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Tyler stilled. “I ain’t got no money.”
“You know, your dad does. We’ll use his.” Wyatt had learned early on that Tyler didn’t like taking money from him. He’d sworn he “wasn’t no charity case.” That backbone would serve Tyler well, later. Wyatt had circumvented the boy by telling him it was DJ’s job to support him. Tyler liked that idea. Wyatt used it all the time now.
“Well, I s’pose I should look businessy.”
The kid seriously needed grammar lessons, but Wyatt knew that was the least of their problems at this point. “Then it’s settled. Hurry and finish breakfast so we can get going.”
“I can wear my jeans, right?” Tyler looked up, panicked, from his cereal.
“Yeah, those are fine.” Wyatt wondered what was important about those particular jeans.
Another thing he’d learned was that Tyler’s emotions weren’t hidden, they just didn’t always make adult sense. Settling in the kitchen chair, Wyatt finished his coffee as Tyler worked out the games on the back of the cereal box.
Again, Wyatt cursed DJ as he reminded himself that DJ didn’t even know he had a son.
Taking care of Tyler until DJ came home was all Wyatt could do right now, and this afternoon’s court date would get that ball rolling. As he looked down at the boy, Wyatt realized it wasn’t enough. But it was all he had.
Tyler was silent the entire trip into town but by the time they reached the courthouse, the new white shirt already had a dirt smudge on one elbow. Wyatt could only shake his head and smile.
Despite the quiet trip, the whole process of getting into the courthouse fascinated Tyler. His eyes grew wide with wonder as they went through security. The guards smiled at his questions, and Wyatt felt an innate sense of pride for his new nephew.
Now both of them stared at the double doors leading into the courtroom. “Well, here we are.” Wyatt spoke with as much reassurance as he could.
“Yep,” Tyler whispered.
“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” The sound of Wyatt’s boots and the scuff of Tyler’s tennis shoes seemed loud as they pushed open the doors and walked across the marble floor.
The courtroom didn’t look at all like the intimidating rooms he’d seen on TV. This room was smaller with only two tables, a desk that sat up on a dais and a high chair, which he presumed was a witness chair. A brass tag on the desk read, E. J. Ivers, magistrate.
“That desk is big.” Tyler’s eyes were still wide with wonder.
“Sure is.” Just then, the young attorney Wyatt had met with a few days ago arrived. She smiled distractedly and guided them to the table on the left.
Soon a woman came in and sat down at a small side desk and a man in a uniform opened a door at the back of the room. The judge entered and the entire mood of the room became formal.
Wyatt saw Tyler swallow, and he resisted the urge himself. He put his hand on Tyler’s shoulder and squeezed.
* * *
“YOUR HONOR.” THE attorney finally spoke. Emily forced herself to concentrate on the young woman’s words instead of on the faces of the man and boy seated at the big table. They weren’t the ghosts in her mind, she reminded herself.
“We’re asking that Mr. Hawkins be given temporary custody of Tyler Easton until his father, David James Hawkins, returns from overseas.”
“Temporary?” Emily looked over at the boy, Tyler. “What about the mother?” The sadness that filled the child’s eyes was quickly blinked away.
“She’s abandoned him.” The attorney lifted a thin sheet of paper. “I’ve labeled her letter Exhibit A.”
“Could you bring that to me?”
The woman’s heels were a sharp staccato on the tile floor as she approached the bench.
Emily read the letter and frowned. “Is this correct?” She faced the man sitting beside the boy. “Your brother doesn’t even know he has a son?” Mr. Hawkins looked surprised at being addressed.
“Uh, yes. We’re trying to reach him. He’s special forces, so it’s tough. He hasn’t been informed yet, as far as I know.”
“What makes you believe he’s going to be willing to take on a child, when and if, he returns?”
“My brother will accept his responsibilities.” The man’s voice was hard, telling Emily that even if his brother didn’t want Tyler, this man would do everything in his power to make him accept the boy.
She leaned back in her chair, the swivel giving her a better view of the man. Her stomach did a strange little flip-flop and she struggled to ignore it. “Who’s the caseworker?”
“Elizabeth Morgan is assigned to this case. Unfortunately, she just went out on maternity leave,” the attorney said.
Messy, Emily reminded herself. Juvenile cases were always messy. She knew the answer to her next question, but needed it in the record. “Can’t we get another caseworker on it?”
“The county is already overloaded. With the recent budget cuts, all caseworkers are carrying double loads.”
Emily sighed. They didn’t need a caseworker today, but she would prefer one. If she’d just gone on leave, there should be a preliminary report here somewhere. Damn. She wished she’d had time to review the whole file thoroughly.
“I’m not comfortable with the state of this case,” she said directly to the attorney. “What did the caseworker recommend?”
“There are no recommendations in place yet,” the attorney explained.
“What about provisions in case something happens to the father?” Emily nailed the attorney with a direct stare. “The military requires that.”
“Yes, ma’am. But the father left without knowing the boy existed. That’s not been set up.”
Emily looked over at the man. His jaw moved and he seemed to want to speak. She held up a hand. She needed to think without being interrupted. “Temporary custody isn’t an option here.” She met both the attorney’s and the man’s stares, daring them to disagree. “I’ll only grant permanent custody.” There needed to be someone there for the long haul, someone who’d be there when the parents didn’t show up or take on their responsibilities.
“No!” Tyler spoke for the first time.
Emily looked down at the boy, who seemed unable to remain in control any longer. “Don’t you want to have your uncle as your guardian?” Images of The Boys Home flashed in her mind and she cringed. Families needed to stay together.
“I don’t want it to be forever.”
“Why not?”
“Mama’s coming back. She promised.”
Emily’s heart broke and hurt for the boy. This was part of why she hated juvenile cases. People didn’t keep promises, and unless she forced them to, this boy would end up a ward of the court like so many before him. No, this man needed to be held accountable and not just for the short-term.
She drummed her fingers on the desktop and leaned forward in her chair. “Young man, why don’t you come up here so you and I can talk?”
Tyler glanced up at his uncle, the apprehension strong in his eyes.
“Go on, Tyler. It’s okay,” the man urged, his big hands patting the boy’s shoulder.
“Right here.” Emily tore her gaze away from the poignant sight and walked down the two steps to stand beside the witness chair. Tyler walked slowly toward her, and she helped him climb up into the high seat.
“There, now I can see you better.” She smiled to reassure him.
“I can see you better, too.” He grinned and her heart caught. He was going to be a looker someday, and the resemblance to his uncle was all too close. She cleared her throat and her mind. “So, Tyler. Do you know why your mom left?”
He shrugged. “Nope. She just said I’d be better off and safer with my dad.”
“Not your uncle?”
“We didn’t know my dad was gone.”
Emily nodded, not pleased with the lack of family connections.
“Does your mom have family?”
Tyler nodded. “Grandpa and Grandma Easton are old. Too old, Mama said, for a boy like me. My aunt Nancy has two kids. Mama said they caused enough headaches since Uncle Willie left last year.”
This story just got better. Emily realized his mother—Tammie, was that her name?—would have no secrets if Tyler knew them. She could pump him for information, but didn’t think she needed to. Not yet, anyway. The knowledge did give her a higher level of comfort.
She looked back at Wyatt Hawkins. “Do you know any of these people?”
He shook his head. “I’m in the process of trying to find them. No luck yet.”
“Keep looking,” she instructed then turned back to Tyler. “So you’ve never met your dad?”
“Nope. But Mom told me lots of things. And I have stuff that proves I’m his kid.” The boy’s chin notched up.
“You do?”
“Uh-huh.” Slowly, Tyler stood and reached into the bulging pockets of his jeans. He pulled out a couple plastic lizards, an old playing card and a key that had been wound with neon-green yarn. “This is stuff Mama said my dad gave her.”
She couldn’t wait to hear this one. “What are they?”
“These two lizards are like the ones on the beach where they met. In Florida.” He handed Emily each one very carefully. “This is a card from when they played stip poker.”
“Stip?” She nearly bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have asked but the question just came out.
“Yeah. When you bet your clothes.”
Emily was proud of herself for not reacting, though she heard a stifled groan come from his uncle. “And the key?”
“She said it went to somethin’ he had back home where he kept his really special stuff.”
Emily took the key and held it up. “Do you recognize this, Mr. Hawkins?”
He was looking at them both, his gaze intense, and he squinted at the key. She walked over to the table where he sat and handed him the key. He turned it over a couple times.
“Yeah.” His voice broke. “It goes to Dad’s old shop.”
His voice sounded sad and wistful. For a long minute, she looked down at the seated man, realizing that she had possibly misjudged him. He tilted his head back and their gazes clashed.
There was no angry glare, no macho attitude. Just emotions she couldn’t quite identify, and a pleading question. Her gut told her he was a good man. She swallowed, uncomfortable with the idea. To give herself a moment to think, she walked slowly back up to the judge’s seat.
“I’ll make you a deal.” She faced Tyler, hoping she wouldn’t regret this, and made an offer. “I’ll make it provisional. If at any time, either of your parents returns, we can meet again. Okay?”
Tyler responded, “What’s ‘probisional’ mean?”
“It means it can be changed,” she explained. “But until they come back, your uncle’s responsible for you.”
“It’ll work out, Ty,” the man mumbled as if he didn’t want her to hear. She appreciated his reassurances to the boy, but she couldn’t quite let herself believe him. The expression on the boy’s face told her that he wasn’t buying it, either.
“And—” she said.
The man stared at her.
“Until the caseworker is back to work, I want you to meet with me. I’ll be your caseworker for now.”
“Your Honor, that’s rather irregular,” the counselor objected.
“I don’t much care. This case doesn’t make me comfortable. Until it does, I’ll keep an eye on things. Write up the orders, counselor, and I’ll sign them. Anything else?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“We’re adjourned.” Emily stood and didn’t bother to look back at the man or the boy. She needed to keep a clear head in her work and that small face and those reassuring hands were already tugging at something she never allowed in her courtroom.
Her heart.
CHAPTER THREE
A WEEK LATER, Wyatt found himself headed toward the county court offices. The building was old. Not ancient old as to be pretty, but built-in-the-1970s old, with harvest-gold siding. Wyatt stared at the ugly-as-sin building and frowned. Why had the judge asked to see him without Tyler? What was she up to?
Not knowing the answer made him uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. He’d climbed out of his truck into the late-spring heat and headed for the glass doors. By the time he entered the cool air-conditioned inside, he was irritated.
He hadn’t dealt much with the legal system—that was his brother Jason’s arena—but he’d been in the cattle industry a long time, so he had plenty of experience with government agencies. This felt very similar.
Hat in hand, the brim cupped in his wide palm, he took a calming breath and approached the desk. The brunette sitting there looked up at him over a pair of half glasses that seemed to practically glow in the dark. What color were those supposed to be?
“Can I help you?”
“I have an appointment with Magistrate Ivers.” Wyatt didn’t even recognize his own voice. So formal. So distant.
“I’ll let her know.” The woman stood and walked down the short hall to disappear behind a thick wooden door.
He sat down on one of the chairs lined up neatly along the far wall. He was the only person here and the room was quiet. Where the outside of the building had hurt his eyes, this office was polished and modern. He liked the marble and glass.
A rack of brochures on how to be a guardian caught his eye. He’d just read the titles on the third row when the woman returned. “She’ll be right out.”
Wyatt nodded and stared at the sign beside the door. E. J. Ivers. He leaned closer to read her full name printed in smaller letters beneath. His frown deepened.
In Wyatt’s book, E. J. Ivers, magistrate, was not supposed to be Emily Ivers of the soft, feminine variety. Before last week, he’d had a vision of a graying older man with a booming voice. Or maybe one of those polished judges like on TV. Showed what he knew.
