Diana Palmer - Untameable

She cleared her throat. “I don’t even know anyone who has connections to plant abuse societies.”

“With my luck you’d start one,” Jon muttered. “Come in. Harris, isn’t it?” he asked the public defender as he opened his office door.

“Bill Harris,” the defender said, nodding.

“Have a seat. Now what is it you need to discuss?”

JOCELINE was late because she had to finish typing up three letters, and then print them out since Jon needed hard copies of them. The printer ran out of ink and it took her forever to find the cartridges. Then it ran out of paper and she had to open another carton. She was looking at her watch and grimacing when she finished. She only had ten minutes to get to the day care facility before it closed. The owner was going to be furious. She’d been warned about this once before.

“What is it?” Jon asked when he noticed her expression.

“I have ten minutes before the day care closes,” she began.

“Get out of here,” he said easily. “I’ll finish up.”

She hesitated.

“Go on!”

She grabbed her purse. “Thank you, sir.”

“No problem.”

She made it, but with only two minutes to spare. The taut expression on the owner’s face when she arrived spoke volumes. Joceline was worried even more because there had been complaints about Markie’s behavior at the day care.

“If this happens again …” the woman began.

“It won’t,” Joceline promised. “I’ll arrange for someone to pick him up, if I’m ever asked to stay late again.”

The owner sighed. “You work for a federal office. I suppose you can’t keep regular hours.”

“It’s difficult,” Joceline agreed. “I need the job too much to refuse overtime.”

“My husband was a federal agent, many years ago,” the woman said surprisingly. “He was always on call.”

“I suppose it was rough for you, too.”

The woman looked surprised.

“I know the wives of a couple of our agents, including our Special Agent in Charge. They bite their fingernails when we’re on dangerous cases.”

The woman smiled. “I had two children and I couldn’t afford to put them in day care, so I stayed at home until they started school. Then I couldn’t find day care I could afford afterward, so I started my own business.”

Joceline smiled. “A wise solution.”

The woman nodded. She drew in a breath. “If you have to be late like this again, just call me. I have a girl who left to raise her own children. She’d be happy to keep Markie and she’d pick him up for you. Would you like her phone number?”

“Yes,” Joceline said at once, and wondered how she’d afford it.

She wrote the number down and gave it to Joceline. She smiled. “It won’t cost you an arm and a leg.”

“Your fees are unbelievably reasonable,” she pointed out.

The older woman chuckled. “Because I had to afford day care myself,” she replied. “I thought there should be a way to make it affordable to people on strangled budgets.”

“I’m very grateful.” Joceline grimaced. “My budget has gone past strangled to near homicide.”

“You could ask that handsome boss of yours for a raise.”

“How do you know he’s handsome?” she asked.

“His picture was in the paper after he and another agent caught one of the human traffickers they were looking for. Makes me sick what some people can do to helpless poor people in the name of profit. Imagine, using little kids in brothels …” She smiled. “Sorry, I hate people who exploit children. I tend to stand on a soapbox on the subject. I’ll get Markie for you.”

She brought the little boy out a couple of minutes later.

“Mommy!” Markie laughed, holding out his arms to be taken. “I learned how to draw a bird. Miss Ellie taught me! She said I did it real good!”

“You’ll have to show me. Tell Mrs. Norris good-night.”

“Good night, Mrs. Norris,” he said obediently, and smiled at her before he did a nosedive with his face into his mother’s throat and held on tight.

“Thanks,” Joceline said.

The older woman shrugged. “Men have no idea how tough it is on women who work,” she replied.

“None at all,” was the quiet reply.

“I had fun!” Markie said when they went into the small, sparsely furnished apartment and Joceline put the three door locks in place. “I got to show you my pictures!”

He handed her a file folder.

She sat down, worn to the bone, and opened it with no real enthusiasm. What she saw shocked her.

“Markie!” she exclaimed. “You drew this?”

“Yes! I saw that bird outside and I drawed him.”

“Drew him,” she corrected absently.

“It’s a …”

“… a goldfinch,” she said for him, noting the bright yellow color of the small male bird and its subdued black markings. In the winter, the coat would turn from yellow to the dull green that characterized females.

“You like birds,” he said, leaning on her knees while she looked through the drawings. “You got all sorts of books about them. And binoculars.” He rubbed his head against her arm. “Couldn’t I look through the binoculars again? I want to see if we got any of these birds at our house.”

“We probably don’t have goldfinches,” she replied, because there was no room in her budget for the special seed that constituted the best finch feed. It was outrageously expensive.

“You could cook some bread for them,” he said. “You cook real good.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said, and bent to kiss his thick black hair.

“I like pancakes. Couldn’t we have pancakes?”

She looked at his rosy cheeks, his big eyes, his sweet expression. He was her whole life. Amazing how he’d changed it, from the first time she looked at him. “Yes,” she said, indulging him as she always did, probably too often. “Bacon and pancakes and syrup. But only because I’m so tired,” she added.

He smiled. “Thanks, Mom!”

“You’re welcome.”

The other drawings were also of birds. Just sketches, but they showed great promise of a talent that could be developed. She needed to find him an art teacher if he continued to have interest in the subject.

But that would cost money and she had nothing left over at the end of the week. She sighed. At least she had Markie, she reminded herself. The rest was just superfluous.

THE PUBLIC DEFENDER, Harris, was trying to get his client a job. It wasn’t really his concern, but the young man in question was just twenty years old and already had a wife and a small child. He’d been prosecuted on a bank robbery charge, which put him in the crosshairs of the FBI. He was arrested, charged, jailed, prosecuted and convicted. Now he was out on parole for good behavior after some spectacular legal footwork by this attorney. It had been one of Jon’s cases.

“He got drunk one night with some friends, who knocked over a branch bank when it opened early one morning,” Harris said. He toyed with his napkin in the restaurant where he’d invited Jon Blackhawk for dinner. “He drew five to ten, even though he was asleep in the backseat the whole time.”

“Rough,” Jon said.

“It’s my first real case,” the younger man said. “I want to do a good job.” He glowered. “Substance abuse is responsible for so many problems in our society.”

“They did try to ban alcohol once,” Jon remarked.

Harris chuckled. “Yes, with interesting results. The only people who got rich during Prohibition were the gangsters.”

“That’s usually what happens when you declare something illegal. Is it a first offense for your client?”

Harris nodded. “He taught Sunday School, actually.”