called her attorney friend, Liz Cartwright-Anderson. Liz had a few minutes between appointments and asked Shelley to come in with the paperwork immediately.
Shelley slid the papers into her carryall, scooped up Austin and headed out to her car. And just that quickly, the morning went from bad to worse. Her right front tire was flat as a pancake.
Shelley sighed and clapped her hand against her forehead.
Austin, who was still in her arms, looked over at her, cocked his head seriously and slapped his palm on his forehead, too.
Shelley laughed through her tears.
And that was when Colt McCabe happened to drive by again.
* * *
ALL COLT WANTED AS HE HEADED down Spring Street toward his home was a quick bite and a good six hours’ sleep. After being on duty all night and most of the morning, he was dragging.
He perked up the moment he saw Shelley walk out of her house, her little boy cradled in her arms.
Damn, but she was beautiful with her auburn hair upswept, her lithe dancer’s body clad in a delicate blouse, knee-length khaki skirt and sandals. But...hold on a second. Was she crying? Or laughing? Or a little bit of both?
His glance followed the direction of her gaze. He saw the deflated tire and knew the gentlemanly thing to do was to stop and offer aid. So he steered over to the curb, just short of her driveway, parked and got out. Shirttail of his rumpled Oxford hanging over a pair of old jeans, he ambled toward her. “Car trouble?”
A jerky nod as more tears flowed.
Austin leaned forward and patted Shelley on the cheeks. “Momma crying...” the little boy pronounced to Colt as if that were the most curious thing in the whole world.
“I can see that.” Seeing her tears, it was all Colt could do not to pull Shelley into his arms to offer her the comfort she so desperately needed. He smiled down at her son, and then looked back at her. “Got a spare?”
“Yes.” Shelley sniffed. “In the trunk. But there’s no time.” She sucked in a deep breath that lifted her breasts against the soft cotton of her pale yellow blouse. “I’ve got to get these papers to Liz Cartwright-Anderson’s office now or she’s not going to have time to look at them today.”
The fatigue Colt had been feeling faded. He steered her toward his pickup. “Then let’s go. I’ll drive you.”
Shelley hesitated for a moment and looked as if she wanted to argue, then was forced to give in. “Thanks. I would really appreciate it.”
Colt got the car seat from her Prius and installed it in the rear seat of his pickup truck. She sent him an admiring glance, reminiscent of their high school days. “That was quick. It always takes me forever.”
Colt slid behind the wheel, glad to see Shelley had regained her composure. Trying not to think how comfortable this all felt, he started his truck and headed out. “I teach a class on the proper installation of safety seats over at the community center. It’s part of my duties as a sheriff’s deputy.”
Which was, as it turned out, the wrong thing to say since it quickly reminded her he’d been the one to serve her with the foreclosure and eviction notice that very morning. Lips pursed, she kept her attention focused on the scenery until they reached their destination five minutes later. Shelley leaped out and opened the rear door. “Well, thanks for the ride.”
Reluctant for their time together to end, Colt moved to assist her with her son. “If you want, I could hang out with Austin while you talk to Liz.”
Again, she seemed ready to refuse.
Austin gave her reason to rethink that decision as he glanced up at a nearby tree. “Bird, Momma!” he shouted enthusiastically, after being lifted from his car seat. “Look!” He grabbed his mother’s face. “Look, Momma, look!”
Shelley mollified her son, then gazed over at Colt in resignation. “Okay, but seriously, this is the last favor I’m taking from you.”
Colt respected her independence even as he doubted the viability of her declaration. He favored her with an accepting nod, and joined her in the office that housed the law practice of Liz Cartwright-Anderson and her husband, Travis Anderson.
Shelley plucked the hand-carved little red truck from her bag and handed it to her son. “You’re going to stay with Colt while I go talk to Liz,” she explained to her son.
Austin scowled. “No!” He shouted at the top of his lungs when his mother attempted to leave. “I. Go. Momma!” He vaulted out of the chair she’d set him in and wrapped himself around Shelley’s leg, refusing to let go. Sighing, she sent Colt another apologetic glance and picked Austin up.
“Yell if you need me.” Colt sat down in the waiting room and opened a magazine.
Mother and son disappeared down a hall.
More shouting followed, at earsplitting levels. “I. Want. My. Deppity!”
Shelley appeared again. She looked at her wit’s end with her irascible toddler. “Do you mind coming back?” she asked in desperation. “Maybe Austin will sit on your lap.”
“Sure thing.” Colt rose casually and joined her in the hallway.
The little boy grabbed a handful of Colt’s shirt and latched on to Shelley’s delicate cotton blouse with his other. “Deppity and Momma!” he said with a satisfied grin.
His mother was not amused. “Someone needs an N-A-P,” Shelley muttered beneath her breath.
Austin shook his head, then fixed his gaze toward the ceiling. His head fell sideways, until it rested on Colt’s shoulder. “No nap,” Austin declared just as feistily, clearly able to spell at least one word. He turned, and with both hands suddenly reached for Colt again. “I want my deppity.”
“Looks like you have your hands full,” Colt murmured to Shelley.
She sighed with the fatigue of a single mom. “You have no idea...”
Still, he couldn’t help but think, she handled it all well.
Their old friend appeared in a stylish suit and heels, her hair cut in the short, practical style common to working mothers. Liz smiled, understanding as only another mom to a toddler could. A wicker basket of toys in hand, sheaf of papers tucked beneath her arm, she ushered everyone into the conference room and motioned for them to take a seat.
While Austin sat on Colt’s lap and dug into the toys, Liz explained to Shelley, “I just looked up the court documents. The debt in question was run up by your ex-husband, Tully Laffer. He apparently took out a line of credit against the property you inherited from your parents, at 903 Spring Street, here in Laramie.”
A look of panic crossed Shelley’s pretty face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She held up both palms. “Tully doesn’t have any ownership in that property. Although we initially inherited it jointly, it was given to me in the divorce settlement, free and clear.”
“His name is still on the deed,” her attorney retorted.
“Which means what?” Shelley asked, appearing even more frantic.
Liz sobered. “As far as the law is concerned, your ex is still part-owner. Which is why the liens were placed on the property.”
Shelley wrung her hands. Austin mimicked his mom and did the same. “Why didn’t anyone tell me any of this?”
“Letters were sent—” Liz shifted a paper Shelley’s way “—to this townhome in Dallas.”
Shelley looked at the address and then her shoulders slumped. “That’s where we lived when we were married. Where Tully still lives.”
Liz continued, “When Tully didn’t respond to the notices from the bank or the collection agency they hired to enforce