Legal Trouble (Texas Hearts Book 1)

Chapter 5

He tricked me.

When Noah stepped from the car, Emma didn’t move. She closed her eyes and gripped the steering wheel until her fingers tingled. He’d duped her. How could she have been so na?ve and stupid?

Without warning, the voices and taunts from childhood began clawing at the box inside her mind where she’d locked them away. When the locked snapped, she pushed down on the lid. She put all her strength into keeping the lid from flying open, but despite her efforts, a few taunts wiggled free.

You’re such a stupid little girl.

You’re a worthless pile of garbage. If I could just toss you onto the curb with the rest of the trash, I would.

I’d be better off if you’d died in the crash instead of your mama.

She shook her head. No. She would notlet him do this to her again. She wasn’t a helpless child anymore.

Noah opened her door, and Emma steeled her emotions. She’d put a stop to this charade right here and now, but when she turned to him, she noted a wrapped gift in his left hand. In the same vein as the restaurant, the wrapping wasn’t ornate, just simple brown butcher paper decorated with twine.

“Come, Bomboncita,” he said as he held his free hand out for her. “I cannot wait for you to meet Isadora.”

Not a hint of malice weaved through his words or skulked on his face as he waited for her to place her hand in his. He simply looked like a man waiting on his date.

Had she overreacted? Had she let the past paint the future? It wouldn’t be the first time. Still, she had to be sure of his intentions.

“Why are we here?” she asked.

“Two reasons. For starters, you haven’t lived until you’ve experienced Isadora’s fajitas. They will be the most incredible fajitas you’ve ever tasted, guaranteed.” Love and pride swam in his voice, more than what she imagined someone would show for food, no matter how excellent the food was.

Intrigued despite herself, she cut the engine, handed him back his keys, and placed her hand in his. “And the other reason?”

But before he could answer, a dark-colored Bentley pulled to a stop directly behind their parked Nav-7. The expensive car looked as out of place here as Noah and his ride did. Was Isadora’s actually some diamond in the rough where Houston’s elite spent their Friday nights?

A driver stepped from the vehicle and opened the back passenger’s door. When Emma caught sight of the stunning woman who stepped out, her mouth fell open. A blue silk blouse wrapped the other woman’s trim torso. Her pants flowed and shimmered around her like silver smoke speckled with stardust. She’d swept her onyx hair into an intricate twist, but a few tendrils had escaped and framed a stunning face a few shades darker than Noah’s.

Diamonds and platinum bracelets jangled at both wrists. The sheer volume would have been gaudy if not for the fact she’d paired the baubles with nothing more than the diamond ring glinting on her left ring finger—a hand that reached for the man who stepped around the back of the car to join her.

The other man wore a simple gray shirt and black slacks. Unlike her stunning, elegant beauty, his was a comfortable attractiveness, not an obvious one. He could probably pass unnoticed if not for his ginger hair and the staggering woman who draped herself on his arm. Happiness radiated off the pair, and when they turned to Noah, their glow grew exponentially. Emma was pretty sure astronauts could see it from space.

Emma resisted the urge to run, to primp, to steal Noah’s car and take the coward’s way out, but before she could plan her escape, Noah wrapped an arm around her and ushered her forward. Heaven help her, she was about to meet Esmerelda and Noah Whitlow Jr.

As the Bentley drove away, Esmerelda opened her arms and took her son’s face into her hands. She had beautifully and prominently marked her son. They shared the same dark eyes and dark hair. One might easily look at Noah and never see the fair-skinned, red-headed Noah Whitlow Jr., but he’d, too, marked his son. They shared the same lips, as well as the shape of their eyes.

“Mijo, it’s been too long since I’ve last seen you.”

“I saw you last weekend, Mamá.”

“As I said, too long.” Returning to her husband’s arm, she turned her timeless beauty on Emma. “?Y quién tenemos aquí?”

And who do we have here?Emma opened her mouth to answer the question, but she’d suddenly forgotten her name. And how words worked.

“Mamá,” Noah said, ushering Emma forward, “this is Emma Morgan, my date for the evening.”

Esmerelda exchanged a look with her husband that had locusts breeding in Emma’s stomach.

What did that mean?

Emma finally remembered how to speak. “Buenas noches, se?ora Whitlow. Encantada.”

Mrs. Whitlow smiled. “You speak Spanish, I see.”

“Sí, se?ora.”

“As well as French,” Noah added.

Mrs. Whitlow’s smile widened. “A woman of brains and beauty. I like you already, and please, I insist you call me Esme.”

Noah pulled Emma close and pressed a kiss to her temple. “It may take her a while on that last part, Mamá. Took me five days to get her to call me Noah.”

“Guilty as charged,” Emma admitted sheepishly. God, this situation was too surreal.

Noah motioned to his father. “Papá, have you met Ms. Morgan?”

“I believe so, yes.” The older Mr. Whitlow rubbed a hand over his graying ginger beard. “You were part of the Cunningham settlement, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Emma answered, surprised he remembered her. “That was the first case I worked for Whitlow Group.” She’d settled the case out of court with the least number of zeros she could finagle on the check Whitlow Group had written.

“David was impressed with the way you handled the case,” said the older Mr. Whitlow. “And he’s not easily impressed.”

“Thank you, Mr. Whitlow.” Emma fought to temper pride with sadness. “David and Mary have both been such great mentors, and I hope he recovers and returns to work because I’m not ready to lose his guidance.”

“I’ll make sure and pass that sentiment along tomorrow when I speak with him. I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear it. And please, call me Junior. All my friends do.” He gave Emma a wink, and she fell a little in love. The man was positively adorable.

Junior turned to his son. “Before we head inside and are gobbled up by the festivities, I need a quick word with you. I received a call from Phillip while we were on our way here.”

Noah’s hand bunched into a fist at the small of Emma’s back. She turned to him, but before she could speak, Esme looped her arm through Emma’s.

“Come, Emma. Let’s let our men talk while I begin introductions. Don’t worry, though, there will not be a quiz on all the names.”

WatchingMamá walk into Isadora’s with Emma didn’t terrify Noah, but it should. The fact it didn’t had an itch starting between his shoulder blades, but like with so many other things Emma, he’d have to get used to the unexpected.

Papáclamped a hand over Noah’s shoulder. “Ya know, son, if you looked any more longingly after her, I’d think you were in love.”

“No comment. Besides, you didn’t keep me out here to talk about my love life. What new terrible thing does Phillip think I did now?”

Papásighed and turned so that they stood side by side, the familiar scent of Papá’s aftershave a soothing balm, a mix of cedar and spices. “Phillip claims that by not agreeing to meet with Ethan tonight that you weren’t taking the Lone-Star Tech lawsuit seriously, and that we should immediately drop you from management consideration.”

“Oh, is that all? And here I thought it was something major.”

“That’s pretty much what I told him. He knew perfectly well tonight is Isadora’s birthday party.”

“Ethan came to see me earlier, asking to meet about the fundraiser, and I even reminded him about Abuela’s birthday. I also offered to meet with him tomorrow, but we’re…” Noah took a deep breath and chose his words carefully. “We’re still having trouble connecting.” Noah considered asking Papá if he knew of this mysterious Sara, but this wasn’t the time. This was Abuela’s night. “I take the Lone-Star Tech matter extremely seriously, but I freely admit that I’ve been a bit more distracted this week than usual.”

“Does that distraction come in the shape of a curvy lawyer with auburn hair?”

Only in a big, big way, but Noah didn’t dare give his parents any more fodder than they already had. “I was thinking about sitting down with Mamá and Abuela and getting their insights on ways to make the fundraiser more authentic. You, too. That way, I could come at it from several points of view.”

“Smart idea. I’ll pass it on to Cathy, just so that she knows you’re not dismissing it, not that I think she does. She was genuinely pleased with your idea. Your aunt has complete faith in you.”

“But Phillip still thinks I’m an unqualified screw-up, a dirty-blooded Mexican half-breed who’s a detriment to the company and the Whitlow name.”

Papá didn’t speak as a car drove past, music blasting, something with too much treble and not enough bass. “I’m sorry he’s so terrible to you. Heaven knows I’ve tried to reach out to him.”

“It’s not your fault, Papá.”

“But he’s my brother, and he hurts you. Your mother, too. She’s the love of my life, and my own brother treats her like garbage. The things he said to her, about her—” Papá stopped and shook his head as if warding off something vile he didn’t want to remember. “For a long time, he didn’t think you were my son. He kept accusing your mother of having an affair, that you had no Whitlow blood. It was a rough time for everyone. Cathy came to me about voting Phillip out of the company. I’m telling you this now, not because I want to stir up dirt, but because I don’t want you to give up on Ethan. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but I don’t sense Phillip’s mean in him.”

Noah glanced sideways at the man who’d raised him. “I didn’t realize Phillip was so terrible to you, too. I’d assumed it was just Mamá and me.”

Papáshrugged. “Same difference. If you or your mother hurt, then I hurt. Simple as that.”

Noah wrenched his eyes closed and told himself a sudden gust of wind made them water, not a punch of emotion. Through all the darkness in his past, despite everything he’d put his parents through—and he’d put them through a lot—Mamá and Papá had remained steadfast at his side. After a tragedy in his youth, he’d crumpled under the weight of a grief no child should have to carry, and he’d turned to drugs and alcohol to dull his pain. And in the process, he’d nearly cut his life short.

Eventually, Noah had put his life back in order, but some sins could not be forgotten—or forgiven. Some sins haunted a man forever, and he knew his sins would haunt him until the day he died, a fate he fully deserved.

Because of him, a young girl was dead.

Hello, awkward. Thy name is Emma.

Emma didn’t know how to handle Esmerelda Whitlow. She kept her arm looped with Emma’s as they glided through the restaurant. Esme stopped at every table and addressed nearly everyone by name, the bracelets at her wrists jangling as she waved and gestured. Her tone was like warm honey as she bounced between Spanish and English. She talked like a marathoner ran, with purpose, stamina, and grace. She didn’t talk for talking’s sake, though. Everyone she spoke to seemed happier for spending those few moments in her presence. She was, in a word, dazzling.

Esme ushered Emma to an outdoor patio. Color bloomed through the space, and confetti covered the grounds and tables. Balloons stretched toward the night sky. In the center of the area, beneath an enormous archway of bright, beautiful paper flowers, a woman sat in a chair. Half a dozen enthusiastic kids surrounded her. One word from their conversation jumped up and caught Emma’s ear: bisabuela. They’d called her great-grandmother.

“She’s your mother,” Emma said, her words not a question but an exclamation.

“She is. She’s called Isadora, and she’s the reason we’re here tonight.”

Now that Emma was looking for it, she could see the resemblance between the ageless beauty beside her and the woman beneath the flowers.

Emotion knotted in Emma’s chest. She’d thought Noah had brought her here because he’d been embarrassed to be seen with her when, in fact, he was sharing her with his family. This wasn’t normal for a first date. She’d had so few of them, but no one had ever taken her to meet his family. Heck, family was such a foreign concept that the sight of all these smiling faces crowded together in this old-fashioned space nearly brought Emma to tears.

How different would her life be now if she’d had a family like this growing up?

Esme’s arm still draped through hers, the words came out before Emma could stop them. “I don’t remember my mother. She died when I was two. I don’t even remember what she looked like, just that her hair was like fire.”

“Oh, Chiquita, lo siento.” Esme wrapped her in a motherly embrace and drew her close. “Lo siento mucho.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Hush now.” Esme stroked a hand down Emma’s hair. “Never apologize for speaking what’s on your heart. It’s something mipapá used to say. Then, he’d play me something on the piano to cheer me up.”

Emma ran the backs of her hands over her cheeks in case any tears had leaked free, but thankfully, her cheeks were dry. “If you had a piano available, I’d love to do just that. Playing always cheers me up, too.”

“Then, you’re in luck. Follow me.”

Esme steered Emma into a room partitioned off from the party by a sliding patio door, where a battered upright piano sat in the center of a small stage.

“It was my father’s.” Esme pulled the door closed, and the party chatter faded away.

Emma sat on an equally battered bench, lifted the piano’s lid, and smoothed her fingertips over the keys. She played a quick C major scale with her right hand and then an E minor with her left. Despite its age and apparent use, the instrument was well-tuned, so it wasn’t so much battered as well-loved. She could easily picture generations of Esme’s family gathered around this at one time or the other as music rang through the air.

Emma couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. “As a kid, I wanted to learn to play piano more than anything, but my father thought it was a stupid waste of money. So I made arrangements with a local instructor to clean her house in exchange for lessons. Then, when my father…” She danced around a truth she didn’t want to speak. “…when he went away, my older brother took me in, and he bought me a keyboard. It wasn’t anything special, but it was full-sized. I paid for most of my college with a music scholarship.”

“Would you play something for me? Papá’s been gone for years, but hearing someone play always makes me feel close to him.”

“I know just the thing,” Emma said.

Esme draped herself elegantly over the top of the scarred piano. How many times, Emma wondered, had the older woman adopted a similar position as her father played for her?

As the music welled inside her, Emma closed her eyes and blocked out everything else. Muscle memory taking over, the pinky and index fingers of her right hand moved, delicate taps of the keys, like fairies dancing on ice, and the opening strain of Für Elise filled the air. This song began her love affair with the piano. As a tribute, she’d played it on her senior recital. Her brother had sat in the front row, so proud and handsome in his dress uniform, a smile splitting his face. It had been a perfect moment, and in her mind, she often went back there when she needed to escape reality.

For her, music was a magical portal, a way to step from the present and slip into a place where problems didn’t exist. The gentle rise and fall of this phrase was like being adrift on a raft in a calm ocean, but then the intensity changed. Now, she was spinning, faster and faster, dizziness overtaking her—until she fell back into the swaying raft again.

The phrase turned once more, this time going frantic with the slightest pounding on the keys. She was running, running, running… Then, she was back on the raft one last time, lost and content in the melody as she drifted away.

The last note played, Emma remained like a statue, suspended in the moment, but applause brought her back to reality. She turned to find the glass doors open. Isadora stood with Esme on her left and Noah on the right. Behind them, Junior stood with a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

Isadora curved her lips in a bittersweet smile, and tears shone in her eyes, making them sparkle like the stars in the overhead sky. She hobbled toward Emma, but Emma didn’t dare move, too afraid to break whatever spell had fallen over the party.

Before sitting beside Emma, Isadora grabbed a black binder. Hands trembling, she held it out to Emma. “My, my esposo—husband—played. This is his...”

The older woman seemed to search her mind for the right words. Emma wasn’t sure if it was age or a language barrier—maybe a bit of both—so she went with instinct.

“Yo hablo espa?ol,” said Emma, letting the other woman know that she didn’t need to translate.

Isadora smiled gratefully, tears falling, and asked if Emma would play songs from her husband’s book. Emma doubted a serial killer could have looked at that teary-eyed face and denied Isadora anything. So, for the next several hours, Emma gave an impromptu concert where tears and laughter flowed as readily as the strawberry mojitos.

“May I have this dance?”

Noah offered his hand to Emma as she exited the ladies’ room. He’d wanted to intercept her before anyone else in his family could. With her concert, she’d become the hit of the night, and everyone wanted to speak with her, to thank her, and basically, get between the two of them. While thankful for the acceptance, Noah just wanted her to himself for a while.

With a dazzling smile, she placed her hand in his. “Yes, but only if you promise to get me some fried ice cream. I overheard someone talking about it earlier, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

“Then I’ll make sure you get some,” he said, swinging her into his arms and onto the makeshift dance floor. They swayed together to a sweet song about dreaming of the one you love. “You made Abuela very happy tonight. I can’t repay you for that.”

“I don’t want payment. Playing is its own reward. I’m simply glad it made her happy.”

“How long have you been playing?”

“I was able to sneak my first lesson when I was eight.”

“Sneak?”

“My father didn’t think paying for lessons was cost-effective, especially since he thought I was—” She glanced suddenly away, but not before he noted pain darkening her eyes. “So, uh, your parents seem happy and sweet together.”

Noah recognized a change of topic when it slapped him in the face, but he let it pass unchallenged. He wouldn’t, however, forget it. “They have a love story right out of an epic romance novel.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“According to Papá, he’d just returned home from his freshman year of college, and the first thing he wanted to do was go horseback riding. He’d no sooner gotten his horse all saddled up when he caught sight of the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, standing in the shadow of his mother’s yellow roses. And when the woman smiled over at him, he says he felt like he’d been thrown from his horse. They’ve been together ever since.”

As a kid, Noah had loved that story, but as he’d grown into a cynical adult, he’d assumed some of it was an idealized exaggeration, his father looking at his past with rose-colored glasses, but then, Noah had seen Emma across the room at the gala. He might not have felt like he’d been thrown from a horse, but it was an apt comparison.

“How long has that been?” she asked.

“Close to forty years now.” He caught sight of his parents swaying together on the other side of the dance floor, smiling at each other as if no one else shared the room with them. “Papá learned to speak Spanish, both for Mamá and so that, when he asked for her hand in marriage, he could speak to my grandfather in his native language as a sign of respect.”

“That’s so sweet, and they still look so in love. It’s good to see that kind of love alive and well.”

Especially for her, he figured. Pain had overtaken her features when she’d spoken of her father. The man had hurt her, and Noah wanted to know how. Mamá had told him what Emma had said about not remembering her mother. Combine that tidbit with the fact her brother—and caregiver, as he’d also learned from Mamá—had been killed in combat, and it created an image that left a briquette burning in his stomach.

He contemplated his words. “Mamá told me what prompted her to take you into the music room, and I just wanted you to know that I’m here if you, I don’t know, want to talk or something.”

Her smile was sad, but grateful.

“You don’t have to,” he said quickly, “but I can see that your past hurts you. And I hate seeing pain on your beautiful face.”

She snapped her eyes shut and shook her head, but Noah didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what had caused the reaction.

“Why does it bother you when I say you’re beautiful?” he asked.

“Because I’m not, and when someone like you says differently, I—”

“Someone like me?” His spine stiffened.

“Someone so stupidly, ridiculously gorgeous.” Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes widened. “Oh crap. I can’t believe I said that out loud.” She tried to spin away, but he held her tight.

“Why does the way I look have any bearing on how you look? Or, more precisely, on how I think you look?”

She shook her head. “Never mind. It was a stupid thing to say. Forget I said it.”

“Not a chance, beautiful.” He pressed one hard kiss to her lips before repeating, “Why does the way I look have any bearing on how you look?”

“It doesn’t. I’ve just—you were dating Bridget Montague for crying out loud! She’s one of the most gorgeous women on the planet.”

Okay, he hadn’t expected that shot from left field. “Yes, I was dating Bridget. She’s a lovely woman, and she and I enjoyed each other very much. But then, I met someone I found much more attractive, someone who arouses me, body and mind.”

She tensed but just as suddenly melted into him, and when she spoke, awe and disbelief played with the pitch of her voice, making it squeak. “I really do that to you?”

“Sí,” he said quickly and honestly, hoping he left no room for interpretation or doubt.

She closed her eyes, but she didn’t turn away. He took that as a good sign.

“You are beautiful, Emma. Every time I look at you, I’m staggered. You do see that, don’t you?”

Her lids rose, and unshed tears made her eyes glisten like seafoam.

“I mean it, Emma. You take my breath away.”

“And you take mine.”

She laid her hand against his cheek. It was the first time she’d touched him with purpose. She’d taken his hand when offered. She’d wrapped her arms around him when he’d kissed her or, now, as they danced, but this was the first time she’d touched him, and he hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

She had black in her past. He had black in his, too, so he knew the power past pain could have over the present. For him, the sins he committed were the culprit, but for her, she was the victim of someone else’s sins. And he wanted desperately to destroy the person who’d made her feel this way, whoever it was, although he was confident he already knew the answer.

“Who convinced you that you weren’t beautiful?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t want him here with us tonight.”

“Except he’s already here. His legacy, whatever it is, is all over your face. It’s in the way your brow furrows and the way your lips scrunch together whenever I say you’re beautiful. By not saying his name, you’re giving him too much power over the here and now. Don’t give him the satisfaction of doing that to you. You’re smart, capable, and beautiful, regardless of what lies he fed you.”

A single tear spilled free, and she buried her face in his shoulder. “My father,” she finally whispered.