Christmas in Blackwood Read online

  Judge Houston looks at her over his reading glasses, his gray eyebrows highlighted against his dark skin. “This is why I’m here? This argument? I don’t see why you asked for an emergency hearing the week before Christmas. Maybe they do things differently over in Azalea, but here, we take a break for the holidays. That’s what the season lends itself to.”

  She opens her mouth to respond, but he takes off his glasses, gives her a stern look, and waves her back to her table. Wisely, she takes his direction and sits down.

  Turning to me, he asks, “Hart, you have a response to all that?”

  “Of course. After all, I get paid to talk, so the more words I can throw, the better I’m doing.”

  Judge Houston nods and waves his glasses at me. “Get on with it. I’m heading to Destin before the snow sets in.”

  “Is it really going to snow?” I’d heard the weather report and figured the radio personalities were just messing around.

  He swivels to the court reporter. “Put that in the record, Mr. Graham. Hart Blackwood thinks the court is a meteorologist.”

  “Yes, sir.” The court reporter taps his keys.

  Ella looks down to hide her smile. A shame, because she has a beautiful one.

  I clear my throat and jump in before I piss him off even more. “Look, Ty and Bonnie started the eggnog business on the side after their customers at the diner told them how much they enjoyed it. As we’ve stated in our briefs, the recipe they use is based on the one created by Ty and Rayford’s mother. However, ‘based on’ doesn’t mean ‘the same.’ On top of that, Ms. King has presented exactly zero case law on point with this set of facts. On the contrary, a case out of Minnesota seems to suggest that recipes aren’t sacrosanct. They aren’t property. And they can be reproduced, shared, and disseminated with no claim of ownership from the original creator. We maintain that Rayford has no case, that this suit should be dismissed, and that attorney’s fees should be assessed against him.”

  “Mmhmm.” Judge Houston is still giving me “the look” over his glasses. “Have you and Ms. King engaged in a settlement conference since your last appearance before me?”

  “We had it scheduled but couldn’t get it done on account of—”

  “Hart, the last order in this case clearly set forth the requirement that you engage in at least three settlement conferences prior to bringing this family squabble before the court again.”

  “If I may, your honor.” Ella stands. “I’m the one who was unable to make the conference. Mr. Blackwood tried to set it up, but I had a matter with my brother come up, so I couldn’t leave town on the scheduled day for the first one.”

  Judge Houston starts smiling. “Which brother?”

  Her cheeks begin to turn pink. “Logan.”

  “Sheriff Logan King.” He leans back and crosses his arms, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Oh, I heard about the trouble he got into a month ago. I sure did. Something about impounding a load of fireworks during a raid on a meth lab, locking them in the back of his—” He’s laughing now “—sheriff SUV, forgetting about them, putting a perp back there, and then kaboom.” He’s full on guffawing, then holds his hand out like he’s reading a marquee. “Sheriff lights up the night on Route 43. The people who lived out that way thought—” Choking laughter “—they thought it was aliens or maybe some sort of power junction issue, it was so bright and loud. But it was just the sheriff giving a Fourth of July salute that ruined his entire vehicle.”

  Her lips press into a thin line, and she looks down at her table.

  Shit. I should be going for the throat and laughing along with the judge. But I can’t. Not when she’s so uncomfortable.

  “I’m glad no one was hurt.” I throw it out there. “I heard it would have been bad if Logan hadn’t saved the guy who’d lit them. He got burned rescuing the idiot.”

  The judge finally begins to sober. She looks over at me and faintly dips her chin in acknowledgement. Look who’s scoring points with opposing counsel. The no-good Blackwood, that’s who.

  “I didn’t know about the burns.” He puts his glasses back on. “Is he all right?”

  “He is.” She straightens her back. “But that incident happened the evening before the first conference was set, so I had to look after Logan and couldn’t get over to Browerton.”

  “I understand.” He opens his palms. “But I still need those conferences to take place. And since you noted that the ‘spirit of the season’ is upon us, I want you to get them conducted sooner rather than later. Now—” He reaches for the zipper at the top of his black robe. “Laura-Ann and the grandkids are waiting for me out back. We’re all packed up for the beach, and now that I know this hearing isn’t an emergency, I am leaving this in your hands.” He stands and drapes his robe across the back of his chair, the clothes underneath ridiculously summery with shorts and a t-shirt. “I expect the conferences to be completed within the week. I’ll be checking in from the beach after Christmas, so make sure it’s done.” He waves to the court reporter and his bailiff. “I’m out. Merry Christmas. Get this settled and have an agreement on my desk when I return.”

  “But judge, what if we can’t come to an agreement?” Ella steps toward him as he retreats behind the bench.

  “You can.” He opens the door to his chambers. “I have faith in you.”

  Then the door slams, and he’s gone.

  Chapter 4

  Ella

  Christmas in Browerton. Not so bad, right? A log truck rumbles down the road outside the Motel 6, and chunks of sawdust and bark fly off and land on my car in the parking lot.

  I cringe as I hit Benton’s contact number in my phone. He picks up on the second ring. “A storm’s coming. You on the road home?”

  “It’s not going to snow. That’s a load of crap. You know it never snows this far south except that one time forever ago. It’ll just be some rain.”

  “Mmhmm.” I hate his skeptical mmhmms. “What are you trying to avoid telling me? Did you lose the case?”

  “No!” I peel back the flowery bedspread and toss it to the floor, then sit on the bed.

  “Good. I can—hang on. Your secretary is ringing me—”

  “Wait. No. Let me explain before—” I hear the line go quiet, and I lie back on the scratchy sheet. “Shit.”

  He clicks back over so quickly I jump when I hear his voice. “Why is Candace bringing you case files and clothes?”

  I try to sound confident. “I’m staying here for Christmas. Judge said that we need to have the three conferences before he gets back from Destin so—”

  “Three conferences during the holidays? I’ll call Judge Houston right this second. You sit tight.”

  “No.” I sit up. “Don’t. I can handle this myself, Benton.”

  “I know you can, but we want you home for Christmas. This is ridiculous. He can’t require you to—”

  “He can. You know how judges are. This isn’t even the most outlandish demand one’s ever made from me. Remember the horse case? Where I had to personally make a video for the judge pointing out the horse’s missing ball and explaining that the accident that led to its loss was compensable at law?”

  He snorts a small laugh. “Yeah, Logan came up with your closing argument. Sometimes you feel like a nut. Sometimes—”

  “Stop.” I’m smiling. I can’t help it. Logan certainly had us all howling at the firm that day.

  He sighs. “Is this you trying to prove that you can handle this case on your own?”

  “I know I can. You do, too.”

  “Tell her she’s got this and that we’ll see her once the conferences are over.” A quiet voice comes through.

  “Arabella?”

  “She’s here, meddling like she does.” Benton tries to sound stern but fails. Arabella is his kryptonite.

  “Love you, Ella. You got this,” she calls. “Show that Hart what he’s missing.”

  I kind of want to die. Why did I tell her about that one drunken evening?
r />   “Wait, she knows Hart?” Benton is, as usual, in the dark.

  “Girl talk.” Arabella shuts him down. “Dunk in that little boy’s face, Ella.”

  “Thanks.” I clench my eyes shut. “I’ll call every day. Save me some pie.”

  “Pumpkin or sweet potato.”

  I scoff. “Sweet potato, obviously.”

  “That’s my girl,” Arabella says. “Now, Benton, leave her be. She’s got it handled.”

  “Fine.” He grumbles, “Can’t get any work done around here with you two all in my business anyway.”

  “You don’t want me in your business?” Arabella’s voice turns sultry. “I thought you liked it when I gave your business special attention.”

  I can hear him swallow. “Gotta go. Call every day. We love you. Bye.”

  The call ends, and I can’t tell if I want to laugh or cringe.

  Maybe both.

  I tap on my contacts again and dial Hart’s law firm. After a quick moment with the receptionist, he answers. “Hi, Ms. King.”

  “Hi. I wanted to know when we could schedule the first conference.”

  “You really are staying in town, huh?”

  “Yes.” I stare at the water stain on the ceiling. At least I hope it’s from water.

  “Where you staying?”

  Why does my body tingle when he asks where I’m staying? Get it together, Ella. “That’s none of your concern.”

  He makes a sound. Sort of like he’s sucking on a toothpick. “Let’s see here. You’re gonna be holed up at the Motel 6 over on the highway. It’s economical and close to the courthouse. Am I warm?”

  I frown at the phone. “If you have a point, please make it. Otherwise, let’s set a conference so we can get the ball rolling.”

  “You think we can settle it?”

  “Sure. If your clients give mine what’s he’s owed.”

  “So, that’s a no.” He laughs. “Okay then. Let’s have the first conference this afternoon, somewhere in neutral territory.”

  “This afternoon?”

  “You got something better to do? Or maybe you enjoy listening to the log trucks tearing up the road right outside your window.” His voice drops a little. “Or, if you’d rather I come to your room at the Motel 6 and—”

  “Excuse me?” I put every ounce of indignation I have into the words, but I’m fanning myself with my hand.

  “Don’t get excited, Ms. King. I was only offering to pick you up and valet you over to the firm to talk.”

  “Oh.” I don’t think my cheeks can get redder. “Oh, sorry …”

  “It’s fine. I want to get you home as soon as possible. It can’t be easy on your family for you to be gone over the holidays. I have some business to attend to at my brother’s house after lunch today. Could you meet me there? You know the way, I take it, given how you helped the district attorney with that whole mess a few years back.”

  I chew my lip. “I thought you said we could have neutral territory.”

  “Oh, well if you want to wait longer, that’s fine. I just wanted to give you the option to get the first conference over with. We know what our clients want. Maybe we can agree to split the baby somehow, or at least come to some preliminary agreement.”

  He’s right. And he’s smart. I think he’s been planning to set this trap from the moment we left the courthouse. He wants me on my heels, surrounded by Blackwood, and totally out of my element.

  “Sure. I can do that. Meet there at say two o’clock?”

  “Yes.” He sounds a smidge surprised. “That’ll work great.”

  “Good. See you then.” I end the call and spring up from the bed. Maybe he thinks he’s got me where he wants me, but I’ll show him it doesn’t matter where we are—I’m going to win this case, and I don’t care if his entire family sees the ass-kicking I intend to deliver.

  Chapter 5

  Hart

  Ella rolls up in her sensible car and steps out. I peek at her like a total stalker, though it’s difficult to see around the big red Christmas bow Elise has put on all the windows. It’s wise to keep Ella in my sights. We’re about to begin a pitched battle. I’ll need every advantage I can get. Not to mention the fact that I fucking love the way her blue sweater clings to her curves. And she’s in jeans. I can’t see her ass, but I just know it looks amazing.

  “Creeper.” Elise walks by and smacks me with a worn pair of gardening gloves.

  “He learned from the best.” Garrett follows her, his gaze on her ass.

  Yeah, we’re brothers. He’s older, only a half-inch taller, and much more well-endowed in the facial hair arena. But our mom always said I was the handsome one, so he can eat a dick.

  “Is she going to come in or just stare?” Elise leans next to me and peers down at Ella.

  “You stared when you first got here.” Garret grabs her wrist and pulls her toward the stairs, the little bells on the Christmas tree in the foyer jingling. “Remember?”

  “Yeah, but the house looks amazing now. All I have to do is finish the work on the spare bedrooms, and it’ll be perfect.” She gives him some fierce side-eye. “Back when it was just you, it was like something from a slasher flick.”

  “Does that make me the slasher?” He gives her a predatory grin.

  “Please take your weird sex-play upstairs. I don’t want to make a bad impression.” I’m suddenly hot, so I strip off my suitcoat.

  Elise and Garrett exchange a look.

  “What?” I yank my already-loose tie free.

  “Nothing.” Elise shrugs. “And I want to meet her.” She turns toward the front door, but Garrett grabs her hand. “No, Mrs. Blackwood. We have some ‘weird sex-play’ to attend to upstairs.”

  “Oh, come on, I want to meet her.” She steps toward the door.

  With a growl, Garrett grabs her, throws her over his shoulder, and—ignoring her protests—carries her upstairs like a caveman. Sickos. But I love them.

  “Keep it down up there!” I yell right as the doorbell rings.

  I stride for the door. When I pull it open, Ella stares up at me with those big brown eyes.

  “This house is beautiful.” She looks at the front porch swing and the potted pansies by the door. “Last time I was here—when all that trouble happened—it looked so … different.”

  “From slasher flick to Southern Living, right?”

  She nods. “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “Elise and Garrett have spent every free moment repairing, repainting, and bringing the house back to its old glory. I pitch in when I can, but I like to take on more of a ‘supervisory’ role.”

  “Is that so?” Her skepticism isn’t misplaced. My idea of supervising is cracking open a beer and falling asleep in the porch swing.

  I step back as a chilly wind rushes past, scattering the crinkly leaves on the driveway. “Sorry, come in. Cold out there. Was the drive okay?”

  “Sure.” She walks in, and I close the door behind her. “My secretary met me out where the highway branches off toward Azalea. She dropped off my stuff, then high-tailed it back home to get milk and bread for the snowstorm.” She wrinkles her nose. “I kept telling her it doesn’t snow here.”

  “Not usually, no.” I lead her through the foyer and into the living room. “In here okay? I mean, we can sit at the dining room table if you want to be more formal, but I thought this might be a better fit.”

  She glances around at the cozy furniture and the low flames in the fireplace. “This is … nice. Yeah, it’ll work.”

  “Great.”

  My eyes wander as she turns and surveys the room. I was right. Her ass is a revelation in these jeans. Pear? Is that what they say her shape is? Because that’s perfect, a luscious pear is just what she is. I pull my gaze free when she turns back around. “Want something to drink? We’ve got white, red, beer, and I can make a mean mojito or a mint julep if you’re feeling fancy.”

  “Water is fine.” She sits primly on the leather couch, then opens her black b
riefcase and pulls out a legal pad.

  “Water. Got it.” I head to the kitchen and then back with our drinks. Sitting across from her, I kick back on the loveseat and take a pull of my beer.

  She tucks her dark blonde hair behind her ears. “Rayford is available by phone should we come close to any sort of agreement. I assume Bonnie and Ty are, as well?”

  “They’re working at the diner, but yeah, I can get ahold of them whenever I need them.”

  “Good.” She sips her water and carefully sets it on a coaster before adjusting her glasses and grabbing a pen. “I think we should find some common ground with a brief refresher of the facts and go from there.”

  “Okay, shoot.” I knit my hands together in front of me.

  She takes a breath and begins reciting her side of the story. I watch her mouth, the way her upper lip forms a perfect cupid’s bow. Her sweater has a rounded sort of neckline that drops away from her throat. I see a pretty little strawberry mole on her collarbone. Lower, the sweater hugs the line of her breasts, then narrows at her waist and flares wider at her hips. She must look like a Greek goddess when she’s naked. Just the thought sends a jolt to parts south. Shit. My mind really needs to slow down. Hang on. She just stuck the pen in her mouth, her straight, white teeth nibbling at it. Is she trying to kill me? I take a bigger swig from my bottle.

  “Hart?” She looks at me expectantly.

  “Yeah?”

  She cocks her head to the side. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

  “Yeah.” No. “Look, you and I both know Rayford is a damn leech who’s after the money that Ty and Bonnie worked hard for, okay? He’s not going to win this case.”

  “I think he is,” she fires right back. “Ty and Bonnie took something that belonged to Ty and Rayford and profited from it. Case law says that the proceeds are also half Rayford’s. Look it up. Morrison versus Lewis, a 2012 Mississippi Supreme Court decision.”