Faith Hope and Love (A Homespun Romance) (2 page)

"I have drawn up a deed gifting Gordon half the Diamond Bar.  I have also formed a trust for him, with all the money my brother
and his wife left.  In the event of my death, while I'm single, Gordon will be my legal heir as well."

Luke hated the way it came out.  He wasn't trying out for sainthood.  He was just doing what had to be done.

Myrna wasn't through yet.  "Mr. Summers what did you do after the tragedy?"

"I took a month's leave of absence from my job."

"To do what, Mr. Summers?"

"To be with the baby."

Did the judge have children?  Did she know how much a baby could miss warm loving parents?  Gordie had fretted, lost weight, cried for no reason at all.  His baby eyes had turned to the door every time someone had come in.  Searching for his parents.  For the cherishing, comforting warmth of their presence. 

"Why did you feel the need to take care of the baby yourself?"  Myrna's eyes told him he was doing beautifully.  Strange he had never noticed how cold blue eyes that particular shade could be.  "Surely someone else, a housekeeper, would have done just as well?"

"I have a housekeeper to help me.  Hannah Rodriguez helped raise Rob and me.  I just wanted to be with Gordie." 

"And now the one month is over, do you plan on going back to work?"

Myrna was sharp enough to cut herself.

"No.  I plan on working from the ranch.  Luckily in my line of work it can be done."

"Isn't it true that this will affect your chances of promotion?  That you were next in line for a vice-presidency?"

"Yes."

She was really going all out.

"Isn't it also true that your boss agreed to your proposal if you took a pay cut?"

Damn.  She was trying to make him appear a hero.  There was no need for that.  "Yes."

"So, why are you doing all this?" 
Self-confidence dripped from every word.

"Because I want more time with Gordie." 

Myrna's smile was a masterpiece of triumph.  "That will be all your honor."

The opposing counsel approached him.  He was asked if he was married, if he planned on marriage in the near future.  None of the questions had one quarter the impact of Myrna's.  Luke realized the man was even more ineffective than he had first suspected.

Rachel Carstairs was called to the bench.

Luke frowned.  He could have sworn she swayed.  The little fool.  Was she drunk?  On drugs?  She straightened so quickly, he didn't think anyone else had noticed.

Dyan Jenks was questioning her, "Ms. Carstairs would you tell the court where you were when you got the news of your cousin and her husband's death?"

"Bangladesh."  She cleared her throat.

"When did you get the news?"

"The thirtieth of September." 

"Why did it take almost nine weeks for the news of your cousin's death to reach you?"

"Letters always take a while to get to us.  This one took longer than usual because we were in an area cut off by floods."

"What was your first reaction?"

"That I had to get back, take care of the baby."

"But you couldn't leave right away?"

"No.  We were in an acute relief area.  It took another five to six weeks after I got the news for the situation to be brought under some sort of control and extra help to arrive.  I left as soon as I could."

Jenks nodded as if he'd just scaled Everest.  "The defense rests your honor." 

The naive idiot.  He hadn't even scratched the surface yet.  Luke's hand tightened into a fist as Myrna got to her feet.  A bloodhound closing in on
its quarry couldn't have been more eager.

"Ms. Carstairs, were you and your cousin very close?"

A pause.  "No."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"When I was twelve."

"So, you were not at her wedding?"

"No."

"Ms. Carstairs will you tell the court what work you do?"

"I'm a medical aide with MRA, an organization that provides medical relief in disaster areas all over the world."

"And when did you join MRA?"

"Four and a half years ago."

"Since then you have not returned to the States, even on vacation.  Isn't that right?

"Yes."

"You have to look for a job here don't you?"

"Yes."

"Tell me, Ms. Carstairs, do you own any property in the United States?  An apartment, a condo, anything you can call home?"

"No."

"Ms. Carstairs have you ever taken care of a baby, other than in the course of your work?"

"No."

Luke shifted uneasily in his seat. 
Each reply was a nail in her coffin.  Myrna's tones dripped honey as she moved in for the kill.

"Then how do you plan on taking care of your cousin's son?"

"I can learn."  The statement held the punch of a feather.

"What are your job prospects, Ms. Carstairs?  What will you and the baby live on while you get some kind of basic training?  Who will you leave the baby with while you go to school?  To work?" 

"I have some money of my own."

"So, your plan is to take the baby from where he is well cared for, from people who love him, leave him with a stranger, or in a day care center while you work.  Do you think you can earn enough to rent a place and support yourself and a child, or do you plan on claiming welfare?"

"I can manage on what I have."

"Have you resigned from MRA, Ms. Carstairs?"

"No, I haven't thought as far....."

"Exactly," Myrna cut in triumphantly, "You haven't thought enough about anything.  No further questions your honor."

Luke expected anger, defeat, frustration.  Some shred of emotion.  He wasn't prepared for stoicism.  There was no expression whatsoever on Rachel Carstairs' face as she stepped down.  Who or what, Luke wondered thunderstruck, had taught her that kind of self-control?

Both lawyers presented closing statements.  The judge declared a fifteen minute recess before rendering her decision.

He heard Jenks ask her if she'd like to step outside, get a cup of coffee. 

"No thank you."

Her voice bothered him.  It didn't go with the rest of her.  It was rusty, chipped, oddly husky.  It was in his blood, a teasing torment.  Like a saloon girl's in a fifties western. 

Her stance bothered him.  She could have been carved into Mt. Rushmore.  Not once had she looked around the courtroom, shown any interest in her surroundings.  He had been curious about her.  Damn it, why wasn't she the same way? 

The judge's decision was explicit.  "Ms. Carstairs, I'm afraid wanting a child does not assure good parenting these days.  Your lifestyle is not suited to an infant.  The court feels of the two of you, Mr. Summers will be the better guardian.  He will, I'm sure, be more than generous as far as visiting rights are concerned."  Something in Rachel Carstairs' expression pierced the judge's formality.  Her glance softened.  "I'm sure on reflection you will agree with me that what Gordie needs is a settled home.  Look at it this way.  Instead of one, Gordie now has two caring adults, interested in his welfare.  If you could both combine forces with his interests at heart,
everyone will be a winner."

Myrna's stranglehold, the smacking buss on his mouth, caught Luke off-balance.  By the time he got away from her, the bench beside theirs was empty.

He rushed out of the courtroom.  The silent corridor yielded no clue to her whereabouts.  On the steps of the courthouse he found Dyan Jenks staring at the tail lights of a disappearing cab.  Luke caught at the man's sleeve.

"Yes?"

"Ms. Carstairs.  I need her address."

Dyan Jenks was not a good loser.  "That's confidential information," he said pompously.

"I have some effects of her cousin's that she might like.  Family mementos and so on.  Give it to me."  Luke was through explanations.  Into demanding.

Dyan hesitated.  The man in front of him didn't seem the kind to take no for an answer.  Impatience snapped in the navy blue eyes.  Irritation crackled from every pore.  The clenched fist didn't look as if it could stay in the pocket much longer. 

No one was paying him to be a hero. 

"Are you familiar with State Street?"

Rachel knew it shouldn't hurt so much to lose something that had never been hers.  Looking back now she had done it all wrong. 

Wrong clothes, wrong lawyer, wrong attitude.  She was so full of hindsight she could write a how-not-to book.

A wry smile skimmed her lips as she thought of the hurdles she'd cleared in the last forty eight hours, the final result.  She had made it on time against innumerable odds.  And lost.

Losing was a comfort zone, something she had become used to.  All her life. 

Leaning against the black vinyl seat, Rachel let the events of the past few weeks race by her.

The first thing she had done after hearing of the
tragedy was send a telegram to the ranch, telling the brother she was arriving to care for the baby.  Chris' mother had died two years ago.  Her father was in a home for the terminally ill.  As far as Rachel knew, she was Chris' only living relative capable of caring for the baby. 

Luke Summers hadn't shared the opinion.  His answering telegram had been equally long and explicit. 
‘No need to return.  Gordie is my responsibility now.  Best he grows up at the Diamond Bar.  I intend to start adoption proceedings immediately.  Very nice of you to offer.’

Nice
hadn't been why she wanted Gordie.  News of the tragedy had plunged her into the darkest despair.  The one person who had cared for her had been snatched away.  In the blackness of her grief a pinprick of light had appeared, illuminating the path she had to take now.  By caring for Chris' son she could repay the one bright spot in her life:  her cousin's love and friendship.  Gordie would receive all the love stored in her heart for so long and finally she would have someone of her very own. 

The brief smile that touched her lips mocked the pain she felt.  Judge Wentworth's verdict was a rerun of her life story.  Fate had again placed her outside the portal of a loving one on one relationship.  The firm reminder that she didn't meet the criteria for membership in that particular club had been issued so often it shouldn't hurt at all. 

But it did. 

She had to admire the skill with which Luke Summers' lawyer had made her look like a stupid, selfish woman.  She wasn't entirely ignorant about a baby's needs.  Nursing
sick children had taught her a great deal about them.  Often a really sick infant had been left with them for a couple of days, and it had been Rachel who had willingly played substitute mother. 

Nor was she as destitute as they had made her out to be.  Her father had left her a lump sum of money.  It would have provided for a place of her own and live in help.  Gordie wouldn't have lacked for anything.  She would have seen he got the best.

Acting with the purest of instincts didn't buy one insurance against failure though.  The scene in the courtroom had left her with a bad taste in her mouth, a feeling of absolute inadequacy.  The sooner she got back to the only work she was good at, the better.

Rachel bit her lip.  By losing the case she felt she had let Chris down and lost the opportunity to have someone to love.  Someone of her very own.  What was it Chris had said to her in one of her letters after the birth of her son?  "I want you to be Gordie's godmother.  You're the only one who will fit the role.  We'll make it official when you come home." 

Now, she wouldn't even have that.

The stereo in the cab blared out some discordant sounds.  The latest music?  She supposed so.  The cabbie whistled while he checked the road for any tiny gap to leap into.  Not that they made much progress but evidently the man thought weaving was more fun than standing still.  As Rachel looked out at the streets of Santa Barbara the scenes blurred.  Her mind insisted on re-tracing the events that had culminated in today's defeat.

When she had shown the telegram to Dr.Tim Atwell, the lead member of the team, he had told her she needed a good lawyer.  Dyan Jenks was the result of a long distance telephone call to a friend of his.  She had hired him to start legal proceedings for custody of Christina's son.  Hiring a lawyer long distance hadn't been the best thing to do, but it had been the only option available.  Dyan had been chosen by Tom Atwell's friend because he was Dr. Atwell's friend's nephew.  No one had mentioned he was still wet behind the ears. 

But blaming him was no use.  She had lost on her own account.

Like a rat on a treadmill, her mind refused to leave dejection alone.  The reminder that she was one of those destined to prove a human being could be an island, stung.  Rachel wondered detachedly how long it would take her to learn her lesson, stop these futile attempts to have someone to belong to.