Читать книгу Dreamless - Darlene Graham - Страница 9

TWO DAYS LATER Jake Coffey and Cassie McClean stared at each other as they climbed the steps of the Cleveland County Court House. Their faces couldn’t have registered more shock if they’d been naked as jaybirds instead of dressed in their finest business apparel. Both had apparently turned out in their best for this confrontation, although, Cassie surmised, in Jake’s world business attire was by definition more casual, more Western.

Still, he looked so polished that he didn’t even seem like the same man.

He wore cowboy boots again, although this pair, cut of a fine suede in a muted shade of cognac, could have taken him to lunch at the governor’s mansion. Under a Western-cut sports coat in a dark khaki and olive windowpane blend, a cream-colored basket-weave Polo shirt contrasted against the tanned skin at his throat. The jacket was obviously made from a superior cloth—Cassie recognized the blend of silk and wool—and it coordinated flawlessly with his dark wool trousers, which had pleats that bulged subtly below his flat abdomen. His hair, which the battered Stetson had concealed at the job site, was close cropped—a clean, classic shade of chocolate brown that matched his eyes exactly, offset by a few tantalizing strands of gray at the temples and nape. To make the whole effect utterly devastating, the chill November wind carried from his person the scent of an aftershave that filled Cassie with a bad craving.

Cassie herself had pulled together her best power look: a pencil-slim suit of the finest red worsted wool, giant diamond ear studs, and a chunky solid gold watch. Oh, yes, and black heels. Very high black heels.

“After you,” Jake said, when they reached the top step. He opened one of the heavy double doors and inquired, “Where’s your attorney?”

“Inside. Yours?”

“The same.”

Cassie was relieved when they were directed to a smallish office where Judge Jewett sat behind an ordinary-looking desk with a fake floral arrangement at one end. She had anticipated with dread the cold, mahogany-paneled courtroom of her father’s trial. She imagined the judge, remote and punitive, high up behind a bench surrounded by seals and flags.

Her lawyer, Miles Davies, whispered near her ear, “We are meeting in chambers because the judge is in the middle of a big criminal case in the courtroom.”

Cassie liked Miles. He was a kindly old eccentric. Her grandfather had considered him to be so competent and trustworthy that he had hired Miles to defend Boss fifteen years ago, and that was good enough for Cassie.

She and Jake were seated in comfortable armchairs at right angles to each other. Their attorneys positioned themselves between Cassie and Jake, and the two older men shook hands, sat down and crossed their legs, balancing fat files in their laps. They seemed to know each other, chatting and joking until the judge came in. When they got down to asking for what their clients wanted, it was as if Jake and Cassie weren’t in the room.

The legal mumbo jumbo made little sense to Cassie, although she and Miles had reviewed the procedure only an hour before. She could sense that he was making their case, and for her, that was enough. She wanted to get this thing over with, then go by the hospital and check on Tom Harris. After that, she hoped she’d have time to run home and change into work clothes and make a final check on the day’s progress in The Heights. All the judge had to do was see the light and let her get on with her business.

But when it was his turn to talk, Jake Coffey’s attorney, Edward Hughes, seemed to be making a convincing case, too.

Miles interrupted once, and a little bit of lawyerly yelling took place. All in all, the whole thing struck Cassie as going through the motions, something these guys, and the judge, apparently did every day.

For her part, she found this haggling and posturing most annoying because it interrupted the very real, very creative work she loved. And she blamed him for causing it.

She gave Jake Coffey a disdainful glance.

He didn’t catch it. His handsome head was down as he listened to his snotty old attorney argue that the noise was clearly a nuisance and not merely a tort…or something like that.

At the moment, Cassie resented these two men with all her heart. Her own attorney was quietly leafing through his files. “What’s going to happen?” she whispered, when the Edward Hughes guy finally stopped talking.

“The judge will probably go into chambers to make his decision,” Miles muttered. “We shall wait here.” He leaned forward and handed the judge a piece of paper. A copy of the noise variance, Cassie supposed. The judge had asked to see it.

She checked out Jake Coffey again. With a jolt, she saw that he was staring at her. And not exactly unpleasantly. He was slumped low in his chair with his long legs crossed comfortably, one hand resting loosely at his belt. The other hand—for some reason this gesture rattled Cassie—was covering his mouth. Well, not covering it, exactly, because Cassie could see the corners of a Cheshire smile peeking from behind his fingers. When he caught her looking at him, his brown eyes sparked for an instant, then narrowed in thought. Was that a dirty look? Or an admiring one? Did it mean he knew something she didn’t? Oh, God, had the other side somehow won?

“I’m taking everything under advisement and will come back with my decision shortly.” The judge got up and left the room.

Silence.

Jake continued to study her, continued to squint and continued to smile in that enigmatic, intimidating way.

Cassie squirmed. She hated courthouses, anyway—who wouldn’t if their very own father had been taken away from them in one?—but this…this close-quarters examination by this…this man. Well, it was too much.

After what seemed like days, the judge returned.

“I am forced,” Jewett droned as soon as he had resettled himself behind his desk, “to require difficult concessions from both parties in this case.”

Everybody sat up straighter, giving the judge their full attention.

“If Mr. Coffey can extend the gestation of his mares for three more weeks, the foals will likely survive without damage—”

“Not really.” Jake jerked forward. “Not at nine months—”

“Mr. Coffey, you’ve presented your evidence. Now, Ms. McClean, you understand that the jurisdiction of the City of Jordan ends at 60th Street, which happens to be Mr. Coffey’s property line. So this noise variance means nothing to landowners on Ten Mile Flats.” The judge lifted the paper and sent it drifting to the corner of his desk.

“Mr. Coffey has asked for jurisdictional relief regarding this noise. And I am of a mind to give it to him. This noise is clearly a tort, as it threatens the safety of valuable livestock. I am particularly concerned about any blasting with dynamite. However, if you can voluntarily delay the noise until the foals are viable, you’ll likely save yourself a lawsuit for damages.”

Jake cocked an eyebrow and pressed his lower lip out, as if weighing the merits of such a lawsuit.

Thanks for giving him ideas, Judge. Cassie narrowed her eyes in warning at Jake. He wasn’t the only one who could dish out dirty looks.

“In the meantime, there is nothing preventing you from removing the rock in a more conventional, and far quieter, manner.”

Nothing but money, Cassie thought, feeling her outrage beginning to build. Three weeks was a long time to pay interest on millions of dollars in construction loans and to pay rent on machines that were sitting idle. This was a compromise?

Cassie felt an encouraging nudge at her elbow, her attorney indicating that he thought this was an acceptable idea. She nodded her understanding at the judge. What else could she do?

“After three weeks, Ms. McClean’s rock crushers may resume work, and if necessary at that time she may use the dynamite—”

Jake sat bolt upright. “But, Judge—” he started.

The judge held up a palm.

“But three weeks—”

“Mr. Coffey, that is the best I can do. I understand about birth dates and quarter horses, but we can’t make Ms. McClean delay construction until January. For your part of the compromise, I suggest that at the end of three weeks you give up this restraining order—” the judge flapped another piece of paper “—and see your way clear to let her concrete trucks pass through Cottonwood Ranch. That will make up for some lost time, won’t it, Ms. McClean?”

Again, Cassie nodded. It was apparent that nobody was going to walk out of this room happy.

Jake most certainly did not look happy. The deepening crease between his brows indicated that he wasn’t at all satisfied. Well, tough. Neither was she.

Judge Jewett picked up his pen. “My final decision will be issued tomorrow morning at nine a.m., unless I hear that you two have settled it between yourselves before then. I encourage you to compromise and try to reach an equitable position between yourselves before I issue that order. You could save yourselves the distress of the trial.”

The two attorneys smiled and nodded, but Jake and Cassie looked at each other like disgruntled juveniles being forced to shake hands.

Jewett rose when his courtroom deputy stuck his head in the door. “The attorneys in the criminal case are waiting in the courtroom, Your Honor.”

“I’m coming.” Jewett was gathering papers. “Now you two—” he aimed his pen at Jake, then Cassie “—sit down at a table and work this out.” Then he left.

It was a decision worthy of King Solomon—that’s what Cassie’s attorney said when they got out in the hallway.

Cassie’s jaw dropped. “King Solomon?” She turned on the old gentleman. “Miles, if you ask me, that was a crock of crap! A knee-jerk decision handed down by an overworked judge who doesn’t want another trial on his docket. That—” she pointed toward the judge’s chambers “—was what I call a lose-lose situation. Now Jake Coffey and I are probably both going to lose money on this! When you go before a judge, isn’t somebody supposed to come out the winner?”

The fussy old gentleman looked offended. “I have done the best I can for you, Ms. McClean.”

Cassie wanted to say something about how she supposed the lawyers would be the only ones making money, but she managed to bite that back. Still, then and there, she made up her mind to pay Miles every last cent she owed him and find herself a new lawyer who was more aggressive and less chummy with his pals at the courthouse.

But right then, Jake’s attorney came up behind them and grabbed Miles Davies’s shoulder before she could inform him of this. “Miles,” Edward Hughes said pleasantly, “would you like to use my office for our negotiations?”

“How kind of you to offer, Edward.” Cassie’s attorney smiled. “Perhaps we can, at least, work out something where both parties feel they are bearing equal financial risks in the—”

“I’d rather talk to Ms. McClean alone.” The rich timber of Jake’s voice stopped the discussion.

Cassie and the lawyers turned to face him.

“Uh, Jake, maybe it would be better if I were present—” Edward Hughes started.

“Nope.” Jake’s dark gaze was fixed firmly on Cassie. “The judge told us to work it out between ourselves. I’m good for my word. How about you, Ms. McClean?”

“I am absolutely a woman of my word.” Cassie had no trouble asserting that. It was her lifelong code.

“Good. Then, we don’t need the lawyers.”

The two lawyers stood looking from Jake to Cassie, dumbstruck.

“I’m hungry.” Jake put a palm on his flat middle. “How about some lunch?”

Cassie wondered what the heck this was all about. One minute they were sparring in court and the next he was inviting her to lunch. Was this a trick?

“The judge said to sit down at a table.” He gave her a wicked grin. “There might as well be food on it.”

Cassie frowned.

“Seriously.” Jake tilted his head. “We only have until tomorrow morning, and in the meantime, we’ve got to eat.”

This was true. Cassie always managed to find time to eat. Her appetite was as healthy as any man’s. But most of her lunches were fast food, eaten in the cab of her truck while she studied a materials list. It was not often that she was dressed nicely enough to go to a real restaurant and sit down and have a decent lunch. Suddenly it seemed like a shame to waste her snazzy outfit.

“I guess we might as well eat while we talk this over, but it needs to be on this side of town. I’ve got to go by the hospital.”

“Oh? The injured man?”

“Yes.”

“Is Legend’s okay?”

Legend’s! A gourmet restaurant that had been hosting special events for Jordan residents for over thirty years. Cassie had loved that place ever since her aunt Rosemarie had first taken her there as a child. Her fluttery aunt always called the atmosphere…romantic. Cassie preferred to think of it as tasteful, classy.

“Uh, sure. Legend’s will work.”

“Great.” Jake gave the lawyers a little salute and put a light hand at Cassie’s back, steering her toward the stairs.

Cassie glanced at the two older men, who were staring like stunned referees that had been told by the players to get off the field.

“How about if I drive,” Jake said as he opened the stairwell door. “Once we’ve reached an…equitable position—” there was an unmistakable hint of humor in his voice “—I’ll bring you back to your car.”

As they descended the stairs, Cassie started to feel something. Something akin to magnetism. She didn’t know if it was the synchronized physical movement—they stayed side by side, right in step the whole way—or the man’s very nearness as he held her elbow on the way down. Cassie didn’t even know if she had the right to feel this…this magnetism or whatever it was. For all she knew, he might be involved with a woman. The good-looking ones were never available.

All she knew for certain about Jake Coffey was that, right now, she was going to lunch at Legend’s with him. And that prospect seemed at once frightening and thrilling.