Courting Trouble (16 page)

That night had shaken her in so many ways. Her emotions for Cade had never died—her desire, her want, even her love for him—they’d simply faded with time. And in one evening all that she wanted, his physical touch and his emotional intimacy, was offered to her, plus all that she feared—Hudd’s involvement in her mother’s death. Didn’t his reaction to her all but prove he had some fear, some unresolved issues, around her mother and the way Connie had died? Tulsa looked up from her coffee cup. She usually didn’t share personal issues, but right now she needed to.

“Hudd called me Connie,” Tulsa said.

Emma’s fingers flew to her lips and her eyes widened and filled with pain. Jo, implacable Jo, tried her best to smooth her face but the tiniest twitch of her lip combined with the heat Tulsa saw in Jo’s eyes let Tulsa know that Jo understood how gut-wrenching that moment had been.

“He fell, hit his head, had to have stitches…” Tulsa’s words drifted away and with it her eyes, toward Savannah’s work table where a clay figure was starting to take shape. “We went to the hospital and when he saw me…” Tulsa squinted at the memory of that night popping up in her head. “It was like he’d seen a ghost.”

At first Emma and Jo said nothing—what could they say? And this very silence—the awkward silence—was the very reason Tulsa didn’t share. That and she didn’t want their sympathy. What did she need from them? She felt as though she swam in an ocean of emotion and giant waves of grief, fear, and anxiety kept crashing over her head. Just as she popped up and gulped for air, another crashed down upon her. How could she make good decisions like this? She could barely breathe.

“I think it’s time to follow up on some of the things in your mother’s case,” Jo said. Her voice was clear. “This is important—not for her—but for you.”

Tulsa nodded. She needed Emma and Jo’s clarity, their focus, their knowledge of who Tulsa was and how she worked—because right now she couldn’t see herself. She couldn’t trust her feelings or her vision.

“Do you need one of us to come out there?” Emma asked.

Dear sweet Emma. With Tulsa’s family crisis she knew the firm had to be swamped and yet should Tulsa ask, one of them would get on a plane that very day and come to Colorado for her.

“No,” Tulsa said softly. “I’m still good. We’re still good. It’s just—I’m having a hard time with…” Her bottom lip trembled. “…with everything.”

“Oh honey,” Emma said. She knew that Emma longed to give her a hug because according to Emma, hugs helped everything. Jo, poor Jo, sat at the table, her face a wall—unsure of what to say and what to do because Jo didn’t do emotion, Jo did logic.

“I’m sending you what I have,” Jo said. “I’m also going to make a list of people that you need to speak to about the case—people that might know something about your mother.” This is what Jo did—she went into hyper-drive. If she couldn’t fix Tulsa’s emotional state, she was definitely going to solve the problem that caused it. “Let me know what you need—I have contacts, investigators. Whatever you want, we can get.”

Tulsa pulled the corners of her lips up. This tiny act—her woeful smile—took a huge effort, but she knew this tiny hint of a woeful smile was worth it for her partners. She would get through all this—she would survive.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” Emma asked. Her voice contained an upbeat, forced cheeriness as if trying to sweep the hard emotions out the door.

“I’m still working on the Carson appeal,” Tulsa said. She scrubbed her hand over her eyes. She’d only been awake for a couple of hours and already she needed a nap. “Then another supervised visit.”

Emma nodded and her lips pulled down. Both Joe and Emma knew that a supervised visit would entail Tulsa spending the afternoon with Cade. She hadn’t seen him or discussed what had happened in the hospital with Hudd. Nor had they discussed the events in his truck. Guilt over her desire for Cade fought with the anxiety that gripped her belly surrounding Hudd and Connie’s case.

“And you two?” Tulsa asked. She was finished discussing her personal life, her pain, her confusion—at least for now. She needed to pull her thoughts together, try to give the documents that Jo was sending her discerning legal eyes, not the eyes of a daughter who had lost a mother.

“I’ve got a depo in a half hour,” Jo said. She lifted the pages from the conference table and tapped them against the wood. “We’re here for you.”

“And I have a contested custody hearing,” Emma said.

And I get to deal with my family.

*

Four thousand feet above Tulsa, Thunderridge Peak scraped the bright blue Colorado sky. The ski trails that cut through the thick forest of aspen trees and dark green pines would be white and packed with snow in less than two months, but were now lush and green. Once the snow dropped on Powder Springs, the ski trails would be crawling with skiers, like tiny ants over spilled soda. A cool and not so gentle breeze flew down over the mountain and whipped her curls. A Powder Springs resident wouldn’t shiver. It was only fall. But Tulsa pulled Savannah’s fleece-lined ski jacket tight around her.

Bobby and Ash stood a few feet ahead of Tulsa, near the front of the ski-lift line. Cade walked up, wearing a short-sleeved top and jeans. The muscles of his arms bulged where the shirtsleeve ended and Tulsa glanced quickly from his arms and chest to Cade’s face.

“The alpine slide?” Tulsa asked.

“I suggested it.” Cade fell in beside Tulsa. “It closes next week.”

Even irritated with Cade, Tulsa couldn’t escape the heat that clutched her with his nearness. They waited their turn behind the tourists and Powder Springs residents who wanted a quick thrill by traveling thirty miles per hour down a cement trough on a barely-there plastic sled with wheels.

Two pairs of people ahead of them, Ash and Bobby sat on the tiny cushioned ski lift attached to a wire. The ski lift jerked forward and swung Ash and Bobby away from the ground.

Tulsa’s stomach lurched. Soon she would feel the whooshing sensation of her stomach dropping to her knees and the earth pulling away from beneath her feet. Her heart accelerated its beat in her chest and her hands grew clammy.

“You loved this,” Cade said.

“When I was fourteen,” Tulsa said. She didn’t want Cade to know that along with creating a new life in Los Angeles, she’d also developed a fear of heights. Some might even say phobia.

The ski-lift operator, in his sunglasses and short-sleeved shirt, nodded toward Tulsa and Cade.

“Ready?” Cade asked.

The ski lift wouldn’t stop for them. They followed the chair in front of them as it lifted from the ground. Tulsa watched the feet of the twosome dangling and her heart hammered faster. She stood behind the blue line, waiting to feel the press of the chair on the backs of her legs. She inhaled. She’d done this a million times as a kid, even as an adult. Granted, the last time was five years ago and she’s suffered a nearly paralyzing panic attack on the chairlift before her very last ski run, but she wasn’t about to tell Cade that little tidbit.

The chairlift seat cushion pushed into the backs of Tulsa’s legs and like a shot of adrenaline to her chest, her heart hammered. Her palms wet, she grabbed the metal rail to her right. Cade pulled the metal guardrail down in front of them. The chair jerked forward and up.

Tulsa’s stomach flew forward and landed somewhere near her throat. Every muscle in her body tightened—gripping at nothingness. She shut her eyes and bit down on her bottom lip. She forced a deep inhale, a deep exhale, a deep inhale, a deep exhale—

“Look how small,” Cade crowed. “What a view.”

Tulsa forced her eyelids up and watched Cade lean forward and crane his neck to see the earth plummet away from them.

“I don’t ever get tired of this.” They locked eyes. “Heights scare you, Tulsa?”

Her throat was tight—closed, but for the tiny trickle of air that barely inflated her lungs. Unable to speak, Tulsa shook her head no and looked to her right. She set her gaze on the horizon but that focal point didn’t help—everything was far away and the mountain was huge. Giant pine trees, hundreds of feet tall, swayed beneath them. She clutched the rail to the right with one hand and the tiny safety bar in front of her with the other. Her hands were clammy and she couldn’t get a good grip, her hands slid over the metal. Her fingertips would surely slip if she had to make a clutch for her life.

A cold wind blasted from the top of the mountain and the chairlift wobbled in the wind. A chill rushed down her spine and her thighs shivered. She wanted to pull her coat closer around her, but she’d have to release her hand from the chair rails to do it and her brain couldn’t command her fingertips to unclasp.

“Cold?” Cade asked.

“H… h… hardly,” Tulsa shivered out the word. Her lips had to be turning blue.

Screams of delight wafted upward from the two cement tracks where kids and adults raced down the alpine slide. She was trapped on a chairlift, shivering in fear with Cade. If she could simply get to the top of the mountain without plummeting to her death or Cade bringing up the events of last Friday night, then she could breathe.

The ski lift ground to a halt.
Oh shit.

Cade leaned forward against the safety bar and peered to the earth, so damn far away. This happened. On chairlifts. They stopped. For whatever reason. Someone fell getting off. Someone fell getting on. The wind blew too hard or too fast. They stopped and Tulsa didn’t like it. Not one bit. Because the only thing worse than hanging from a wire, feet dangling, a million miles above the earth, was being
trapped
hanging from a wire a million miles above the earth. Deep, slow, even breaths—the chairlift would start again—they would soon move upward and in minutes would safely reach the peak of Thunderridge Mountain.

And then Cade did the unthinkable.

He swung his legs.

The evil son of a bitch…

The tiniest swing, really just a gentle sway—as if rocking somewhere on a porch with a glass of lemonade—but to Tulsa this felt like a loop-to-loop on a roller-coaster ride from hell.

Cade swung his legs again.

“Stop it!” Tulsa said. She couldn’t grab Cade or his legs. She didn’t have enough hands. Right now both clutched the metal of the lift. Her heart hammered in her chest.

Cade turned his gaze to her and a wicked smile curved his lips upward—a mischievous smile, the kind that acknowledged he knew exactly what he was doing to her insides.

“You’re going to
kill
us!” Tulsa yelped as the ski lift swung. This wasn’t an elementary-school playground. These things weren’t built to be swings. Hell, they were barely built to safely garner passengers up the 2500-foot incline at twelve miles per hour, 163 feet above the earth. “Damnit! Stop swinging your legs!”

Cade stopped. He turned to her, his face serious. “Then tell me,” Cade said.

“What exactly is it that you think you need to know?” Tulsa said, her words fast and her tone terse. On pain of death, at this moment she’d tell Cade nearly anything to keep him from trying to flip their chairlift off the wire that barely kept them from hurtling to the earth. With Cade’s luck, if the cable snapped he’d somehow land on an aspen tree below and climb down to safety while she plummeted to the earth and cracked her head on a rock.

“I want to know why you left without a word, how you—”

The chair lift jerked to life.

Tulsa sighed.
Thank you, God!

“You were saying?” Tulsa managed to squeak out.

Cade’s face clouded, quieted by his thoughts. “Nothing.”

The ski lift approached the wooden platform and Tulsa’s lungs expanded, her muscles relaxed.

Cade lifted the metal guardrail. Tulsa’s feet
finally
touched the earth. They both stepped away from the chair. Tulsa fought her urge to kiss the ground.

“I’ve been thinking,” Tulsa said, her voice now back at full strength. She turned and pulled herself to her full height, no longer made vulnerable by her irrational fear. “I’d like to talk to Hudd.”

Cade’s head swiveled and his eyes popped wide for a millisecond before he squinted.

“I have some questions I think he can answer.” And with those final words she walked toward Bobby, Ash, and the alpine slide. Let Cade Montgomery think on that.

*

“She wants to talk to Hudd?” A low whistle emanated from between Wayne’s lips. “That’s not good.”

The sun lay low on the horizon and the scent of fresh pine floated on the wind. Cade sat beside his brother in the bleachers of the football field. Wayne turned his head back to watch Holt run passing drills. Holt dropped back from the line and rifled a long pass to Dylan Conroy, fifteen yards downfield.

“You gonna let her?” Wayne asked. He wore his sheriff’s uniform and his SUV cruiser was parked near the side of the field. They’d climbed the bleachers together to watch the Powder Springs Pilots’ midweek practice. They met here every week to watch Holt. And usually to discuss Hudd. His prognosis. His behavior. His ill temper.

“You think that’s wise?” Cade asked.

“Who knows what Hudd’ll say?” Wayne shook his head. “Especially if he thinks he’s talking to Connie’s ghost.”

“I guess I can’t really stop her,” Cade said. “Tulsa could see him anywhere. It’s not like I’ve got him locked in a closet at the ranch.”

“I think I suggested that,” Wayne said. “Save us all a whole lot of problems.”

“Not funny,” Cade said. “And what problems with Hudd do you exactly have?”

Wayne gave him a long look. Okay, sure there were
problems
with Hudd that both he and Wayne faced each day. But Wayne wasn’t tasked with taking care of the cantankerous old man. Wayne didn’t have to see Hudd over breakfast, at the office, and then at dinner.

“It’s not like you have to take care of him,” Cade grumbled.

“And you don’t either,” Wayne said. “There are caretakers, nurses, people to help with the elderly. I’m not suggesting you shuffle him off to a home, but you don’t have to spend every damn minute of every damn day for the rest of his life watching him. Who knows, the old coot might outlive both of us for spite.”