Doctor Knows Best (22 page)

When a Pollyanna meets a pessimist who will prevail?

Trust Me

© 2013 Jane McBride Choate

Social worker Casey O'Shaunessey makes it her mission in life to protect the foster kids assigned to her as they shuffle through the system. She's willing to take on anyone in her path—including hard-as-nails Assistant District Attorney, Mitch Armstrong. An ex-cop, Mitch believes the only way to deal with young delinquents is to throw the book at them. And he has no time for a bleeding heart like Casey.

Opposites attract and principles collide as Mitch and Casey fight their growing attraction to each other. And as Casey gives selflessly of herself to everyone around her, Mitch knows she could be the one to heal the darkness in his heart and soul. But will he be able to convince her he's worth the effort?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Trust Me:

Two hours in court testifying on behalf of one of her kids left Casey drained and wishing for a tall glass of lemonade and a nap. The first she'd grab on her way back to the office; the second would remain exactly that. A wish.

She ignored the cramp in her neck and the stale feel of a suit too long worn. The gray gabardine, so fresh this morning, had wilted as the temperature rose. Her white silk blouse clung damply to her, making her wish she'd chosen something cooler.

Her meeting two days ago with Troy had gone badly. The boy had an attitude with a capital A. She wasn't giving up, though. Troy was one of hers. That meant she'd continue to fight for him, even when he didn't deserve it.

She had a scant half hour before her appointment with the ADA, giving her no time to go home and change. She shrugged. They'd have to take her as she was.

Her plan to storm the DA's office wilted as effectively as her suit. A middle-aged secretary guarded the entrance with an expression boding ill to anyone who dared to breach it uninvited. Casey explained who she was, that she had an appointment, and was politely invited to wait.

The office was standard-issue, government drab. Potted plants added color; she found it hard to believe that they were the effort of the no-nonsense watchdog. A survey of magazines yielded last year's issues of news journals. Without interest, she leafed through one.

“You may go in now,” the secretary said.

Casey murmured a thank-you and braced herself for bearding the lion in his den. She'd done her research. Mitchell Armstrong, ex-cop and the youngest ADA in the county, had a reputation for straight shooting. She only hoped he had a heart as well.

He didn't need this, Mitch thought. He didn't need some social worker on his case because one of her kids was in trouble. Still, he'd promised to hear her out, and he intended to keep his promise. There were few enough things in the world that a person could count on. He liked to think his word was one of them.

He took his time studying Ms. Casey O'Shaunessey as Doris ushered her into his office. Her gray suit, heavy on the shoulder pads, reminded him of a knight's armor. Despite the heat, she hadn't removed her jacket. He knew she must be sweltering, and winced in sympathy for her.

Her feet shod in sensible shoes, her skirt discreetly covering her knees, she looked every inch the dedicated social worker. Only the fire in her eyes belied the otherwise placid appearance. Intrigued, he wondered at the dichotomy.

“Ms. O'Shaunessey.”

“Mr. Armstrong.”

They squared off, two opponents sizing each other up.

He gestured to a chair.

She sat down and crossed one of the best-looking pair of legs he'd seen in years.

Mitch broke the deadlock. “You're here about Hailey?”
Good one, Armstrong. Of course that's what she's here for
, he berated himself.

She nodded briefly. “Roy Paxton says you're asking for the stiffest sentence the law allows.”

It was his turn to nod.

“Why?”

He gestured to the bank of windows. “The people down there deserve to be safe. Troy Hailey robs them of that each time he mugs another grandmother on her way back from cashing her Social Security check.”

Troy's latest offense had her wincing. Even so, she felt compelled to defend him. “He's had a lot of tough breaks.”

“Wake up, lady, and smell the coffee. The boy's a hard case. He's been in and out of trouble since he was eleven.”

“Maybe because he never had anyone take the time to listen to him.”

“So've a lot of kids.” His voice, sandpaper-rough, scraped along her nerves.

She forced down her anger and looked at her hands. Her fists were clenched; deliberately, she unclenched them.

“Troy needs our help. We can't just turn our backs on him.”

“Holding him responsible for what he does isn't turning our backs on him. We can't afford to pamper him for the rest of his life.”

“I'm not talking pampering. I'm asking for a second chance for him.”

Mitch made a point of reviewing Hailey's file. “The kid's had more chances than a cat has lives. How many second chances do you want to give him?” More gently, he added, “It's not doing him any favor…letting him get off with a slap on the wrist. He needs someone to hold him accountable.”

“And you're going to be that someone.”

“Maybe.”

She held on to her temper with an effort. “Troy deserves a break.”

“Does he?” He didn't give her a chance to answer. “How about the people who are scared to leave their homes because of punks like him? Don't they deserve a break too? Or don't they count because they aren't considered underprivileged?”

“You must have been absent when the hearts were passed out, Mr. ADA.”

“You got yours. Only in your case it's a bleeding heart.”

The label was enough to have her bristling, and her chin snapped up. Social workers were charged with it frequently enough without Mitchell Armstrong adding his own criticism.

“Hey, I'm sorry,” he said, his expression softening. “That wasn't called for.”

“No,” she said quietly. “It wasn't. I care about Troy. And all the kids like him who need someone in their corner.”

“You have your job to do, Ms. O'Shaunessey. So do I.”

She must have imagined the hint of compassion she'd seen in his eyes. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Armstrong,” she said stiffly, and let herself out.

Outside, Casey pushed the air from her lungs and immediately regretted it. The exhaust-laced air that filled her lungs had her sputtering. She focused on that rather than on the infuriating man she'd just left.

Bleeding heart. The accusation wasn't a new one, but that didn't lessen its sting. Okay, so she'd struck out. That didn't mean she was out of the game. She squared her shoulders. Mr. Mitchell Armstrong had another thing coming if he thought he could get rid of her so easily.

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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

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Doctor Knows Best

Copyright © 2014 by Ann Jennings

ISBN: 978-1-61922-190-1

Cover by Kanaxa

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Original Publication by Mills & Boon: 1985

First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: October 2014

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