“Nope.” Dianne glanced up at the old clock on the wall. “You’d better hustle if you’re going to get over to Ramsey’s courtroom in time.”
How did Dianne take control like that? Who was in charge around here, anyway? Emily resisted the urge to smile. Dianne, of course. Magistrates and judges came and went over the years, but good law clerks were priceless and Dianne was the best. She’d been in the building for nearly twenty-five years.
As Emily hurried through the familiar dim halls of the courthouse, her mind worked. She’d never had second thoughts about her job. Heck, she’d never been one to look back or second-guess her actions, period. Right now, though, she was tempted.
Reminding herself that she knew how to do this, she headed to the second floor. Still, as she climbed the steps, her hand curled tightly around the cool bar of the handrail, her heart raced.
To save time, she cut through the common area. She wasn’t supposed to mingle with the public on court days, just in case she ran into one of the case participants. But she didn’t have time to go all the way around to the back stairs.
Still, all the people crowding around her set her on edge. By the time she reached Judge Ramsey’s chambers, her palms were damp and her heart had hit a painful pace.
She barely had time to catch her breath before Rita, the judge’s clerk, descended. The distraction shook Emily out of her impending panic.
“Oh, thank goodness.” The older woman jumped up. “I’ve tried to get hold of you, but didn’t have your cell number.”
Emily refrained from telling her that no one had her cell number.
“The first case begins in ten minutes.”
“But I haven’t reviewed the files yet,” Emily protested.
“That’s okay. There aren’t any. Just listen. The first is a pretty obvious bad situation we need to get the kids out of ASAP. The one this afternoon is pretty cut and dried. You can look at those files over lunch.”
The woman grabbed the file and put it into Emily’s hands, then guided Emily toward the inner door. Was People Moving 101 a class in law clerk school?
“Then why is it an emergency?” Was that her blood pressure going through the roof? Rita looked over her glasses, much as Dianne always did. Emily frowned, reminding herself she was the magistrate, but they both knew she abhorred situations where a child was at risk.
“Mother’s missing. Dad’s overseas with special forces. The uncle’s requesting temporary custody until Dad’s back.”
Emily’s entire body tensed. Her heart froze in place. No she could not, would not do this. Images of William Dean’s face came to mind.
“Not permanent?” Her mind worked even if the rest of her seemed frozen in place.
“No. He’s convinced his brother is coming home and will take over full parental responsibility. He just wants it temporarily.”
Shadows from her last juvenile case stretched out to her and she shivered.
Cut and dried, indeed.
“The first participants will be here any minute.” Rita’s voice pulled Emily out of her thoughts.
Opening a small closet, Rita grabbed a thick black robe and helped Emily slip it on. Before she could ask, Rita explained. “Dianne sent it over first thing this morning.”
She’d always loved her judicial robe, and today it felt like the shield she often envisioned it to be. A shield that could protect her from all the hurt and pain that entered her courtroom each day. A shield that kept her emotions hidden from the people sitting in the seats below her bench.
The ritual complete, Emily met her reflection in the door’s glass. Gears in her mind shifted, and she left behind Emily Ivers and became E. J. Ivers, magistrate.
* * *
WYATT DRESSED EACH morning in jeans, a button-down shirt and his hat. Black Stetson in the winter. White straw in the summer. He was a traditional cowboy.
Over the past two weeks, he’d struggled to understand his nephew’s enchantment with T-shirts. Seldom-white T-shirts with words, pictures and at times, sayings that could be taken more than one way. Every day, Tyler pulled the T-shirt down over his worn jeans and slipped on battered tennis shoes that he never tied.
In the kitchen, filling his morning’s first cup, Wyatt leaned against the counter. He had to admit he looked forward to each day’s billboard or insult.
Today, Tyler didn’t disappoint. He came barreling into the kitchen at breakneck speed. Across his thin chest was a tabby cat, ears perked, fangs exposed and claws extended. Wyatt took a deep swallow of his coffee as he read the bold orange words: Stressed out! He smiled. It wasn’t typical for most eight-year-olds. But then, Tyler wasn’t a typical eight-year-old.
Tyler wasn’t exactly stressed, but he was definitely in training to lead a type-A-personality life. The pockets of his jeans bulged and Wyatt wondered what he’d stuffed inside.
“That what you’re wearing to court?” Wyatt asked softly, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter to him. He’d learned that pushing Tyler was like pushing DJ at that age. A waste.
“S’all I got.” Tyler didn’t look at Wyatt. He busied himself dragging a box of cereal out of the cupboard and grabbing the milk carton from the fridge.
“We could stop at the store and pick up a button-down shirt for you. We have time.”
Tyler stilled. “I ain’t got no money.”
“You know, your dad does. We’ll use his.” Wyatt had learned early on that Tyler didn’t like taking money from him. He’d sworn he “wasn’t no charity case.” That backbone would serve Tyler well, later. Wyatt had circumvented the boy by telling him it was DJ’s job to support him. Tyler liked that idea. Wyatt used it all the time now.
“Well, I s’pose I should look businessy.”
The kid seriously needed grammar lessons, but Wyatt knew that was the least of their problems at this point. “Then it’s settled. Hurry and finish breakfast so we can get going.”
“I can wear my jeans, right?” Tyler looked up, panicked, from his cereal.
“Yeah, those are fine.” Wyatt wondered what was important about those particular jeans.
Another thing he’d learned was that Tyler’s emotions weren’t hidden, they just didn’t always make adult sense. Settling in the kitchen chair, Wyatt finished his coffee as Tyler worked out the games on the back of the cereal box.
Again, Wyatt cursed DJ as he reminded himself that DJ didn’t even know he had a son.
Taking care of Tyler until DJ came home was all Wyatt could do right now, and this afternoon’s court date would get that ball rolling. As he looked down at the boy, Wyatt realized it wasn’t enough. But it was all he had.
Tyler was silent the entire trip into town but by the time
