Leave it to Max (Lori's Classic Love Stories Volume 1) (7 page)

She might resemble a black-haired,
green-eyed, luscious-bodied Barbie, but she possessed the savvy of
the street and brains worthy of a Supreme Court justice. Livy often
wondered why Kim had settled for a career as a bridesmaid and not a
bride—but if she hadn’t, Livy would be out the best paralegal in
Georgia.

Folks had often made the mistake of taking
Kim at face value. She promptly chewed up such fools and spit them
out like sunflower seeds. It really was fun to watch.

Kim giggled a second time, bringing Livy’s
attention back to the problem at hand. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re not representing the DUI. Your client
is the pig farmer.”

“Why is that?”

“Because the pig farmer is Herbert Hoff.”

There was little Livy could say to that
revelation beyond “Great.”

Though Livy’s specialty was family law, once
she handled a family’s law, they often saw her as their utility
lawyer. In other words, she got called to handle most any legal
entanglement her former clients got into because they trusted her.
If Livy believed she could help them, she did. Trust was a terrible
thing to waste.

“What’s Herb’s problem?”

“Seems his prize sow got killed in the
accident.”

“And?”

“That's a hardship. She would have had litter
upon litter...”

“Blah-blah-blah.”

“Pain and suffering, lost income.” Kim
grinned. “God, I love this job.”

“Well, that makes one of us.”

Kim’s smile faded and she sat up. Livy and
Kim had become friends three minutes after Kim had walked into
Livy’s office for the first time. Livy had been running on empty
with too much work and too little time for both the business and
her son. Kim had decided Livy needed her, and that had been the end
of that. The friendship was as solid as their partnership, which
continually amazed them both.

Kim, as a result of her annoying perfection
in face, body and brain, had few female friends. Livy had never
been comfortable with people her own age. Save one, and look where
that had gotten her.

She bit her lip and forced J.J.’s face out of
her head. He’d already ruined her morning, she would not let him
screw up the afternoon, too.

“Spill it, Counselor. You got a case you
don’t care for?”

“
Bernadette v
Bernadette.”
She
jabbed a chewed-on fingernail at the file. “These people should
never have gotten married, never had kids. Shouldn’t there be some
kind of law?’’

“Against fools and idiots? Yep.
Unfortunately, in the great state of Georgia—and every other state
I’m aware of—being a moron isn’t a crime. What’s wrong with your
case?”

“I’m representing the wife. Typical story.
Husband works late a little too much. Wife goes to see him, catches
him with a chickee-poo.”

“Blah-blah-blah.”

“She wants the house, a car, the kids, plus
support and alimony.”

Kim spread her hands. “This sounds
clear-cut.”

“Not quite. She’s having an affair with the
pool boy, who’s almost as young as her eldest son. The best part
is, this lovely little bombshell came out in court this
morning.”

Kim winced, which is exactly what Livy had
done when she’d heard about it—from the pool boy after the
husband’s lawyer had put him on the stand. She
hated
surprises, and two in one day was two too many.

“After you quit grinding your teeth and
swearing a blue streak in your head, then what happened?”

Kim knew her so well. “Turns out that both of
them have been behaving this way for years. The wife’s only mad now
because the latest in the long line of hotties is her cousin.”

“Ouch.”

“Ouch isn’t the half of it.”

Sometimes Livy took a case that looked
good—wronged wife, crying children—but when the truth came out,
things got ugly.

Who was she kidding? There was no “sometimes”
about it. The truth was almost always ugly. Still, she did enjoy
sorting through the silt and picking out the gold. Every once in a
while that gold was Justice.

“You did your best, Livy. Why so glum?”

“My best wasn’t good enough. I lost,
Kim.”

“Define
lost
.
”

“Joint custody.”

“That doesn’t sound unreasonable under the
circumstances.”

“You’re probably right, but tell that to my
client.”

Kim raised her perfect brow. “What about Mom
and the pool boy?”

“You sound just like the opposing
counsel.”

“At least your client won’t have to worry
about the father flipping out because he’s been denied visitation,
so he snatches the kids and disappears.”

Livy’s heart stuttered and she put her palm
against her chest “Wh-why would you say something like that?”

Kim gave her an odd look. “Are you having a
heart attack? You’re as pale as one of Rosie’s ghosts.”

“I’m fine.” Livy forced herself to drop her
hand and breathe deeply. She hadn’t thought about that. J.J.
wouldn’t... •

No,
J.J.
wouldn’t She had no idea what
Garrett Stark might do.

“Why do people use their kids for leverage?”
she muttered.

“Because they can.”

The two of them sighed as one. Livy didn’t
know what she’d do without Kim to talk to, Kim to understand
things, Kim to keep her grounded and sane. Sometimes Livy was so
grateful, she got all weepy. Usually after they hit the Merlot.

Kim always waved off Livy’s words, saying
“That’s what friends are for.”

Livy wasn’t so sure. Since she’d only had one
friend before Kim—and as Kim said, boyfriends didn’t count because
once they weren’t boyfriends they were slime, but a girlfriend was
a girlfriend forever, if they were any type of friend—Livy decided
to believe Kim on this subject.

“Let’s talk about happy stuff a minute. I’m
in love.”

Livy managed not to snort. Barely. “You are
always in love.”

“But this time it’s real.”

“Uh-huh.”

For a smart girl, Kim picked a whole lot of
losers. Not that Livy was anyone to judge. Still, Kim should be
able to see through the pretty-boy type. Yet she became bored with
every single wonder boy within two weeks.

“Who is it this time?” Livy asked.

“Joshua.”

Livy rolled her eyes. She couldn’t stop
herself. Joshua sounded far too pretty already. “You need to catch
a clue. Every guy you’ve dated has turned out to be a loser with a
capital
L.”

“But they always look like such winners.”

“Bingo.
Looks
like a winner?” Livy
made the shape of an
L
with her thumb and forefinger.
“L-o-s-e-r.”

“You’re saying I should search for a loser
and he’ll be a winner?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“I think I’ll pass on that Dear Livy advice,
thank you. Joshua is gorgeous and tall and blond as a Viking, built
like one, too. He works at the conference hotel on the river, in
Reservations. He can’t be like all the rest. He must have something
upstairs to manage that.”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Livy didn’t hold
out much hope.

From what she’d observed of relationships—and
she’d had to observe quite a few in her business—people were
attracted to the same type over and over again, regardless of
whether that was a mistake or not. It usually took years of dogged
determination, or years of therapy, to change type.

When Livy dated, which was rarely, she chose
mildly attractive, middle-aged, slightly stuffy men. No dark,
dangerous, poetic strangers for her, thank you. And she’d been just
fine, until a certain type had come knocking. Which only proved
that dogged determination stood for little. Maybe she needed years
of therapy, instead. She could start tomorrow.

“How’s my angel baby?”

Kim and Max were buddies. Once upon a time,
Livy had worried about all the women in her son’s life, figuring
that couldn’t be good. Then she’d had the brilliant idea of signing
him up for Little League. With all those hardballs and swinging
bats—

She started so violently at the memory that
Kim reached over and put her hand atop Livy’s. “Did he fall off the
back porch again?”

“No.” Livy frowned. “Or at least not so I
could tell. He’s begun to hide minor wounds.”

“Probably not a bad idea, considering.”

“It
is
a bad idea. Do you know what
kind of infection you can get if you don’t clean even a paper cut
properly?”

“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me as soon as I
actually care. Now, getting back to Max—what’s he done lately?”

“Stayed out after dark and ended up with a
broken forearm.”

“Well—” Kim shrugged “—something had to give
sooner or later.”

Livy, unable to keep still any longer, began
to pace behind her desk. “How can you be so blasé? He broke a
bone.”

“I got that. Honestly, Livy, he’s a boy. My
brothers broke bones every day.”

Livy gave her a look.

“Well, not every day. But close enough. You
know what my mom would say to you? You need another baby. That’ll
fix you right up. Once you’ve got two, you won’t worry overly much
about one.”

Though Kim didn’t talk about the place she
hailed from—“north” was all she said—she had on occasion mentioned
her five big brothers. Livy couldn’t imagine six children—the
worries, the heartache, the medical bills.

“Your mama was just lucky she got y’all fed
and bathed.”

“I just love how you say mama and y’all.
Hallelujah, I love the South. Especially southern men.” Her green
eyes went dreamy and brought to mind images of lazy kitties and
sultry Savannah nights.

“Kim, could you focus for a minute?”

She did.

“Max
broke
his
arm.
I’m at my
wits’ end.”

And not about that,
her conscience
added.
About his father—a man you think is dead. A man my mother
thinks is dead. A man Max thinks is dead.

That was the thing about lies; they
multiplied, until a person forgot what was real and what wasn’t.
Kind of like magic.

“You’ve got to let him climb trees and jump
off things and be a boy.” Kim wiggled her fingers and spoke in an
exaggerated Transylvanian accent. “Out in the dark where the
children of the night howl.”

The accent made Livy remember how Max had met
J.J. in the first place. He wanted to be undead. She really had to
have another talk with him. No matter how many times they discussed
fantasy and reality, Max just didn’t seem to get it.

“You’re as bad as Max. Girls don’t break
bones? Or stay out after dark? I wish I had one of those.”

“I remember sneaking out after dark.” Kim
lifted her eyebrows. “But that was in high school.”

“He’s only eight. The world is full of—”

“Psycho nutcases. I know. Still, Livy, you’ve
gotta cut him some slack or he’ll never grow up—”

“Normal?”

“At all. Maybe you should check into one of
those Big Brother programs. For boys who don’t have dads.”

“I know what a Big Brother program is,” Livy
snapped.

Kim, always astute, looked at Livy closely.
“What’s the matter with you today?”

“Nothing.” There went those multiplying lies
again. “Don’t you have someone to call and harass?”

“Always.” But Kim didn’t leave; she just kept
staring at Livy with those too-intelligent eyes.

Livy stared back. How long was she going to
be able to keep this mess to herself?

However long it took. All she had to do was
hold J.J. off until he grew bored and left. That shouldn’t be too
hard. Leaving was what he did best.

Kim cleared her throat.

“Was there something else?” Livy asked.

“I had a call from a potential client.”

“Other than our pig farmer? It’s been a busy
day.”

“The guy just wanted some initial advice—it
may not come to court. Another client recommended us. Remember
Claudio from the Irish pub on the river?” When Livy’s expression
went blank, Kim explained further. “He never knew about his kid,
then when he found out he had to prove he was the father before he
could sue for visitation.”

A chill touched Livy’s neck. “Goose on my
grave,” she muttered.

Kim was too caught up in her story to listen
to Livy’s mutters. Besides, Livy muttered a lot.

“This guy’s case is a lot like Claudio’s. I
told him he should get a copy of the birth certificate, see if he’s
listed as the father. If not, he’d need to get a blood test,
consider a DNA test. But to get those, he’d probably need a court
order if the mother was being difficult. Sounded like she was. Once
he has proof of parentage, the mother would really have no
choice.”

“No choice,” Livy echoed.

“Funny thing, though. When I told him your
name, he hung up. I figured he’d want to get started on the court
order right away.”

Livy froze. That goose was dancing all over
the entire family plot.

“What was
his
name?” she asked, though
she already knew.

“Garrett Stark. I know that name, but I can’t
remember why. Who is he?”

Livy didn’t bother to answer before she ran
out the door.

Garrett figured the un-book could wait until
tomorrow to be unwritten. It wasn’t every day a man discovered he
had a son.

Talk about the fickle finger of fate. He
still couldn’t believe he’d called Livy’s office for advice. What
kind of name for a firm was Savannah Family Law? Other law firms
were called Smith, Smith and Jones, or some variation. Didn’t
high-powered attorneys live to see their names on the stationery?
Apparently not Livy Frasier.

Instead of writing, Garrett spent the morning
thinking, something he’d been doing a lot of lately. The fact that
Livy would rather say Garrett was dead than have him be a father to
his son made him feel worthless, useless, a failure. Just like old
times.