Chapter Five
Tucker
I thought about Libby all week at the expense of my work and my appetite and—I was pretty certain—my sanity. When we had gone our separate ways after coffee, I was still her attorney, we were still going to fight Andrew’s last-minute will, and despite looking like just asking was a task equal to swallowing worms, Libby had invited me for dinner on Friday. I spent the rest of the day pulling together statements about Andrew’s secret diagnosis, much of it with the help of Steve Piper, my unexpected ally.
On one hand, his desire to help little Oliva made sense. He was a family man, and devoted to his own wife and five kids. Any man who was willing to start his work day before his coworkers were awake, just to ensure his evenings were free for soccer games, barbeques, and playing at the park, had to have a soft spot for a little girl who had lost both her father and her home in one fell swoop.
He asked me to keep his assistance to myself, and warned me that Carl, my once-nemesis and ever the thorn in my side, had decided to take care of Andrew’s young widow himself. I scoffed and heard him laugh on the other end. It was no secret to anyone that Carl was in the market for a new mistress. Andrew’s young, surgically altered widow was a perfect match for the paunchy, balding, functioning alcoholic’s appetite.
A simple contestation of a will was turning into some sort of cloak-and-dagger bullshit, and I couldn’t tell if I was more irritated with the secrecy and John Grisham-quality it all, or with the fact that I was getting no small satisfaction from opposing Carl in the courtroom—my field of battle for once—rather than having him launching attacks from the shadows.
Libby’s suit was filed, and all we had to do was sit and wait for the court to give us a hearing date and name the judge. Libby sounded so calm when I called her to tell her, but I was on pins and needles, more than I had been in a long time. I knew Carl would play dirty, try to emphasize marital problems, hurt her reputation. For the first time in my years of practicing law, I wondered if I had the self-control to not fly across the room and put him in the hospital when he inevitably crossed the line and said something he couldn’t come back from.
I mentioned it to Libby in one of our phone calls, so she could start preparing herself for the personal line of questioning we’d be practicing once the hearing approached, and she reminded me not to borrow trouble. I smiled to myself. I remembered the day I had said that to her, the first time Andrew hadn’t made it home when he said he would, and wasn’t answering his phone. I had never asked what had become of him that night, or when he’d finally made it home. Learning what I did since his divorce, I had my suspicions.
My gut churned, thinking of all that Andrew had put her through. I hadn’t seen it, seeing him through the lens of the Hargrave sense of honor. Libby deserved better. I glanced around my office and shut the case file in front of me. I reached for my phone to ask her if she minded me coming by early, and it rang in my hands. I was so strung out I dropped it, watching in horror as her name lit the screen before the phone skittered out of sight under the heavy desk.
I cursed and got down on my knees, looking for the phone. I heard a dim buzz from under one side, and bashed my head on the underside of the middle drawer as I backed out enough to pull out the side drawer. There was my phone, a little dusty, but no worse for the wear. I listened to Libby’s message, which turned out to be recorded in Olivia’s little voice, reminding me to come for dinner. Before she said goodbye, she asked in a whisper if I could bring soda.
I laughed and rubbed my head where I’d banged it. Drawer got replaced, phone dusted off, and with my head still raw and sore where I’d bashed it, I gathered my cases together to work on over the weekend. I went home to change and pick up Kennedy before heading over to the townhouse Libby rented across town.
Once I walked in the door and saw the cute little dog-walker had already been by, I decided to squeeze in a shower and a shave before Libby saw me. She’d asked me to bring a swim suit, so I threw some board shorts in my backpack, along with a bottle of pinot noir and Kennedy’s treats. Olivia got the Fresca I’d picked up for my soda cravings, and I tossed in a fresh mango the housekeeper had left me the day before for the little one to try.
The drive to Libby’s felt like the longest twenty minutes of my life. Kennedy loved the extra time on the road, begging me to roll down the window so she could hang her face out, tongue lolling, dog drool sweeping back over the rear passenger window. I punched in the key code for the front gate and slowly rolled through the little community, slowing as we passed the pool, in case Libby and Olivia were already there.
Kennedy pulled to the full length of her leash all the way to the front door, and as I knocked, a small shadow appeared through the glass before Olivia ran shrieking to her mother. “There’s a dog on our front porch!” I heard Libby’s musical laugh, and then a flash of blonde hair appeared briefly in the gap of the open door, before Kennedy sped through and went skidding across the tile floor, looking for Olivia. Libby gasped, but recovered quickly, asking about Kennedy as she took the wine from me and shut the door behind me.
“She’s such a pretty little thing. What breed is she, exactly?”
“I don’t rightly know. There’s a little beagle in there, and it almost looks like retriever. But she’s a mutt, just like me. Adopted her at a fair that Callie had. You remember Callie Drake, don’t you?” Libby nodded and smiled.
“Callie Hargrave, I hear, nowadays. George finally pulled his head out and did right by the girl, huh?” There was a scamper of little bare feet, followed quickly by the softer pad of puppy paws.
“Pulled his head out of what, Mommy?” Olivia gasped. “I got my head stuck in the railing on the stairs when we moved in. I was trying to see down.” Her wide, round eyes were serious as she looked at me. “Luckily, Mommy got me out before they had to cut it. It hurt my ears.” I hid my smile behind the soda I pulled out of the backpack and handed to her mother, watching her face change from almost afraid, to gleeful, as she pranced around Libby’s legs. “You got my message!” She cried, before covering her mouth with her pudgy little hands, and shooting a glance up at mother.
“Olivia!” Libby looked mortified. “Did you call Uncle Tucker and ask him to bring you soda?” Olivia’s soft curls bounced as she nodded her head, crestfallen. Libby glanced at me and I grinned. “You are not allowed to use my phone when I’m not in the room, young lady.”
I winked at my goddaughter, then slid my hand to the small of Libby’s back, reveling in how her skin felt as my hand slid along the edge of her t-shirt. “But I’ve been so busy lately, it was really nice to know exactly what Olivia needed. I hope I got it right.” Olivia nodded and ran off to the kitchen before her mother could take the soda pop away.
“It has no sugar or dyes, so I figured you might mind less than you would’ve otherwise.” She made a small sound in her throat and turned to face me, tears in her eyes.
“Did you see her face when she realized she’d given herself up?” She croaked, touching her fingers to the corners of her eyes and sniffling. “That was so damn funny. How can I even get mad when she’s so stinking cute?” She sighed and giggled one more time. “Oh, she played you.”
“I was aware of it at the time. It was adorable. I saved the message so you could hear it. She’s amazing.” Libby nodded, watching Olivia through the doorway, as she struggled to pull the heavy fridge door open, and put the soda inside. She stayed close to me, and I let my hand rest on the swell of her hip. When she looked up at me, the softness in her large brown eyes was almost enough to undo my careful control. I pulled my hand back and flashed her a smile before nodding toward the kitchen.
“I think I’ll just score myself a few more favorite-uncle brownie points, and pour her a little of that soda. With the heavenly smells coming at us from the general vicinity of the pot on the stove, I reckon there’s something for me to sample, if I’m faster than you.” She laughed and led the way, and I watched her walk away from me, long hair loose down her back, hips swinging like a bell. My zipper pressed uncomfortably into my growing erection as I remembered that golden cascade of hair over our naked bodies, and I shook my head to clear it before joining Libby and Olivia in the sunny kitchen.