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“Australia.” It came out like “Aus-STRYL-ya,” exactly like it should have, and she should’ve known. She’d known enough Australians, but that had been her past life. Her other life. You didn’t run into a lot of Australians in Sinful, Montana. Except … here he was.
It had only been one word, but spoken in long, slow drawl by a tall, fit guy with a thumb hooked in his belt loop. Like a cowboy fantasy, but better.
Her thoughts were way out of line here. Time to get it together. “Is disregarding train crossing signals typical?” she asked. “In Australia? Or does the color red mean ‘go for it’ over there?”
He offered her a half-smile, the kind men gave you when they knew it worked. “Only if you’re a flamin’ galah. Which I was.”
She was not attracted to people in court. Especially notdefendantsin court. Most especially not if they were trying to charm the judge. She needed to get hold of herself. “Eight hundred ninety-one people were killed last year in accidents with trains in the United States,” she told him. “Most of them in cars. I’m sure you’d rather that you and your family don’t become a statistic.”
“No,” he said. “I’d rather not.”
“Me too.” She rapped the bench with her gavel. “Guilty. Fine of one hundred fifty dollars. Next case.”
Her mother was right. She needed to get out more. Meet new people. Harder than it sounded when you were a judge. You couldn’t exactly go dancing and pick up some guy in a bar. If she even knew how to do that. Maybe across the county line? After a personality transplant?
She was a problem-solver. She obviously had a problem. She’d just … solve it.
Somehow.
4
AN EFFORT FOR LOVE
At five-ten that afternoon, Quinn was in the judges’ restroom in the courthouse lacing up her running shoes, preparing to meet the group up on the mountain. She swam in the mornings, in the lake when she could and in the pool when the water got too cold even with a wetsuit. And twice a week, on Thursday evenings and very early Sunday mornings, she ran with the group. The BlisterSisters, they’d named themselves when they’d first come together to train for a half-marathon.
When she’d signed up on a whim at the running store last spring and had driven to the trailhead for the first time, she’d felt like she was stepping all the way out of her comfort zone. She’d never been much of a runner, and she hadn’t been part of a team in fifteen years. Now, she couldn’t believe she’d waited this long.
“Hey,” Roxanne Farnsworth said when Quinn got out of the car. “We’re the first. As usual.” Roxanne was an attorney, which might have been a conflict of interest in a bigger town, but you drew boundaries, that was all. Otherwise, Quinn would have no friends at all. “You look a little rough,” Roxanne said now. “Bad day?”
“Nope,” Quinn said, trying for unconcerned cheer. “Just a long one. Got a meeting for ChildBridge after this. Getting my head clear for it.”
“Kids in foster care … that’s tough,” Roxanne said. “There’s a reason I went into property law. Do you ever do anything that’s not a Certified Good Work? Or, you know, relax?”
“Sure I do,” Quinn said.
“Like what?”
Quinn said, “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m recreating.”
“Marginally,” Roxanne said. “Realrecreating tends to involve less sweat. Unless you’re in the Bahamas or … you know. Having somerealfun.”
Three more cars pulled in at that moment, fortunately, saving Quinn from answering. Five runners spilled out, and they started up the trail, taking it slow, getting loose. Terrell Bradford, marketing genius, and Ezra Hamill, local vet, two of the BlisterMisters they’d added over the summer, because why not? ran up front with Quinn and Roxanne, while Martin Avondale, personal assistant to the stars and Ezra’s husband, ran in back with the slower group, no doubt complaining all the way, at least until the conversation got interesting enough to distract him. Martin, he liked to inform them, was “only here for love.”
Terrell waited until the point of maximum puff, after that first half-mile straight up when you thought,Too hard. I’ll just walk it today,and didn’t, because life was about pushing through, to say over his shoulder, “Rumor has it that Mr. Aussie McHotPants was in your traffic court this morning.”
“How do you know that?” Quinn asked, upping her pace some to run right behind Terrell. “It was barely eight hours ago. You’ve been at work all day!”
“Can’t help it,” Terrell said. “I hear things. All right, actually Roxanne’s law clerk told her and she told me.”
“Yep,” Roxanne said. “The mysterious Beckett Hughes was in traffic court, after being a bad boy. Not that he couldn’t have some edge to him, and isn’t that a delicious thought. Did he break a sweat at last? Maggie told me that Martin says he’s about the coolest guy he’s ever met. Well, except for Brett Hunter himself, but the boss always has to be out in front, I guess.” Maggie Holcomb was Roxanne’s law partner, and currently running in the back. She’d only joined the group recently, and was probably complaining as much as Martin.
Boundaries,Quinn reminded herself. She was not discussing Beckett Hughes’ time in court. She wasn’t explaining about the train, she definitely wasn’t explaining about the dog, and shemostdefinitely wasn’t telling them how Beckett had stared at her about the crows as if she were off her rocker, or how he’d seemed like he couldn’t wait to get away from her at the beach, when she’d just been trying to help.Also, possibly, how she may have got a little sarcastic with him in court today, which, if it was just to keep the upper hand, in an environment where she already had every bit of the upper hand, was beneath her. So instead, she asked, “How does Martin know?”
“Because of Lily’s shop, of course,” Roxanne said. Oh. Martin helped out Lily Blackstone on occasion in Sinful Desires, her lingerie store. Which made sense, because Lily was married to Rafe Blackstone, resident Australian movie star and Martin’s employer. “Maggie went in there at lunchtime to buy somethingverysexy—she showed me, and whoosh, they have some new stuff that isfire.She bought this black lace set—bra, panty, garter belt—that’s got strings of pearls all over. Straight down the front of the panty, down the garters, around the cups of the bra, and everything. Like you couldgrabthem. Not sure I’ve got the guts to wear that in the bedroom—Bram would probably laugh—but anyway, Martin was in there helping Lily out, and he told her. Maggie, I mean.”
Quinn said, “Seriously? That’s exciting news? That somebody went to traffic court?”
Terrell said, “It’s exciting news to me. I’m a single gay Black man in small-town Montana. I take my entertainment where I find it. If Martin knows, you must know, Ezra. Tell more.”
