A Defender's Heart

Feeling as if a part of her life was finally flying high, while the rest of it was about to crumble, Heather hugged her friend back and then, keys in hand, headed for the door. “I’ll call her as soon as I get to my car,” she promised. And hoped that Lianna would be free. Spending time with her two best friends sounded like heaven.

CHAPTER FIVE

PULLING OFF THE sweaty bandanna tied around his head, Cedar walked over to his pickup truck in the employee parking lot of The Lemonade Stand. He was one of a dozen men on the construction crew, building new bungalows on previously unused acreage on the other side of the swimming pool. But right now, he was alone as he unbuckled his tool belt in the deserted lot. Dropping it on the floor behind the driver’s seat, he climbed inside, pushing the ignition button before closing his door. In the July heat, the Chevy was like a sauna without the steam.

A blast of warm air hit and he reached into the cooler on the floor below the passenger seat for his last bottle of water. Downed it. And glanced at the gray suit on the seat next to him. He’d donned it before lunch and quickly changed back into work clothes after delivering Heather’s salad to her office.

Heather.

She’d be coming to The Lemonade Stand, but there was no reason she’d ever need to know that he was working there. It wasn’t that she couldn’t know, but he didn’t want her to. He didn’t want to be responsible for swaying her in his favor again. Didn’t want anyone to convince her he was at the Stand as a way of proving that he’d changed. Or as an attempt to get her back.

His atonement was between him and...him.

The bungalows to which he’d been assigned were acres away from the main building, where Heather’d be meeting with Carin Landry, Dominic’s girlfriend.

The parking lot she’d use was a small space intended for general visitors, on the opposite side of the now seven-acre complex. It was the only parking available without a pass card—giving access to a small, nondescript outer reception area, through which she’d be admitted to the main building after showing her identification.

He’d finalized the details that afternoon, during his break, and then worked an hour of overtime to make up for the extra minutes he’d been away from the job. And maybe to work off some extra tension, too.

Seeing Heather...

Damn, he missed her.

He needed a beer.

Throwing the truck in Reverse, he heard his phone ring. Whoever it was could leave a message.

Unless...what if it was Heather? Lila McDaniels Mantle, the Stand’s managing director who had absolutely no idea—from him, anyway—that he and Heather knew each other other than professionally, had said she’d call Heather to arrange the appointment with Carin.

After putting the truck in Park, he grabbed his phone out of the heavy-duty case clipped to his jeans. And almost dropped it. The number on the screen was on his speed dial, but...

“Randy Cedar-Jones?” he said before the phone was even fully to his ear. His father was calling him!

Elation went to immediate alarm as he realized that something must be terribly wrong. Randy Cedar-Jones had never called him. Not once. Ever. They’d never met. He had the private number as part of a legal agreement designed by his mother. For all he knew, the line was only for him—set up when he was a kid. He called. Left messages. They were never returned. Never.

Most people didn’t even know that the famous pop singer had a son. Cedar’s mom, who’d been a groupie having a one-night stand, had chosen to keep it that way. She’d told the singer about him, and had signed a legal document that she’d helped him draw up, valid until Cedar’s eighteenth birthday, agreeing never to approach Cedar-Jones or speak of Cedar’s parentage—including no paternity testing—in exchange for child support. She didn’t want her son raised in an unrealistic world, nor did she want him to be part of a two-family, two-home lifestyle. One with her and an entirely different one with Cedar-Jones. Her one demand had been that Cedar, the man’s only child, always had his private phone number.

His mother, a kindergarten teacher, had never married or had other children. And she’d never made any secret of the fact that she was such a Cedar-Jones fan that she’d named her only son after the singer. Randy Cedar-Jones had sent flowers to her funeral when she’d been killed in a car accident shortly after Cedar graduated from college—but he still hadn’t picked up the phone when his son had called to thank him.

Nor returned that or any subsequent calls.

“Cedar! Is this a good time?” To talk, he figured his father meant.

And with a mind that felt encased by sludge, he tried to sound as nonchalant as the old man did.

“Sure, what’s up?” Something obviously was. But Cedar still couldn’t contain the excitement churning inside. His father had called him.

Thirty-four years into his life, and it had finally happened.

His mother would be glad. He had to tell Heather...

Slowing his thoughts to adult level, Cedar listened as Randy said he had a favor to ask. And he felt another rush—of an emotion he’d waited for all his life.

Wow. A younger Cedar had lived for this day.

“I’ve got a...friend...who’s gotten himself into a bit of trouble...”

Cedar listened, his mind racing ahead to possible fixes, thinking along the lines of cleanups and protection, even before he heard the gist of the problem.

“It’s not unlike that case you had three or so years ago, the one where the guy skipped the country and you were able to get him to give you evidence to clear his partner, since they couldn’t prosecute him if they couldn’t find him...”

The time he and Heather had gone to Egypt. And come home to meet Charles at her parents’ barbeque.

“And the case from last year where the guy was found with 1000 kilos, but you were able to show enough doubt as to the ownership and how it came to be where it was, that he walked...”

Dominic. Cedar had shown sufficient doubt, and then, just before he’d rested his case, the prosecutor had turned up with reports of 911 calls from neighbors, reporting suspicious activity at Dominic’s home. There’d never been any charges for anything as a result of those calls. Until then, he’d never known about them. And though one would expect there to have been a police report, none could be found. Other than the incoming calls to 911 that had been too vague to draw from. Concerned neighbors calling in suspicious activity. Dominic had been certain they had the case won, that the calls wouldn’t change that, so he wouldn’t come clean about them. Dominic had been willing to risk his freedom on the certainty that those calls wouldn’t matter, that no one would find a single report that would explain the calls, but Cedar hadn’t been willing to risk his win.

He’d risked his relationship with Heather, instead.

Cedar-Jones listed a couple of other cases, and Cedar began to see the link. They’d all been seemingly definite convictions—mostly white-collar crime—and even with digital trails, he’d managed to pull a rabbit out of the hat every time, and his clients had walked free.

He saw something else, as well. All those years, when he’d called Cedar-Jones after every case...his father had been listening to his voice mails.

He sat there, half listening, knowing without a doubt that he’d give his father the affirmative he was after. And that whatever the old man had to say about the case wouldn’t matter nearly as much as Cedar doing his own digging.

What mattered right now was that, when his famous father had finally acknowledged him, he could give him exactly what he needed.

For the first time in his life, he felt...good enough.

Complete.

Holy hell!

* * *

CHARLES HAD INVITED another couple to dinner. A friend of his, Rebecca, from college, who’d been in LA for a church conference and had an unexpected free evening. And her husband, Anthony, who loved to play golf as much as Charles did. They were a thoroughly enjoyable couple. Becky was a dentist, too, and Anthony a chiropractor. They had two teenage children and a lovely home in Chicago and invited Heather and Charles to visit them the following summer—promising to take them out on their boat, which was docked at their property on Lake Michigan. And they insisted on getting an invitation to the wedding, too.

The bottle of wine, and the next one, disappeared quickly, but they ate inside, in Charles’s formal dining room, not out on the deck. No view of the ocean. And Heather helped with the cooking, preparing the salad and side dishes, while Charles entertained his friends and grilled the steaks on the grill out on the deck. She was at home in his kitchen, enjoyed her time there, which was why she offered to take care of the dishes while Charles and Becky and Tony continued to chat. They were talking about a couple of bands they all used to like, music she’d heard of, but to which she’d never really related. Turned out that Tony and Charles, who hadn’t known each other before that evening, had both been to more than a few of the same bands’ concerts during their college years. Heather had barely been born.

She tried to follow the conversation as she rinsed dishes and loaded the dishwasher, cleaned the pans she knew Charles always did by hand and wiped down all the counters. It was a struggle, though. Her mind kept wandering, just as it had all night long, even when the conversation going on around her had been engaging.

Before she went home that night—and she definitely planned to go home, which would be another issue, since Charles was expecting her to stay—she had to tell the man she loved that she couldn’t be engaged to him. Yet. He was going to think she was some kind of kook. Or worse, that she still had a thing for Cedar.

Which she didn’t. She scrubbed hard at a spot on the frying pan—until she noticed that she was leaving slight scars on the bottom of the pan. The only true feelings Cedar raised in her were negative ones. Left over from the trauma he’d put her through.

The trauma she’d allowed herself to fall into.

But even if Charles didn’t worry about Cedar, even if he took her conversation for what it was, it was going to be difficult for him. Including on the most surface level—they’d just announced their engagement in a big, celebratory way to everyone he considered a friend.

He wouldn’t be wrong to feel upset with her for not realizing, a couple of days sooner, that she wasn’t ready to marry anyone.

Yet.

That yet kept surfacing. Maybe if she led with that part, her news wouldn’t be so horrible.

“Are you sure I can’t help you with anything?” Becky was back from the restroom, where Heather had directed her minutes before. It was the third time Becky had offered assistance.

“Nope, all done here,” Heather smiled, hung the cloth she’d just used to wipe out the sink and turned back toward the dining room.

The last thing she needed was girl talk. Unless it was with one of her girls, and she wasn’t even up for that at the moment.

* * *

DEAN DISALVO, his father’s friend, had a lot of money. He offered a sizable chunk to Cedar, who wasn’t taking it. He’d promised himself he was done working as a lawyer, at least for a while. Maybe forever. He was done selling his soul. Done taking money for a job that had controlled him to the point that he’d sacrificed his conscience to succeed. He was helping his father. Period.

About five minutes into their conversation Monday night, DiSalvo finally got that Cedar meant what he said—that he wasn’t in it for the money.

His father never came up. Whether Cedar-Jones had mentioned anything to DiSalvo, other than the name of a lawyer, Cedar didn’t know. If DiSalvo wondered about the name likeness he didn’t say. DiSalvo could think what he liked about why a seemingly high-powered attorney would work for free. Cedar really wasn’t interested in what the man thought.

The case interested him, though. Cedar-Jones was right. An intricate trail of money-making deals had veered off course, and DiSalvo was being framed. Or he said he was. They always said they were. Usually they weren’t as innocent as they claimed, but there were ways to make them look as though they were. Cedar knew that firsthand. And knew, too, about the people whose palms could be greased, by a lawyer or the accused, to make things disappear. And people who’d roll over to keep themselves out of hotter water. It was exactly the kind of case that used to make Cedar salivate. After a quick shower and a ham-and-mustard sandwich, he sat out on his deck, with the ocean in the distance, a glass of milk in hand, his laptop on the table in front of him and his body alive in a way it hadn’t been in too many months.

DiSalvo had sent a shitload of files. Cedar wasn’t going to bed until he’d perused every single one of them.

And maybe not even then.

His father had called on him.

He had work to do.

And a job site to be at in the morning.

Good thing he was used to getting by on minimal sleep.

* * *

HEATHER STOOD AT Charles’s side, a slight step behind him, as they waved goodbye to his friends. Could anyone tell her palms were wet?

Cedar would have known from the arm across her midsection that she was holding back. Holding in. That something was bothering her.

She dropped her arm. Kept waving. Concentrated on the smile on her face. And was caught unawares as Charles turned around and kissed her deeply, his tongue in her mouth.

“Thank you,” he said, as soon as he lifted his head. “I know this wasn’t the evening we planned, but it was perfect in a different kind of way.”

Perfect wasn’t even close to a word she’d have used, but then she’d known what was coming and was sure that had clouded what might otherwise have been a wonderful time.

All except for the conversation about bands, maybe.

“They’re nice people,” she said, stepping away from Charles—wanting another glass of wine, which would require opening a third bottle. Which they had.

Was it too late for him to go along with their original plan of wine on the deck?

“Becky’s a sweetheart,” Charles was saying, following her into the kitchen. “You really liked her?”

Hovering near the wine cooler, Heather smiled at him. “I did. Truly.”

“So you’d be up for going to Chicago to see them?”

She imagined Charles and her together, but not engaged, and smiled again. “Of course.”

It was awkward, just standing there in the kitchen. He might be ready to go to bed. She wasn’t joining him.

She needed some time to figure out the total impact of the feelings assailing her because of her contact with Cedar. She should’ve realized there’d be an initial backlash. She hadn’t seen it coming. And she had to deal with that first.

“Shall we have another glass of wine?” she asked, feeling like a kid asking for permission to stay out past curfew. Which was ridiculous. Charles was the late-night one. “We could sit out on the deck.”

“Sure!” He shrugged, looked happy as he pulled out a bottle of her favorite unoaked chardonnay, while she slid a couple of fresh glasses off the rack mounted above the cooler.

She loved him in this mood, so easy, so supportive. Would it hurt to put off the conversation until later?

Following Charles through the house toward the deck, she considered her options. Her appointment with Carin Landry wasn’t until Wednesday, and she wouldn’t be seeing or speaking with Cedar again until she’d had more than one appointment with the woman. She needed preliminary conversation with her before she could form a list of questions. She could have Charles over to her house for dinner on Tuesday night. After his golf game. Unless he had dinner with the others in his foursome, all doctors.

She’d been thinking about stopping by Lianna’s after work the next day. Her friend hadn’t said no to the weekend in wine country, but she hadn’t said yes, either. She’d sounded decidedly unlike herself. Maybe it was time for Heather to be a friend, rather than just have one...

Charles pulled open the sliding glass door that led to the upper deck at the back of the house. She followed him out. She took a deep breath of air, convinced she could taste a hint of the ocean’s salt in the breeze. Growing up in Santa Raquel had given her what seemed like a biological need for that very special air.

She handed a glass to Charles, exchanged the other empty for the one he’d filled, and stood by the rail waiting for their traditional toast.

“To us,” he said, clinking his now-full glass to hers.

She nodded, mouthed the words and hoped he didn’t notice that they didn’t actually pass her lips. Hoped they’d still be an “us.”

CHAPTER SIX

CHARLES SAT ON his usual side of the padded wicker love seat they normally shared. He lifted one leg and rested his ankle on the opposite knee. He seemed ready to sit for hours.

She wasn’t sitting.

“Out with it...” His words were soft. Infused with the caring that had touched her from the moment he’d said hello the summer before.

“What?”

“I’m just wondering when you’re going to tell me whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

Her genuine surprise bothered her. She really hadn’t expected Charles to notice. Shouldn’t she have? Considering that he was the man she intended to spend the rest of her life with?

Current necessary conversation aside, if Charles would wait for her, she’d marry him.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing,” she admitted, turning to face him, but not joining him on the love seat.

He couldn’t avoid seeing the difference. She always sat next to him.

“Seems like now’s the time.” He was holding his wine in one hand, letting it rest against the arm of the love seat.

She took a sip of hers, and then set it on the railing beside her. Her situation was clear to her—how to express it in a way that would hurt him least was not.

“I’m struggling,” she started. And stopped.

“Obviously.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. Nor did he seem angry. “I’m here to help.”

Oh, God. She wanted his help. So badly.

And yet...she didn’t. Something about leaning on Charles just then seemed wrong.

“I want you to know that my feelings for you haven’t changed.”

His nod was reassuring. “Good,” he said. “That’s one hurdle passed.”

“I still very much want to marry you.”

He took a sip of wine. “I have to admit, I’m relieved to hear that.”

“But I can’t be engaged to you right now.”

He looked out at the ocean, and then back at her. He studied her. She studied him, too, willing him to see inside her. To know how sincerely she wanted to marry him.

“I’m feeling all kinds of negative things, Charles. I’m doubting myself. Not my feelings for you, or my desire to marry you, but things that go...deeper than that.”

“You still have feelings for Cedar.” He sounded as though he’d been expecting as much.

“No!” Why did everyone keep accusing her of that? “At least, not in the way you mean. I shudder—with fear—at the very idea of being with him again.” She took a deep breath, stilling those shudders. “But seeing him again, it was like an episode of what I’d call a very mild and temporary case of the past coming back to haunt me. I’m not myself.”

He waited.

She had to finish.

Or begin.

“Saturday night, as I was telling Cedar goodbye, I agreed to see him.”

Charles’s chin dropped to his chest.

“Not like that!” she quickly reassured him, waiting until he looked back up. “I swear to you, it wasn’t like that at all.” She could look him straight in the eye on that one. “He said he had a business situation to discuss with me. He was certain I’d want to know about it...”

“Of course he did. He wants you back.”

No. No, he didn’t. And even if he did...just, no.

She shook her head. “I felt he was being completely straightforward.” When he’d made the request. Not earlier, in the kitchen, when he’d been about to kiss her.

And she’d been about to let him.

A reflexive response, due in part to the shock of seeing him. Since she’d already labeled him a no-show and was no longer expecting that he’d be there.

“As it turns out, he was—being straightforward, that is.”

Charles’s gaze narrowed. “You met with him, then?”

She and Charles had been together most of the day on Sunday, roaming around at an art fair, stopping at a local wine-tasting. Having dinner...

She nodded. “Today. For lunch. Or rather, during my lunch break. I didn’t actually eat lunch with him.”

That detail seemed to matter to her a lot. She’d mentioned it to Raine, too.

Although she’d eaten the salad he’d brought. Like he’d said, it was her favorite. He’d paid good money for it. And she’d needed to eat.

Sitting forward, his elbows on his knees, Charles pursed his lips and glanced toward the ocean again. His hands weren’t clasped, leaving his body language open. He wasn’t completely writing her off yet.

“I should’ve told you Saturday night when he asked, or Sunday, even.”

He looked back at her. Nodded.

She’d disappointed him. She hated that. He didn’t deserve it.

“And that’s part of the problem,” she said, standing straighter. When she’d promised to marry him, she hadn’t realized she couldn’t. And she’d allowed a party to celebrate their engagement, with no idea that she wouldn’t be able to go through with it. But she’d purposely withheld information from him...and that was inexcusable.

“I was afraid of your reaction, afraid you’d think what you seem to be thinking—that I’d still have feelings for Cedar. I wanted to find out what he wanted before I told you about it...”

“And now that you know, you’re telling me.” He sat back, lifted his ankle to his knee again and drank some wine, watching her.

“Yes.” Sort of.

“I want to hear about it, of course, about whatever business he had that still interests you, but I have a more pertinent question first.”

A feeling of dread ran through her. “What?”

“How could you possibly be afraid of my reaction? Have I ever...ever...given you cause to fear me? Or reacted in such a way that made you feel unsafe coming to me?” He seemed honestly perplexed.

“No, you haven’t,” she told him, feeling stronger in her purpose by the second. This was why Raine had been so concerned. She knew Heather wasn’t acting in a healthy manner. Or reacting in one.

“It’s me, Charles. I’m not emotionally healthy enough right now for a committed relationship. I overreacted totally. My fear of telling you about Cedar was irrational. And I was over-the-top with him, too. I was far ruder to him than I should’ve been, considering that I not only opened the door that he’d kept shut between us—out of respect—by inviting him to our party. And then by agreeing to meet with him.”

“Maybe you need to consider why you did either of those things.”

“I know why I did them.” She didn’t waver, although she was getting frustrated with having to continue trying to get anyone to understand her on this. “I did them because I know I’m over him. Because I also know that if he’s still in town, we’re bound to run into each other. Our fields tend to cross. It’s kind of surprising that they haven’t already over the past year.”

“Maybe he purposely stayed out of your way.”

“Maybe.” But the past year didn’t matter right now. “The point is, I was certain I’d be able to see him and that our encounter would be...empty...at best. I was hoping for a distant friendliness between acquaintances.”

Or some such thing. She and Cedar had a ton of shared memories. He was bound to creep into her mind now and then through the years. She’d like to know he was okay.

As long as it was from a distance.

“You said you were hoping as though that’s not what happened.”