Cathy Gillen - The Reluctant Texas Rancher

Liz nodded, hating his sudden aloofness, aware she had touched a nerve without meaning to.

Tensing with regret, she handed him the keys to the homestead and shifted the conversation back to business. “When do you want to get started giving me the background information on the lawsuit against you?”

Travis did not miss a beat. “How about tonight?”

An hour and a half later, tensions were high. And so, Travis thought, were his emotions.

“Do you want me to help you or not?” Liz demanded, her frustration with him apparent.

Travis figured she would be a hard-charging advocate. It was the reason he had hired her. It did not mean, however, that he wanted to bare his soul, to her or anyone else. He sat back in his chair and regarded her with unchecked irritation, taking in her upswept auburn hair. “How my relationship with Olympia started is irrelevant to the case.”

Bracing her hands on her desktop, Liz leaned toward him. She looked at him as if she could read him right down to the marrow of his soul and was not exactly thrilled with what she found.

She arched an elegant eyebrow and moved around to stand in front of the desk. “I will decide what’s relevant and what is not.” She stared at him with lawyerly intensity, then enunciated slowly, “Your job, as my client, is to answer my questions as openly and honestly as possible.”

Telling himself he could handle her, even in full battle mode, Travis added, “And stop thinking like an attorney while I’m at it, right?” He was beginning to see what made her so formidable in and out of the courtroom.

“It would help.” Frowning, Liz picked up the legal documents he had brought for her to peruse. “I don’t need you second-guessing me.”

Then what did she need?

Not that he wanted to go there. Especially with the trouble he was in.

Travis slouched in his chair, reluctantly returning his mind to business. “That’s not what I was doing.”

Liz looked down her nose at him in rigid disagreement. “You’re trying to run the defense.” As if finding it difficult to be that physically close to him, she abruptly straightened and moved away. “And you of all people ought to know better, because ‘a man who is his own lawyer has a fool for his client.’”

Much as he wanted to, Travis could not argue with that. He sighed and glanced around Liz’s law office. Unlike the ultra-luxurious one he’d had at Haverty, Brockman & Roberts, this one was sparsely decorated, with beige walls, sturdy dark wood furniture and comfortable client chairs. The focal point here was Liz. With her hair twisted into a casual knot at the nape of her neck, her attitude unerringly focused and businesslike, she was clearly in her element.

She belonged here, Travis thought. Not working the ranch.

She picked up the yellow legal pad she’d been writing on moments earlier and settled herself in her chair. “Now, back to the beginning …” she continued.

Travis tried not to groan.

“How—and under what circumstances—did you and Olympia Herndon meet?”

Not as accidentally as I thought . “I met her at a charity function we were both attending. I’d heard she was looking for new representation. Before I could approach her, she introduced herself to me.”

Liz scribbled furiously. “Did you talk about her search?”

“Not that evening, no. We just got to know each other a little bit.”

Tapping her pen impatiently on the pad, Liz prompted, “And then what?”

Already restless, Travis stood and prowled her office, inspecting the art—mostly black-and-white photographs of the Four Winds—on the wall. “I saw her again … socially … at a dinner party given by the senior partners and their wives. And then at another fundraiser.” He spun around. Lounging against a bookcase, he thrust his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “A few weeks later, I started representing her.” Aware that if they kept up the conversation they could be headed into dangerous territory, he compressed his lips. “Why does any of this matter?”

“Because Ms. Herndon is asserting in her lawsuit that you did not provide adequate, competent representation or act as a zealous advocate on her behalf.”

Fury gathered in his gut. He hated being put in the position of having to defend himself. “I did everything possible to get that wildcatter to sign with her company. He just didn’t want to.”

Liz studied him. “Would he testify to that?”

Travis wondered if the skin of her face was as silky-soft as it looked. Ditto for her lips.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Digger Dobbs doesn’t strike me as somebody who wants to get involved in somebody else’s mess.”

Liz twisted her lips. Making him wonder if she still kissed the way she once had—like an innocent virgin who preferred to keep her heart under lock and key.

“Well, he’s at the center of this so we’re going to have to contact him.” She paused as her cell phone began to ring, and glanced at the caller ID. “Sorry. This is the Laramie County Sheriff’s Department. I’ve got to get it.” She picked up. “Liz Cartwright. Yeah, hi, Rio. What? You’re kidding! No. Heck, no! Tell him I’ll be right there!”

She clicked off the phone, already half out of her seat. “Client emergency. I’ve got to go.”

Irked to be put on hold, Travis rose. “What about—”

Liz flashed by. “We’ll pick it up later. Even tonight if you want. Right now, I have to get over to Spring Street before J. T. Haskell lands himself in jail.”

TRAVIS HEADED OUT THE DOOR after her. “J. T. Haskell is your client?”

Liz cast a look at the dusky sky. The sun had slipped past the horizon, and it would be dark soon. “I have a habit of taking on underdogs.”

Travis nodded. “So it would seem,” he retorted drily.

Liz slanted him a glance while locking up. Having a big-shot attorney for a client was going to be harder than she’d thought. Partly because he was reluctant to relinquish control, and partly because she had the gut feeling there was still a lot he wasn’t telling her. Things she needed to know to adequately represent him.

But that was no surprise. Clients never gave their attorney all the information up front. Usually because they were trying to maintain their dignity, garner respect. It was up to counsel to retrieve all the facts and get to the bottom line.

Even when it came to defending another attorney.

Liz sighed. As they headed toward the parking lot, she turned the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Why are you so surprised I’m representing J.T.?”

Travis shrugged. “I heard he went off the deep end after his wife died last year.”

An understatement if there ever was one. “He kind of has,” she admitted with a grimace.

“He’s been arrested a couple of times for bar fights.”

“Actually, he was just busting up some furniture. He wasn’t drunk and he didn’t hit anyone. But, yeah, there are a number of places he can’t go in now because of his bad behavior.”

“Anyone talked to him about joining one of Kate Marten-McCabe’s grief groups over at the hospital?”

Liz’s frustration spiraled. “Everyone has.”

“He’s not buying it?”

“He doesn’t think he has a problem.”

Travis stopped at her SUV, all protective male. “I’m going with you.”

The firmness of his voice was a surprise.

Travis was quiet a moment, just looking at her with those keen eyes that seemed to see more than she liked. “He’s a big guy. If he’s upset, he could be dangerous.”

Liz attempted to curtail her irritation. Since when did she need protecting—from anyone? Well used to looking after her own interests, she said, “The sheriff’s department is on the way.”