Chapter Four

While Lucas and Stephanie found seats, Taylor checked in with the bailiff and spoke with the prosecutor.

“Your Honor,” she addressed the court after Micah’s case had been announced. “The defense requests the posted bail be reduced to twenty-five thousand. The defendant has lived in Prentiss his entire life. His father owns a home and business in town. The client himself has been employed on a part-time basis at Brewer’s Florist for the past two years. Surely the court can see that neither Mr. Black nor his father present a threat to leave town in order to avoid a trial.”

“It’s the safety of the female population of this town that concerns the prosecution.”

Taylor eyed the prosecutor. Mr. Oates was proving to be a tough negotiator despite his grandfather-white hair, gentle smile and impeccable manners.

“It’s the concern of the defense as well.”

“The defendant has a juvenile record.”

“Misdemeanors,” Taylor clarified, although the judge no doubt had a list of Micah’s priors on the papers before him. “For which Mr. Black either paid damages or worked in lieu of payment.”

“Everybody in town,” the prosecutor persisted, “knows Lucas Black would do whatever it takes to protect his son. We have no guarantee that wouldn’t include helping him to escape.”

“My client has no intention of leaving Prentiss. He welcomes the chance to prove his innocence.”

Taylor glanced down at Micah. He sat with his gaze lowered to the hands he held clenched together on the table top. She sympathized with how he must feel, to be here in front of people he’d known all his life. For that very reason she made a mental note to speak to him about presenting the court with a more positive image. A note made all the more relevant by the prosecutor’s next comments.

“The evidence against Mr. Black is rather overwhelming, Your Honor.”

“I was under the impression,” Taylor interjected, “trial date has not yet been set.”

“Correct,” Judge Williams answered with a warning glance at Mr. Oates.

“Yes, Your Honor.” He pressed a fist to his mouth as he cleared his throat. “I must point out however, that while Ms. Adams enjoys a sterling reputation throughout the state, the fact that she no longer resides in this county adds to the flight risk of her client.”

Taylor was so astounded by the veiled implication that it took a moment before she could speak. When she did, indignation shot into her voice. “Your Honor.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Ms. Adams.” Judge Williams removed his glasses to stare at the prosecutor. “Mr. Oates, that was unnecessary. I hope I won’t have to remind you of proper procedure and respect throughout the duration of this trial.”

“Yes sir, I apologize.” He nodded in Taylor’s direction. “It won’t happen again.”

When bail had been agreed upon and the trial date set for three weeks later, Taylor leaned down to speak to Micah before the bailiff escorted him out of the courtroom.

“Ms. Adams?” She straightened from returning papers to her briefcase and found the judge watching her.

“Would you mind,” he spoke, looking over the rim of his half-moon glasses, “indulging the court’s curiosity for a moment? This is off the record of course.”

“What would you like to know, Judge Williams?”

“I remember you often sitting in this courtroom, observing the proceedings before you left Prentiss.”

Taylor took a quick glance at the prosecutor, seeking some sort of hint as to where the judge might be leading. She looked back at the bench. “I wasn’t aware you noticed my presence, Your Honor.”

The judge chuckled. “Trust me. I see more than I let on.”

“I won’t forget that, sir.”

“I’m sure you won’t.” He signed papers his clerk placed before him. “If I remember correctly, when you lived here you were friends with Lucas Black. I assume you’re representing his son as a personal favor.”

Taylor resisted the temptation to glance behind her. “That’s correct.”

“Are your plans then to remain in town while preparing your client’s defense?” He finished signing the papers and drew off his glasses. “Or will you be returning to Little Rock for the duration?”

“Your Honor?”

Taylor shifted to find Lucas standing.

“Yes, Mr. Black?”

“Ms. Adams and her daughter.” Lucas waved a hand to indicate Stephanie sitting to his right. “Will be staying at my home as guests of my son and myself.”

Taylor choked, looked at Stephanie and saw her daughter smirking. She could feel heat blazing across her own cheeks and barely—just barely—managed to hold back from storming down the aisle. Lucas kept his gaze on the judge.

“That’s very neighborly of you, Mr. Black.”

“She is my son’s attorney. And, as you said, an old friend.”

“Yes, of course.” The gavel banged down. “Next case.”

Taylor all but threw papers into her briefcase. Finished, she looked up to discover Lucas and Stephanie standing close by. He didn’t back down from her stare. Her training kicked in and she somehow managed a civil tone.

“The bailiff has papers for you to sign before Micah will be released. Stephanie and I will be down the hall.”

The only outward sign of Taylor’s temper was the speed with which she walked down the hallway toward one of the conference rooms set aside for lawyer and client consultations. She nodded hello to people who spoke to her, those who looked familiar and those who were strangers. She didn’t stop to talk. She didn’t dare.

Until she spotted one person with a camera hanging around his neck. She zeroed in on him, exchanged a few quick words and then again moved to the conference room. With deliberate care, she set down her briefcase on the long table just as Stephanie entered the room.

“You didn’t know Lucas planned for us to stay with him?” Stephanie guessed.

The hint of amusement had Taylor’s temper straining for release. She would dearly love the freedom to kick one of these old battered Queen Anne chairs across the room. She settled for pacing around the table. Less than twenty-four hours after seeing Lucas again for the first time in eighteen years, she felt a rush of emotion trying to push past all the barriers she’d fought so long and hard to establish.

“No.”

“Then why did you agree to it?”

“What else could I do?” She paused and made the effort to keep her voice soft. The walls of a courthouse were often thin. “Lucas made the announcement in court. Even if all that was off the record,” she added under her breath.

“Where had you planned for us to stay?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped out. And she was angry at herself for not thinking ahead and planning.

“How does it feel?”

“What, to be manipulated?”

“No, to be back where you grew up.”

Taylor stopped her pacing, reined in her self-centered thoughts and looked at her daughter. Stephanie sat in one of the chairs, her legs tucked under her. The exact way she had when she’d been seven and sat for the first time in the big leather chair behind Taylor’s desk. Her mother’s heart quickened with something close to panic at the realization of how her daughter had grown beyond those gentle, tender years. Then her heart constricted with regret at the gulf that now separated them.

Stephanie had asked the question quietly, almost too quietly. Taylor started to shrug it off, to give Stephanie any of the quick, pat answers she’d always relied on whenever questioned about her childhood. For the time being it appeared Stephanie had lost some of her animosity toward her. Now Taylor had two choices—continue the divisive pattern or take a chance that this could be the start of repairing her relationship with her daughter. She sat down in the chair opposite Stephanie.

“A little bit ago, as Lucas and I waited for the chance to speak to Micah, I was surprised to feel a sense of homecoming.”

“Why did it surprise you?”

“I guess because Prentiss was just one of the many places I lived as I grew up. I learned at an early age to not let myself become comfortable in a town or attached to the foster family I was placed with.”

“Why didn’t…”

“Go ahead, you can ask.” Taylor tilted her head. “You’ve never asked before.”

“Daddy told me not to, that it would upset you.”

“I thought that might be the reason.” She smiled a little. “Stephen always tried so hard to shelter both of us.”

“Why didn’t anyone adopt you?”

“I’m sure this will surprise you, but I wasn’t exactly a sweet tempered little girl of four.” She was the one surprised when Stephanie didn’t quickly agree with those words. “It doesn’t take long for someone in foster care to get a reputation for being difficult. And, adoptive parents prefer little babies.”

“Didn’t you ever want to search for your parents?”

The hands in her lap linked together. “No.”

“Why not?”

Again Taylor found it impossible to offer anything but stark honesty. “I was afraid that even if I found my mother she still wouldn’t want me.” She glanced down at her hands, realized with shock that they trembled slightly. “I remember…all I remember is the day she left me on the street corner.”

And remembering brought back the terror, the wildness that had enveloped her when strange people tried to reach for her. She had not cowered in fear, instead she had fought. Later, when Stephen managed to pull strings and get her records, she read that attending psychologists believed her reaction was due to some sort of physical trauma sustained prior to abandonment. There had been no signs of sexual abuse, but there had been obvious emotional scars to go with a broken arm, unset.

“She left you on a street corner?” Stephanie asked.

“I didn’t know the name I’d been given at birth, my birthday or even my age. I just remember standing there with her beside me and then.” Her fingers flexed as if flicking something off the tips. “I was alone.”

“You really didn’t know your own name?”

“No. I was named for the two police officers, Taylor and Adams, who found me wandering the street.”

“Were you scared?”

“I was angry.” She felt a thin smile curve her lips. “As I said, I created problems for myself with a confrontational attitude. It took some time, but I finally figured out I’d be better off keeping to myself and staying out of trouble. For the longest time it worked.”

“What changed?”

“I came to Prentiss. For the first time I knew what I wanted to do with my life, so I had a goal and focus in school. Then I met Lucas. He changed everything for me.” The near-whispered admission slipped free of her heart. “He was someone who wanted to spend time with me, even when I tried to convince myself he wanted nothing more than to get me into bed. But he listened to me, encouraged me, believed in me. He was the first who ever had.”

“What about Daddy?”

The way Stephanie angled her chin, similar to the way a boxer in the ring would, created a small ache in Taylor’s chest.

“Because of Stephen, I got to have you. I’ll always be thankful to him for that.”

“You make it sound more like a business arrangement than love,” Stephanie accused as she rose and began to pace the room.

The ache grew in both size and strength. Apparently their brief lull had ended. “There are many kinds of love, Stephanie. Just as there are many ways it can be expressed and many influences that alter or affect it. What I felt for Stephen is different from what I felt for Lucas.”

“And now?” Stephanie demanded. “What do you feel for him now?”

The door opened, saving Taylor from answering. But the tension in her heightened because her pulse scampered at the sight of Lucas. Then she realized he wore a scowl on his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked and nearly added, Now.

“Stan Newman, three other reporters, and two photographers are outside. They said you told them to come for a press conference.”

“I told you I would rather meet them under my own terms than have them blindside me. I’m doing what I think is best for my client, Lucas.”

From her peripheral vision, she saw Stephanie approach Micah. As a woman she recognized the signs of feminine interest. As a mother she worried about how far Stephanie, especially while going through a rebellious stage, would let that interest proceed.

She straightened her shoulders. “Here’s what I’d like for each of you to do.”

****

The press conference behind her, wanting to delay going to Lucas’s house, Taylor reached for the comfort of going where she felt certain to be welcomed.

The exterior walls of the flower shop had a new coat of daffodil yellow paint. The little brass bell jingled the way it always had when the door opened. Taylor stood with her hand clutching the doorknob, recalled the trepidation she’d felt on her first visit, the uncertainty of whether or not she’d get the part-time job she’d come for. Then she recalled the fear and nausea tumbling in her stomach and chilling her skin at her last visit. And the staggering loss that followed when she’d learned about Lucas’s marriage.

With deliberate care she kept her gaze away from the curtain leading to the back room. Too many memories—including good ones of sharing a cup of tea and talking with Mrs. Brewer—hid behind that cloth. Rather than dwell on the past she glanced around, and focused on the changes.

The main room had been expanded, opening up space to display a variety of gift items. One wall held the cooler showcasing floral arrangements and buckets of fresh flowers, waiting for a delivery or last minute purchase to celebrate a birthday, anniversary, or declaration between lovers. She felt the soft sigh of her heart that couldn’t be stopped.

“Welcome back, Taylor.”

She looked the same. Older, of course, with a few more lines around the eyes and mouth, more white than blonde now streaking through her hair. But the lively step and the warmth in her voice were just as she remembered. Taylor smiled, probably the first genuine smile she’d had since opening her door to Lucas.

“Mrs. Brewer.”

Even her hug was the same, Taylor realized as she felt herself enveloped by strong arms, cushioned by the softness of an ample bosom. There was a forgotten unconditional acceptance in the feel of the stiff cotton of the ever-present apron, with tools and floral picks jammed into the roomy pockets. She recalled all the times she’d wished this woman had been her mother. Tears pricked her eyes before they were immediately banished.

“I was wondering if you would stop by to see me,” Mrs. Brewer remarked.

“How could I not?”

“You waited eighteen years to come back. What would another day or two matter?”

She managed to not wince at the slight chastisement. “I’m sorry, I should have made the time for a visit.”

“Never mind me, I’m just being selfish. I’ve missed you. You’ve had a life, a busy one from all I’ve heard. I’m so proud of all you’ve accomplished.” She squeezed Taylor’s hands. “I was sorry to hear about your husband. He seemed like a good man.”

“He was.”

Pauline Brewer squeezed Taylor’s hands again, then nodded at Lucas and Micah before focusing on Stephanie. “And this young lady I certainly recognize. You look just like your father at this age.”

“You knew my dad?”

“I’ve seen enough pictures to notice the resemblance.” She winked. “So are you as stubborn as your mother?”

“Yes, she is,” Taylor answered, relieved and pleased when Stephanie grinned. Lately she couldn’t be sure how Stephanie would react or respond to adults. At one time she’d been polite and respectful—but that was before Stephen’s death.

“My mom worked for you when she lived here, right?” Stephanie looked around the room, then over at her mother. “Although I gotta tell you, she can’t grow flowers at all.”

Pauline chuckled. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Neither can I. My only talent is arranging them in pretty containers. When she worked here, your mother mostly helped out either in the back stock room or here in front.” She smiled at Lucas. “She enjoyed chatting with customers.”

“Even the non-paying ones,” he said.

“And now you’ve brought her back. Micah.” Both her voice and the hand she lifted to his cheek conveyed concern and fondness. “I know you would never do what that Whitfield girl claims you did.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brewer.”

“Well, you couldn’t ask for a better lawyer than our Taylor. And you’ll be staying with Lucas and Micah.” Pauline chuckled at the look on Taylor’s face. “You’ve been away from a small town too long, girl. Doesn’t take long for that kind of news to travel.”

“Hard to keep news quiet when you hold a press conference on the courthouse steps,” Lucas commented.

“Taylor always has a reason for everything she does. I’m sure she did this time.” The look Mrs. Brewer gave her spoke volumes, much of which Taylor didn’t feel ready to deal with right now. “I imagine you have plenty to do, so I won’t keep you. But promise you’ll come back soon when we can have a cup of tea and a good, long visit.”

“I’d enjoy that,” Taylor said.

They all stepped out onto the wide old-fashioned porch running the width of the store. Micah and Stephanie managed to stand side by side, whispering to each other while Lucas stepped up to the railing. Taylor tried to pay attention to what Mrs. Brewer said, but she kept watching Lucas. In what she could only guess was an unconscious gesture, his hand spread wide over the top beam of the railing. Two inches to the right of the main post. Her pulse skidded.

Two inches, one for each year they’d dated. His thumb dipped down, caressing the wood. And the initials he’d carved there late one Saturday afternoon while waiting for her to finish work. Their initials. A silly thing. A high school sweetheart kind of gesture. Yet it seemed to have lasted through the years.

“Dad?”

Lucas looked up, his gaze glancing off Taylor’s before meeting his son’s. With one last stroke, he removed his hand from the railing.

“Stephanie and I are going to walk over to the drug store to get something to drink before we head home. Okay?”

“If Taylor doesn’t mind.”

She had to dig a little deeper for the control that usually came so routinely. “Is that really necessary? I mean, aren’t we heading…” She paused, suddenly, unexplainably unwilling to use the word home. It lent too much intimacy to the place where she and Stephanie would be staying for the next several weeks.

“Oh, wait,” Stephanie said and Taylor felt her spine stiffen. Taylor knew that tone only too well. She looked at Micah. “I’m the one being treated like a convict—no freedom, no money, and no contact with the outside world unless approved by my mother.”

Taylor winced at her daughter’s thoughtlessness, but Micah didn’t let Stephanie get off easily. The patient cadence of his voice, coupled with the unflinching look in his gaze reminded her of his father.

“Spend a night in jail and face the possibility of more. Then you’ll have the right to complain.”

Stephanie had the good grace to blush, which was why Taylor drew her wallet out of her purse. “Here.” She handed over a five-dollar bill and forced a small smile. “Drinks are on me.”

“Reminds me of watching the two of you hurry off to be by yourselves,” Pauline remarked, doing nothing to calm Taylor’s misgivings. “’Course that was a long time ago. You’re both different people now with a different way of looking at things.” Her gaze traveled from Lucas to Taylor. “Can’t say as I like the reason why, but it does this old heart of mine some good to see the two of you together again.”

“She’s right,” Lucas mused after Mrs. Brewer went back inside the store. “I do look at things differently now.”

Taylor started to ask him how, or in what way, but she was afraid he would tell her. And that she wouldn’t like the truth. Or worse, that he would expect the same kind of confession from her.

A part of her questioned if she knew any longer the difference between the real truth versus what she’d hidden behind as a means to keep her conscience clear.