Cynthia Reese - Sweet Justice

From the other room, Katelyn called out, “Katelyn takes a little coffee in her cream, that’s what Mal tells her. We can’t all be tough and fierce and grown up and drink our coffee black like Mallory.”

Mallory felt her cheeks heat up. “Think melted coffee ice cream, and you’re on the right track,” she agreed. “And despite what Katelyn says, I do take a little cream and sugar in mine on occasion.” She didn’t add that the reason she often drank her coffee black was to save time and money—coffee was expensive in its own right, and Katelyn could drink enough cream and sugar in her coffee for two.

“Melted coffee ice cream? That’s an atrocity to good coffee!” Andrew protested. He winked at Mallory, and Mallory found herself grinning back at him. “Especially mine— you could drink it black. Here, I can’t do it to the poor unsuspecting stuff. You’d better.”

Quickly she dumped enough cream to float a small boat and a mountain of sugar into the cup. There—exactly the sweet, sticky mess that Katelyn liked.

“Whoa! You weren’t joking... Put that in an ice cream churn, and you would have coffee ice cream.” Andrew meanwhile had filled a mug that proclaimed “But first...coffee.” True to his earlier words, he drank his coffee without fussing over cream or sugar.

His gaze met hers over the rim of the mug: his eyes bright blue, and despite the compassion she saw there, a trace of frank scrutiny still remained. She felt, impossibly, as though he were weighing her true worth against some high personal standard...and had not decided yet whether she measured up. Flustered, she let her own gaze fall to the butcher-block counter.

Once again, the memory of her dad came back to Mallory, and his cautionary quip about wishbones and backbones. That day, so many years ago, her mom and dad had left together for a weekend out of town. She’d been irritated that they expected her to look after Katelyn when what Mallory had wanted to do was go to the beach with her friends.

The last thing she remembered her dad saying as he affectionately ruffled her hair was, “I know it stinks to have to be stuck here, taking care of your sister, but you’ll do a good job, and your mom needs some time away. Besides, keeping up with Katelyn builds backbone, right?”

Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe if she could let Katelyn stay here, she didn’t have any backbone at all. Maybe letting the man who’d abandoned her sister to this fate to begin with was the same as if she’d called up that landlord who owned that death trap and asked if he had any more properties to rent.

No, letting her stay here was worse. Their lawyer had said as much: the landlord was culpable, sure, but any jury would see that the condition of the rental house had screamed buyer beware.

The fire department, though? It was their job to rescue people, to get them out of harm’s way.

And then, as she let her fingers reflexively grip the smooth butcher-block, it clicked for Mallory. This whole thing was an elaborate con on Andrew Monroe’s part. It would have been like Katelyn to spill everything she knew about the long conversations their lawyer had had with them.

“You know about the lawsuit, don’t you?” she blurted out.

CHAPTER FIVE

“LAWSUIT?” ANDREW GULPED down the scalding coffee in a slurp rather than his intended sip. It burned all the way down to his stomach. “What lawsuit?”

Maegan’s cheery, “Good morning! You must be Katelyn!” floated through the living room and into the kitchen area. He heard Katelyn’s bubbly reply, and the subsequent chatter of conversation. Yep, he’d been right. Katelyn and Maegan would get on like a house on fire.

Mallory was a different story. Here she was, dressed to the nines in an outfit that looked straight off some fashion runway for working women. Who showed up at a stable with heels and a string of pearls? He’d known women like that—even made the mistake of dating a few before he wised up.

Yep, if Andrew had a type, it was high-maintenance Miss Fashion Plate right here in front of him. Lucky for him, he knew that if he scratched off her shiny, polished surface, he’d probably find her core to be all, “What’s in it for me?”

One of these days, he was going to figure out that he needed to settle for a good, sensible woman who was comfortable in a pair of jeans, who knew how to stretch a dollar and wasn’t all about appearances. Until then? He should steer clear of Mallory’s shiny-as-a-new-penny good looks.

Especially if she was considering a lawsuit.

Hearing Maegan talking to Katelyn, Mallory seemed torn. Well, gosh, that went right along with what Andrew had deduced already—Mallory still seemed to focus on him as the cause of Katelyn’s woes, was still more interested in placing blame than moving forward. After all, here she was, letting her sister’s cup of coffee chill on the countertop rather than getting it to her while it was still warm.

Mallory must have read his thoughts, because she snatched up the coffee, turned on those spindly heels and marched into the den. He heard her as she joined the conversation, noted with some surprise that she seemed to be knowledgeable about the realistic limitations of what Katelyn could accomplish here.

An image of those melted bunny slippers came rushing back to Andrew. Had he left her to die? If he’d called it in when he first heard Katelyn above him—

No. He’d done his job; he’d followed protocol. At some point, you had to cut your losses, evaluate what you had left and make a plan to move forward. He was done blaming himself for that day.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t be sure Katelyn got the best therapy possible—and Maegan, pesky Irish twin sister or not, was exactly that. He’d seen miracles happen here—kids walking when their doctors had given up on them, an autistic boy speaking after five years of nothing but grunts and shrieks.

The wheels of Katelyn’s wheelchair squeaked against the hardwood floor as Maegan moved the operation to a treatment room for her evaluation. She’d warned Andrew that assessment would tell the tale, whether there was any possibility for Katelyn to improve. The kid deserved a break, and Maegan could help her. He knew it.

Even if Mallory Blair didn’t seem to know the treasure she had. She must have taken one look at Happy Acres and found it missing the sleek professionalism of a bigger, ritzier operation. A city slicker like her?

She must think we’re all stupid hicks.

What lawsuit? What plan was bubbling away in that avaricious mind of Mallory Blair’s? Because he knew her type: money, money, money. Had to have money to pay for that car and those clothes and that haircut. Oh, and those shoes—yep. He hadn’t grown up with all the sisters he had not to be able to tell those heels, with their fancy design right on the stilettos, were pricey. From the tip of her coppery hair to those teetering printed heels, Mallory Blair screamed high-dollar woman.

He considered who here in Waverly might know about any lawsuit the Blairs could have filed.

Dutch would certainly know—“Dutch” Van der Gooten, the Levi County in-house counsel. Andrew spied a grocery/errand list on the fridge and made his decision: the horses were fed, the stables mucked out, Maegan didn’t have another patient coming in until after lunch.

He snatched the list off the fridge, shot off a text to Maegan to let her know he was going into town and forwarded the rehab phones to his cell phone. Grabbing a jacket off the hook by the door, Andrew headed for his truck.

A few minutes later, the downtown section of Waverly came into view, with its three-layer-cake of a courthouse, complete with a frilly little cupola that held a clock tower. He made the block around the town center and continued along the main road lined with recently rebuilt mom-and-pop style shops, past his future sister-in-law Kari’s bakery and Mr. Hiram Sullivan’s jewelry store. The pocket park’s interactive fountain was off, drained of water to protect it against the unusual deep freeze they’d had the past few nights, and, save for a few brave pansies that had weathered the cold, the space looked flat and empty against the crisp January blue sky.