Page 117
Court is adjourned. Colbeck leaves. Aldridge and his people leave. Tannenbaum leaves.
“What does that mean?” Clara asks when it’s just us—her, Mac, and me—as I pack my papers into my leather folio.
“It means he’s likely going to grant their standing to proceed to a full hearing.”
Her shoulders slump. That lack of energy does something to me.
“Can we still win?” she asks, her voice unsteady. “Tell me the truth, Taya.”
“I always tell you the truth, Clara.” I give her a wan smile. “But I’ve told you from the start that there are no guarantees.”
Clara is quiet for a long time and then she frowns. “What was that supplemental decree thing they had?”
Mac lets out a cough. I look at him. “Clara, darlin’, we need to examine this new evidence, and then we can give you a clearer picture.”
She pulls her jacket closer. “I’m just so tired.”
“Clara —”
“I need some time,” she cuts me off and picks up her bag. “I need to go home, hug my kids, sit in my kitchen, and decide if I’m going to keep fighting this.” She faces me. “I’m sorry, Taya. I just need the time. I’ll call you.”
I watch her walk away—dejected, exhausted—and I hate myself for letting her down, for trusting Mason Brooks, for giving him parts of me that he doesn’t deserve and realizing too late.
“Come on, kid, let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Ah—yeah. Do you need to call Amos, or I can take you home,” I say absently, looking around the courtroom, aware of the numbness settling inside me. That temporary shell shock when your life explodes.
“I texted him; he’s on his way.”
We walk out, and at this point, Mac is more spry than I am despite his age and his concussion, probably because a bomb hasn’t gone off in his heart.
I stand still in the corridor. I look at the bulletin board. The bar association notices. A flyer for a continuing legal education seminar in Grand Junction. The water fountain at the end of the hall.
Mac puts his hands on my shoulders and shakes me gently. “This shit happens.” He kisses my forehead. “Take some time. Then we’ll come up with a plan.”
A plan. Clara can’t keep going on. I made a mistake, and she’s going to lose her ranch—her husband’s legacy, the thing she wants to preserve for Dakota and Eli.
I look at Mac, tears filling my eyes. “I know how they got that supplemental decree, Mac.”
He nods. Waits.
I swallow.
“I found it. You know, a couple of weeks ago in a microfiche, the only copy. I was thinking about how to handle it and talk to you…and….”
“And?”
“I wasn’t going to do anything illegal, Mac, I—”
“Kid, I know that. So, how did they get their hands on it?’
I close my eyes and draw in a breath. “I told Mason about it.”
Mac stills, then his lips thin. “The sumbitch booked out of town in a big hurry—is this why?”
I shrug. “That’s what the evidence says.”
“Never looked right as a land surveyor,” he mutters, his nostrils flaring. “You found out just now…in court.”
