Laura Abbot - Trial Courtship

“Do you have any computer games, Nick?” “Do you have any computer games, Nick?” Andrea held her breath until the boy answered. “Why? You play?” “Only when I have a worthy opponent, Tony said. “Are you any good?” “Good enough.” Andrea smiled at her nephew’s self-confident tone. She released a mental sigh of relief and stood to clear the main course. She refused Tony’s offer of help and suggested he stay and talk with Nicky. In the kitchen, she crossed her fingers briefly, hoping her absence would force her nephew to say more than a few polite words to Tony. When she carried the pie into the dining room, she realized her ploy had worked. The two were discussing the scoring intricacies of some intergalactic game. Tony looked up when she put a plate in front of him. “Homemade? Nick, do you know how lucky you are?” The boy picked up his fork and held it tightly in his fist “Yeah. I’m lucky, all right.” Andrea’s stomach twisted with the irony of his comment. Lucky to have lost his parents? Lucky to be living with a single aunt? If only it were simply that he was lucky enough to have someone bake him a homemade pie. Letter to Reader Dear Reader, I don’t suppose there is a fiction writer anywhere who isn’t a keen observer of others. In fact, my family jokes about my shameless people-watching and eavesdropping in airports, restaurants or any other place where folks gather. Quite simply, I find the human condition fascinating. Couple that with a lifelong interest in the legal system, and it was only a matter of time before I set a story in a courtroom. A few years ago, my name was drawn as part of a jury pool. The randomness of the process intrigued me, as did the cross section of citizens represented among the potential jurors. What I found especially gratifying was how sincerely each person on the jury worked to try to arrive at a fair and reasonable verdict Were we an unusually conscientious group of twelve? Or is that generally how the process works? I pray we were the rule rather than the exception. In preparation for writing this book, I spent several days as guest in the Court of Common Pleas, Cuyahoga County Ohio. I came away not only with renewed respect for law enforcement and courts, but with justifiable pride in my gender. Both the bailiff and the judge who assisted me were women—women who performed their jobs with efficiency, fairness and compassion. You know who you are, ladies, and you have earned my utmost respect and gratitude. You’ve guessed it. The romance writer in me couldn’t resist following the question: “What would happen if a hero and heroine met while they were both serving on the same jury?” I hope you’ll enjoy the outcome of this flight of fantasy. Laura Abbot P.S. Please check out my new web site at nettrends.com/LauraAbbot or write me at P.O. Box 2105, Eureka Springs, AR, 72632. Your comments are important to me! Title Page Trial Courtship Laura Abbot www.millsandboon.co.uk Dedication For my loving and loyal friend Carol who asked an important question of me at just the right time in my life. With heartfelt gratitude for the hospitality and help so freely given by relatives and friends, old and new, in the beautiful city of Cleveland. CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN EPILOGUE Copyright

“Do you have any computer games, Nick?”

Andrea held her breath until the boy answered.

“Why? You play?”

“Only when I have a worthy opponent, Tony said. “Are you any good?”

“Good enough.” Andrea smiled at her nephew’s self-confident tone. She released a mental sigh of relief and stood to clear the main course. She refused Tony’s offer of help and suggested he stay and talk with Nicky.

In the kitchen, she crossed her fingers briefly, hoping her absence would force her nephew to say more than a few polite words to Tony. When she carried the pie into the dining room, she realized her ploy had worked. The two were discussing the scoring intricacies of some intergalactic game.

Tony looked up when she put a plate in front of him. “Homemade? Nick, do you know how lucky you are?”

The boy picked up his fork and held it tightly in his fist “Yeah. I’m lucky, all right.”

Andrea’s stomach twisted with the irony of his comment. Lucky to have lost his parents? Lucky to be living with a single aunt? If only it were simply that he was lucky enough to have someone bake him a homemade pie.

Dear Reader,

I don’t suppose there is a fiction writer anywhere who isn’t a keen observer of others. In fact, my family jokes about my shameless people-watching and eavesdropping in airports, restaurants or any other place where folks gather. Quite simply, I find the human condition fascinating.

Couple that with a lifelong interest in the legal system, and it was only a matter of time before I set a story in a courtroom. A few years ago, my name was drawn as part of a jury pool. The randomness of the process intrigued me, as did the cross section of citizens represented among the potential jurors. What I found especially gratifying was how sincerely each person on the jury worked to try to arrive at a fair and reasonable verdict Were we an unusually conscientious group of twelve? Or is that generally how the process works? I pray we were the rule rather than the exception.

In preparation for writing this book, I spent several days as guest in the Court of Common Pleas, Cuyahoga County Ohio. I came away not only with renewed respect for law enforcement and courts, but with justifiable pride in my gender. Both the bailiff and the judge who assisted me were women—women who performed their jobs with efficiency, fairness and compassion. You know who you are, ladies, and you have earned my utmost respect and gratitude.

You’ve guessed it. The romance writer in me couldn’t resist following the question: “What would happen if a hero and heroine met while they were both serving on the same jury?” I hope you’ll enjoy the outcome of this flight of fantasy.

Laura Abbot

P.S. Please check out my new web site at nettrends.com/LauraAbbotor write me at P.O. Box 2105, Eureka Springs, AR, 72632. Your comments are important to me!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my loving and loyal friend Carol

who asked an important question of me

at just the right time in my life.

With heartfelt gratitude for the hospitality and help so freely

given by relatives and friends, old and new, in the beautiful

city of Cleveland.

CHAPTER ONE

ANDREA EVANS PARKED outside the elementary school to wait for Nicky. The late October sun slanted through the colorful foliage of the massive oaks and maples lining the sidewalk. Across the street in front of a large Tudor-style home, a teenage boy with a rake fought a losing battle against leaves scattered by a stiff wind blowing in from Lake Erie. She buttoned her sweater. Nicky shouldn’t be too long. He knew she’d be there.

Shaker Heights, the beautiful wooded suburb of Cleveland, had been a wonderful place to grow up, she reflected, as she watched two girls strolling along the sidewalk, giggling conspiratorially. And the area remained a desirable location for families with children.

Now, unexpectedly, she was the one rearing a child, the one waiting for the Science Club meeting to adjourn. The one who, no matter how much love and attention she showered on her nine-year-old nephew, couldn’t make up for the tragic loss of his parents.

Despite living with her nearly a year and a half, Nicky still wore that preoccupied, lost look, still appeared some mornings for breakfast with his hair awry, his nails bitten to the quick, his eyes bloodshot. Oh, he loved his Andie well enough—they’d always had a special bond. But she could never replace her older sister Tami as his mother. Nor had she found an acceptable male role model for him, a position her ex-fiancé had refused to consider.