Sweet Justice (8 page)

CHAPTER NINE

M
ALLORY
ESCAPED
THE
hubbub of the kitchen and soaked in the cool quiet of the dusk in the backyard off the kitchen's porch. She shivered, but it was too freeing to be away from all that ruckus to worry about the fact that she wasn't wearing a winter coat.

No, the one winter coat they had between them had gone to Katelyn, as hers had burned up in that fire. Katelyn had complained that Mallory's classic trench coat was too “businesswomany” to suit her. Mallory had insisted. Until she could find a good one in Katelyn's preferred style at the thrift store, Katelyn would have to wear hers.

Maybe with what's left of the two thousand bucks from the wedding dress I can buy Katelyn a new coat
, she told herself optimistically.

Kimberly's dress didn't seem to be that complicated—and Ma had even dug up a vintage pattern from the 1950s that was similar to what Kimberly wanted. It was a plain and simple sleeveless A-line, with princess seams, a full tulle skirt and a lace back.

The lace alone will cost two hundred bucks
, the pessimist in Mallory countered.
And getting the fit right will be a nightmare.

She wouldn't let her pessimism talk her out of her good mood. No, even if the fabric and lace and tulle set her back five hundred dollars, as she'd warned Kimberly it might, the bride-to-be was still willing to give her the remainder of the two thousand dollars for sewing the dress.

An emergency fund! A real emergency fund!
At that thought, she couldn't help herself—she whirled around in a pirouette of pleasure.

“Better be careful—our Labrador, Jake, digs holes out here, and those spindly little heels of yours are just right for taking a tumble.”

Andrew Monroe's sour tone brought her up short. Mallory peered into the gloom. Yes, there he was, standing on the other side of a white post-and-rail fence. He held a largish horse so dark it was rendered practically invisible in the dim light.

“You startled me!” she admitted. “I didn't know you were there.”

“I take it you wouldn't be dancing a jig if you had? What's all the sudden happiness for?”

Sheesh. He sounded downright suspicious. Despite her horse phobia, she came closer. “Do I need a reason?” she countered.

“I figure it has something to do with the money you charmed out of Kimberly.”

She couldn't help the sharp intake of breath his words, so accusingly delivered, evoked. “I didn't
charm
anything out of Kimberly.”

“You
can
sew the dress, right?”

Mallory closed in, not even thinking about the horse now that he'd made her good and steamed. “What makes you think I can't?”

“I didn't say you couldn't. I asked if you could. Can you?”

“Yes. Yes, I can. I was at Savannah College of Art and Design when my—”

The memory of why she dropped out of SCAD slammed into her. Her parents. She owed no sort of explanation to this man of all people—he'd nearly caused her to lose the one family member she had left.

“When what? You decided that shopping was more your thing than sewing? DeeDee told me she and Ma and Cara ran into you over at BASH, that fancy new store downtown. Place like that, you can find a lot of shoes if you don't buy meat, huh?”

“I. Work. There.” This, delivered through gritted teeth, surprised Mallory. Why the need to defend herself? Why the impulse to explain herself to him?

A beat of silence stretched out to two, interrupted by the horse's soft snuffling against Andrew's palm. “Oh. I—well, I just thought—”

“You just thought wrong.”

She turned with the intent of stomping off, but then slid on the gravel near the fence. Her legs and arms pinwheeled, the horse reared and snorted in surprise and she was convinced she was going to land on her backside.

Exactly as Andrew's quick reaction had saved Ma's African violet, his fingers clamped down on her thrashing arm. He yanked her upright. “Watch it!” he warned.

With shaking fingers she clasped the rough wood of the post-and-rail fence. The horse seemed uncomfortably close, even going so far as to bend down and give her cheek a hot breath of air from its flaring nostrils.

“Uh—uh—can you—put that thing in Reverse?” she asked. No way could she let go of the fence...not without her shaking knees hitting the ground.

“What? Me? Or Pogo?”

“Pogo? Is that the name of that beast?”

“It's a horse, not a beast. Don't you like horses?” Andrew had not removed his hand from her arm, but he had relaxed its grip. Since he had the beast—Pogo, she corrected herself—by its rope, she and it were way too close.

“S-sure,” she quaked. “In theory. Pictures. I like horses in pictures.”

“Not an animal person, then, I take it? Unless it's made into furs or shoes?”

His sneer evaporated her fear. “Hey, knock it off! I don't wear furs. And I notice those shoes you're wearing are leather. Are you determined to see me in the worst possible light or what?”

* * *

M
ALLORY
'
S
WORDS
,
SHARP
and indignant, speared right through Andrew. He could almost hear Ma's voice in his head about manners and politeness and respecting people, even if they were different than him.

And, boy, is Mallory different from me.

He was close enough to take in her perfume, a flowery scent that put him in mind of tea olives. That had to be pricey. Plus, those silly, probably just as expensive heels of hers had nearly landed her on the ground, and who pranced around on a farm in January in only a blouse and skirt? Where was her coat? Or did that spoil the look?

Still, he cleared his throat and acted as if he had the manners Ma had tried to teach him. Andrew tugged at Pogo's lead and urged the horse back from the fence a few paces. When the horse protested—he must have found Mallory's perfume as interesting as Andrew had—Andrew gave him a pat on the neck. “Easy, fella. Easy.”

Now, is that for me? Or for Pogo?

“Thank you,” Mallory said to him.

He glanced her way. Her death grip on the fence had relaxed. She
was
afraid of horses.

“How is it that you let Katelyn sign up for hippotherapy if you don't care for horses?” he asked.

“She loves them,” Mallory told him. “I— They're so big. And—skittish. I've never been around them.”

“Huh. Figured somebody like you would have taken fancy English riding lessons.”

“Somebody like— Andrew Monroe, I think you must be determined to get me all wrong.” She inhaled deeply, then let out the breath, and he noticed that the air had grown cool enough that her breath misted as it came out of her petal-pink lips. She was so beautiful and glamorous, she could have stepped off the silver screen.

Now she stuck out her right hand across the fence, as primly as if it was gloved in white and she was the queen of all she surveyed. “Let's try this again, shall we? Hi, I'm Mallory Blair, and I'd like to thank you for saving my sister's life.”

Andrew couldn't help the moment of hesitation he felt taking her hand. But he reached across the distance to accept her hand and shook it. Her grip was firm, businesslike, but her hand in his felt small and delicate.

“And I can act like Pogo's backside sometimes,” he replied. “Here. Let's have a go at this.” Her fingers still in his, he lifted her palm to Pogo's neck and guided it along the horse's warm hide.

Her eyes grew wide with fear and apprehension—and interest, he saw. She didn't jerk back. Instead, she let him show her how to scratch Pogo in his favorite-hard-to-reach spot.

“He's—quivery. And shaggier than I expected,” Mallory allowed.

“His winter coat. And if you let him know you're scared, he'll wonder what
he
needs to be scared of. Relax. And...oh, he's looking for this.” As Pogo began to nuzzle into Mallory's hand, Andrew slipped an apple slice to her.

“H-how— Is he going to bite me?”

“Nope. Just open your palm and hold it up, like a platter.”

Mallory did as he said, then let out a tremulous laugh as Pogo scarfed up the apple slice. “Oh! His mouth feels like the best quality suede!” she said. Pogo reached down and playfully butted her head with the gentlest of taps. “Wow—maybe I should remember that horses don't like to be reminded of shoe factories, huh?”

“Would you like to learn how to ride?” Andrew offered impulsively.

“Me? Are you kidding? I'm terrified of horses—”

“Yet here you are,” he pointed out. “Letting ol' Pogo charm the pants off you.”

“He
is
a charming fellow.”

“And gentle. And now he's decided that he likes you. Maegan uses Pogo for kids who have severe disabilities. He's older than dirt, and patient. You'd be as safe on him as if you were walking on your own two feet—safer, really, than walking around on those heels.”

“You think I could learn?” Now Mallory was getting the hang of petting Pogo. She was up on her tiptoes, reaching over the fence and giving the horse an enthusiastic scratch under his mane. And Pogo? He leaned into her hand, showing just how much he liked Mallory's touch.

Just like you
.

Andrew shoved the thought out of his head. “Anybody can, given the time and the effort. Dad had us on horses before we could walk.”

“It...it would be nice. If I knew about horses and how to ride, it would give me a sense of connection to Katelyn as she's going through her therapy.” Mallory gave the horse one more, almost wistful, scratch and stepped back, her hands clasped behind her back. He knew what her answer was going to be before she spoke, and he was right.

“I can't afford lessons.”

It was on the tip of Andrew's tongue to retort, “Might cut into your shoe budget, huh?” He managed to swallow the remark. Still, what came out instead surprised him.

“I'll teach you. For free. You know, a few basic riding lessons.”

She switched her gaze from Pogo's eyes to his. “You would?”

“Sure. So that you could...understand what Katelyn will be doing.”

And you can keep an eye on her and her lawsuit, right?
Even to his internal ear, that sounded thin. No, if he admitted the truth, he wanted to share his love of horses with her. No one should be afraid of these big gentle creatures—no one.

“Oh, I don't know...” She had moved closer to the horse now, and she was actually letting him nuzzle her palm. Andrew offered her another apple slice, but Pogo smelled it and quickly shifted his allegiance, snapping up the apple from Andrew's fingers. “You can't have much time.”

Andrew shrugged. “Sure, it will have to be when I'm off duty from the department. Part of my job here is to exercise the horses. You can help me by giving Pogo's legs a stretch.”

“I'd like that.” The smile on her face lit up the evening as brightly as any full moon. “Maybe when—”

Whatever she was going to say was interrupted by a buzz coming from her skirt pocket. Pogo reached down to investigate, but she'd stepped back and drew out a phone.

“Oh, Hi, Chad!” she said. “How odd... I was thinking about calling you earlier, but I figured you were in court.” She turned away, the wind snatching something about “records request” right out of her mouth.

A sour feeling permeated Andrew's stomach. Chad, huh? Sounded as though Mallory had a rich lawyer boyfriend.

Which would come in handy if she were angling to file a lawsuit.

CHAPTER TEN

A
COUPLE
OF
weeks after she'd landed the job of sewing Kimberly's dress, Mallory soaked in the quiet peacefulness of the public library and was glad she'd been able to run by before it had closed for the evening. It was an especially soothing balm after the busy week she'd had—every woman in town seemed to need a fancy new dress from BASH in time for Valentine's Day weekend.

The library was nice for another reason. Since Mallory had been coming here, she'd gotten to know one of the librarians, Carole Bingham, who was about her age. At first they'd chatted about the books Mallory had checked out, but as they swapped reading suggestions, they'd found they had a lot in common. She and Carole had even met for a brown-bag lunch a couple of times.

Now Mallory crossed over to the circulation desk to join her.

“Hey, I thought you said the library had gotten in the newest Lee Child novel, and I put a hold on it for the next available checkout, like you advised.” Mallory grinned and asked with a teasing note, “You're not holding out on me to get an insider's sneak peek, are you?”

Carole put her hands on her hips and tried to look offended. “Would I do that? Oh, all right, maybe, but it's not me. Let's see...” She tapped on her keyboard. “Well, you're next, if that's any consolation, but the guy who's got it still has a week and a half before it's due.”

Mallory shrugged her shoulders and pushed the books she'd decided on across the laminate countertop. “Maybe he won't take the whole time—I wouldn't. I always read a Lee Child novel in one great gulp. Don't suppose you'd let me know who has it so that I could beg them to hurry up and finish it?”

“'Fraid not,” Carole said. She closed the last book after scanning its barcode and pushed the stack across to Mallory. “He's about like you when it comes to reading—voracious, I tell you. You probably won't have to wait much longer. How's the sewing going? And how's Katelyn? Therapy going okay?”

Mallory related the latest on Katelyn's therapy, which was that her sister was getting stronger and more confident...and conversely snappier and more easily irritated with Mallory. She didn't tell Carole everything—like how she'd been avoiding Andrew Monroe, or how she was still waiting on Chad McGovern, the lawyer, to get back with her on a date his investigator could start.

Chad had told her the night of the supper at Ma's that he was confident of the merits of the case, pending what his investigator turned up.

“The key to the case,” he'd told her, “is if we can prove that the fire department left the power on. It's a good shot then that a jury will find the county at fault. And your sister's records indicate that she suffered mild electric burns—that may have stunned her and caused her to pass out, which led to her getting more serious burns.”

Chad had repeated that the idea of a firefighter abandoning a helpless teen would create sympathy with the jury.

It had jolted Mallory to realize afresh that the firefighter Chad was talking about was Andrew... Andrew, who had just offered her free riding lessons.

When she'd reminded Chad that he'd told her they might not have to go to a jury, he in turn reminded her about all the expenses she'd run up, the job she'd lost, the idea that Katelyn might not be able to hold a job of her own.

She'd protested. “I don't know... I don't want to take—”

“Now, Mallory. What have I told you?
You're
not taking. Someone—the county of Levi—took something from you and Katelyn. And you're Katelyn's guardian, so it's your responsibility to get it back for her. Don't you agree?” Chad pressed her.

She couldn't argue with his logic or his idea that they had to show how the fire department and the county had failed Katelyn. He'd assured her that he'd meet with his private investigator and see when the man could begin doing some discreet digging. That had been all of two weeks ago, and she hadn't heard from him since.

But the awkwardness of knowing that she was responsible for hiring someone to investigate Andrew and the department... It had simply been so much easier to keep her distance.

And Andrew hasn't made it all that difficult for you
, her inner voice pointed out. True enough, Andrew hadn't stopped by with any more pizzas, and he'd been on duty at the fire department a lot of the time when she'd dropped off Katelyn at therapy.

Now, standing with Carole, she didn't share any of that. She didn't know Carole quite well enough, for one thing.

And for another... Mallory couldn't figure out what she felt about Andrew Monroe. He was still the guy who had sacrificed Katelyn for his buddy, still the guy who had caused her sister so much pain. Yet the few times she had seen Andrew work with Katelyn, he was gentle and compassionate and encouraging. He wanted her to get better.

Because he feels guilty. Because he knows what he did.

She shoved away the thought and asked Carole what her plans were for the evening.

“My husband is taking me out to an early Valentine's Day supper—got reservations and everything. How about you? Somebody special bringing you flowers and candy?”

Before Mallory could even attempt to evade the question, the library door swung open, letting in a chill gust of air that swirled around her ankles. Carole and she looked up to see none other than Andrew walk through the door.

“Hey, Carole. Somebody called and said you— Oh.” He had spotted Mallory, and the expression on his face didn't convey unmitigated pleasure at the surprise. “Hi, Mallory.” To Carole, he mumbled something like, “I'll give you a minute,” shoved a book on the counter and then dived into the set of stacks closest to the circulation desk.

Carole raised an eyebrow. “Huh. When did you bite Andrew Monroe?”

Mallory eyeballed her right back. “You mean he's not always like that? He is with me.”

Carole swiped up the book that he'd left. “You can thank him for one thing—he brought in your Lee Child book.”

“He's the one who—” Mallory craned her neck for any sign of Andrew, but it was as if the stacks had swallowed him whole. “
He's
the voracious reader?” she whispered.

“Yep. And I don't know what's eating him if it's not you, because usually you're his type.”

“Type? What do you mean, type?”

Carole chuckled as she went about checking the book in. “Hand me that library card of yours, that is, if you do want to read this book.”

Mallory fished out her card. “Now give. What do you mean, I'm his type?”

“Andrew Monroe has a particular weakness for... Okay, don't take this as an insult, all right? He has a weakness for pageant queens.”

“I'm no pageant queen. I've never been in a beauty pageant in my life!” Mallory was still puzzled. “Not that there's anything wrong with it, but I'm just not the type.”

“You look it, though. You look as though you could be a model. And you dress...well, see what you're wearing now—high heels and a pencil skirt and that cute little twinset.”

“I came from work—”

“Yeah, and how you managed to pedal that bike of yours in those stilettos—”

“I didn't. I pushed the bike down here. I'll change in the bathroom before I leave for home—if you'll give me a few minutes.”

“Sure. No problem. Anyway, regardless of what you're
really
like, I'm surprised Andrew isn't drooling all over you. I mean, you're even prettier than LeeAnn, and she—”

“Who's LeeAnn?”

“LeeAnn Graham. She was Miss Levi County year before last—or was it the year before that?” Carole scratched her chin. “Gosh, I think it was three years ago. Well, never mind. They were in high school together—she was prom queen and homecoming queen and whatever else queen you can be in high school. He'd dated a whole bevy of pretty girls while he was there, but then their senior year, they got together, and I mean hot and heavy. From the way I heard things, they were practically engaged when they graduated, and everybody kept oohing and aahing over what a fab couple they made. They were like Waverly's version of Brangelina.”

It wasn't idle curiosity that made Mallory's stomach churn at the prospect of Andrew being serious about a woman, especially not someone who was Waverly royalty. She couldn't put her finger on exactly why it bothered her. What was Andrew to her anyway? “What happened if they were so perfect for one another?”

“Oh, but they
weren't
, don't you see? For all of Andrew's good looks—I mean,
he
could be a male model, but then all of the Monroe boys are extremely pleasing to the eye, no?” Carole waggled an eyebrow. “LeeAnn was not a country girl, even if she did live in Waverly. She was town, through and through, and she was not happy with how he wanted her to spend time with his family out on their farm. Horses? She was allergic. Farming? Her idea of hunting and gathering was the drive-through at a fast-food place, and her idea of a good time was to go out shopping or for a mani-pedi or a trip to the beach or Atlanta or somewhere with bright lights and lots of loud music, which is okay on occasion, but that's
all
she wanted to do.”

“They couldn't have lasted long, then,” Mallory murmured. She still didn't see a trace of Andrew moving around the stacks.

“Longer than they should have, more's the pity. He was besotted with her, and she was so mean to him. He didn't get hit with a clue stick until she changed her major and transferred from the college here to a school up near Atlanta. She said she was going to be a dental hygienist, but I think she dropped out and married... I can't remember his name, but it was some city guy with pots of money.”

“Ouch.”

“Oh, no, that wasn't the worst of it.” Carole leaned forward conspiratorially, dropping her hushed tone even lower. “She dumped him when he joined the fire department. Said she wasn't going to date anybody with a blue-collar job. Now, I tell you, what was the girl thinking? She was dating a Monroe, wasn't she? Didn't she have a clue that it's practically a Monroe birthright to be a firefighter? And what's wrong with a girl who doesn't like a firefighter? Huh?”

Mallory couldn't fathom the idea of someone turning her nose up at a person because of the job they had—and Andrew, no less. Anger on his behalf burned through Mallory. She'd met plenty of LeeAnns in her line of work, and she didn't care a fig about them. They treated shop clerks and assistants and anyone in the service industry like second-class citizens.

“How long ago?” she asked.

“A couple of years now? Maybe longer? He didn't exactly learn his lesson, because he started dating a series of pretty faces who was essentially a carbon copy. They lasted all of about six months each. And since the last one...” Carole frowned. “Hmm. I haven't heard of him seeing anybody. Maybe the fire department and his work out at Happy Acres keeps him busy.”

“Well, if I do remind him of his ex-girlfriend, I wish he'd learn not to judge a book by its cover. I'm not her, and not a thing like her, and it would be nice if he wouldn't take his anger out on me,” Mallory said.

“Maybe you should try to get to know him better—because you're right. You're not a bit like LeeAnn. I mean, you and he both read. You're both nice—” Carole was warming to the subject now, a definite matchmaking glint in her eye.

Mallory knew something Carole didn't—she knew about the lawsuit. It would underscore Andrew's poor opinion of her when he found out for certain what the suit was about. Why bother getting to know him?

She gathered up the books and interrupted Carole before she could gather any more steam. “Hey, do I still have time to change clothes?”

Carole glanced at her watch. “Yikes! It's past closing time. My boss will have my head.” Then, without asking Mallory, Carole gaily called out. “Hey, Andrew! You're in your truck, right? You'd take Mallory home, wouldn't you?”

Mallory groaned. She turned back to glower at Carole, only to receive a wink. Behind her, she heard Andrew clear his throat and reply:

“Sure, Carole. As a favor to you, sure.”