She was too determined to do anything that reasonable.
He’d known another woman like that, and she was dead. It had been four years now; the days had gotten easier, but other things, namely the guilt, had gotten worse. In hindsight, he would have done things differently. Given her the divorce she’d wanted. Maybe then Lucy would still be alive.
He’d been so determined, so set on having everything he’d wanted that he’d not taken the time to realize she hadn’t wanted the same thing. That their marriage had been destined to fail from the start.
That had been exactly what he hadn’t wanted to face.
Failure.
He’d failed once before with Theodore, and like it or not, ultimately, he’d failed with Lucy, too.
“Mr. Russell, do you not care for the beef?”
Walter glanced up, forced a smile to form for Mrs. McCaffrey. “No. I mean, the beef is fine. Excellent. I just find I’m not hungry this evening.”
The twinkle faded from her green eyes as her frown added more wrinkles to her usually jolly face. “I do hope you aren’t coming down with something.”
She was one in a million. Finding Mrs. McCaffrey was one of the things he had done right. She was the best housekeeper in the state, and he was lucky that she’d stuck with him through thick and thin. Her husband had died many years ago, and having no children, she’d dedicated herself to taking care of others. He’d hired her six years ago, before he and Lucy had gotten married, which had proven insightful on his end because Lucy had wanted nothing to do with housekeeping.
Of course she hadn’t. She’d been a star.
He muffled a sigh. “I’m fine. I just had a late lunch. I should have telephoned you, but the afternoon got away from me. I do apologize.”
Mrs. McCaffrey waved a hand and then lifted the serving dish holding several slices of roast beef off the table. “That’s nothing to apologize about. You’re a busy man. The most sought-after lawyer in all of Los Angeles. And this beef will keep just fine for tomorrow night.”
Walter nodded. “I’m sure I’ll be hungry tomorrow night.” He hadn’t had a late lunch; he just wasn’t hungry because his mind was on that girl from Nebraska. He hadn’t been back to that state since he’d left over ten years ago. Not that she was making him homesick. He hoped she was homesick, though, and that she had already gotten on an eastbound train.
It was all rather foolish and out of the ordinary for him to be so worried about a stranger. He’d met hundreds of young women over the years, and never thought twice about the decisions they made. Because those had been their decisions, just like the ones she made were hers—that woman from Nebraska with her short blond hair and big blue eyes.
She didn’t look like anyone he knew, nor did she remind him of someone, of anyone, so there really was no reason for his fixation.
Then again, he’d never almost run someone over before, either.
“Would you care for a piece of cake and a cup of coffee?” Mrs. McCaffrey asked, returning to the dining room.
“No, thank you.” He stood. “I have some work to finish.”
She pulled the serving spoon out of the potatoes and waved it at him. “You shouldn’t work so much. It’s not good for the soul.”
“Someday I won’t,” he said, just to placate her. In all honesty, there was nothing else for him to do. It was a good thing that his clients kept him busy. In more ways than one. Being a lawyer for the rich and famous was a time-consuming job, but also one that had created a bank account that was far beyond what he’d ever have imagined.
Money hadn’t been the reason he’d gone into this profession, but he certainly couldn’t complain over how profitable it had become.
He strolled out of the dining room and down the hall to his home office. The house was big, five bedrooms upstairs, and one downstairs—a suite of rooms—off the kitchen, which was where Mrs. McCaffrey lived. There were other rooms on the main floor, but other than the dining room and his office, he rarely entered them.
There had been a time when he’d imagined this house full of children. A family. A real family. That’s what he’d wanted. Why he’d bought this house. A family like the one he’d had before he’d become an orphan at the age of ten.
That had been eighteen years ago now. He could barely remember what his parents had looked like, but he remembered that they’d loved him. And his little brother, Owen. He remembered the storm, too, and the flash flood. Parts of it. Especially being so cold that he didn’t think he would ever warm up.
It had been that way at the orphanage, too. Cold. Bitterly cold. A few months before he’d turned sixteen, he and Theodore Grahams had decided they’d had enough of being cold, and enough of being farmed out as day laborers to people who expected orphans to work harder than anyone else, so they’d escaped. Hopped on a train, and rode it to the end of the rails.
That happened to be California, and that suited them both just fine.
They’d found work on the docks, and thought their futures were as bright as the sunshine. It had been, for a few months. Until Theodore, big for his age, got in a fight with another dockworker. A serious fight that changed both of their lives. The other dockworker died, drowned, and Theodore was charged with his death.
Walter argued it was self-defense when Theodore was arrested, only to be told to shut up or he’d be arrested, too. He hadn’t been about to shut up, and went to the police station, still arguing, trying to prove Theodore’s innocence. He was kicked out several times, and finally went to a lawyer, hoping for help.
Arthur Marlow hadn’t been willing to take on the case, not at first, but Walter hadn’t given up. He and Theodore had been as close as brothers, and he’d had to help him. Had to. With no money to pay the attorney, Walter begged Marlow to let him work off the fees to represent Theodore. Arthur eventually agreed and Walter had thought everything would work out perfectly.
It hadn’t.
The jangle of the phone pulled Walter out of the past. He entered his office and crossed the room.
Hope. That’s what that girl from Nebraska said she had. He’d had that once, too. So had Theodore.
Picking up the phone, Walter held the receiver to his ear and the mouthpiece to his mouth. “Hello.”
“Walter? Walter, that you?”
Instantly recognizing Sam Wharton’s voice, Walter answered, “Yes, Sam, it’s me. How are you this evening?”
“Good. Real good. I’m down at CB’s, and Tony Ebbert and I need some legal advice. Can you drive over here?”
Sam had been a client for years; the money he’d paid for assistance on business deals had nearly paid for Walter’s house.
Walter considered the request for a moment. Normally, he’d suggest a meeting in his office tomorrow, but an evening out could be exactly what he needed to get his mind off other things, including that girl from Nebraska, and on to things that mattered. “Sure, Sam. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Hee-haw!”
