The Knight, the Waitress and the Toddler Read online

  “Will you please explain yourself?” he gritted out, and she smiled, gratitude and serenity filling her.

  “It’s all so simple,” she told him breathlessly. “In fact, it’s perfect.”

  “What is perfect?” he demanded tautly.

  She took a deep breath, looked him square in the eye and said, “Edward White, will you marry me?”

  Chapter Two

  For several long seconds, Edward merely stared, his mind shuffling her last words over and over in an automatic attempt to make something of them other than what he’d heard. Something sensible, something sane. Finally he gave up, accepting that he’d heard correctly even if he couldn’t accept the idea framed by the sound. Anger roared through him. Who did she think she was? Did she think her looks and her name made her desirable to every man with whom she came in contact? Or did she hold herself so cheaply that she’d play whore—for that’s what she was proposing—to any man who promised aid? He knew only one way to find out.

  He got up out of his chair and calmly walked around the desk to lean against its edge right next to her chair. He made himself smile down at her. The face turned up to him appeared guileless, even trusting. He folded his arms. “Well, let’s see,” he said lightly. “Hmm.” He bent down, angling his body in order to place his hands on the arms of her chair. “How do I know I’d be happy, married to you?” he asked silkily, and then he grabbed her and hauled her up against him. “Let’s find out.” Ignoring the almost comically widened eyes, he set his gaze on her slackened mouth and planted his over it.

  She gave a small, seemingly involuntary squeak but offered no real resistance. No doubt she needed a real lesson, this spoiled little rich girl, and he was, inexplicably, of a mind to give it to her. He slid his arms around her, locked them and tilted his head, slanting his mouth across hers. Her gasp gave him just the entry he needed, and he stabbed his tongue inside. Dimly he was aware of her arms lifting and her hands closing in the fabric of his jacket. And then, somehow, he seemed to lose track. At some point, his embrace softened. His hand splayed, one between her shoulder blades, the other in the small of her back. What had started as invasion became, unintentionally, exploration, so that his tongue swept around the silky cavern of her mouth and his lips melded with hers. Her fists released their twin holds on his jacket and relaxed, sliding up to the nape of his neck. Her body melted against his, revealing slender, but surprisingly lush curves.

  Desire unlike anything he’d ever felt before lodged in his groin and spread upward, eager and insistent. He slid his hand down to cup her bottom and press her pelvis to his. She caught her breath and a second later sighed into his mouth. It was like putting a lit match to tender. He shuddered and pulled her tighter against him, so tight that her feet left the floor, her legs tangling with his as he leaned back, hovering awkwardly over his desk. Slowly he realized that he was teetering on the very brink of control. A moment more of this and he’d lay her down on the desk, shove up her skirt and—

  Abruptly he rocked up onto his feet and pushed her away, holding her upright by his hands clamped around her arms. For a long, shocking moment, her bright green eyes stared up at him unseeingly, her lush, slightly swollen mouth curved into a dreamy smile, and then, gradually, focus returned and with it came, not outrage but dismay.

  “Oh-oh,” she said, slender fingertips coming up to cover her mouth. “Oh, my God.”

  She sagged, and he released her. She plopped down into her chair, still staring as if not quite believing what had just passed between them. He knew exactly how she felt, and that more than anything else irritated him mightily. He spun away and strode around his desk, shouting, “Are you out of your ever-loving mind?”

  When he turned to face her, even with the desk between them, she visibly shrank back into her chair. He pushed a hand through his hair, appalled to find that his hand was shaking. This was her fault, her fault entirely, and he attacked as much from habit and training as anything else. “Is that your answer to everything? Just marry the first lawyer you meet?”

  “You’re not the first,” she said timidly.

  “No? Just how many others have you proposed to, then? Two? Four? God in heaven!”

  She stiffened a trembling lower lip and clamped her jaws shut. He planted his hands flat on the desk blotter and leaned close, almost touching his nose to hers. Lord, she had huge, green eyes, lashes as long as broom bristles and a perfect, pretty little mouth. And that he noticed made him even angrier. He tried to tangle his mind around the issue at hand. The little idiot had actually proposed marriage to him! Worse, he apparently wasn’t the first! He could imagine the talk around the bar committee tables if it got out that he was representing a hot little number—a Heffington, no less—who’d proposed marriage to half the attorneys in town! He put on his best shark’s face and dropped his voice into the sonic boom range.

  “Just how many attorneys have you proposed to, Mrs. Miller?”

  “N-none…e-except you.”

  He pressed her, it was instinctive. “What about Daniel Hardacre?”

  “He proposed to me,” she said quickly. “ I didn’t propose to him. And I turned him down,” she added firmly.

  Edward’s steel-trap mind told him the significance of that much more quickly than he’d have preferred. She’d turned down Hardacre and proposed to him, only to him—and then when he’d kissed her, she’d turned to molten fire. Pushing that thought away, he grimaced and dropped down into his chair again, grumbling, “Rating higher than Dan Hardacre is hardly cause for celebration.”

  She looked down at her lap, long, mascaraed eyelashes lowering. “You’re right, of course.” Her voice was thick and watery, as if muted by tears.

  He made up his mind that if she so much as sniffed he was throwing her out of his office, but to his surprise when she looked up again, she appeared sad but perfectly composed. For some reason that irritated him, too. “This is insane!”

  Her bright green eyes snapped angrily at that, but she put her words together carefully. “I only thought that with the community property laws what they are, you’d be guaranteed at least half my inheritance.”

  He could only shake his head. “You are insane, aren’t you?”

  Her hands curled into fists against the chrome arms of the chair. She dropped her gaze, but he had to admire the steel in her voice. “It would guarantee your fee so you could take my case.”

  It had been a long time since he had encountered such desperation, a long time indeed. His clients were usually too well-heeled to be truly desperate. He slashed his eyes to the stapler on the corner of his desk and said gruffly, “Have you ever heard the term ‘contingency case’?”

  She sat very still. “Yes. I’m told that it is usually reserved for personal-injury cases.”

  “Usually but not always. Here’s how it works,” he said, keeping his eyes on that stapler, “If we should win, I’d get a third.”

  “But I’ve already offered you half—”

  “A third,” he repeated sternly. “That’s the law.”

  “Oh.”

  Seconds ticked away into silence while he tried to decide where he was going with this. He wasn’t really considering taking this mess on, was he? Not after that kiss, surely. And yet, something about her got to him, beckoned him. And there was Abelard Kennison. He’d give six years off his life to nail that so-and-so. Then she said, “So you’re saying that you’ll take my case on contingency?”

  The rebuff was reflex. “I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying that if I should decide to take the case, I could take it on contingency.”

  “Ah.” She picked at an invisible piece of lint on her skirt. “And, um, when will you decide one way or another?”

  He shrugged. “Like I told you earlier, I’ll look into it. If all is as you say and I think I can do anything for you, I may—may— sign on.”

  He heard the deep sigh that she heaved and tried not to feel sympathy. She had proposed marriage to him, for pi
ty’s sake! Marriage! Who did she think he was, the White Knight? Even if he had been, he wasn’t at all certain that he’d have attempted to rescue this particular maiden. She was obviously a tad eccentric, to put it kindly. Marriage, holy cow! Plus, he had nothing but her word that she’d been robbed—that and the fact that Abelard Kennison was involved.

  His professional mouth watered at the thought of taking a bite out of old Abe. Kennison’s very existence was an affront to every honest, dedicated attorney in the state, and Edward couldn’t deny even to himself that he’d love to be the one to bring Kennison down. Just knowing what Kennison would put Laurel Miller through on the witness stand was enough reason to give Edward pause, especially after the lack of good sense that she’d just displayed. He couldn’t in good conscience put either one of them through that unless he knew he had a real chance to win. He made up his mind—sort of. A thorough investigation was in order. Marriage definitely was not.

  He became aware, belatedly, that she was talking, and tuned in.

  “…how I can thank you,” she was saying. “You don’t know how many other places I’ve been.”

  “Suppose you tell me.”

  “Six.”

  “I want names,” he said coldly. “Make me a list of every attorney who turned you down and what reason he—or she— gave.”

  “All right. Shall I do it now?”

  “Yes.” He tossed her a pad and pencil. She began writing. “Also, I’ll need. addresses and telephone numbers where I can contact you.”

  “I don’t have a telephone at my apartment, but you can always get a message to me through the diner,” she said distractedly, then poked the tip of her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on writing down the information he had requested. It was a sweet, juicy, tiny bit of rose pink that Edward couldn’t help noticing.

  Disgustedly, he shook his head, wondering how a Heffington came to be waiting tables in a common diner, but he let the curiosity pass. All in good time. Her grandmother must be spinning in her grave, though. It was common knowledge that the old girl had been extremely high in the instep. Laurel laid the yellow tablet on the desk and placed the pencil carefully on top of it. He gave her a dismissive nod, saying, “I’ll be in touch.”

  Carefully schooling her face against the disappointment that had momentarily marred it, she got up, gathering her little bag into one hand and extending the other. Cautiously he rose to his feet and swallowed her slender, graceful hand with his much larger one, surprised to feel the slight roughness of her palm, proof the lady did indeed work for a living. He liked that for some reason. Irritably he reminded himself what had just transpired. Marriage. Of all the asinine ideas.

  Of course, in all fairness, that asinine kiss had been his idea. Also, he admitted reluctantly, he had once proposed just such a marriage of convenience himself. At the time, it had seemed reasonably expeditious, but look how it had turned out! His fiancée— ex-fiancée—was not only married to, but in love with, his best friend! He shook his head, failing to realize how long he’d held Laurel’s hand until she gently pulled it free. Hastily he cleared his throat and bent over .his desk, busily shuffling papers.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he muttered, and she thanked him again on her way to the door. He gave her a nod, then collapsed into his chair. From behind the open door, she hesitantly said, “Um, y-you never a-answered me.”

  “Yes, I did,” he snapped, repeating angrily, “I’ll be in touch.” For a long moment, she stared at him around the edge of that door, and then she nodded and slipped away, pulling the door closed quietly behind her. She was long gone before he realized what she’d meant. He hadn’t, actually, answered her marriage proposal, but surely she didn’t think…He wouldn’t want to place bets on what that woman might think.

  He had a flash of those enormous eyes and immediately recoiled from the picture. Either she was the single most desperate individual he’d ever met, or out of her mind, and he didn’t care to ponder which. Reaching for the legal pad, he quickly scanned what she’d written. Seeing nothing there to alarm him, he quickly made notes containing the information she’d given him. Reading over it, he numbered the items on the list in order of importance, with her late grandmother’s will rating number one. He’d begin there. Satisfied with his organization, he linked his hands behind his head and kicked back, wondering who he ought to call in on this, someone very discreet and very thorough. A name popped into mind and right out again, for that was when he saw her, standing at the bus stop framed in the center of the room’s only window.

  He couldn’t deny that she was attractive. Automatically he compared her with the one woman whom he’d always felt had set the standard for women. Laurel Miller was about the same height as Kendra, but any similarity ended right there. Kendra was softer and rounder and infinitely more sensible, wearing her long golden brown hair in a fat, flat braid that lay against the back of her head and trailed down over her shoulders, She’d never have considered Laurel Miller’s short, sassy cut or that sexy, tailored dress, for that matter. He let his gaze slide down the length of Laurel Miller’s long, slender legs and couldn’t help thinking that if, by some wild, implausible chance she was ever to become his, he’d want that hem lowered a good three or four inches, minimum. Still, she did look good. What was it about high heels that made a woman look so…womanly?

  The bus arrived before he could castigate himself for asking such a question even in the privacy of his own mind. It was only when the door opened and she stepped up inside that he realized she was actually traveling by bus. Creeps, hadn’t she come out of the divorce with even a car? He scribbled another note on his pad, and then another and another…Frowning, he put the pencil down. At the very least, he was looking at gross dereliction of duty here. Even Danny Hardacre ought to have been able to make a case for actually needing private transportation in a city where the public sort was next to nonexistent. Come to think of it, Kennison was usually more careful than this. Was the old thief getting careless in his declining years?

  He shook his head, searching for some clue as to what was going on here, only to have her breathless, husky question explode inside his head again. “Edward White, will you marry me?”

  He pushed a hand over his face, shaking off a small, very private thrill. What a stupid idea! Well, at least she’d rated him higher than Hardacre. Him she’d turned down. Not that it mattered. It didn’t matter in the least. It wasn’t even really flattering, considering Danny Hardacre. All that mattered was the case and whether or not he could win it

  That thought firmly in mind, he reached down and pulled out the bottom drawer of his desk, extracting a thick, zippered, leather case, which he placed squarely in the center of his desk blotter. Sliding open the zipper, he flipped back the top and clicked open the small computer inside. Next he extracted a smaller case and took out an external modem, which he plugged into the computer before hooking into the telephone. Finally he pulled up the two sections of the keyboard and fitted them together; his big hands just couldn’t manage those standard notebook boards. In short order, he had tapped into a private line and was asking permission to look around. Some time elapsed before permission was granted, but then he rubbed his hands together in glee. Fingers poised over the keyboard, he smiled at the blinking cursor on the screen.

  “Get ready, Kennison,” he muttered. “Here I come.”

  A few seconds later, he had tapped into the correct probate court, and moments after that, he was making another list on his legal pad. Just one break was all he needed, just one little slipup on Kennison’s part. And something told him that he just might get it. Laurel Miller he would worry about later.

  “She’s here!”

  “Hey, Laurel’s here!”

  Laurel smiled and waved as she whipped around the end of the diner counter and made for the back to change her clothes. “Hi ya, Carl. How’s your mom doing?”

  “She smiled today, Miss Laurel,” the shy middle-aged man called
from his usual seat in the corner booth. “I think she knew who I was.”

  “That’s great!” Laurel called, pushing through the swinging metal doors. Carl’s mother was pushing a hundred and clinging tenuously to life in the bed of a local nursing home. Carl visited her faithfully every day, then stopped in the diner for lunch on his way home. Never having married and already retired, he had plenty of time on his hands, time he liked to use to help others. Laurel was terribly fond of the fellow, and the feeling was mutual, as it was with many of the diner’s customers.

  She was sliding into her uniform when Fancy entered the room, her too black hair piled high on top of her head, pencils sticking out of the brittle, netted mass.

  “So? How’d it go?”

  Laurel sighed and willed the tremble from her voice. “I’m not sure. I think I found the right man for the job, but I’m not sure he’ll take the case.”

  “He didn’t turn you down flat, then?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that’s progress, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose.” Laurel traded her heels for cheap athletic shoes and turned her back so Fancy could zip her up.

  “Kennison didn’t faze him?”

  “No.”

  “You gotta admit, that’s good, then.”

  “True again,” Laurel agreed, wrapping the ends of her apron around her waist and tying them. She reached for the small, paper hat, stepped over in front of the mirror and pinned it on. She hated the hat. It looked like the sort that nurses had once worn, except that it was banded with garish colors and stamped front and back with the name of the diner. Fancy flatly refused to wear hers, but the hair net was no improvement as far as Laurel was concerned. She concentrated on getting the hat straight, avoiding Fancy’s heavily silvered eyes, not that it helped.