Courting Trouble: Powder Springs, #1

By Maggie Marr

Born on the wrong side of the tracks, Tulsa McGrath left small town Powder Springs, Colorado the minute she graduated high school and never looked back. Until now. As a well-known, top-notch family attorney in LA, Tulsa loves her adopted home and is quite happy with her career. Dealing in divorce law, Tulsa has watched a multitude of celebrity marriages end. A side-effect of her career as LA's hottest divorce attorney, she considers herself immune to love. But when her sister Savannah gets locked into a tough custody battle for her daughter Ash, Tulsa has no choice but to return home to save her niece. There's only one problem: Cade Montgomery, an old flame and now her opposing counsel in a courtroom custody showdown. Sparks and verbal barbs will fly as two lawyers and former lovers reignite a passion that has never disappeared. Two lawyers who never lose may discover that with this case, the price for a win is just too high.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Margaret Marr
• Release date: Dec 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781386418399

Book preview

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COURTING TROUBLE

By Maggie Marr

This book is for my mother, Margaret L. Marr, who gave me my life

and

for my niece, Lauren Harrison, who saved it.

Praise for Courting Trouble

"Courting Trouble has all the elements I love: family drama, strong characters, and sizzling heat. I loved Courting Trouble!"

—Jennifer Probst, New York Times bestselling author of The Marriage Bargain and The Marriage Trap

"Family secrets, buried truths, and long-lost love—Maggie Marr gives us all that and more! Courting Trouble makes facing the difficult past absolutely delicious!"

—Megan Crane, author of Once More With Feeling and I Love The 80's

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Maggie Marr

Praise for Hollywood Girls Club

An Excerpt from Hollywood Girls Club

Praise for Secrets of the Hollywood Girls Club

An Excerpt from Secrets of the Hollywood Girls Club

’Praise for Can’t Buy Me Love

An Excerpt from Can’t Buy Me Love

An Excerpt from Hollywood Hit

Chapter One

Savannah McGrath pushed open the Jeep door and the shriek of old metal tore through the frigid mountain air. A gray pall hung heavy in the sky—no sun—no blue—not even the scent of snow. Her legs trembled and sent a shiver up her spine. The shiver shifted and hardened in her belly into a thick, sick feeling. Her hand tightened around the butt of the Winchester 1897 and her thumb caressed the initials that had been carved into the heavy wood stock nearly a century before by a dime-store pocket knife.

Grandma Margaret always said the only difference between a possum and a man was that the possum hissed before you shot it. Savannah’d seen a possum hiss—this morning she intended to find out about the man.

Savannah’s breath, like puffs of smoke, drifted into the early morning sky. She trudged across the Hopkinses’ front yard—a foul-looking patch of dirt and rock—past a rusted snowmobile missing both skis that waited on cinder blocks for a rescue that would never arrive. She climbed the porch steps. Rickety and rotted, the wood creaked beneath her. On the porch crumpled beer cans lay scattered beside a ripped green leather sofa. The Hopkinses didn’t take much interest in caring for things, including their family.

Anger surged in Savannah. Anger fueled by seventeen years of neglect. Anger fueled by her daughter. Anger fueled by Bobby Hopkins. An anger that rushed through her head and caused a pounding within her brain nearly as loud as her fist pounding on Bobby’s front door.

Bobby, you get your no-good ass out here!

A shadow flickered on the other side of the picture window, but no face emerged.

I know you’re in there! Savannah yelled. I’m not leaving until we settle this. You hear me, Bobby?

She pressed her nose against the cool glass of the picture window. Silent images flickered across the unwatched TV in the darkened living room. Her heart hung heavy in her chest with the emptiness of the room, with the squalor of the house, with the absence of Bobby and his continued cowardice toward their daughter.

Savannah turned away from the window, her grim feelings like gravity on the corners of her mouth. She stomped down the steps. Her gaze locked on the window just above the garage and she backed into the front yard. Seventeen years before, Savannah had thought she discovered the cure to all that ailed her within that bedroom—a lover, a friend, a partner for her life—but what Savannah had really found was a whole lot of sex and very little contraception.

She’s mine, Bobby! Savannah called out into the early morning air. Do you understand? I raised her! You ran your ass off to Alaska and I raised her! Her cheeks were too cold to feel her tears. On her tongue the salt tasted bitter. Damn you, Bobby Hopkins.

Her heart broke wide and pain thrashed out at her ribs and squeezed at her lungs—so tight and so hard that air burst from her lips and she struggled to draw in a breath. The pain wasn’t for her, the pain wasn’t for Bobby, the pain wasn’t even for Savannah’s long-lost, once-upon-a-time young love—the pain—this pain—that crippled her and stole the breath from her body was for her nearly grown daughter, Ash.

Shame. Embarrassment. Sadness. She and Bobby conveyed those tokens upon their only child much like Savannah’s mother had bequeathed to her. Savannah’s mouth clenched closed with a force that might shred enamel from her molars.

Dammit, Bobby would speak to her. Savannah raised the butt of the gun to her shoulder and sighted on the bedroom window. Her finger settled against the cold metal of the trigger. She wouldn’t let Bobby cower and hide like a cur. He would answer for what he’d done to her, to them, to Ash. He’d answer for what he did in the past and what he was trying to do now. She wouldn’t kill him, but she’d flush out the son of a bitch.

Savannah raised the shotgun’s barrel and aimed just over the roof. She squeezed tight on the trigger and the gun butt slammed into her shoulder. A shaker shingle exploded off the roof.

After the blast of two more shotgun shells and the eruption of two more shingles from the Hopkinses’ roof, a black-and-white SUV rolled to a near-silent stop. No flashers. No siren. Quiet and still, just like that cold Rocky-Mountain morning before Savannah’s shotgun blast.

Self-possessed and without fear, Sheriff Jennings slowly stepped from his SUV. Morning, Savannah.

Wayne, Savannah said. She didn’t turn. She didn’t lay down her gun. Instead, she pressed the butt to her shoulder and considered whether she wanted to squeeze off another shot.

I’m gonna have to ask you to lay down that gun.

Savannah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Adrenaline pounded through her body. Her heart hammered within her chest to the righteous beat of a lover scorned. She pointed the gun toward the ground.

No problem, Wayne. Savannah leaned forward and laid the gun on the ground as if settling a baby into a bassinette. When she stood she raised both hands in the air. Not because Wayne told her to, but because she figured that’s what you did when you got arrested.

Thank you, Savannah, Wayne said. Now I need you to back away from the gun.

Savannah stepped back—away from Grandma Margaret’s gun, away from the Hopkinses’ house, away from her anger.

I hate to ask you to do this Savannah, seeing as you’re wearing nice pants and all, but you’ve gotta kneel on the ground and put your hands behind your head.

With her hands raised, Savannah half turned toward Wayne. Really? Savannah asked. Her limp shoulders slumped forward; the McGrath fight drained out of her. Her rage deflated like a pinpricked balloon. "Can’t you just come on over here and cuff me?

It’s procedure, Wayne said.

Savannah knelt onto the ground. The cold wet mud pressed through the material to her knees. With the click of closing handcuffs and the weight of cold steel on her wrists, shame lodged in her heart. Savannah’s bottom lip quivered—what had she just done?

Her head hung low as Wayne led her to his SUV. She couldn’t meet the gaze of the looky-loos now gathered across the street in Linda Landry’s front yard. Her mass of brown curls fell about her cheeks, but she couldn’t hide—Ash couldn’t hide. Growing up, Savannah and her sister had endured taunts about their mama’s bad behavior, and now Savannah had inflicted a similar humiliation onto Ash.

Damn it, Savannah muttered.

What’s that? Wayne settled behind the wheel and met Savannah’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

Just the hell to pay Ash will have. Savannah looked across the street at the women wearing nightgowns and whispering behind cupped hands.

Kids can be cruel, Wayne said.

Both Wayne and Savannah knew from experience just how cruel the kids of Powder Springs, Colorado, could be to each other.

Savannah fought the humiliation that settled in her chest and the tears that brewed in her eyes. Wonder what Grandma Margaret thinks today? As if she might erase the last ten minutes, Savannah closed tight her eyes and shook her head. Me standing on Bobby Hopkins’s front lawn, shooting at the sky?

She probably thinks you’re one strong McGrath woman standing up for your own.

Savannah pressed her lips into a hard line and fought back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. At least Wayne didn’t think she was half-cracked, even if she was sitting in the back of his police cruiser with her hands in cuffs.

Savannah’s sister wouldn’t share Wayne’s sentiment. Tulsa would tell Savannah how dramatic she was, how bad Savannah’s behavior was for Ash, how Savannah had jeopardized custody of Ash to release her own anger.

That was once Savannah told Tulsa Ash’s custody was even in jeopardy.

Tulsa coming back from LA? Wayne asked.

Savannah locked eyes with Wayne in the rearview mirror. She is now.

Chapter Two

Albie Hecht, you are the biggest prick on this planet! The vowels swirled long and slow from Sonia’s mouth with her thick Brazilian accent.

Well, if I’m the biggest prick what does that make you? Perhaps the biggest cu—

Hey! Tulsa held up her hand. There were certain words she didn’t allow in her law firm. Let’s keep it courteous, shall we? Cool and sharp-edged, Tulsa’s voice drew a line that both her client, Albie, and his soon-to-be ex-wife crossed at their peril.

Sonia clutched Sprinkles, the couple’s pampered pup, closer to her cleavage, soothing the pooch with the stroke of her hand and the bounty of her breast.

Opposing counsel, David Strotmeyer, placed his elbow onto the slick mahogany conference-room table and settled his chin into his palm. We’ve come to terms on everything: the home in Aspen, the pied-à-terre in Paris—

—the original Picasso, Tulsa broke in.

But there is one final matter.

Everyone’s gaze landed on Sonia. The lynchpin to the success of this multi-million-dollar divorce settlement quivered on her lap.

Sprinkles.

"Can we please reach some sort of agreement with regards to Sprinkles?"

We must come to terms over Sprinkles, Tulsa said. "If you truly want this marriage to be finished."

The jaw muscle in Albie’s cheek flinched. He crossed his arms and turned his chair ever so slightly away from the table.

You do want this marriage to be over, don’t you? Tulsa’s gaze bounced from a closed-off Albie—arms crossed, gaze averted, to Sonia, who leaned forward while Sprinkles’s tongue lapped at her lips.

Tulsa sucked in her cheeks and stifled a gag reflex deep in her throat.

He does not love Sprinkles! Sonia shot out, her voice filled with thick-sounding consonants. She flipped her luxurious black hair over her shoulder. He only wants to have her! To control her! Albie has no love for any woman! Sonia’s hand sliced through the air as if chopping a carrot top. Sprinkles jumped in response, the tiniest whimper escaping from her throat. We are merely trophies for him to put on a shelf.

David started, This case is—

Is that what you think? The force of Albie’s words propelled his arms—his torso—across the table toward Sonia. That I wanted to control you? That you were only a trophy?

Like a magnet to metal, Sonia leaned toward Albie, her voluptuous lips pursed not in disdain, but in near arousal. Her eyes begged for more from her mate—more words—more emotion—more time.

A breath heavy with frustration escaped Tulsa. She’d often witnessed the look now on Sonia’s face—on innumerable soon-to-be ex-wives. Sonia still wanted Albie.

Tulsa clasped her hands together. Her gaze landed first on Albie, with his eyes wide and hopeful he searched Sonia’s face for the tiniest hint of a rekindled romance. Tulsa next turned to her opposing counsel, his eyes heavy-lidded and weary from eight months of never-ending settlement negotiations. Finally Tulsa looked up at the ceiling—smooth and flat—just like she willed her face to remain.

All I ever wanted was to give you everything, Albie continued, his voice a hopeful plea emphatic with the emotion contained in the death of a marriage. Why do you think I did all those crappy films? Action movies? When have I ever done an action movie? I’m a character actor. I went to Yale, for God’s sake. I did them for the payday. Albie’s voice softened, his shoulders dropped, his palms faced up on the table as if he were begging to be understood. I did it for you.

Sonia’s bottom lip quivered and Sprinkles shivered in her arms. For me?

Yeah, baby, all of it for you. Albie rushed around the conference table. In less than a second he and Sonia were lip-locked.

David scooped up Sonia’s file from the table and tucked it into his briefcase. So much for the visitation schedule, he mumbled toward Tulsa.

I wouldn’t bet the farm, Tulsa said.

Marital mini-reconciliations usually lasted just long enough for the couple’s raging pheromones to release. Once Albie and Sonia realized that regardless of the hot sex, the same problems existed in their relationship, Tulsa and David would again haggle over where Sprinkles spent Christmas.

I’ll see you in about two weeks, Tulsa said.

Albie and Sonia pressed their foreheads together while Sprinkles licked both their chins. She’d give the lovebirds a couple of minutes before Tulsa had her paralegal, Sylvia, give them a swift kick out the door.

Tulsa escorted David into reception, shook his hand, and did a quick U-turn back toward her office. Her quick strides caused her long, barely tamed sable curls to bounce about her shoulders. She’d given up on trying to tame the mass of McGrath hair and accepted her long dark locks as another part of the unruly McGrath legacy.

Jo, Tulsa’s law partner, stood just outside the conference room and watched Sonia, Albie, and Sprinkles canoodle on the other side of the glass. Her black hair was pulled into an all-business bun and her face was uncreased by lines left from emotion. Guess you can withdraw the petition. Her voice contained the tiniest bit of judgment. Jo maintained an extreme dislike of the gray area that accompanied indecision.

Give it a couple of days, Tulsa said, continuing down the hall toward her office. She was unconvinced this marital reunion would stick. In Los Angeles, love and marriage were as ephemeral as a dewdrop in a desert.

Once inside her office, Tulsa sifted through the magazines, letters, and bills that Sylvia had placed on the corner of her desk. On the bottom of the pile was the California Bar Association’s monthly magazine. Tulsa’s own big blue eyes stared back at her from the cover. Arms crossed, with a smile that could only be described as cocky yet knowing, she’d been named California Divorce Attorney of the year.

She turned the magazine facedown—she didn’t need to have her own eyes staring up at her all day—she saw enough of her face when she looked in the mirror. Tulsa pushed the magazine to the far side of her desk and pulled a depo transcript from a file. Of course she was good at her job—she’d grown up surrounded by emotionally overwrought people and now, for giant sums of money, she represented them.

I think we have a problem.

Tulsa closed her eyes. A chill chased down her spine and balled in her belly. She looked at Sylvia, her paralegal, who stood in the doorway of Tulsa’s office. A hard-core veteran of the divorce wars, Sylvia was calm in the face of screaming spouses, blubbering ex-wives, and phone-hurtling opposing counsels. If Sylvia said there was a problem then there was definitely a near-cataclysmic storm on the horizon.

Sonia and Albie are still in the conference room? Tulsa asked, a hopeful lilt in her voice.

If only, Sylvia said, her words accompanied by a slow and nearly imperceptible head shake. She took a deep breath and tilted her head to the side. You’re going to wish that was the problem.

*

Life didn’t go as planned.

Cade sipped coffee from his travel mug and steadied the pickup’s steering wheel with his knee. Once upon a time, Cade had escaped Powder Springs for a world-class legal career, a beautiful woman, and the biggest city in America, but now the career, the city, and the woman were gone.

He slowly drove through downtown Powder Springs. Pine trees jutted toward the bright blue Colorado sky in the tiny park that surrounded the Powder Springs Courthouse. He tapped his brakes at the stop sign at the corner of Main and First and turned right. Red and blue flashers lit up his rearview mirror and a siren wailed. Cade pulled to the right to allow the cop to pull past, but instead the SUV remained glued to Cade’s tail.

Are you kidding? Cade mumbled. He pulled to a stop in front of the courthouse and across from his office. He rolled down his window. This had to be a joke.

Already scribbling on his ticket pad, Wayne approached. Morning, Cade, Wayne said. License and registration.

What exactly did I do? Cade bit out. And second, you know exactly who I am.

First, you ran that stop sign at Second and Main—

"Ran the stop sign! Are you blind? I stopped. Not only did I stop, I came to a complete stop. What’s the problem, Wayne—"

—and second, Wayne continued, undeterred, I need your license and registration. He set his lips in a grim line to emphasize his command, yet his eyes twinkled with a mischief that indicated this traffic stop might be the high point of his day. Please.

Locked in a stare-down with Wayne, Cade finally broke his gaze and leaned across the seat. There was no way of talking Wayne out of this ticket. He opened the truck dash and dug through unused fast-food napkins, sugar packets, and receipts. Beneath a plastic fork his hand finally landed on the truck’s registration. He handed the paper to Wayne without a glance. Cade slid his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out his license.

Wayne’s eyes drifted from the registration to Cade’s license, now clipped to the top of his ticket pad. This is from New York.

That’s where I live.

Wayne’s eyes traveled upward and met Cade’s squinted eyes, hot with irritation, Live? Or lived? You’ve been in Powder Springs for nearly a year.

Against my better judgment, yes. Yes, I have. Cade drew a deep breath and willed the tension that gripped his shoulder blades to release. And your point?

You have six months once you move to change your license. That’s another ticket.

The muscle tightness gripped harder and sent a hot jet of pain from Cade’s shoulders down his spine.

If you bring in your Colorado license to your court date, the judge will dismiss the ticket.

Cade held his breath, his eyes settled on Wayne as he continued to write out tickets. Cade fought back his desire to reach out the truck window and strangle Wayne. He’d forgotten to change his license, or perhaps he’d hoped there would be no need—that he would in fact return to New York.

Looks like your New York license is expired.

Three’s the charm. Cade held out his hand for his paper bouquet. Not only did he have a mountain of legal work on his desk at the law firm but he’d also acquired his own legal mess. Cade started to stuff the tickets into the truck dash on top of the plastic fork.

You’ll need to get your things and step out of the truck.

A jolt of surprise barreled through Cade’s chest. He whipped his head around to face Wayne. You want to frisk me?

You can’t drive. Wayne pulled open Cade’s door. Give me your keys.

Who says I can’t drive? These, Cade said, shaking the tickets still clamped in his fist, are the first tickets I’ve gotten in fifteen years.

Your license isn’t valid.

The temporary gratification Cade might feel at slugging Wayne was outweighed by the inconvenience of spending an entire day in jail. He grabbed his briefcase and stepped out of his truck before handing Wayne his keys.

Go get your license, then come by the jail and I’ll give you your keys. A hint of remorse reverberated in Wayne’s thick voice, although the corners of his mouth turned up with a barely contained smile that seemed to say ‘gotcha.’

I’m supposed to meet with a client in forty-five minutes.

Then you might want to hustle up. Wayne lumbered toward his SUV. DMV opens in ten minutes.

Cade’s entire morning had just become one big hassle.

This is how you treat your brother? Cade yelled.

Half brother, Wayne called. Just think what I’d do to you if we had the same dad.

*

I leave in an hour. Tulsa’s tone was staccato and bore little emotion—no judgment, no remorse—only the conveyance of her intent to her two partners.

This is a horrible time for you to leave. Jo leaned against the credenza in Tulsa’s office. Her face was placid and her voice calm, but a tension underscored Jo’s words. A tension akin to a lioness ready to spring for her prey.

This is family. Emma settled onto Tulsa’s office couch and slipped off her periwinkle-blue kitten heels. She tucked her bare feet beneath her and brushed back a tendril of blond hair from her cheek. She doesn’t have a choice.

Jo searched the room with her eyes as if trying to find reason within the room. We’ve got five new cases coming our way and two of them are heaters, not to mention our regular case load—

"It’s Tulsa’s family, Emma interrupted and this time she emphasized the F word. Jo, you have three sisters and two brothers; you know about family."

Jo tilted her head to the side and let her gaze glance across the ceiling, her irritation palpable. The shrug of her shoulder indicated that she finally acknowledged Tulsa leaving for Powder Springs wasn’t by choice, but an obligation.

This was a tough one for Jo. After a decade as an assistant district attorney, she was all business, all the time—well, nearly all the time—she had a definite soft spot where Emma and Tulsa and her own family were concerned.

Sylvia sent both of you memos about my court appearances for the next couple of—

Emma’s right. Jo’s eyes were softer, friendlier. "We can handle it. We will handle it. What do you think? A couple of days?"

Tulsa caught Jo’s hopeful gaze. She wasn’t sure how long Savannah and Ash needed her in Powder Springs, but it was definitely more than a couple days.

Weeks, Tulsa said, maybe even a month.

A grimace breached the stone wall of Jo’s face. A month?

We’ll handle it, Emma said.

Although they were all around the same age and friends since law school, Tulsa had started the firm and then came Emma and finally Jo. Less prickly than Jo and more savvy than Emma, Tulsa always handled the high-profile cases and the media.

Full of purpose, Sylvia rushed into Tulsa’s office. A red leather laptop bag bounced against her hip and in her hand she carried a file.

Tulsa’s stomach collapsed with the block of dread now wedged in the pit of her belly. How could she maintain her practice and save her family? She wanted to help Savannah, she wanted to save Ash, she wanted to be a good sister and devoted aunt, but she didn’t want to go to Powder Springs, Colorado, to accomplish these goals.

I loaded your laptop with everything you need. Sylvia reached out and hitched the laptop-case strap over Tulsa’s shoulder. Basically, your entire office is on this computer.

Well not everything, Tulsa said.

What do you mean? I put—

"—I mean you, Sylvia. Tulsa gathered her friends into her gaze, You, and Emma, and Jo."

Savannah and Ash need you, Emma said. We’ll be fine.

Tulsa appreciated Emma’s compassion and reassurance, she even appreciated Jo’s pragmatism and realism, and she especially appreciated Sylvia’s organization and dedication. Right now, though, what she didn’t appreciate was being yanked out of LA to clean up her sister’s mess.

Did you get the pleading for Ash’s custody case?

That, Sylvia said, waving the one file she held in her hand, is a bit of a problem. She flipped the file open for Tulsa. I’ve been on the phone with the clerk in the Powder Springs Courthouse for two hours and so far they’ve only managed to fax me the signature page for the pleadings.

Who’s the attorney? Tulsa tilted her head toward the page.

Which small-town bumpkin practicing in Powder Springs had agreed to represent Bobby Hopkins, a deadbeat dad who hadn’t been a part of her niece’s life? Her eyes fluttered down the page to the signature line.

Her heart quickened in her chest and blood thundered through her head. What the hell? Tulsa peered more closely at that giant C and M that ate up the line dedicated to opposing counsel’s signature. A clamminess chased by a tingle spread from her fingertips to her palms.

Cade Montgomery. Her mind spun and her chest tightened with his name on her lips. How could Cade represent Bobby Hopkins? He was married and he lived and practiced in New York.

You know him? Sylvia asked.

I thought I did, Tulsa whispered. The Cade Montgomery that Tulsa knew wouldn’t subject her or her family to any more pain—especially pain doled out by his family. A tangled knot of emotions pulled tighter in Tulsa’s chest. We went to school together.

Describing her relationship with Cade Montgomery by saying We went to school together was akin to saying Romeo and Juliet were childhood friends. She ran her tongue over her lips and breathed—she willed her heart rate to a more normal speed, willed the pounding in her head to cease.

Tulsa’s teeth bit into her bottom lip. She didn’t want to be opposing counsel in a case where Cade Montgomery represented Bobby Hopkins. She didn’t want to be in the same town as Cade Montgomery. Hell, she didn’t want to be in the same state.

You better go, Sylvia said. You’ve got twenty minutes to get to LAX.

Sylvia’s words yanked Tulsa back to the present. She grabbed her bag and shifted the laptop case higher on her shoulder. Her eyes drifted around her office, across the faces of Jo and Emma and Sylvia. The faces of her colleagues and three best friends. There was compassion on their faces and also steely resolve. Tulsa’s heart pitched forward. This was her support network—this was the family she’d built for herself in Los Angeles—and now she would be so very far from all of them.

Emma rose from the couch. We’re here when you need us. She encapsulated Tulsa in a hug. Jo nodded her head—her hard-faced demeanor looked as if it might crumble.

Morning meeting, Skype? Tulsa steadied her voice in an attempt to quash the unchecked emotions bouncing around the