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 at the defendant’s table. He snapped open the latches on his briefcase and dug out a raft of paperwork, flipping through it until he reached the fax containing a name he’d have recognized if he’d bothered to read it. Scanning quickly, he noted credentials that exposed a glaring hole in his ability to sum up a person’s character with a single look, a single kiss. Evidently, a lot more than Mandy’s—Amanda’s, he corrected—appearance had changed since the summer they’d spent together.
“All rise for the Honorable Jeffrey Dobson,” the bailiff announced.
Standing, Mitch squared his shoulders.
With a rustle of black robes, a white-haired man took his place behind the raised desk at the front of the room. He nodded briefly to those in attendance. Wood creaked and feet shuffled until everyone had settled back into their chairs. Mitch’s gut tightened as the bailiff read the petition for custody of Hailey. His mouth went cotton-dry at the thought of losing his little girl.
“Counselors?” the judge asked.
At the other table, Amanda stood and gave her name.
“Ms. Markette,” Judge Dobson murmured.
Then it was his turn. “Mitchell Goodwin for the defense, Your Honor.”
The man seated on the dais adjusted rimless glasses and draped a hand over his microphone. Blue eyes hardening in an unsmiling face, Dobson stared down.
“You’re familiar with the old adage that a lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client, aren’t you? You intend to be that fool, Mr. Goodwin?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Mitch snapped, though the only thing he was truly certain about was the need to protect his daughter.
* * *
AMANDA CROSSED ONE leg over the other, shifting just enough to keep Mitch in her peripheral vision. Thank goodness she’d been sitting down when he’d stepped through the stairwell door. One peek at his carefully tousled hair and sculpted features, one whiff of his woodsy cologne, and the same weak, loose-limbed feeling that had practically been her undoing at the dance had flared again. She’d nearly succumbed to it that night. Probably would have if he hadn’t suddenly abandoned her on the dance floor, leaving her with bruised lips and a crushed ego.
She eyed the man across the aisle and assured herself it wouldn’t happen again. He might’ve broken her heart once upon a time, but she wasn’t the kind of girl to chase someone who didn’t want her. Especially when that someone was her client’s ex-husband.
She guessed, in a way, she should thank him. That Sunday morning after she’d loaded all the gear and Brindle onto her dad’s trailer, she’d gone straight to her office to prepare for her newest case. The moment she’d seen Mitch’s name in her files, the second she’d discovered she would face him in court, her stomach had performed a set of acrobatics that had made her ride the night before look tame. If they’d actually spent the night together…
Well, that couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it.
Or so she’d sworn. Until just a few minutes ago, when all her nerve endings had tingled at Mitch’s touch.
