A Man of Privilege

“It’s nice to meet you, Maggie.” He didn’t seem offended by her reaction. She couldn’t decide if he was that smooth, or merely that clueless. “Tell me about yourself.”

She needed to get her head together. It might be difficult, if not impossible, to do it while he was standing here, looking untouched by the blazing sun or the proximity to manure, but she needed to try. And to do that, she needed a drink. “There’s lemonade in the house, if you’re interested.” Tea would have been more traditional, but hey—it was eighty-seven degrees out. And then she could at least wash her hands and face while Nan sized him up.

“That would be lovely.” He stepped to the side to let her pass and then followed her into the house.

When she opened the door, Nan was in her chair, as usual, but Maggie noted the way she was breathing a little hard. She made a casual turn in order to check that the door had shut behind James and spotted the shotgun nestled in between the umbrellas. Good ol’ Nan. She always, always had Maggie’s back. “Nan, I’d like you to meet James Carlson. James, this is Nanette Brown.” She left it at that.

Nan managed to stand without knocking over her worktable. “Welcome, welcome.” She gave Maggie a look that said you look like hell. “Can I get you some lemonade?”

Maggie took her cue and ran with it. “Excuse me.” She sprinted back to the bathroom, where she furiously scrubbed every available surface with a scratchy washcloth. Without bothering to dry herself off—water evaporated—she bolted to her room and dug out a clean pair of jeans and the nicest top she owned, the blue silk one with the bugle beads around the neck. She’d have to act as if the wrinkles were meant to be there.

When she got to the kitchen, James was leaning up against the counter while Nan rummaged in the fridge. “I know I’ve got some cake in here—oh! There it is,” the older woman mumbled at the lettuce crisper as she rooted around for the leftover carrot cake.

James glanced—and then stared—at her. “Hi,” he said again, sounding more like a regular guy than a lawyer.

Maggie swallowed. He was probably used to high-class women who had perfect manicures and could subsist on celery for months at a time, women whose spring wardrobes cost more than her car. It wasn’t possible that he was attracted to her. It just wasn’t. She had dirt—or worse—wedged under her fingernails, and she saw too late that the jeans she’d grabbed had a smear of paint down the thigh. “Hi.”

Over the next five minutes, Nan bustled around the kitchen, slicing cake and pouring lemonade as she tossed out harmless small talk such as, “It’s so hot out! And they say we aren’t going to get any rain until the weekend.”

Throughout the verbal barrage, James nodded and smiled and agreed as if they were all the oldest of friends. Maggie felt horribly out of place in her own kitchen. She wasn’t wearing a skirt to smooth out, so she had nothing to do but sit on her hands.

“Oh, my—look at the time!” Nan made a clucking sound as she gathered up her cake and lemonade. “The Biker Brotherhood is on! I’ll close the doors so my show doesn’t interrupt you two.” Before Maggie could protest, Nan had the bifold doors shut.

They were alone. “It’s her favorite show,” Maggie explained, looking at her cake. Strangely, she had no appetite.

James didn’t notice. “She seems sweet. Are you two related?”

“She’s sort of my fairy godmother.” Which sounded so much better than, “She found me when I was a Popsicle and nursed me back to health.”

James grinned as he took another bite of cake. “This is delicious.”

More of that unfamiliar warmth heated her cheeks.

“Thanks.”

“You made it?” He looked surprised—but as though it was a good surprise.

“I like to bake.” Lord knew she had enough practice. There wasn’t much else to do out here in the winter.

He finished his cake and sat back, taking in the cramped confines of the kitchen. “This is a nice place.”

Now he was sucking up. “Compared to what?” She couldn’t know for sure, but she was willing to bet rich boys didn’t spend a lot of time in earth houses.

Why on God’s green earth did he keep smiling at her? Had she missed some manure on her forehead or what? “Compared to a lot of places. How long have you been here?”

“Nine years. The whole time.”

“It suits you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

James let out a low chuckle as he leaned forward and looked her straight in the eyes. “Maggie, please. I’m not interrogating you, and I’m not about to try to bluff you again. I hope you can forgive me for assuming that you would be less intelligent and less beautiful than you are. My information was sorely out of date. I promise I won’t underestimate you again.”

The tension she’d been holding in rushed out of her in a loud whoosh. That was, hands down, the best compliment she’d ever gotten. She knew she was blushing, but she couldn’t help it, not when he was close enough to touch, looking at her with that mix of respect and desire.

“Why are you here?” The words came out a little shaky, so she cleared her throat and hoped that would help.

“I need you.” His words, on the other hand, were strong and sure. There wasn’t a trace of doubt in them.

Rationally, she knew he was talking about the big court case and his insurance policy. He needed her testimony—that was all. But the way his gaze searched her face? Nothing about that said legalese.

“I can’t do it.” Stupid voice, she mentally kicked herself. Why couldn’t she sound as confident as he did? It didn’t matter how he needed her. She couldn’t be swayed with compliments.

He leaned back, looking not disappointed at all. In fact, he seemed almost amused. “Did you call that lawyer?”

“No.” Although, clearly, her strategy of ignoring this whole situation in the hopes that it would go away hadn’t worked. “I can’t afford a lawyer.”

“She’ll do it pro bono. And she’ll tell you the same thing I am. I’m not asking you to go before the court and make a public statement. All I want is a deposition. We’ll meet in my office with a court reporter. I’ll ask you some questions. You’ll answer them honestly. No one else will be there. No one else will know you’ll be there, unless you tell them.”

That didn’t sound as bad as the Law and Order–style scenario she’d envisioned. “Pro bono—that means free, right?”

“Right.” At least he had the decency not to act as if that simple question was an agreement. “It’ll be a couple of hours of your life. If the case goes as I think it will, your name will never even come up in court. You’ll never have to see me again.” He paused. “Not if you don’t want to.”

She couldn’t meet his unwavering gaze. Part of Maggie wanted to get the hell out of this kitchen and as far away from this unusual man as she could. Nothing good could come of anything that involved him and his mixed signals. She wasn’t some pliable little girl anymore. She was a smart, intelligent woman now, the kind of woman who made wise decisions, stood on her own two feet and never, ever did anything regrettable. And no matter how sexy and understanding James was, and no matter how much she might want to find out what those muscles looked like, doing anything with him would be regrettable.

She peeked up at him. He was still watching her, waiting for some sort of response. Maybe she’d take it back. Would one regrettable action really be so bad?

“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” he finally said into the silence. “But I would like you to call Rosebud and talk to her. She can help you explore your options and walk you through the process.”

Something Nan had said came back to her. “Why should I?” Gardening supplies were nice and all, but she wouldn’t be bought off so cheaply. She wasn’t cheap anymore.

Something in his smile sharpened, and James began to look a little bit dangerous. “That’s a good question. You should because it’s the right thing to do. You’re a good person, Maggie—an honest, decent woman. I can see that. You run your own business and pay your bills. And because you are, you’ll do this because you know you’ll be making the world a little better, a little safer. So, good question. But not the correct one. The correct question is—what’s in it for you? Am I right?”

It wasn’t fair to make her feel guilty for looking out for herself, but he had done just that while simultaneously complimenting the hell out of her. She nodded.

He crossed his arms, his smile growing ever sharper. “You may have been not guilty, but you still have an arrest record. I can make that whole rap sheet disappear. Margaret Touchette disappeared, after all. Her record should disappear with her.”

Maggie knew she shouldn’t react, but she couldn’t stop the “Really?” that escaped from her lips. Starting over, just like that.

One of his eyebrows lifted a little. It made him look thoughtful. “Most people do not get notice when certain persons are released from prison. However, I can guarantee that if one Leonard Low Dog ever sees the free light of day again, you’d know well in advance.”

Oh. That. That could be a useful thing, but she felt ashamed that was even a bargaining chip. So much for starting over. She kept her mouth shut, though. She wished Nan was in here. First off, Nan would see that James was a very good lawyer. He’d figured out what she wanted and needed, and was prepared to exchange it for her testimony. But more than that, she’d know what Maggie should do next.

James made a huffing noise, as if Maggie were twisting his arm when all she was doing was sitting here and getting confused. “In the event that certain persons, such as Low Dog, do manage to locate you, I would be willing to move you—new name, new place. At no cost to you.”

“Pro bono,” she whispered as she stared at the forgotten cake, as if it held all the answers. He was offering to protect her. No one but Nan had ever protected her. Tommy had tried, but … “For how long? Does the offer stand, I mean?” That sounded like something Nan would ask. She was proud of herself for coming up with it all by herself.

“As long as it takes.”

She did some quick math. Low Dog might be in his forties. “Until he dies?”

“If that’s what it takes, yes.”

That was a hell of a promise. She could see James in twenty years—the president of the freaking United States personally guaranteeing the safety and well-being of a nameless Indian woman.

But Tommy trusted him—with his life, he’d said. James Carlson was a man of his word—assuming, of course, that Tommy was, as well.

A couple of hours of her time—and in exchange, she’d get her whole life back. Margaret Touchette would be dead and gone, for good this time. She wouldn’t have to worry anymore. She’d finally be free of all the stupid mistakes she’d made in the past.

“I’ll inform Rosebud of the terms of my offer in writing,” he said. “She’ll be able to explain the full implications of this offer.” He leaned forward then, stretching out his hand until he touched her shoulder. He gave it a squeeze, sending that unusual warmth cascading down her back. If she could stop blushing in front of this man … “Please call her. If not for me, then for yourself. Will you promise me that?”

She shouldn’t have looked up at him then, but she did. He was close enough that she could see the brown flecks in his hazel eyes and the faint scattering of freckles that were almost the same color as his skin.

He was close enough to touch.

She didn’t. Instead, she stood up. His hand fell away from her, but his eyes stayed on hers. “I’ll call,” she promised.

What else could she do?

Four

The law office of Rosebud Armstrong was in a nice building—high ceilings, marble flooring and polished mahogany. Everything about it said money. Lots of it.

Maggie thought about bailing. She didn’t belong in a place like this, and God only knew how much this meeting was going to cost. Yes, James had said pro bono, but someone had to pay. Marble didn’t come cheap.

The receptionist immediately ushered her into the office. The woman behind the desk was beautiful, and her clothes were obviously expensive. Maggie had expected all of that. She hadn’t expected to see the two babies in matching jumpers crawling around the floor.

“Ms. Eagle Heart, I’m Rosebud Armstrong.” They shook hands, and she turned to her receptionist. “Clark, can you handle the boys?”

“Can do. Come on, big guys. Let’s go crawl on the rug!”

Ms. Armstrong gave Maggie an apologetic look. “It’s okay,” Maggie said. “I like kids.” Which was somewhat true. She did like kids. They just scared the hell out of her.

Clark scooped up both babies and managed to shut the door behind him.

“Thank you,” Ms. Armstrong said. “I don’t usually have Tanner and Lewis with me, but our sitter had an emergency today.”

“How old are they?” For some reason, Maggie felt more comfortable making small talk with this woman than she had with anyone in a long time. Maybe it was that they were physically similar—light brown skin, dark brown eyes and long black hair. Sure, Ms. Armstrong’s trousers and silk top made Maggie’s skirt look shabby, but she got the feeling that Ms. Armstrong wasn’t looking down her nose at Maggie.

“Eleven months. But enough about them,” she added. “It’s so nice to meet you. It’s not often I get calls from both Yellow Bird and Carlson about the same woman.”

Maggie’s face flushed hot. “Is that bad?”

“It’s interesting, more than anything.” Ms. Armstrong looked Maggie over with a calculating eye. “Not too many people are capable of confounding one of them, much less both of them.”

“Ms. Armstrong—”

“Please. Call me Rosebud.”

“Okay. Rosebud. I’m not trying to confound anyone.”

“That’s what makes it so interesting.” Rosebud continued to study her.

Maggie decided maybe she didn’t feel so comfortable making small talk. She decided to try taking over the conversation. “Tommy said you’d gone to school with Mr. Carlson.” Just saying his name out loud made her think back to the sight of him standing in her garden, looking happy to see her. Maybe she could get some answers on what kind of man James was.

“Did he, now?” A small grin flashed across Rosebud’s face, but it was gone before Maggie could figure out what it meant. “That’s true. He was top of the class. He’s a damn good lawyer.” She added, “Agent Yellow Bird mentioned that he told you a few things about how James operates.”

“He just said Mr. Carlson likes to have insurance policies.” Tommy hadn’t mentioned anything about generous gifts or hot touches, though. Maybe that wasn’t how James normally operated.

“That’s correct. When James promises that he won’t use your deposition unless he has to, I can personally guarantee that he will keep that promise. He will only use your information if the rest of his case falls apart. A worst-case scenario, if you will.”

A lawyer who kept his promises? Rosebud seemed nice and all, but how could Maggie take the word of one lawyer about another? “Will that happen?” She’d had enough worst-case scenarios to last her the rest of her life. “Tommy said he’s never lost a case.”

“It’s possible, but not probable.” A sad sort of smile pulled at the corners of Rosebud’s mouth. “He’s never cashed in a policy, so you should be safe. He’s offering you quite a deal in return for your information. Expunging a record isn’t something done every day, you know, and relocation would cost him thousands.”

“I wasn’t sure.” About anything. More to the point, she wasn’t sure if she should want what she wanted, because she wanted to see James again. But seeing him again would mean telling him about what happened all those years ago, and if that happened, he’d see exactly how much of a nobody she was.

Rosebud didn’t seem upset by that answer. Instead, she nodded and smiled. “Is there something else you wanted from James? Something he didn’t offer?”

The way she asked the question put Maggie on edge. “Why? What did he say?”

There it was again, that smile that was too quick for her to interpret. “It’s safe to say that he’s not trying to screw you over. His morals are surprisingly well grounded for a lawyer. He did mention that he botched your first meeting badly, and he was trying to make up for that.”

A special prosecutor would tell another lawyer he’d messed up? A new idea occurred to Maggie. James had said he’d picked up on the Lakota tradition of gifts “along the way.” Rosebud Armstrong was a Lakota. “How well do you know him?”

“We’ve been friends for a long time.” Her gaze didn’t waver. “For a man of his station and aspirations in life, James has a unique talent. He is singularly able to see a person as they really are—not as they were or as they should be, and not as everyone else sees them. He judges a person on who he—or she—truly is.” She got a wistful look on her face, as if she was seeing things that had happened a long time ago. “I think you can understand how hard it was to be the only Indian in law school, and a woman at that. But James never saw me in those terms. And in return, all he asked was not to be judged as the scion of the Carlson dynasty. That’s why he’s out here, scraping by as a prosecutor instead of being a lobbyist in D.C. Everything he has, he has earned.”

While Maggie tried to guess what scion meant, she realized something. It sure sounded like Rosebud was talking around something, and that something sure seemed to be that maybe, just maybe, she and James had dated. Maybe he liked Indian women, Maggie thought. Suddenly, the prospect that he liked her seemed more plausible, less daydreamy.

Maggie chewed on all of that information. For so long, her life had been quiet and predictable. She beaded shirts and quilled moccasins and planted gardens and baked muffins. Every Thursday, she went to the post office in Aberdeen. She watched silly TV shows and drank tea.

Now James Carlson was in her life, whether she wanted him there or not. She thought back to how he’d looked at her, with that strange mix of desire and respect. Did he see her for what she was? Was it possible for someone to know about her past and not sit in judgment?

Was it possible he was interested in her?

Rosebud interrupted her thoughts. “So what I’d like now is for you to tell me the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. James thinks he knows what happened a long time ago, but he wasn’t there, and neither was I. Before I advise you as your lawyer, I have to know everything.” Rosebud got out a recorder and turned it on.

Maggie told her everything. Her life’s story took three hours and two pots of coffee.

James’s phone buzzed to life on his desk. Rosebud’s number. “What did she say? Is she okay?”

Rosebud sighed heavily. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. And the boys are great, but they miss Dan. He’ll be back from Texas this weekend, though.”

James rolled his eyes, grateful she couldn’t see him do it. “Business first. How is Maggie doing?”

Maybe he was imagining things, but he swore he heard Rosebud smile. “She’ll do it—on one condition.”

“I already laid my cards out on the table. What else could she possibly want?”

Rosebud chuckled. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re crushing on her.”

“Get real. She’s a witness.” His defense mechanism was hardwired. At this point, Rosebud could have accused him of being white, and he still would have flatly denied it. Besides, crush was such a juvenile term. James would prefer to think of it as being attracted to Maggie. Because, after spending more time in her company, he was definitely attracted to her.

“I know you, James. It’s unlike you to not play close to the vest—unless you’ve got a vested interest in the outcome.”

This was exhibit A of why a lawyer should avoid working with an old lover. There were no secrets. “Have you considered the possibility that I’m concerned for her well-being?” That was a completely honest reason that had nothing to do with the way he’d let himself touch her on the shoulder. Even that small touch had left him humming the whole drive home.

Again with the knowing chuckling. “That is the only possibility, my friend.”

James debated hanging up on her, but that would only make the situation worse. He decided to redirect. “What does she want?”

“I’ll let you off easy—this time. But don’t think I’m going to let this drop. She also wants the record of Nanette Lincoln expunged.”

“What?” Or, more specifically, who? Maggie had introduced the older woman as Nanette Brown.

“Look it up. You always do.” Now Rosebud was teasing him. “Are we still on for dinner next Sunday?”

This was his one chance to get back at her. “As long as your housekeeper is doing the cooking—not you.”

“So crushing.” She giggled like a preteen girl. He half expected her to break into the “K-I-S-S-I-N-G” song from his playground days. “You’re welcome to bring a guest, you know. And get back to me on that.”

What, was she suggesting he bring Maggie as a date? That would be a clear violation of the rules, and there was no way James was going to make such a rookie, public mistake. He couldn’t imagine a quicker way to derail all he had worked for.

Business first. He had to remember that. Nanette Lincoln. He scrawled out the name as he hung up the phone and then stared at it. There was only one possibility, really.

Maggie Eagle Heart wasn’t the only reformed criminal living in that house.

James pulled into an empty spot in front of Rosebud’s office. Next to Rosebud’s Audi was a Jeep wagon covered with equal parts rust and mud. Maggie was here. He tried to tell himself that he was only excited because this was another piece of his case. But what was the point of lying? He was looking forward to seeing her again. The two weeks since he’d been out to her house had seemed longer than normal.

Clark was waiting with a cup of coffee. “You can go into the conference room, Mr. Carlson. The court reporter is here. They’ll be in momentarily.”

James took his seat at the base of the table and got focused. He had a job to do today, and that job was getting a complete deposition from Maggie Eagle Heart. Nothing more and nothing less.

The door swung open, and Rosebud stepped into the room. “Morning, James,” she said with a smile that verged on coy. Before James could process what that smile could mean, Rosebud stepped to the side and Maggie entered the room.

For one excruciating second, James forgot how to breathe. He’d seen her looking sweetly pretty and covered in grime. He’d liked her both ways, but he’d never dreamed she could be this stunning.

She wore a cream-colored suit with silky piping and a ruffle at the bottom of the jacket. The skirt was pencil thin, clinging to her hips like an old lover. Her toes—with nails painted a siren-red—were peeping out of soft pink shoes that matched the top underneath the jacket. Her hair was sleek and smooth, not a wisp out of place, and her makeup was ready-for-a-close-up done. Someone had spent a lot of time polishing this woman.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.