12. Honoria
Chapter Twelve
Honoria
My caseload was insane. How could one man’s absence cause so much chaos?
Jim didn’t carry half my usual volume, yet his cases were complex messes.
I was ears-deep in reading through his notes when the office volume increased dramatically.
I listened hard to determine if it was a good increase or a bad one as I reached for the locked bottom cabinet of my desk.
I was licensed to carry, but opted to leave my gun in the relative safety of its biometric-locked storage box.
It was doubly protected from theft via the locked drawer, along with the building’s security.
I couldn’t take it with me to court, so it remained here.
The only time I ever used it was for target practice.
But Jim had talked me into buying it and learning how to handle it because, and I quote, “It’s not just your safety, but your coworkers’ with the clients we handle. ”
Maybe if we defended each and every client well enough, there wouldn’t be reason to worry, Jim.
I hadn’t even gotten the drawer unlocked before determining the noise was a party in progress.
Didn’t we have enough of those over the holidays?
I tucked my keys back into my pocket and brushed the wrinkles out of my suit. If my absence was noticed, they’d hunt me down. And I preferred not to be cornered in my office with cake and confetti that clung to vertical surfaces for decades.
The smile I plastered on froze as I opened the door and took in the scene.
Jim was there. So was his wife, Denise.
And the little Crowne.
“Honey! Come meet Jacob Bridger Crowne. We’re calling him Jake for short.”
Oh fuck. My skin was going cold, and little prickles of fear scrambled up and down my arms. I shifted so the goosebumps forming on my back and shoulders didn’t tickle so badly. “Hey. It’s only been what? Two weeks?”
How in the hell had the doctors cleared the baby for public consumption? He was still in that zero to six-week range where his immune system wasn’t developed. Was Jim nuts?
I fought the urge to rush to the bathroom and vomit.
“Isn’t he the cutest?”
I didn’t give a fuck. And oh, hell no. Someone was shoving him at me to hold. I held out both hands in protest. “I’m covered in dog hair, and—“
Jesus Christ. Denise plopped Jim’s pride and joy into my hands. Whether it was instinct or lawsuit avoidance, I carefully cradled the little guy’s head and tucked him closer so I wouldn’t drop him.
But what if I fainted?
I didn’t even glance at him. I barely dared to breathe. What if I got him sick?
And worse... what if I got angry, or what if I looked down and fell in love and then did something insane like not hand him back?
So many things were running through my head, I wasn’t paying attention to the crowd of coworkers and my ex-plus-family commenting on how “nice” it was that the divorce was amicable and we were all just one big happy family, weren’t we?
If it wasn’t a senior partner asking, I would have ignored it. Instead, I did what I needed to in order to survive the scrutiny. I lied. “Absolutely. He’s beautiful, Denise.” With that, she smiled, and I took the opportunity and shoved him back into her arms.
Holy hell!
My hands were shaking.
Jim wrapped an arm around Denise and stared down at his son.
It felt like I was watching a movie or a play on stage. It was titled “The perfect family.” Jim looked casual in his blue polo shirt and field jacket. He wore jeans. Denise appeared picture-perfect in her belted, double-layered, cowl shawl and khakis.
Two weeks post-pregnancy and she was already losing the baby weight. Not to mention her thick hair, perfect nails, and skin glowing with health.
Sure, she still had a little puffiness around the chin and eyes from water gain, but...
Was I really dissecting her looks?
Yes. I made a mental note to call my therapist again.
The infant in her arms made smacking noises and let out a little squeak of protest.
Denise indicated to an inner hallway. “Oh, may I use the family room to nurse him?”
Because, of course, she was breastfeeding.
But it was located in the same hall as my office. It was as if the universe wanted to shove their baby down my throat.
“How’s my cases coming along?”
My eyes narrowed at Jim’s question. A million and one snide remarks about the workload and the disorder of his note-taking clamored to spill from my lips.
But I was a professional who knew how to read the room.
If I put out one peep of complaint, one, I’d never stop at just one complaint, and two, I’d reveal myself as the bitter ex who was too emotional to handle a little pressure.
It would kill my chances for the future.
“They’re fine. You take all the time you need to get used to being a parent. ”
Did that really come out of my mouth? And it even sounded perfectly calm and kind.
When I packed up and got home for the night, I planned to pour a sixteen-ounce glass of vodka as dinner. Maybe then I’d die and be spared from all this.
Whoa.
Not suicidal, remember? What I needed was Molly, maybe a movie, and those three orgasms Wombat promised. Of course, that wouldn’t happen because I’d blown off our celebration date.
My life was a mess.
“Are you sure? Maybe we could talk while Denise is feeding Jake.”
I shouldn’t be angry. “I’ve got this, Jim.”
“Are you sure? I know your caseload was already packed and—”
“I’ve got this.” My tone brooked no argument. Even if I was lying my ass off about everything else in my life, my work wasn’t suffering. I could handle it.
Because what else did I have?
Molly was super-excited to meet me. Lemon struggled to keep a hold of her as I got out of my car.
That led to tension in the leash and Molly did her best Houdini impression.
Putting her head level with her shoulders, which had dipped below her spine, and barely a second later, I was attacked by one sneaky and utterly free collie.
“Oh shit. I’m so sorry. Molly, hold still so I can get your collar back on.” Lemon struggled to untangle the canvas and buckles.
“Don’t feel bad. I gave up on her months ago. She even slips out of the most expensive harnesses. You know, the ones they say are escape-proof? I nearly filed a claim against them for false advertising.”
Lemon laughed. “Collies are masters of escape. With the shape of their head and their intelligence, it’s really difficult. I’ll work on that with her so she won’t do it again.”
I scratched Molly behind the ears as we got the collar settled in place. “You can’t be trained, can you? It’s us who need it.” Hugging her filled up the emptiness eating me from the inside. Molly licked my face, sensing my mood.
“Bad day?” Lemon noted the extra-long fur therapy.
“Horrible. But getting better every second now.”
She smiled. “Good. I have to get back inside. They dropped off a raccoon with a concussion.”
“A what?”
She made a face. “Apparently, he was sleeping in a loose piece air-conditioning duct for warmth, and the construction crew shook him loose. Doing so, they dropped him off a two-story building. They brought him in an hour ago.”
“Poor thing.”
“At least it’s not spring yet. Then we get the overflow from other rescues. It literally spikes up to taking care of ninety infants at once then.”
Her words froze my insides. “Infants?”
“You know, fawns, rabbits, raccoons, fledglings, and oh my god the squirrels. Last year we handled seventy.”
“How?” I couldn’t even wrap my head around a baby human, let alone seventy baby squirrels? Lemon was a saint.
“I get help from the prospects. Wombat makes them do part of their initiation here. That’s good, but if I had time, I’d file to become a non-profit and then get funding for this so I could hire people rather than always relying on the club for everything.”
She abruptly changed topic.
“Are you two fighting?”
I struggled to keep my voice controlled. “Of course not.”
“Oh, good. The last thing I need is—” Another change of topic. “Molly was great today. She’s loving the crisp weather and she’s not shedding as badly.”
“What’s wrong?”
Her face went paler than usual. “Nothing.”
I studied her. There was something, I could tell. “You mentioned becoming a non-profit. Would you keep the dog grooming and boarding business?” Please say yes. I didn’t want to lose this place.
“I don’t know.”
My stomach twisted. Molly was adjusting so well here and was evidently happy. “May I ask, why are you considering that step?”
Her shoulders fell. “Cinnamon and Reba went off the full-time roster.”
Given what I knew about her business, that was a huge financial hit. “You’re still boarding Sweet-ums and Izzy, right?”
Her acknowledgment was weak. “People are downsizing. Reba’s mom lost her job, and Cinnamon’s family is relocating closer to the train service so they can commute easier. They’re moving at the end of spring once they find a house.”
At least that wasn’t right away, but Lemon had to be feeling vulnerable. “I’ll put in a good word with my coworkers and some of the other firms.”
“Thank you. There’s days I wish...”
“What?”
Her shoulder shift was defeated. “I wish people cared more. Or less. I don’t know.
If they didn’t care, then the animals would stay in place rather than be ‘rescued’ when there is no need for it, and if they cared more, shelters and wildlife centers would get full funding, and I wouldn’t have to take on the overflow.
Which would mean I’d have more time to market the business.
Why did I think animal rescue was a good career? ”
Because she simply loved it. That was evident in every breath she took. “You love it.”
Her eyebrows went up as she glanced at me. “I’m insane. But yeah. I do.”
“Where’s Wombat?”
Her face soured. “Off running another BS errand for Walt.” She blew out a breath and looked to the sky. “I didn’t mean that if you are watching, Nickel.”
A sliver of unease went up my spine. I knew who Nickel was.
With the deep dive into Jim’s files, I knew the names and nicknames of every Destroyer in Washington County.
Nickel was their tech guru. He owned a computer service store, installed security systems, and ran a private server system out of his home.
The insurance claim for a nasty home break-in with damage to his garage door and the frame paid out last week. The shop window repair claim cleared long before that.
Still unresolved was the accidental death that occurred on the second floor of his home. All three incidents happened on the same day.
And if Nickel was listening, he was the firm’s client, not the opposition. So I stayed on topic. “You have a security system?”
“A small one. It watches the road and some of the building exteriors. The barn where we keep the dry goods storage, and my house.” Her eyes glittered wickedly, and she wiggled her eyebrows at me. “And Wombat’s garage.”
Great. Maybe it was a good thing I hadn’t had the chance to celebrate his freedom the way we had planned.
“For a fairy-tale princess who talks to animals, you sure are evil.”
She grinned. “And loving every minute of it. Speaking of evil, what are your intentions toward my brother?”
“All bad, I’ve got wicked plans for him.” If we ever had time, that was.
Her laughter turned into a cackle. “Cool. I’m going to torture him with that. He’s being a grump lately.”
“You do that.”
Sure, I was teasing, but it felt good to let go of the worry and the propriety and all the stress. I could use three orgasms more than a highball of vodka.
A flutter of feathers flashed past my head. Hoot landed on Lemon’s shoulder.
“There you are.” She caught his beak and gave his little face a wiggle. Hoot chewed on her hair in retaliation.
“I’m surprised he’s out of the barn.”
“His wing is getting better. Wombat saw this video online that mentioned attaching flight feathers to the broken ones and tried it on a couple of them. Hoot’s still getting used to them, but we’re going to try to replace as many as we can soon. Maybe then, he’ll finally leave.”
“I think he’s adopted you.”
Lemon snorted. “That’s Wombat. Not me. I know better than to imprint on them. My brother is one big foster fail after another. Didn’t you know that?”
I didn’t. But it also didn’t surprise me.
He’d adopted me, and I was worse of a mess than Hoot.