have an appointment with Magistrate Ivers.” Wyatt didn’t even recognize his own voice. So formal. So distant.
“I’ll let her know.” The woman stood and walked down the short hall to disappear behind a thick wooden door.
He sat down on one of the chairs lined up neatly along the far wall. He was the only person here and the room was quiet. Where the outside of the building had hurt his eyes, this office was polished and modern. He liked the marble and glass.
A rack of brochures on how to be a guardian caught his eye. He’d just read the titles on the third row when the woman returned. “She’ll be right out.”
Wyatt nodded and stared at the sign beside the door. E. J. Ivers. He leaned closer to read her full name printed in smaller letters beneath. His frown deepened.
In Wyatt’s book, E. J. Ivers, magistrate, was not supposed to be Emily Ivers of the soft, feminine variety. Before last week, he’d had a vision of a graying older man with a booming voice. Or maybe one of those polished judges like on TV. Showed what he knew.
All through court, Wyatt had been stunned by the much younger, much prettier, definitely female judge. The long, black robes had hidden everything except the collar of the vibrant pink blouse that had set off her dark hair.
On the bench she’d been thorough and direct, and intelligence had snapped in her dark eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Now here he sat outside her office wondering what the hell to expect next.
* * *
EMILY GLARED AT the stacks of papers and files lined up on the conference table that took up nearly half her official chambers.
Even if she wanted to have a meeting here, she couldn’t. The piles never really seemed to shrink, though she knew Dianne frequently shuffled them around.
Emily stalked past the stacks and flopped down into her desk chair. She arranged the current file neatly on the blotter, reluctant to add more to the table.
She was tired. Court had been exhausting this week, covering for Judge Ramsey as well as her own responsibilities. And then there’d been Wyatt Hawkins and his nephew.
Emily leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Half of last night she’d tossed and turned, seeing Wyatt’s handsome face and feeling his reassuring hand on her own shoulder. She’d awoken before dawn this morning from a particularly vivid dream so clear she’d known there was no sleep left.
Now here she sat, waiting for the man to arrive at her office, barely able to keep her eyelids open. Shaking herself out of the stupor, she sat forward and opened the file.
Tyler Easton was an adorable kid. Instead of seeing the brown folder, she pictured his earnest young face. He wanted so badly to believe his mom was coming back for him and that his dad would want him. He’d pulled every worldly possession from his pockets to prove to her how important he was, to prove he belonged.
She smiled, wondering at the depth of those pockets. How could a boy carry so much around with him?
Once again, Wyatt Hawkins’s face came to mind. He cared for the boy—it showed in the softening of his eyes as he watched Tyler, in the protective hand he kept on the boy’s shoulder as they sat together and the reluctant smile that tugged at his lips. By granting provisional custody, she’d preserved Tyler’s hopes and given the uncle an out, if necessary.
Emily flipped through the file and reread her notes. Next she pulled out the preliminary caseworker’s notes that had been in the file, but which she hadn’t had time to review until afterward. She frowned as she reread the tightly typed paragraphs.
Wyatt Hawkins lived in the country in an aged ranch house. He’d owned it for just over five years. He was single and his family lived in Austin, a two-hour drive away. No one here to help him raise a child. No wife. No mother. No sisters. Not even a girlfriend?
That thought lingered just a moment too long.
The caseworker had managed to visit the house before going on maternity leave, billing for eighteen point seven miles from town. The house had been clean, uncluttered and drafty. It sat just yards away from the barn and outbuildings. An environment fraught with potential for risk and danger.
Emily almost smiled. She’d grown up on a farm far from the safety of city streets with their gang shootings and drug deals.
The woman’s final remarks were short and to the point. The caseworker didn’t believe Wyatt Hawkins could provide a safe family environment for a little boy.
Emily sighed. Why did she feel as if he was the enemy? She’d never felt like this before about a case or a man. It totally unnerved her. He unnerved her.
One last look at the caseworker’s notes and she moved them to the back of the file. Something about all this didn’t feel right. She needed to figure out what that something was.
Dianne didn’t bother knocking when she came in. She never did if Emily was alone. She grinned broadly and winked at Emily. “A hunky cowboy is here, right on time. Whew.” Dianne fanned herself. “That man’s sure got somethin’ goin’ on.” She grabbed half a dozen files off the table. “And if you don’t want some, I’m ready for a hefty helpin’.”
The clerk left the room before Emily could respond. She never should have asked him to come here. She should have kept it all in the courtroom where she had distance and her robes to protect her. And where Dianne couldn’t add her two cents’ worth. Standing, she took a deep breath and smoothed her skirt. This was just a case. He was just a man.
Just a man. If only.
* * *
WYATT LEARNED THAT “right out” meant at least another five minutes. Finally, the woman he’d last seen in the courtroom stepped through the doorway. Instead of the dark robes, she wore a pale blue blouse and narrow black skirt. There were the curves he’d suspected.
Her hair hung loose around her face instead of being pulled back. For an instant, he simply stared. She was pretty. Very pretty.
“Mr. Hawkins. Welcome. Won’t you come in?” She smiled stiffly and extended her hand.
She sounded so distant and formal. He frowned, trying to chase the worry away as he followed her down a narrow hall.
The walls of her office were lined with shelves of thick legal books. She led him past a conference table stacked high with files to a pair of wing-backed chairs that faced a Chippendale desk. Not a thing was out of place on the desk, but she straightened the blotter before sitting down behind it, anyway.
He got the impression she was trying to intimidate him for some strange reason. She didn’t know him, he reasoned, or she’d have realized she was wasting her time. Wyatt Hawkins wasn’t easily intimidated.
“I know you’re wondering why I asked you to come here without Tyler.”
“Yeah, it’s crossed my mind.”
“I need to know the truth.” She scooted back in her chair. “Please be honest with me—do you really want to take on the responsibility of being Tyler’s guardian?”
There was no hesitation in her stare. He knew she hadn’t become a judge by being a wilting flower, but the distance in her eyes sent a shiver through him. He knew a smokescreen when he saw one.
And this lady had more than smoke around her. She’d put up full, solid walls. What the hell had he done to piss her off? Taken aback, he shifted into negotiation mode and met her gaze with a stubborn one of his own.
* * *
EMILY STARED AT the man from across her desk. She’d purposefully put the desk between them. Originally, she’d thought to sit in the other chair, beside him, seeking a friendly, nonthreatening meeting.
That plan had flown out the window the minute she’d seen him sitting there in the lobby. He’d taken up all the space in the narrow chairs. Now he seemed to inhabit her entire office,