the tables, collecting dishes and utensils. Last call had long since passed. Behind the bar, the bartender loaded boxes onto a dolly.
Eager to return to Mitch’s embrace, Amanda moved toward the dance floor. At the sound of a familiar voice, her footsteps faltered.
“Hate to interrupt.” A decked-out cowboy stepped from the shadows near the door. “We’re pulling out at seven tomorrow. You need to be back from—” his eyebrows wiggled suggestively as he jerked a nod toward Mitch “—from wherever you’re headed, early enough to help with the horses and your gear.”
“Uh-huh,” Amanda said with an easy grin. “The same goes for you, Royce Jackson. Or did I not see you earlier surrounded by adoring fans?” Smothering a laugh, she turned to introduce one of the rodeo circuit’s most renowned practical jokesters to Mitch.
Only Mitch wasn’t smiling.
Gone was the adoring expression of the man who’d been kissing her only moments earlier. A stony look had taken its place. His hand relinquished its hold on hers, and his gaze dropped to the floor.
“Sorry. It’s later than I realized. I have to go. Thanks for the dance, Mandy, and…” Mitch had the good grace to stumble over his words. “Well, good luck.” He turned abruptly, strode across the barn and out the door without so much as a single glance over his shoulder.
“What was that all about?” Amanda stared after the man who was fast making a habit of abandoning her in drafty old barns.
Apparently, Mitch Goodwin hadn’t changed as much as she’d thought since she’d seen him last. Well, she had. And this time she wouldn’t shed any tears for Mr. Hot and Cold.
Chapter Two
Mitch’s swift, take-no-prisoners pace down the wide corridor of the Moore Justice Center slowed at the sight of the woman seated outside Family Courtroom 2. He turned away, his gaze sweeping the bare concrete walls and heavily trafficked carpet before he dared take a second look at a pair of trim calves and firm thighs. His chest tightened. There was no mistaking those legs. It didn’t matter if the last time he’d seen them they’d been encased in buckskin. He’d recognize them anywhere.
A silent oath escaped his lips as he glanced upward. Gone were the twin braids, replaced by a businesslike bun, but less than two weeks ago those honeyed strands had rested against his shoulder. Even though she leaned over paperwork now, her face hidden, he had no doubt.
The one woman he would’ve sworn had ridden out of his life forever was sitting on a wooden bench outside the very courtroom where he planned to argue the most important case of his life.
What is she doing here?
Mitch refused to believe she had just happened by. After five years with the state attorney’s office, he’d learned there was no such thing as coincidence. Something, or someone, had led her here at precisely—he checked his watch—nine forty-seven on August 13. Before the bailiff summoned him, he had to discover the reason. He settled on a line of questioning and let his feet take him where they wanted—straight to her side.
“Mandy.”
She looked up from the yellow legal pad in her lap, gray-green eyes widening.
“Mitch,” she exclaimed. Her full lips curved into a surprised-to-see-you smile.
He didn’t buy her act, not for a second. He was willing to bet good money she’d noted his arrival the instant he’d emerged from the stairwell. The same way he’d narrowed in on her presence. And in the seconds it took her to gather her paperwork and gracefully unfold a frame that barely came to his shoulder despite a pair of black stilettos, he wondered at the pretense.
She stuck out a hand. “Good to see you again.”
A whiff of alluring fragrance stirred through the justice center’s stale, cold air. The scent reminded him of green grass and daisies and how well she’d fitted into his arms while they’d danced. Without thinking, he rubbed the soft flesh between her thumb and forefinger. When her eyes darkened, he released her hand and gave himself a stern warning to keep his distance. No matter how much he might be attracted to her, a footloose rider on the rodeo circuit had no place in his life. Not anymore.
Yet here she was.
Has she been called to testify?
Mitch brushed a speck of lint from his lapel, wishing he could just as easily knock off the devil perched on his shoulder. Because only a certifiably evil spirit would bring his single indiscretion into the courtroom where his daughter’s future was at stake. He should never have asked the rodeo performer to dance, never bent down to place his lips against hers, never tried to rekindle what they’d had as kids…but he had. He worried what that error would cost him.
“Mandy, we need to talk.”
One golden eyebrow arched. “Amanda,” she corrected as, across the hallway, heavy doors swung wide. “We will. But not now. I hear Judge Dobson is a stickler for starting on time. You already brushed the pole once. I’d hate to see him penalize you.”
Mitch scoffed. “What are you talking about?” He understood her reference to the rodeo event, but he hadn’t taken a wrong turn in the law since he’d decided to put criminals in jail instead of freeing them.
“From what I hear, Dobson is the only family court judge in the county who hasn’t had dealings with you. He wasn’t too happy about canceling his annual fly-fishing trip to the Carolinas in order to hear this case.”
Her words thinned Mitch’s smile and straightened his spine.
“That’s privileged information,” he said, wondering what was going on, and determined not to let his confusion show.
“Yes.” She nodded. “I suppose it is.”
He tried not to watch as she bent to pick up a leather satchel. He lost that battle, though he won the war against letting her catch him. By the time she straightened, he was staring through a wall of plate glass overlooking acres of cattle pasture, as if he hadn’t noticed the swivel of her softly rounded hips.
She didn’t volunteer anything more and, wanting to maintain the air of control that served him so well in criminal court, he didn’t ask. Their silence continued when she fell in beside him. Despite their difference in height, she matched him stride for stride, cutting across the crowded corridor the same way they’d cut a swath across the dance floor.
As they made their way down the courtroom’s rows of churchlike pews, Mitch watched for her to peel off and take a seat among the witnesses and spectators. Instead, she kept pace until they reached the tables reserved for attorneys and their clients. Out of habit, he veered right. The misstep put him face-to-face with the woman he’d turned his back on before things could go too far.
Once more, she extended her hand. Once more, he wrapped it in his own.
“Amanda Markette,” she said smoothly. “Attorney for the plaintiff.”
“What is this, some kind of joke?” He stared at her, fighting a sudden urge to yank his fingers from her grip.
“Not at all, Mitch.” Her tight smile vanished. Her eyes narrowed. “Your ex-wife hired me after her last attorney quit. I’ve been playing catch-up ever since, though I’m sure I faxed official notification to your office.”
Mitch fought back a groan. Convinced he had right on his side, he hadn’t paid much attention to his secretary’s announcement that there’d been yet another change in his ex-wife’s revolving door of representation. But peering over Amanda’s shoulder, he spotted Karen at the plaintiff’s table. He had to admit she appeared sedate, settled. In fact, casual observers might mistake her for any one of a thousand suburban housewives…unless they caught the malice-filled glare she aimed his way.
Summoning his best don’t-give-a-damn expression, Mitch returned the favor, marshaling his thoughts as he took his place on the hard wooden chair