads swiveled toward the voice. It was from a man, Apache, best I could tell, and tall. Maybe six foot two? He had a large, bony frame with broad shoulders and huge hands. Pits covered his cheeks. Teenage acne, it looked like. The pits were so big they made me think of smallpox, but I didn’t think that was a possibility in the states anymore.

Mickey stuck out a hand. “Here for work or worship, Brown?”

They shook.

“Worship, although you never know.” He pecked Laura’s cheek and shook Jack’s hand next. “Who are your friends?”

Mickey nodded his head at me. “Emily.” Then at Greg and Farrah. “George and Frannie.” He then nodded at the man. “Edward Brown, Alamogordo Police.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Farrah slip her hand into Greg’s.

I smiled to hide the nerves that shot through me. A cop, when I was smack in the middle of the commission of felony runaway harboring. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

The kids didn’t speak. I rubbed my hands against the cold. I hadn’t worn gloves, since we would be going straight from the vehicle to church, just my heaviest shawl over a sweater and pants. The wind was picking up, tossing the hair I had worn down. Luckily the skies were clear for our flight.

Jack started walking again, so we all did. “Let’s get inside before it’s over,” he said.

Brown fell in beside him and kept his eyes on Jack’s profile. “Haven’t found any more dead Mexicans on your place lately, have you?”

I bristled. If I wasn’t mistaken, so did Mickey, Jack, and Laura. I assumed Brown was referring, however rudely, to Betsy’s father, who died a few months ago on Jack’s land, after he was beaten and escaped from Johnson’s place.

“All’s quiet.” If Brown’s comment had bothered him, Jack’s voice didn’t give any feelings away, but, then, it rarely did.

“Hadn’t seen you in, what, fifteen years before that?”

“Something like that.”

Brown turned to Mickey. “I’ll never forget it. Got a call about shots fired in a residence in town from a concerned neighbor. When we showed up, we found one dead, one injured.” He grinned at Laura and me. “The refrigerator dead, ADA Holden injured.”

“It was an accident,” Jack said, his voice tight.

Brown laughed out loud. “People still tell that story. Drunken Assistant District Attorney, a local boy who should know better, shoots himself through the hand and takes out his wife’s brand new refrigerator.”

The scar, I realized. This was what caused the scar on his palm that I’d noticed a few days ago at the police station. Jack’s tension was now palpable. None of us laughed. I itched to shake my finger at Brown for humiliating Jack, and my right fist clenched and unclenched.

“My gun had jammed. I was cleaning it.”

“Shoulda charged you for shooting an unarmed refrigerator.” Brown winked, and I cringed. “Let you see how your defendants felt.”

Jack’s anger was like a blast of heat from a furnace. I wanted to do something, anything, but I didn’t want to make it worse. Before I could decide on a course of action, Mickey dropped back, letting Brown, Jack, and Laura lead on.

He lowered his voice, speaking to the kids, although I could hear as well. “You guys ready to learn how to do a little work on a horse ranch?”

I smiled at how naturally he had solved half the problem, distracting the teenagers from the unfriendly interaction ahead of them. My eyes followed Jack, hoping Laura managed to change the subject.

Farrah’s eyes lit up like someone had struck a match inside them. “I can’t wait.”

Greg swallowed. “Yeah, sure.”

Watching Jack the whole time, I said, “George will probably like the horses a lot better with both his own feet on the ground for a while.”

Mickey clapped him on the back. “That can be arranged.”

Farrah fell in step beside me as we climbed the front steps to the church door. “When will you be back?”

“Within a week. You’ll be so tired and busy you probably won’t even notice I’m gone.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “And hopefully the police will catch the shooter by then, and we can bring you guys back to Amarillo.”

Greg caught the door from Jack. He and Farrah shared a look as she walked past him. They didn’t have to say a word for me to realize they’d agreed “not over our dead bodies.”

I got to Williams & Associates the next morning a little later than usual. An enormous fruit basket sat on my desk. Oranges, grapefruits, and apples surrounded a pineapple in a nest of crinkly paper shavings. There wasn’t just fruit, though. I touched a wedge of cheddar in red wax and Monterey Jack in green. Walnuts and pecans in-the-shell filled the empty spaces between the pieces of fruit and cheese. A huge red and green bow graced the handle of the basket and a card in an envelope protruded from the display on a plastic stick. I pulled it out and read quickly.

Merry Christmas. Present under the fruit. Your ex, Rich.

I raised an eyebrow. I hadn’t gotten him anything, but what was the appropriate gift for the husband who had spent all the money in your joint accounts on his new love? Coal? Still, this was nice. I lined the contents of the basket up on my desk piece by piece then shoveled out paper shavings into the garbage until I came to a flat manila envelope at the bottom. I shook a few last nuts off, then extracted the stapled papers from inside.

Our divorce papers. I flipped to the end. He had signed. So had the judge. A yellow sticky beside his name read:
Congratulations. You have managed to get rid of me. RB.
More like he was rid of me, although he had tried to halt the divorce when he’d learned I was pregnant. After I’d lost the baby and cut off contact with him, he hadn’t bothered me again, until now. And I didn’t mind this kind of bothering at all.

“Merry Christmas, me,” I said aloud.

Belatedly, Snowflake appeared, trotting over to the desk. She put her front paws up on its sides, attempting to get a look at the bounty on top.

“So, girl, you’re falling down on the job, not even meeting me at the door today.” I ruffled her fur and she sniffed the air, searching for foods dogs like to eat. “Don’t bother. Dogs aren’t into fruits and nuts.” I’d have to hide the cheese from her. Dogs were way into cheese. I pulled her crusts from a napkin in my purse. “Sit.” Her bottom hovered a millimeter above the ground, wiggling. I tossed her the toast.

Jack came down the hall, whistling “Jingle Bells.”

“Morning,” I said, before I saw him.

“More like good afternoon.” He walked barefooted to the couch in his worn jeans and untucked red and blue flannel snap-front shirt, holding his briefcase. He sunk to the couch, put down his case, and pulled on his ancient boots, which I hadn’t noticed sitting there before. Then he stepped over to my desk with his briefcase, set it down, and whisked an apple into one of his loose shirttails. He polished the fruit, flashing a little olive-toned ab as he did.

My throat closed. I fought to swallow. “I must not be too late since you’re still half‑naked.” It sounded like I was talking through a wad of cotton. I cleared my throat. “That came out wrong. What I meant was ten percent naked.” I shook my head, heat flaring into my face. “Not that I mind.” I groaned.

He laughed and took a bite of apple. Juice dripped onto his chin. My throat closed up again.

I shook my head. “I need coffee.”

He waved the apple at the basket. “What’d’ya get?”

“Signed divorce papers.”

He nodded, his lower lip pushed out in a contemplative expression. “Cause for celebration.”

I picked up a Redrope accordion file and straightened the papers inside. “It
is
a time for me to celebrate.”

He didn’t seem to get my drift. “Have you heard from your ‘family friends’ in New Mexico?”

I kept myself from pouting by sheer force of will. “No. I’ll text Laura later and see how they’re doing.” And then I remembered. “Well, I can email her I guess, since I have no phone.”

Jack frowned at me, creasing his forehead tight. “You haven’t taken care of your phone yet?”

“Um, no, I was going to do it Friday, and then with Greg and Farrah—”

“You mean George and Frannie?”

“Yes, right, George and Frannie.” I put my hands out to my sides, palms up. “I forgot about the phone.”

“If the cops still have your phone, they can read anything new you get.”

“I thought you said a police officer would have known to take out the SIM card and deactivate it?”

“I don’t
know
what they did with it. They
could
have deactivated it. Or they
could
be turning it on occasionally to check your new messages.”

He was right, and I’d missed it. “Ugh. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay. On that topic, I’m heading out to file the complaint against Burrows and Samson. You need anything?”

I licked my lips. Um, yeah, a kiss would be nice. But I wasn’t going to tell him about it if he couldn’t figure it out himself. “I think I’m good.”

“We’ll talk when I get back.”

“About?”

He looked at the ground. “A few things.” With one hand, he tucked his shirt in. “I shouldn’t be long.” He took a few steps backwards toward the front door. “Oh, and thanks for getting yourself arrested. This is the highlight of my week.”

I raised my eyes to the ceiling, shaking my head. “Glad to provide the entertainment.”

He nodded. “You do that.” He waved and was gone.

I fanned myself with my hand. The electricity between Jack and me had recharged considerably in the last week, and I was beginning to think he believed in second chances after all. We’d made progress in New Mexico. Now I had to figure out how to nudge him along further, especially since I was a free woman.

I had made a to-do list over toast and coffee with Mother that morning, while she read the paper. It read:

1) Work on discovery requests for Betsy’s survivor action

2) Call orthodontist

3) Continue work on Freeman trial notebook

4) Work on discovery responses for Escalante

Escalante was a client with an armed-robbery trial coming up in a few months. In fact, I was expecting him to drop by and help me with his responses sometime today. I jotted a number five:

5) Report phone missing and get new one

The door swept open, and Nadine waltzed in. The first thing I noticed was she’d ditched her nose ring. Her black hair was tied back in a brilliant red scarf, its long ends hanging, but most of it had come loose. The baby pieces around her head were electrified. Static electricity in the cold, dry Panhandle winters was not a thing to trifle with.

I pulled a can of Static Guard out of my desk drawer and held it out. “Look what blew in.”

She grabbed it. “Literally. Have you been out there in the last hour? It’s practically a tornado.” She sprayed liberally and handed it back to me.

“Two words: Aqua Net.” I put the can back in the drawer.

She snorted and plopped down on the couch. Nadine stood about five foot ten—six feet in the black biker boots she had on with her jeans today—and most people would describe her as voluptuous. Very voluptuous. On top of that, she could probably kick my butt with one hand tied behind her back. I loved that about her, that and every one of her thirteen tattoos.

She tilted her head and stared at me. “Hey, you’re blushing.”

More heat suffused my cheeks. “Too heavy-handed with the makeup this morning, I guess.”

She patted her chest. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s all the way down to your rack.”

My hand grabbed the V-neck of my lavender pullover sweater.

She laughed. “Where’s your hot boss?”

“He just left.”

“Ah, well, there you go.”

I shrugged, noncommittal, but her smirk told me I wasn’t fooling her.

The door opened slowly. Counting the fruit delivery this morning, this was our third visitor today. That tripled our daily average, and it was only nine a.m. An ancient man struggled to create an opening wide enough for his skeletal frame.

“Clyde!” I jumped to my feet and rushed over. “How are you?”

The name partner of Williams & Associates righted himself, stretching to reach his full five foot two inches. He raised a tremulous hand. “Merry Christmas, my dear.”

“Merry Christmas.” I let the door shut behind him then followed him across the lobby/office. “Clyde, have you met my friend Nadine? She’s here about one of our clients.” I crossed my fingers behind my back, although in truth she might be. I just didn’t know yet.

Nadine jumped to her feet, all her best parts jostling each other as they rearranged themselves.

Clyde stopped, his rheumy eyes wide as he studied her. “Well, aren’t you a fine-looking woman.” He inclined his head at her, his version of a courtly bow—I knew from experience.

“Nadine, Clyde is the founder of Williams and Associates.”

She smiled wide. Nadine had an incredible smile, with sparkly teeth from here to Dallas and back. “Thank you. So pleased to meet you, sir.”

Clyde waved at her to sit, and she did, which he took the time to watch and appreciate before he resumed his walk. All told, he made it from the door to the chair in front of my desk in three minutes flat, a record for him. I suspected he was trying to impress Nadine. He put his hand on the back of the chair.

“What can I do for you, Clyde?”

“Jack called me for a consult. Is he around?”

“No, but he won’t be long. Do you want to wait? If so, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“If you don’t mind, dear.” He hung his cane on the arm of the chair and positioned himself in front of it in tiny sidesteps. He put both hands behind him to catch the arms and began to lower himself, slowly, slowly. I couldn’t breathe during this process. Jack wouldn’t let me help Clyde, but that didn’t mean I didn’t worry and wish I could. I’d hate for him to break a hip on my watch. Clyde’s hands gripped the chair’s arms on his descent, arresting his fall. He settled in, and I resumed normal respiration.

Clyde turned to Nadine to flirt and I returned to my desk and typed an email to my boss:

Clyde here!!! Says you called for consult. He’s waiting for you in front of my desk. Hurry?
J

The front door to the office whooshed open for visitor number four. If this kept up, I’d have to start charging admission. Or lock the door and hide in Jack’s office, so I could get something done. I hit send and looked up. Phil Escalante, one of our clients, was taking off his jacket by the doorway.

“Phil! Come on in. We’re having a pre-Christmas get-together.”

Phil grinned. “I forgot my fruitcake. You sure I’m welcome?” Phil wasn’t a tall guy, but he made up for size in big personality and a lot of muscle. Not that there wasn’t a goodly layer of insulation to his bulk, too, thanks to the fact that he approached everything in his life with gusto. Food, laughter, women, and booze. In fact, his trouble with the law related back to his enthusiasms. He ran a private swingers’ club. It had attracted the ire of a militant religious group who’d started harassing them outside their events. Phil had broken into the home of the group’s leader, looking for information to help fend them off, but he’d been caught, and charged with B&E and attempted burglary.

I gestured at my fruit basket. “I’ve got you covered.”

Nadine stood again, and something about the way she moved caught my eye. She rubbed her lips together, then they fell apart slightly. She rolled her shoulders back, which did something magical to her chest, apparently, because Clyde nearly fell out of his chair, and Phil’s attention moved from me to her in a flash of lightning. He froze for a full five seconds without breathing.

I broke the spell. “Phil, this is Nadine. Nadine, our client, Phil.”

Phil moved to Nadine. She towered over him, although he was a good half a foot taller than Clyde. “So that’s your name. Nadine.” He took her hand, not like a handshake, like a caress. His hand dwarfed hers. My mouth fell open, and I gawked.

She smiled, but didn’t. Like Mona Lisa. “Hello, Phil.”

Clyde gaped at the pair, too, eyes narrowed. I got the sense he was a little jealous. I felt a little dirty, like a voyeur.

“Um, Phil, if I could make one more introduction?”

Phil didn’t relinquish Nadine’s hand or gaze. “Yes?”

“This is Clyde Williams. He founded our law firm. So he’s like Jack’s boss. A very important figure in Texas civil rights and criminal defense.”

Clyde straightened in his chair.

Phil got the hint. He swung fully toward the old man, and stuck out his hand. “So it’s you I have to thank, sir. Jack is representing me, and I know I’m in the best of hands. Thank you, thank you so much.”

Clyde shook. “It’s our honor. To facilitate you exercising your right to due process and a speedy trial by a jury of your peers. We couldn’t ask for anything more noble.”

Clyde had a way of making me want to salute the flag. Only there wasn’t one in there. I settled for beaming with pride at him.

“So, Phil, are you here to work on the discovery responses with me?” I asked.

“I am.” He shot a suggestive glance at Nadine. “Then I have a lunch date.”

She tittered, and if I’d have been holding a drink, it would have hit the floor.

Glancing back and forth between the two of them, I said to Phil, “Well, if you can give me a few minutes, there seems to be a line forming at my desk.”

He moved over to the couch and stood by Nadine. “I think I could bear the wait if you could spare a seat on this couch beside you, Nadine?”

The two looked at each other in a way that made me really, really hungry for chocolate.

I waved at him. “Have a seat, Phil.”

Phil bowed to Nadine, and she sat first, and he followed suit, very, very close beside her.

Time to get control of the room
. “So, Nadine, you want to go first?”

She rubbed her lips together to moisten them, a coquettish move if I’d ever seen one. “I wanted to tell you how it went with Betsy this weekend.”

To Clyde, I explained, “Betsy is the daughter of our deceased client Sofia Perez, who was murdered while incarcerated at Potter County Detention Center. We’re filing a survivor action against the county on Betsy’s behalf.”

Clyde nodded. “Sofia. Betsy. Yes, good, good.” He turned toward Nadine again, holding on to the armrest to keep himself facing her. “We’re all ears, Nadine.” More like all eyeballs—eyeballs to Nadine’s cleavage. Nadine was holding her girls up high, so I was guessing she didn’t mind all the male admiration.