in every way. She’d had to blink several times to remind herself that it was not Lantree sitting on the defendant’s chair.
After all the years the brothers had spent separated, one would expect some differences but as hard as she had stared, she hadn’t been able to spot them.
One would think that the brother who spent his life as a healer and a protector would look vastly different from the one who spent his life, if the stories were to be believed, in crime and debauchery.
They did not, and this confused her.
Both men wore their blond hair long, just grazing the shoulder. Identically, they peered out at the world from under slightly lowered brows.
Upon deeper inspection, though, she had been able to see the difference in the souls of the men looking out of those lake-blue eyes.
Until recently Lantree’s expression had seemed slightly haunted by an unkind past. Not anymore, though, since he had married her cousin, Rebecca.
Boone’s expression did not seem haunted so much as jaded, as would be expected having lived his life among the seedy and corrupt.
“You are my responsibility, after all.”
“I b-beg your pardon?” Melinda stuttered, ashamed that her attention had wandered so completely from what Stanley Smythe was saying.
“I promised your cousin that I would take care of you. While you’ve done a fair job of pushing your food about your plate, you’ve eaten only four bites.”
“Have I?” He’d counted them and knew there were four? She didn’t even know that. It was hard to decide whether that was a comfort or an intrusion of her privacy. Not that dining in a public restaurant was private, but still, what she did or did not eat was her own business.
“You have. And before you decide that it is none of my concern, may I remind you that I argued against you coming to Buffalo Bend?”
“You did, Mr. Smythe. Quite vehemently.” She took a bite to appease him and, because now that she was paying attention, the food was quite good. “I was nearly forbidden to come.”
The wide, fancy doors of the dining room swung open and Judge Mathers charged through them. His expression looked stormy. Perhaps he was one of those men who turned grumpy if their meal was delayed. She and Smythe had left the courthouse after the judge and were now nearly halfway through their meal.
“After acting as your guardian these past weeks,” Smythe declared, returning her attention to him once again. “I’ve got to say that forbidden is not a word that you hold in high esteem.”
It was true. As a word forbidden was akin to a bull’s red flag. Once the bright temptation was waived, all one could do is charge after it.
It had been this way ever since Mama had changed. A mischievous adventure now and then helped Melinda forget for a moment that it used to be Mama who laughed at unreasonable rules, Mama who led her girls in lifting their skirts and dancing a playful, half-scandalous jig.
Sometimes, a half-scandalous jig made Melinda forget that it had been Papa who’d stolen Mama’s joy and left her bitter.
He had always claimed that Mama was the prettiest wife of them all...that Melinda was the prettiest little girl. Clearly, that had not been enough to guarantee his love.
Watching Stanley stab an innocent piece of steak repeatedly with his fork, she could only smile and do her best to appreciate the lawyer’s efforts on behalf of her family. He really was a dedicated fledgling lawyer.
“Well, someone needed to represent the family.” She paused to thoroughly chew two bites so that Smythe need not fear that she would starve. “With baby Caroline only five months old, Rebecca would not consider taking her on a long trip...and Lantree would never consider leaving them without medical care...so here I am.”
“Indeed.” He sighed, his slim shoulders sagging in his finely tailored suit. “But I’d like to say again that I am perfectly capable of presenting Mr. Walker’s case on my own. That it would be an easier task if you had remained safely at home.”
“None of us doubt your ability, Mr. Smythe, or your dedication to our Boone.”
“‘Our Boone’? You only just set eyes on him a couple of hours ago.”
“As true as that may be, family is family and that is precisely why I’m here.”
And it was. Grandfather Moreland had taken her to his heart as though she was one of his own. And she was Rebecca’s own, who was Lantree’s own. This made Boone Melinda’s own as much as anyone else’s. For all that he was a stranger, family stood by family.
“A quest for adventure is the more likely reason,” Smythe pointed out, “but here you are. I ask that you not make it difficult for me to return you safely to the waiting arms of your kin.”
While she considered a way to rebut that statement, which was difficult because it was partly true, a young woman crossed the dining room then sat in a chair across the table from the judge.
She looked as thunderous as he did.
“I’m quite family oriented,” Melinda said to the lawyer, but she couldn’t help casting a sidelong gaze toward the judge and the woman. “My cousin’s husband’s brother’s future is far too important to leave to strangers.”
“You are more of a stranger to him than the woman who cleans his chamber pot. It was evident that Boone spent the better part of our hearing wondering who you were.”
“I’d like to meet him, put his mind at rest, let him know his family cares.”
“Pregnant! How could you make such a blunder?” the judge snapped a little too loudly. Several heads swiveled toward the table where the pair glared at each other.
“Is she his wife, do you think?” Melinda whispered to Smythe.
Smythe shrugged. “He looks like he blames her for it. If she was his wife, he’d be taking some of the responsibility. Judging by her age, I’d guess she’s his daughter, poor girl.”
Melinda did not openly gawk, as many were doing, but from the corner of her eye, she noticed the judge glare at his cooling meal.
For all that she resisted staring, her ears were not so discriminating. They heard what they heard, and that was the judge saying something about counting both her and her husband out and wanting the advance money back.
“That’s good news,” Smythe murmured. “At least the girl is married, so whatever the trouble, it can be dealt with.”
They ate in silence for a moment, as did the rest of the diners.
“I want to meet my cousin.” She reminded Stanley Smythe, setting her fork down on her plate.
Her guardian’s expression hardened. He slid his glasses up his nose. If he’d had more hair, she guessed it would be standing on end.
“I’ll tell him who you are but I will not have you associating with criminals.”
“Once you’ve
