She could pump him for information, but didn’t think she needed to. Not yet, anyway. The knowledge did give her a higher level of comfort.
She looked back at Wyatt Hawkins. “Do you know any of these people?”
He shook his head. “I’m in the process of trying to find them. No luck yet.”
“Keep looking,” she instructed then turned back to Tyler. “So you’ve never met your dad?”
“Nope. But Mom told me lots of things. And I have stuff that proves I’m his kid.” The boy’s chin notched up.
“You do?”
“Uh-huh.” Slowly, Tyler stood and reached into the bulging pockets of his jeans. He pulled out a couple plastic lizards, an old playing card and a key that had been wound with neon-green yarn. “This is stuff Mama said my dad gave her.”
She couldn’t wait to hear this one. “What are they?”
“These two lizards are like the ones on the beach where they met. In Florida.” He handed Emily each one very carefully. “This is a card from when they played stip poker.”
“Stip?” She nearly bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have asked but the question just came out.
“Yeah. When you bet your clothes.”
Emily was proud of herself for not reacting, though she heard a stifled groan come from his uncle. “And the key?”
“She said it went to somethin’ he had back home where he kept his really special stuff.”
Emily took the key and held it up. “Do you recognize this, Mr. Hawkins?”
He was looking at them both, his gaze intense, and he squinted at the key. She walked over to the table where he sat and handed him the key. He turned it over a couple times.
“Yeah.” His voice broke. “It goes to Dad’s old shop.”
His voice sounded sad and wistful. For a long minute, she looked down at the seated man, realizing that she had possibly misjudged him. He tilted his head back and their gazes clashed.
There was no angry glare, no macho attitude. Just emotions she couldn’t quite identify, and a pleading question. Her gut told her he was a good man. She swallowed, uncomfortable with the idea. To give herself a moment to think, she walked slowly back up to the judge’s seat.
“I’ll make you a deal.” She faced Tyler, hoping she wouldn’t regret this, and made an offer. “I’ll make it provisional. If at any time, either of your parents returns, we can meet again. Okay?”
Tyler responded, “What’s ‘probisional’ mean?”
“It means it can be changed,” she explained. “But until they come back, your uncle’s responsible for you.”
“It’ll work out, Ty,” the man mumbled as if he didn’t want her to hear. She appreciated his reassurances to the boy, but she couldn’t quite let herself believe him. The expression on the boy’s face told her that he wasn’t buying it, either.
“And—” she said.
The man stared at her.
“Until the caseworker is back to work, I want you to meet with me. I’ll be your caseworker for now.”
“Your Honor, that’s rather irregular,” the counselor objected.
“I don’t much care. This case doesn’t make me comfortable. Until it does, I’ll keep an eye on things. Write up the orders, counselor, and I’ll sign them. Anything else?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“We’re adjourned.” Emily stood and didn’t bother to look back at the man or the boy. She needed to keep a clear head in her work and that small face and those reassuring hands were already tugging at something she never allowed in her courtroom.
Her heart.
CHAPTER THREE
A WEEK LATER, Wyatt found himself headed toward the county court offices. The building was old. Not ancient old as to be pretty, but built-in-the-1970s old, with harvest-gold siding. Wyatt stared at the ugly-as-sin building and frowned. Why had the judge asked to see him without Tyler? What was she up to?
Not knowing the answer made him uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. He’d climbed out of his truck into the late-spring heat and headed for the glass doors. By the time he entered the cool air-conditioned inside, he was irritated.
He hadn’t dealt much with the legal system—that was his brother Jason’s arena—but he’d been in the cattle industry a long time, so he had plenty of experience with government agencies. This felt very similar.
Hat in hand, the brim cupped in his wide palm, he took a calming breath and approached the desk. The brunette sitting there looked up at him over a pair of half glasses that seemed to practically glow in the dark. What color were those supposed to be?
“Can I help you?”
“I have an appointment with Magistrate Ivers.” Wyatt didn’t even recognize his own voice. So formal. So distant.
“I’ll let her know.” The woman stood and walked down the short hall to disappear behind a thick wooden door.
He sat down on one of the chairs lined up neatly along the far wall. He was the only person here and the room was quiet. Where the outside of the building had hurt his eyes, this office was polished and modern. He liked the marble and glass.
A rack of brochures on how to be a guardian caught his eye. He’d just read the titles on the third row when the woman returned. “She’ll be right out.”
Wyatt nodded and stared at the sign beside the door. E. J. Ivers. He leaned closer to read her full name printed in smaller letters beneath. His frown deepened.
In Wyatt’s book, E. J. Ivers, magistrate, was not supposed to be Emily Ivers of the soft, feminine variety. Before last week, he’d had a vision of a graying older man with a booming voice. Or maybe one of those polished judges like on TV. Showed what he knew.
All through court, Wyatt had been stunned by the much younger, much prettier, definitely female judge. The long, black robes had hidden everything except the collar of the vibrant pink blouse that had set off her dark hair.
On the bench she’d been thorough and direct, and intelligence had snapped in her dark eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Now here he sat outside her office wondering what the hell to expect next.
* * *
EMILY GLARED AT the stacks of papers and files lined up on the conference table that took up nearly half her official chambers.
Even if she wanted to have a meeting here, she couldn’t. The piles never really seemed to shrink, though she knew Dianne frequently shuffled them around.
Emily stalked past the stacks and flopped down into her desk chair.
