Shirlee McCoy - The Defender's Duty

If she hadn’t been looking so closely, Lacey wouldn’t have noticed the sheen of sweat that beaded his brow or the deep lines that bracketed his mouth. Pain. He was in a lot of it, but a guy like Jude would never admit it.

He held the diner’s door, his mouth set in a grim line, and Lacey decided it was time to take control of the situation. She motioned a waitress over and pointed to a booth that overlooked the parking lot. It was near the door, had wide benches set close enough together that Jude could put his feet up and offered a quick escape if he was feeling too bad to stay. “Do you mind if we sit there?”

“Go ahead. You’re in early, Mr. Sinclair. Or late. Guess it depends on how you look at it.” The young waitress glanced from Jude to Lacey and back again, her kohl-rimmed eyes and pierced brow at odds with the sweet innocence of her face.

“We’ll just call it both.” Jude smiled, but to Lacey it looked more like a grimace. He needed to sit down. Not stand around chatting with the waitress.

“How about we discuss it at the table?” She took his arm, tugging him toward the booth and offering the waitress an apologetic smile. Rudeness wasn’t Lacey’s thing, but taking care of her clients was.

“Want me to bring you your usual, Mr. Sinclair?”

“Coffee would be good, but no pie.”

“How about bread? We’ve got fresh pumpkin bread. I helped Louis make it an hour ago.”

“Sure. Why not?” Jude dropped into the seat, wincing a little as he slid toward the window.

“How about you, ma’am? Can I get you something while you’re looking at the menu?” The girl turned her full attention on Lacey. Bold pink strands of hair were woven liberally through her dark-brown locks, and her stance said she was ready for a fight. To Lacey, looking at her was like looking into the past and seeing herself as she’d been as a teenager. Alone. Scared.

Lacey blinked, surprised that she’d be thinking about that time in her life. The girl she’d been had ceased to exist so long ago it was as if she’d never been. God had given Lacey a second chance, a new life. If she kept focused on that, everything else would be okay. “Coffee would be great. Three creams. Two sugars. A slice of the pumpkin bread and a cup of whatever your soup of the day is.”

“Corn chowder.”

“Great.” Lacey forced a smile and fished in her pocket for the packets of Tylenol she kept there. Like Jude, she’d been through her share of trauma. She still felt the effects of it years later. Right now, Jude needed the pain reliever a lot more than she did. She tore open the pack, dumping two caplets in her hand and holding them out to Jude. “Take these.”

He looked at the medicine and frowned. “What are you? A walking pharmacy?”

“Just a woman who likes to be prepared.”

“I appreciate the effort, but I don’t need it.”

“Sure you do. You just don’t want to man up and admit it.”

“‘Man up’?” His lips quirked in a half smile that softened the hard angles of his face.

“That’s what I said.” She smiled back, staring into his eyes. At the moment they were velvety and warm, inviting in a way she hadn’t noticed when she’d looked into them before.

Dangerous in a way she wouldn’t dare acknowledge.

“All right. You win. This time.” He took the caplets from her hand and swallowed them dry. “I think I could take another three and they wouldn’t touch the pain.”

Lacey covered his hand, squeezing it gently. “Why don’t we go back home? I’m not that hungry, and you obviously need something stronger than a couple of Tylenol.”

“Even if I were back home, I wouldn’t take anything more than what you just gave me.” He flipped his hand, capturing hers before she could pull it away. “So, tell me, Lacey, what convinced you to travel all the way from Chicago to work for a guy like me?”

“I haven’t had my own place in a while. When I was told I would if I came to Lynchburg, I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” But that was only part of the reason she’d taken the job. The other reason wasn’t as concrete. The feeling she’d gotten when she’d first spoken to Grayson about his brother had chased her into her dreams and refused to let her go. She had to take the job. The more she’d prayed about it, the more she’d understood the necessity of it.

“You drove halfway across the country to have your own place?”

“Exactly.”

He eyed her for a moment, his eyes winter-gray and filled with questions. “I guess you want me to believe that.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because you don’t seem very materialistic, and I have a feeling you would live in far worse conditions if it meant helping someone in need.”

He was right.

And that bothered Lacey.

Jude had only met her a few hours ago and already knew more about her than most clients learned in a month. “Who says I’m not materialistic?”

“Your car.” His gaze dropped to her faded sweater, but he had the good grace not to mention it.

“Bess is an icon. I’d never replace her.”

“Bess is a piece of junk that needs a new engine and a paint job.”

He was right. Again. “There’s nothing wrong with having an old car.”

“Not for someone who isn’t materialistic. Which brings me back to my main point. I don’t think you came here for the house.”

Obviously, he was going to keep pushing until he got an answer he liked. There wasn’t one, so Lacey gave him what she could. “After I talked to my supervisor and your brother, I prayed about taking the job. It felt like the right thing to do, so I did.”

“You prayed about it?”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“Not at all. I just haven’t met many people who make decisions based on prayer.”

“Maybe that’s why so many people are making so many bad decisions.”

“You’ve got a point there. I know I’ve made a few in my life. Maybe if I’d stopped to pray about them, I wouldn’t have.” He smiled, releasing her hand as the waitress set coffee and plates of pumpkin bread on the table.

“Soup is coming right out. You want to order now, or wait until I bring it?”

“I’d like a grilled cheese sandwich.” Lacey handed the menu back to the waitress, the sleeve of her sweater riding up and revealing the pale white scars that encircled her wrist. She dropped her arm, shooting a glance in Jude’s direction. He seemed occupied with the slice of bread he was devouring. Good. The last thing she wanted were more questions.

“Anything for you, Mr. Sinclair?”

“No. Thanks, Jenna.”

“You sure? We’ve got a great chicken pot pie today.”

“Another time. Thanks, though.”

“Suit yourself.” The young woman scribbled something on her order pad, her lips pressed tightly together. At Jenna’s age, Lacey had been working the same kind of job, and she remembered the nights when she’d calculated the tips and worried about whether or not she was going to earn enough to keep the lights turned on.

“You know, I think I’ll take some of that chicken pot pie.”

“So you want that instead of the grilled cheese?”

“No. I’ll take both. Just box the pot pie so I can take it home for tomorrow. Can you throw in a couple more slices of the pumpkin bread while you’re at it?”

“All right. It’ll be a few minutes. Just raise a hand if you need a refill on the coffee before then.” Jenna walked away, and Lacey grabbed three creamers and dumped them into her coffee.

“You could have just left her a big tip.” Jude spoke quietly.

“That would have been charity. I don’t think Jenna would have appreciated it.”

“Good call. I tried to slip her an extra twenty one time, and she followed me outside to tell me what I could do with it.”