Joseph Beauregard was one of the most successful attorneys in town, and he looked the part, expensively dressed, perfectly groomed, sitting at a polished mahogany desk flanked by shelves of law books and framed credentials. Underneath the French windows was an antique credenza with fresh flowers on one end and freshly brewed coffee in an heirloom silver urn on the other end.
“Why don’t you spiffy this place up?” Crash entered his brother’s office without knocking and sat in a maroon leather wing chair.
“Nat... I didn’t expect you home for another week or so. What brings you back so early? Business, I hope?”
“Hope springs eternal, Joe. No, not business. It was time to leave, that’s all.”
Joe reached into a stack of neat files on the edge of his desk and pulled out a thick one labeled Properties.
He flipped the folder open and handed his brother a sheaf of papers.
“I sold that piece of property. Take a look and be sure I dotted all the i’s and crossed all the t’s.”
Crash snagged a pen off Joe’s desk and signed his name with a flourish.
“You didn’t even read it,” Joe said, looking aggrieved.
“You guard a penny better than Fort Knox, Joe. I trust you.”
“You’ll never change.”
Crash grinned. “Hey, where’s that hope-springs-eternal attitude when I need it?”
Joe left his desk and clapped his brother on the shoulder.
“Glad to have you back, Nat. Things have been dull around here without you.”
“I’m duty bound to change that.”
“How about a late dinner tonight? I’m picking up Susan at eight.”
“Puncturing a few of Miss Perfect’s balloons might be fun.”
“I’m sure you’ll bring the perfect antidote. Who’d you meet in the mountains this time, Miss Dog Patch? Miss Sorghum Molasses?”
Crash had a sudden, vivid image of Philadelphia. Joe would approve of her. The thing that worried Crash most was that he did too. Not only approved, but wanted, desired, lusted after, panted for, remembered. Ah, how he remembered.
Maybe he had been wrong not to pursue her whereabouts. Betty Lynn wasn’t supposed to give out information about her campers, but she’d known Crash for years. She’d have done it for him.
“Nat... Anything wrong?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“You didn’t even know I was in the room.”
“The best part of me is still in the Smokies.” Crash was half joking with his brother, but he knew that he spoke the truth on a much deeper level.
“Are we on for dinner tonight?”
“See you at eight, Joe.”
“I’ll change the reservations. For four?”
There were at least six women Crash could call, all willing and eager to accept a last-minute invitation. But none of them would be Philadelphia. Not a single one of them could even come close.
“Make it for three, Joe. It’ll just be me.”
o0o
It had been two weeks since B. J. got back from the Smokies, and she finally had her first client. True, her case was nothing at all like the high-profile criminal cases she’d handled in Philadelphia, but nevertheless it was a case that would be tried in court.
Curled up on Maxie’s sofa she studied her files. B. J. gave her best to every client, no matter how small the case.
“Are you nervous?” Maxie said.
“This case is not big potatoes, Maxie. It’ll be tried in a J.P. court, the lowest echelon of justice.”
“I’d be scared to death.”
B. J. glanced at her files. “The judge is somebody named Nathaniel Bridge Beauregard. That sounds like some old fossil straight out of a history book. How scared should I be?”
Maxie had a sudden coughing fit then, and B. J. jumped up to get her some water.
o0o
Crash parked his Harley and hurried into the courthouse.
“What’s on the docket, Margaret?” he said as he pulled off his leather jacket.
“Two petty thefts, Wade and Roberts are the attorneys on both cases; one simple assault, Roberts again and B. J. Corban for the defense.”
“B. J. Corban? Never heard of him. Know anything about him, Margaret?”
Margaret smiled. “Not he. She. And they say she’s supposed to be some big shot from up north.”
“There’s nothing I love better than putting big shot lawyers in their places.”
He grabbed his robe and headed toward the courtroom. Margaret made a frantic motion toward his head. Grinning, he pulled off his motorcycle helmet.
“I ought to wear it in there, liven things up a little.”
“I don’t think you’ll need it today. Things are sure to be lively enough.”
Crash strode into the courtroom and took his place behind the bench. There was a gasp from somewhere near the front of the room.
He looked out over the small crowd and froze.
There sat Philadelphia, her long legs encased in silk stockings and her elegant neck circled by pearls.
She couldn’t have looked more like a Philadelphia lawyer if she’d tried.
Nor could she have looked more delectable. He wanted to snatch her up, put her under his robes, and do all sorts of delicious things with her. Instead he called the court to order.
Philadelphia was obviously B. J. Corban. J for Jane. “Me Tarzan, you Jane,” he thought, barely suppressing his grin.
She stood up. He knew that look. She was madder than a hornet.
“Your honor,” she said. “Request permission to approach the bench.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way she walked in heels was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. She turned bright pink under his stare.
“B. J. Corban, I presume,” he said.
“You have to recuse yourself,” she said.
“Why?”
She flushed even deeper. “You know perfectly well why... Your Honor.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
She glanced over her shoulder as if she expected a herd of elephants to mow her down at any time.
“Not here,” she whispered.
“In chambers,” he said.
Their gazes locked, and for a heartbeat they were the only two people in the courtroom. She nodded.
He called a ten-minute recess, then led her to his private office, vividly aware of every move she made. She didn’t speak as they marched down the long hallway, didn’t even look at him. Restraint was not his style. He assessed her boldly, enjoying the way she flushed under his gaze.
“Here we are,” he said, opening his door with a flourish. “Come on in, Philadelphia.”
“My name’s not Philadelphia.” Inside she moved as far away from him as she could get, then stood behind a wing chair and clutched the back as if it were a lifeboat and she the victim of a shipwreck. “And that’s exactly what I mean,” she added.
“About what?” He knew perfectly well what she meant, but he loved watching her when her temper got up.
“You can’t keep calling me Philadelphia....” She took a deep breath and reined in her temper, but she could do nothing to moderate the hot flush on her cheeks. “... Your Honor.”
“Why not?”
“Good grief.” She started to rake her hands through her hair, then seemed to remember she was wearing a French twist. Her hands hung helpless in the air for a moment, then she straightened her collar and adjusted her pearls. “What kind of judge are you?”
“I’m the judge on your case.”
She stepped from behind the chair, her hands balled into fists. “You are the most maddening, arrogant...”
He grinned at her, and she stepped back behind the chair.
“You can’t do that... Your Honor,” she said, her lips almost white with the effort of control. “You must recuse yourself.”
“How’s Baxter?” he said.
“Baxter?”
“Our dog.”
“I know who Baxter is, and he’s not our dog, he’s my dog.”
“How is he?”
“People are out there waiting for you in the courtroom.”
“Did you bring his blue towel home? He likes that towel.”
“I can’t believe this.” She threw up her hands and marched to his window. Her neck and shoulders were stiff as she looked out, then she whirled back to him. “You lied to me. I thought you were a motorcycle jock.”
“Is that why you were so hot for me?”
“I was not hot for you.”
When she lied her eyes got brighter. She’d been hotter than a potbellied stove that night in her tent. Crash hoped she still was. Great Caesar’s whiskers, he still wanted her. Now more than ever. It didn’t make a bit of sense to him.
“I never lied to you, Philadelphia.”
“You acted as if you don’t even like lawyers.”
“I don’t.”
“But you’re a lawyer.”
“A man has to make a living some way.” Suddenly it seemed important that he tell her the truth. “It’s a family thing, Philadelphia. I couldn’t let five generations of Beauregards down.”
He’d never revealed that much of himself to any other woman, and now he felt vulnerable. It was a new sensation for him, and he quickly covered his feelings with another quip.
“I decided to get in a position where I could do the least amount of work and the least amount of harm.”
“Good grief.” She paced back to her chair and hung on. “I can’t try this case in front of you. Recuse yourself.”
“On what grounds?”
She eyed the coffeepot as if she meant to pick it up and throw it at him. He was almost disappointed when she reined her temper under control.
“Why didn’t you throw it, Philadelphia? I’m kind of partial to that hellcat I found on the mountain.”
“It’s because of what happened in the mountains that you should step down from my case.”
“What happened in the mountains?”
“You were... we were...”
She squeezed the back of the chair, and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. He remembered exactly how that tongue felt thrusting against his own.
“We were familiar with each other,” she whispered.
Not as familiar as he’d wanted to be. Not as familiar as he wanted to be right this very minute. He stalked across the room, shoved the chair out of his way, and pulled her roughly against his chest. She held herself as stiff as a wooden Indian.
He cupped one hand around her pert bottom and the other behind her neck as he bent over her. Her lips were every bit as enticing as he remembered, every bit as delicious. In spite of the rigidness of her body, her lips were pliant and willing.
Being forbidden gave an exciting edge to what they were doing. No judge would prejudice the case by consorting sexually with the lawyer for the defense.
He knew the rules... and he knew just how far to push them.
The courtroom would soon be packed, everybody waiting for the judge. He planned to take full advantage of the few minutes he had left with Philadelphia.
Her body had gone from rigid to slightly resistant to pliant and willing. The soft sounds of desire she made nearly drove him mad. He thrust his hips and tongue with a rhythm that was as urgent as it was reckless. His skin caught fire, and he kissed until they were both panting for breath.
She stiffened suddenly, as if she’d just come to her senses.
“We can’t do this... ,” she said.
“Yes, we can, Philadelphia. That was just a kiss. Familiar is when I get in your pants.”
Flushed and lovely, she tucked a stray curl into her French twist, then touched a finger to her lips. They looked deliciously bruised and pouty. He wanted to kiss her again... and more, ever so much more.
“You should be disbarred,” she said.
“Probably.”
“You’re not going to step down, are you?”
“As much as I’d enjoy the pleasure of doing something with you worth stepping down for, I’m denying your request, Philadelphia. As soon as you’re ready, you can present the case.”
She glared at him. “I’m always ready.”
“So you are, Philadelphia. So you are.”
She jerked up the glass paperweight on his desk and drew back her arm.
“I do love a feisty woman,” he said, chuckling.
She set the paperweight carefully back on the desk, then with elaborate politeness she held out her hand to him.
“Thank you for your time, Judge Beauregard.”
He bent and with equally elaborate care, planted a warm kiss in her palm.
“I’ll see you in court...” Straightening up, he winked at her. “... Philadelphia.”
She didn’t bat an eyelash as she left his office. Watching her, you’d never know she was a woman who had just been kissed. You’d never dream that only minutes earlier she’d been writhing and moaning in his arms.
No wonder she had the reputation of being such a hotshot. If she performed as well in the courtroom as she did in his chambers, she’d mow the competition down.
Great Caesar in a salad, she was a magnificent woman. Even if she was a lawyer.
Crash was in such a state of arousal that he was the one who had to collect himself. He could hardly move in his condition, let alone sit behind the bench and dispense justice.
That was a laugh. Him, dispensing justice. In spite of his general distrust of the system, he still believed that the little man with his penny-ante crimes deserved a fair trial, and he believed he was the man who could give it to him.
Maybe he was the best actor of all. Or maybe he was nothing more than a hypocrite and a fraud.
When he could move, he poured himself a cup of strong black coffee, no cream and sugar. He needed a strong jolt of caffeine to fortify himself to face Philadelphia again.
o0o
In the ladies’ room, B. J. applied lipstick. Her hands were shaking so, she got it crooked. She fumbled in her purse for a tissue, then angrily wiped it off.
“Good grief, I look more like a court jester than an attorney for the defense.”
Her face was still flushed, her lips puffy from Crash’s kisses.
“Crash, indeed.” Bending over she splashed water on her face. Dripping, she scowled at herself in the mirror. “The Honorable Judge Nathaniel Bridge Beauregard.” She saluted. “Sir!”
She glowered at herself some more, then stiffened her spine, tilted her chin, and applied a perfect slash of Chinese red to her lips.
“Nothing’s going to stop me from winning this case. Nothing.”
Seeing Philadelphia in action, Crash would have thought she was a different woman from the one in his chambers if he didn’t know better. She knew her stuff. What was more, she had taken a frivolous case he called “The Rabbit Who Wouldn’t Stay Dead” and given it weight and dignity and humor.
Crash didn’t know when he’d had as much fun, especially on the bench. Her client, Mildred Perkins, was on the stand, and Philadelphia was leading her through the series of events that resulted in her being sued for emotional distress by her neighbor, Fanny Lou Hankins.
Philadelphia skillfully guided her client through a description of Mildred’s dog as being small, old, docile, and afraid to say boo at his shadow—not at all the kind of animal who would willfully attack her neighbor’s rabbit—and now she was down to the heart of the case.
“Would you tell the jury in your own words what happened the day you discovered Miss Hankins’s rabbit in your yard?” Philadelphia said.
Mildred Perkins fluffed up her recently permed hair, sending a waft of ammonia Crash’s way. He could tell by the way she sucked in her stomach and adjusted her glasses that she was going to ramble all over the place. Philadelphia knew that too. Her eyes gleamed with secret triumph as she turned her witness loose.
By the time Mildred Perkins finished with her story, the jury would be so worn out with information, they wouldn’t know the rabbit from the dog.
“Well, it was like this...” Mildred blew her breath out between her cheeks and plunged into her story. “I had oatmeal for breakfast, just like I always do right about eight o’clock, right before I let my little dog Tilly out. Fanny Lou goes to work at seven-thirty and I knew good and well she’d already put her rabbit in its pen. But just to make sure, I went out in the yard and checked.... I even called him, ‘Henry, Henry.’... He’d come when he heard his name, you know. Pet rabbits do that.”
She paused to gulp from the glass of water at her side. “Seeing that the coast was clear, I let my little Tilly out. Not that she would have done a thing to Henry, anyhow. She was scared of that big ole rabbit. But Fanny Lou was always so nervous when Tilly was in the yard... and I didn’t want to do anything to upset Fanny Lou. Lordy, we’ve been friends for fifty years.... It plumb breaks my heart....”
Putting a handkerchief over her mouth to stifle back a sob, she looked at her neighbor as if she couldn’t believe Fanny Lou would even think of such a thing as suing her for emotional distress, let alone actually do it.
It was a perfect touch. Philadelphia couldn’t have had better results if she’d coached her client. Crash wondered if she had. Philadelphia was no slouch in the acting department.
Just look at her now, as sleek and shiny and correct as a tin soldier in a display case. You’d never know that underneath that starched exterior beat the heart of a hoyden.
“Go on,” she gently prodded her client. The timing was perfect. A small wait gave the jury time to shift their sympathies to Mildred. Too long would have put the focus back on the issue at hand.
“Well...” Mildred drew a long breath. “When Tilly commenced to barking I ran outside to see what was wrong. I just couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it, that big old healthy white rabbit all bloody and dirty right there under the apple tree that Fanny Lou helped me plant.”
She swiveled toward the jury. “It’s right smack dab on the line between our little houses. In the summer me and Fanny Lou pick apples together and make jelly.” She turned an aggrieved look on her neighbor.
“And what was your reaction?” Philadelphia gently prodded.
“Lordy, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Poor little Tilly was scared to death, barking and shaking, and I thought to myself, ‘Fanny Lou’s gonna have a heart attack if she sees that rabbit like this.’... I almost did myself. So I got a towel and wrapped that rabbit up and took it upstairs to the bathroom. Tilly was so scared she wouldn’t even go into the bathroom with me.
“I like to never got that rabbit cleaned up. It took three shampooings, and then it took me another hour to blow-dry its fur.” She looked directly at the jury. “You shoulda seen it when I got through. It was as clean as a whistle. I took it and put it in its cage so it would stay nice and clean till Fanny Lou got home. I even propped it up with a piece of lettuce in its paws so it would look like it passed on natural.”
“You were planning to tell your friend Fanny Lou about the rabbit when she got home?” Philadelphia slid the question in smoothly.
“Objection.” Ralph Roberts was on his feet. “Counsel is leading the witness.”
“Sustained.” Crash looked at Philadelphia, but he couldn’t be stern to save his soul. “Counsel will rephrase the question.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Her cool mask never slipped when she looked at him. He was disappointed.
“What was your intent, Miss Perkins?” she said.
“Lordy, I was going to race out the door the minute I heard Fanny Lou’s car drive up and tell her about Henry, but the phone rang—it was Effie Mae, she can talk the horns off a billy goat—and by the time I saw it was after five, Fanny Lou was pounding on my door, fit to be tied, screaming and carrying on like she’d seen a ghost.”
Tears the size of golf balls sprang into Mildred’s eyes as she stared at the jury. “How was I supposed to know that rabbit had been dead for three days?”
It took the jury only twenty minutes to reach a verdict of not guilty, but Philadelphia didn’t wait around for congratulations. As a matter of fact, she slipped out of the courtroom without giving Crash a backward glance.
“A heart of stone, that’s what she has,” he muttered as he pulled off his robes.
Margaret looked up from her typing. “Who?”
“Female lawyers,” he said.
Margaret perked up. She’d been trying to find somebody for her boss for years. She and her friend Maxie had hatched the plan for Crash and B.J. to meet in the mountains. Nature hadn’t taken its course. But there was still hope.
“She’s got a face and body made by the angels,” she said, grinning.
“You cagey old bird. Have you been spying again instead of doing the filing?”
“Spying’s more fun. That B. J. Corban’s got guts as well as style. Why don’t you give her a call, Nat?”
“I don’t consort with lawyers.”
“Pshaw. You consort with whoever you take a notion to.”
He thought about that for a minute. Crash prided himself on being a rebel, on flouting the rules, on being as free as the eagles he sometimes spotted along the Tennessee River.
“If I get any calls this afternoon, you know what to do, Margaret.”
“I ought to try my hand at writing a book. Lord knows, you’ve given me enough practice with fiction.” She grinned as he donned his motorcycle helmet. “Where are you headed?”
“To see a dog about a woman.”