Читать книгу Maverick Vs. Maverick - Shirley Jump - Страница 8
ОглавлениеWalker Jones’s mother would tell anyone who would listen that her oldest son came into this world ready to argue. He was a carbon copy of his father that way, she’d say, another man ready to debate everything from the color of the sky to the temperature of the room.
So it was no surprise he’d grown up to fill his father’s shoes in the boardroom, too.
The elder, Walker Jones II, was a formidable opponent in any corporate environment, though his advanced age had warranted a decline in the number of hours he worked. Walker III had stepped in, doubling the company in size and reach. That desire to take over the world had led him to do the one thing he thought he’d never do again—journey back to small-town America to defend the family business interests.
Walker had grown up in Oklahoma, but as far as he could tell, Rust Creek Falls and Kalispell, Montana, where the courthouse was located, were just copycats of the kind of tiny spit of a town that Walker tried to avoid. Lord knew what his brother Hudson saw in the place, because to Walker, it was just one more Norman Rockwell painting to escape as soon as humanly possible. He’d spent as little time as possible here a few months earlier when he’d opened his first Just Us Kids Day Care center. Basically just enough time to unlock the door and hand Hudson the keys. The day care center was a tiny part of the much larger operation of Jones Holdings, Inc., a blip on the corporate radar.
Walker had no intention of staying any longer this time around, either. Just long enough to deal with a pesky lawsuit and a persistent lawyer named Lindsay Dalton. The attorney worked in her father’s office. Probably one of those kids handed a job regardless of their competency level, Walker scoffed. He figured he’d make quick work of the whole thing and get back to his corporate offices in Tulsa ASAP.
Walker strode into Judge Sheldon Andrews’s courtroom on a Friday morning, figuring he could be out of town by sunset. The lawsuit was frivolous, the charges unfounded, and Walker had no doubt he could get it thrown out before the arguments got started.
Walker shrugged out of his cashmere overcoat, placed it neatly on the back of his chair, then settled himself behind the wide oak defendant’s table. He laid a legal pad before him, a file folder on his left, and a row of pens to the right. Props, really, part of sending a message to the plaintiff that Walker was ready for a fight. Perception, Walker had learned, was half the battle. His lawyer, Marty Peyton, who had been around the courtroom longer than Walker had been alive, came in and took the seat beside him.
“This summary judgment should be a slam dunk,” Walker said to Marty. “These claims are totally groundless.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a slam dunk,” Marty whispered back. He pushed his glasses up his nose and ran a hand through his short white hair. “If Lindsay Dalton is anything like her father, she’s a great lawyer.”
Walker waved that off. He’d gone up against more formidable opponents than some small-town lawyer.
“And for another, this is about sick kids,” Marty went on. “You already have the court of public opinion against you.”
“Sick kid, singular,” Walker corrected. “She’s only representing one family. And kids get sick at day care centers all the time. Kids are walking germ factories.”
Marty pursed his lips and sat back in his seat. “Whatever you say. I hope you’re right. You don’t need this kind of publicity, especially since you’re planning to open five more locations this year.”
The new locations would bring the day care division up to twenty-two locations, throughout Montana and Oklahoma. A nice dent in the western market. “It’ll be fine. We’ll dispense with this lawyer and her ridiculous suit before you can say hello and goodbye.” Walker straightened the pens again, then turned when the courtroom door opened and in walked his opponent.
Lindsay Dalton was not what he’d been expecting. Not even close.
Given the terse tone of her letters and voice mails, he’d expected some librarian type. All buttoned up and severe, with glasses and a shapeless, dingy brown jacket. Instead, he got a five-foot-five cover model in a pale gray suit and a pink silk shirt with the top two buttons unfastened. Not to mention heels and incredible legs.
She was, in a word, fascinating.
Lindsay Dalton had long brown hair in a tidy ponytail that skimmed the back of her suit and bangs that dusted across her forehead. Her big blue eyes were accented by a touch of makeup. Just enough to draw his gaze to her face, then focus it on her lips.
She smiled at her clients just then—a young couple who looked like they’d donned their Sunday best—and the smile was what hit Walker the hardest. It was dazzling. Powerful.
Holy hell.
He turned to Marty. “That’s Lindsay Dalton?”
Marty shrugged. “I guess so. Pretty girl.”
“Good looks doesn’t make her a good lawyer,” Walker said. She might be a bit distracting, but that didn’t mean his lawyer couldn’t argue against her and get this case thrown out.
She walked to the front of the courtroom, not sparing a glance at either Walker or Marty, then took her seat on the plaintiff’s side, with her clients on her right. An older woman, probably a grandma, sat in the gallery with the couple’s baby on her lap. Lindsay turned and gave the baby a big grin. The child cooed. Lindsay covered her eyes for a second, opened her hands like a book, and whispered “peekaboo.” The baby giggled and Lindsay repeated the action twice more, before turning back to the front of the courtroom.
It was a sweet, tender moment, but Walker knew full well that Lindsay Dalton had arranged to have the baby here, not for silly games, but to garner some sympathy points.
The door behind the judge’s bench opened and Judge Andrews stepped out. Short, bespectacled and a little on the pudgy side, Judge Andrews resembled a heavy Bob Newhart. The bailiff called, “All rise,” and everyone stood while Andrews gave the courtroom a nod, then took his place on the bench.
“You may be seated,” he said. Then the bailiff called the court to order, and they got under way.
This was the part Walker liked the best, whether it was in courtroom or in the boardroom. That eager anticipation in his gut just before everything started. Like two armies squaring off across the battlefield, with the tension so high it charged the air.
“We’re here on your motion for a summary judgment regarding the lawsuit brought by the plaintiffs, represented by Ms. Dalton, correct?” Judge Andrews asked Walker’s attorney.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
The judge waved at the podium. “Then, Mr. Peyton, you may proceed.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Marty got to his feet and laid his notes before him on the table. “This lawsuit, brought against Mr. Jones’s day care center, is a waste of everyone’s time. There is simply no legal or factual basis for the suit. Ms. Dalton is trying to prove that her client’s child caught a cold at the center, but there is no evidence whatsoever to support that claim. Germs are a fact of life, Your Honor. They’re on any surface we touch, and no one can prove that the Marshalls’ child contracted a common cold because of her time in day care. Why, for all we know, one of the Marshalls could have brought the germs into their own house. All it takes is one sneeze from a stranger or contact with a germ-infested surface in a public place. Surely Ms. Dalton can’t blame Mr. Jones’s day care center for the world’s inability to reach for a Kleenex at the right time.”
That was a line Walker had given Marty in their meeting last week. It seemed to amuse the judge. A smile ghosted on his face then disappeared.
“Your Honor,” Marty continued, “there are no cases holding that a day care center is legally responsible when a child who spends part of her day there comes down with a cold. Frankly, it’s a frivolous claim, and we’re asking that the court enter summary judgment in the defendant’s favor, dismissing this case.”
Judge Andrews nodded at Marty, then turned to Lindsay Dalton. “Ms. Dalton?”
Lindsay got to her feet and smoothed a hand down the front of her jacket. She took a moment to draw in a breath, as if centering herself.
She was nervous. Good, Walker thought. He had this thing won already.
“Your Honor, Mr. Peyton is greatly minimizing the situation at hand. This was not a common cold, not by any means. We intend to prove that Mr. Jones’s day care center, Just Us Kids, has been grossly negligent in cleanliness, resulting in a severe respiratory syncytial virus infection for Georgina Marshall, the then three-month-old child of Peter and Heather Marshall. The Marshalls entrusted Mr. Jones’s day care center with the care of their precious child, only to end up sitting by her hospital bed, praying for her to overcome the bronchitis that developed as a result of her exposure to RSV.”
Walker fought the urge to roll his eyes. Precious child? Praying?
“Your Honor, RSV is a respiratory infection,” Marty said, standing up again. “It’s marked by a cough and runny nose. Just like the common cold.”
“Georgina stopped eating,” Lindsay countered. “She lost two pounds, which for a baby of her size is a dramatic weight loss. The hospital she was in didn’t see this as a common cold. They saw it as a life-threatening illness. A life-threatening illness caused by Mr. Jones’s negligence.” With those words she turned and glared directly at Walker.
As if he was the one neglecting to mop the floors and wipe down the toys every night. Walker had barely stepped inside the day care center in Rust Creek Falls. He’d left his brother Hudson to oversee the business and hired a highly experienced and competent manager to help run the place. He had no doubt that Just Us Kids was running as smoothly as a Swiss watch.
He was busy enough maintaining the corporate interests. He had oil wells in Texas and overseas, the financial division expanding in the northeast, and then these day care centers, all started in small towns because his research had shown they were the most in need of child care resources.
Ms. Dalton rushed on. “Your Honor, I invite you to read the medical charts, which we filed with the court in opposition to the defendant’s motion for summary judgment. Those alone will prove how close the Marshalls came to losing their only child.”
Marty got to his feet. “Your Honor, does the Marshalls’ counsel really need to use words like ‘precious’? All children are precious, and no disrespect to the Marshalls, but their child is no more precious than anyone else’s. Can we stick to facts, without the flowery language?”
“The facts are clear, Your Honor,” Lindsay said. “The Marshalls’ baby contracted RSV as a direct result of staying in Mr. Jones’s day care. As did many other children—”
“This case is only about the Marshalls,” Walker interjected. “It’s one family, not a class action.”
She wheeled on him and shot him a glare. “They merely want justice for the pain and suffering their daughter endured.”
Code for give us a big settlement so we never have to work again. Walker bit back a sigh. He was tired of people who used the justice system to make a quick buck.
“The child is healthy now,” Walker said to the judge, despite Marty waving a hand to silence him. “This was a short-lived illness, and again, not traceable to any one contaminant. To blame my day care center is casting a pretty specific net in a very large river.”
The judge gave him a stern look. “Mr. Walker, I’ll thank you to leave the argument to your lawyer. You’re not here testifying today.”
“I apologize for my client’s outburst, Your Honor,” Marty said smoothly. “It’s just that this is so clearly a frivolous claim. Which is why we are moving to have this case dismissed before it wastes any more of the court’s time.”
Judge Andrews nodded again, and both lawyers sat to wait for him to announce his ruling. He flipped through the papers before him, taking a few minutes to scan the documents.
Walker sat at his table, maintaining a calm demeanor, as if this whole thing was a walk in the park. In all honesty, though, if he lost this case, it could severely impact his whole company and the future of the entire Just Us Kids Day Care chain. He refused to let some small-town lawyer derail his future expansion plans. Jones Holdings, Inc. was solid enough to withstand this tiny dent, but he wasn’t so sure the day care centers could rise above the ensuing bad publicity if the case wasn’t dismissed. Walker was in this business to make a profit, not to see it wiped away by some overeager small-town lawyer.
Lindsay Dalton had her legs crossed, right over left, and her right foot swung back and forth in a tight, nervous arc under the table. She whispered something to Heather Marshall, who nodded then covered Lindsay’s hand with her own and gave it a squeeze. Heather Marshall’s eyes watered—whether for real or for effect, Walker couldn’t tell. He’d seen enough people fake emotions in business that a few tears no longer swayed him.
Judge Andrews cleared his throat and looked up from his paperwork. “It’s the opinion of this court that there is sufficient evidence to proceed to trial on this case.” He put up a hand to ward off Marty’s objections, then lowered his glasses and looked at Walker’s attorney. “Mr. Peyton, you and your client may think this suit is frivolous, but the evidence Ms. Dalton has offered demonstrates that there are genuine issues of material fact. Now, let’s talk about a date for the trial. I realize we had set a date for four weeks from today, but that date will no longer work for me. As part of the joys of getting old, I have to have a knee replaced, and am not sure how long I will be out.”
Great. That would just make this thing drag on longer and longer. Walker didn’t need the prolonged negative publicity.
“But thanks to a big case settling just this morning, my schedule for next week has an unexpected hole in it and I can hear your arguments on Tuesday morning, after the Columbus Day holiday.”
Lindsay Dalton shot to her feet. “Objection, Your Honor. I need more time to adequately prepare—”
“From what I have seen, you are prepared, Ms. Dalton. Tuesday is the date, unless you and your clients want to prolong this case indefinitely.” The Marshalls shook their head, and Lindsay nodded acceptance. “Good. I will see you all back here Tuesday at 9:00 a.m. Court dismissed.” He banged the gavel, then got to his feet.
Everyone rose and waited until the judge had exited the courtroom, before the lawyers turned to gather their papers. Walker leaned toward Marty. “Temporary setback.”
Marty gave him a dubious look. “I told you, she may be new, but we have our work cut out for us.”
“Piece of cake,” Walker said. “Don’t worry.”
The Marshalls walked by him, holding hands and giving Lindsay wavering smiles. The Marshalls didn’t look like frivolous lawsuit people, and Lindsay Dalton didn’t look like a crappy small-town lawyer hired by her daddy. She looked like one of those ridiculously nice, highly principled people who only wanted to do the right thing to brighten their corner of the world. But Walker knew better. She wasn’t here to play nice and he wasn’t about to let her win, even if this schedule change threw a giant monkey wrench into his plans.
One that meant there was a very, very strong possibility that Walker Jones was going to be in Rust Creek Falls a lot longer than he had thought.
* * *
The mirrored wall behind the bar at Ace in the Hole was good for reflecting a lot more than the alcohol bottles lined up on the shelf, Lindsay Dalton realized. It also showed her own frustrated features. Even now, hours after she’d left the courtroom and her first battle against Walker Jones, Lindsay was feeling anxious, stressed. Yes, she’d won today—a small victory—but that first argument was just the beginning. And her opponent was not who she had expected.
She’d done her research on Walker Jones, or at least she thought she had. An older gentleman—heck, almost at retirement age—who she had thought would be an easy opponent. She clearly hadn’t researched enough, because the man sitting in the courtroom today wasn’t old and frail. He was young and handsome and...
Formidable.
Yes, that was the right word to describe Walker Jones III. Formidable. He had an easy confidence about him, an attitude that said he knew what he was doing and he wasn’t used to losing.
And she was a brand-new lawyer from a small town working for her father’s firm. She had convictions and confidence, but that might not be enough to win against experience and attitude. And a big-time lawyer hired from out of town.
“Looks like you had the kind of day that needs this.” Lani slid a glass of chardonnay over to Lindsay. Her sister worked at the bar from time to time, even after getting engaged to Russ Campbell, the hunky cop she’d fallen in love a little over a year ago. Lani still had a glow about her, shining nearly as brightly as the engagement ring on her finger.
“Thanks,” Lindsay said. “I didn’t expect to see you at the Ace tonight.”
Lani shrugged. “The bar was short staffed. Annie had a date and asked me to fill in.”
Annie Kellerman, the regular bartender. The Ace in the Hole was pretty much the main watering hole in Rust Creek Falls. With hitching posts outside and neon beer signs inside, it was the kind of place where folks could let down their hair, have a few beers with friends and maybe take a fast twirl in front of the jukebox. Since it was early yet on a Friday night, the Ace wasn’t too busy—one couple snuggling in a booth, four guys debating last week’s football game at a table in the center of the room and a couple of regulars sitting at the end of the bar, nursing longneck beers and watching whatever sport was playing on the overhead TV.
“So, how’d it go in court today?” Lani asked. She had her long brown hair back in a clip and was wearing a tank top with the logo for the bar—an ace of hearts—across the front.
“I won.” Lindsay grinned. “Okay, so it was only winning the argument that I brought a valid case to court, but it sure made me feel good.”
“Given all the times you’ve argued with me, little sister, I have no doubt you’re going to make a great lawyer.” Lani swiped at a water ring on the bar, then leaned back against the shelf behind her. “I talked to Dad earlier and he’s proud as a peacock. I’m surprised he didn’t take out a billboard announcing the judge’s decision.”
Lindsay laughed. Their father, Ben, had been ready to burst at the seams from the day she told him she wanted to follow in his footsteps. “It’s a very small decision. The big case is yet to come. I have a few days until opening arguments.” She let out a breath. “I’m nervous as hell.”
“Why? You’re a great lawyer.”
“For one, I only passed the bar a few months ago. My experience is mainly in cases like whether George Lambert’s oak tree is encroaching on Lee Reynolds’s potato patch.” Because she was so new to her father’s firm, he generally shuffled the easy stuff over to Lindsay’s desk, as a way for her to get her feet wet. She’d argued ownership of a Pomeranian, defended a driver who took a left on red and settled the aforementioned potato patch/oak tree dispute.
“Which was a win for you,” Lani pointed out.
Lindsay scoffed. She’d become a lawyer because she wanted to make a difference in the town she loved. So far, she’d only made a difference for a Pomeranian and a garden. She was worried she wasn’t up to the challenge of battling for the Marshalls. But when they had come to her, worried and teary, she couldn’t say no. She might be inexperienced, but she had a fire for what was right burning in her belly. She couldn’t stand to see anyone get hurt because the Just Us Kids Day Care was negligent. “Score one for the potatoes. Seriously, though, the opposing counsel in this case is...good. Smart. And the owner of the day care center is just as smart. Plus, he’s handsome.”
Had she just said that out loud? Good Lord.
Lani arched a brow. “Handsome?”
“I meant attractive.” Oh, God, that wasn’t any better. Lindsay scrambled to come up with a way to describe Walker Jones that didn’t make it sound like she personally found him sexy. Because she didn’t. At all. Even if he had filled out his navy pin-striped suit like a model for Brooks Brothers. He was the enemy, and even handsome men could be irresponsible business owners. “In a distracting kind of way. He might...sway the judge.”
Lani chuckled. “Judge Andrews? Isn’t he like, a hundred?”
“Well, yeah, but...” Lindsay drained her wine and held her glass out to her sister. “Can I get a refill?”
“Is that your way of changing the subject?” Lani took the glass and topped it off.
“Yes. No.” She paused. She’d been disconcerted by meeting Walker Jones, and Lindsay didn’t get disconcerted easily. “Maybe.”
“Well, unfortunately, I don’t think you’re going to be able to do that,” Lani said as she slid the glass back to her sister.
“Come on, don’t tell me you’re going to ask me a million questions about this guy. Frankly, I’d like to forget all about Walker Jones until I have to see him in court next week.”
“I think it’s going to be impossible for you to do that.” Lani leaned across the bar and a tease lit her features. “Considering he just walked in. Or at least, a man who looks like a hot, sexy owner of a day care chain just walked in.”
Lindsay spun on her stool and nearly choked on her sip of wine. Walker Jones III had indeed just walked into the Ace in the Hole, still wearing his overcoat and suit from court, and looking like a man ready to take over enemy territory. “What is he doing here?”
“Probably getting a drink like the rest of Rust Creek Falls,” Lani said. “There’s not a lot of options in this town.”
“Why is he even still here? Why not stay in Kalispell, or better yet, why can’t he go back to his coffin?”
“Coffin?”
“Only vampires are that handsome and ruthless.”
Lani chuckled. She shifted to the center of the bar as Walker approached. “Welcome to the Ace in the Hole. What can I get you?”
“Woodford Reserve, on the rocks.” He leaned one elbow on the bar, then shifted to his right.
“We don’t have that,” Lani said. “What we do have is a whole lot of beer.”
Walker sighed. “Then your best craft beer.”
“Coming right up.”
Lindsay should have slipped off her stool and left before he noticed her, but she’d been so stunned at the sight of Walker in the Ace that she had stayed where she was, as if her butt had grown roots. Now she tried to take a casual sip of her wine, as if she didn’t even see him.
Except her heart was racing, and all she could see out of the corner of her eye was him. Six feet tall—her favorite height in a man, but who was noticing that—with dirty blond hair and blue eyes, Walker Jones had a way of commanding the space where he stood.
She needed to remember that his irresponsible ownership of the day care center was what had made Georgina and lots of other children ill. What if that had been the Stockton triplets? Those motherless newborns who’d needed a whole chain of volunteers to help care for them? The RSV outbreak could have had much more dire consequences—something that Walker might be trying to overlook but that she refused to ignore.
“Counselor,” he said with a little nod.
“Mr. Jones. Nice to see you again.” The conventional greeting rolled off her tongue before she could recall it. Some kind of masochistic automatic response. It wasn’t nice to see him again. Not one bit.
Lani smirked as she placed a beer in front of Walker. “Here you go. Want me to run a tab?”
“Thank you, and yes, please do. I think I’ll stay a bit.” He sent the last remark in Lindsay’s direction.
She still had a nearly full glass of wine, but no way was she going to sit at the bar next to him. Lindsay fished in her pocket and handed her sister some bills. “Thanks, Lani. I’ll see you around.”
As Lindsay went to leave, Walker placed a hand on her arm. A momentary touch, nothing more, but it seemed to sear her skin. “Don’t go because I’m here. Surely we can coexist in a bar full of people.” He looked around. “Or rather, a bar full of eleven people.”
“Are you always this exact?”
“Are you always this hard to make friends with?”
She scowled. He was making it seem like this was all her fault. “We don’t need to be friends. We’re on opposing sides.”
“In the courtroom. Outside of that, we can at least be civil, can’t we?”
“Well, of course we can be civil.” Damn it. Somehow he’d turned her whole argument around. Geesh. Maybe he should have been the lawyer.
“That’s all I’m asking. So stay.” He gestured toward her bar stool. “And pretend I don’t exist.”
“My pleasure.”
That made him laugh. He had a nice laugh, dark and rich like a great cup of coffee in the morning. “You are not what I expected, Ms. Dalton.”
“And you are not what I expected.” She fiddled with the stem of her wineglass. “Frankly, I was expecting your father.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” He grinned. “I’ll try not to do that again.”
She almost said, “Oh, I wasn’t disappointed,” but caught herself. Good Lord, what was it with this man? Was it his eyes? The way they held her gaze and made her, for just a moment, feel like the most important person in the room? Was it the way he’d touched her, his muscled hand seeming to leave an indelible impression? Or was it the way he spoke, in that deep, confident voice, that a part of her imagined him whispering to her in the dark?
He was the enemy. An evil, irresponsible man who only cared about making a buck. Except nothing about his demeanor matched that description. Maybe he was one of those distracted, charming millionaires who didn’t care where his money came from as long as it ended up in his bank account.
Still...he seemed nice. Friendly, even. How could that be the same man who ran a shoddy day care chain?
“And with that,” Walker said, picking up his beer and giving her a little nod, “I think I shall leave you to your wine. Have a good evening, Ms. Dalton.”
He crossed the room, and took a seat at one of the empty tables, draping his coat over a second chair. When a group of twenty-something girls came into the bar, ushering in the cool evening air and a whole bunch of laughter, Lindsay’s view of Walker was blocked, but that didn’t stop her traitorous mind from wondering what he’d meant by I’ll try not to do that again.
Because she had a feeling Walker Jones was the kind of man who rarely left a woman disappointed. In any way.
