“No. In this case I think the client needs to see the results first.”
“That’s different from how you normally handle paternity cases.” There was questioning in her tone as I moved some files around and searched for my cell phone in the wreckage on the top of my desk. I needed to take twenty minutes and clean everything up so I could put my mind and my work space back in functioning order.
“Like I said, this client is a friend and things are unorthodox all around.” Including the irrational way my body and everything that throbbed and pulsed deep down inside of me leaped to life from the first instant I’d laid eyes on Zeb.
“Right. It’s personal. Be careful with that, Sayer. Making anything that has to do with the law personal is a recipe for disaster. How many clients have you had to talk off the ledge because love wasn’t enough to fight against protocol and judge’s orders? You’re a great attorney and it looks like your friend needs you to be that more than anything else.” She told me good night and left my office door open since I was now officially the last person left in the upscale building in Lower Downtown Denver.
I tapped the corner of my phone on the open case file that had Zeb’s too-young face staring up at me in black and white. Even that harsh image had my heart kicking against my ribs. Carla’s warning had merit . . . too much of it.
If the results that I held in my hand were, in fact, positive for paternity, then Zeb needed me to be his legal representative way more than he needed me to be a woman with a ridiculous crush. I was going to be more useful to him in a professional capacity than I would be in a personal one, and as much as it made my insides dip and dive toward my toes, I realized that was how I was going to have to approach my dealings with him from now on. I needed to bring back the ice queen—the way I’d been when he was working on my house. Somehow I needed to ignore the inadvisable lust and remember that, really, we were just two people with very little in common and not a chance in hell of having a functioning romantic relationship.
I flipped the folder closed on that face that was following me everywhere, picked up my phone, and hit Zeb’s contact info. The phone rang and rang, which I thought was strange, as anxious as he had been for any news about the results. Usually I was running to catch his calls or to call him back, so the fact that my call went to voicemail made me frown and had immediate thoughts of what—and who—could be occupying his time running around like angry squirrels in my mind. Frustrated and slightly disgusted with myself, I tossed the envelope on top of the now closed case file and told myself I was leaving Zeb here, in my office, along with hundreds of other cases that were on my desk and in the filing cabinets behind it.
I was pulling bobby pins out of the coil of my hair, peeling panty hose off my legs, and kicking my heels off so I could put on my hot-pink Vans, courtesy of a shopping trip with my brother’s oh-so-hip and stylish girlfriend. They were quirky and casual, and before I moved to Colorado I never would have worn them. Even when I moved out of my father’s house for college. It wasn’t until I took the leap, took the risk to come to Denver and find Rowdy, that I could take itty-bitty baby steps toward not analyzing how every single decision I made would ultimately affect me. I could wear pink shoes because they were cute and not worry about getting looked down upon for that choice. Only my father could take something as simple as a pair of shoes and turn them into a reflection of a person’s worth and perceived shortcomings.
I was gathering up my laptop to put in my bag when my phone shrilled from the spot where I had tossed it. It was startlingly loud in the quiet of my office, and when I saw Zeb’s name on the display it made me groan out loud into the empty space as I felt my pulse kick in response.
I plowed my fingers through my now loose hair and put the phone to my ear. As soon as I answered I heard heavy breathing and a lot of background noise.
“Hello?” I asked it questioningly as Zeb’s deep voice hollered out orders to someone who obviously wasn’t me.
“You need to have someone get out in the drainage ditch next to the driveway with a magnet. I don’t want the neighbors on my ass about nails in their tires. They’re already pissed I had you guys work late the last two nights. Hello? Sayer, is that you? Did you call me? Is there news?”
He sounded just as keyed up and anxious as he always did when we spoke and I wanted to curl up in a ball of shame for thinking anything different just because he wasn’t able to answer my call. I leaned forward and put my forehead on the edge of the desk with a solid thunk.
“Sayer? Are you okay? What’s going on?” Great. Now he was worried about me because I was acting like a dolt.
I sucked in a deep breath and told myself to get it together. “I’m good. I’m still at the office and just happened to get some last-minute mail. It’s something I think you’ll want to see. I was going to offer to bring it over to your place, but it sounds like you’re still working, too. You can swing by my office in the morning if you want.”
He got really quiet on the other end of the phone and I could hear the guys on his crew in the background and the sound of cars as he breathed low and steady in my ear.
“Zeb?” I didn’t want to ask if he was okay because I knew he wasn’t. His life was going to change even if the adorable little boy who looked just like him was, in fact, not his. Even if Hyde wasn’t his son I had a feeling that knowing the little boy was caught up in the system with no family and no one to look out for him wouldn’t sit well with him. Zeb was a fixer by nature and this little boy was most definitely on his project list.