Christmas In Snowflake Canyon. RaeAnne Thayne
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come down here. Am I right?”
“I doubt anything you do will stop that,” Dylan drawled.
He was right. Someone at the Lizard had probably already dropped a dime on her. Wasn’t that the appropriate lingo? William was probably already on his way over but she wasn’t going to be the one to call him.
“Andrew Caine is my attorney. End of story,” she declared. “Now will you please take these things off?”
After a pause, the female officer pulled out a key to the handcuffs and freed them. Instead of elation, Genevieve fought down an odd disappointment as she rubbed the achy hand that had been cuffed with her other one.
“You can call your brother over there.” Officer Olivarez gestured with a flip of her braid to a corded phone hanging on the wall.
Dylan headed over and picked up the phone receiver, and after an awkward moment where he tried to figure out what to do with it, he draped it over his shoulder so he could punch the numbers with his remaining hand.
Poor guy. Even something as simple as making a phone call must be a challenge with only one hand.
The two officers started talking about a sporting event Genevieve didn’t know or care anything about. She couldn’t hear Dylan’s conversation with his brother, but judging by the way his expression grew increasingly remote, it wasn’t pleasant. After a few minutes, he hung up.
“Well? Is he coming to get us out?”
“He’ll be here. He wanted to know if we had been booked yet.”
The two officers exchanged glances. “Chief McKnight wants us to hang on until he gets here. It’s kind of a sticky situation, what with the district attorney’s office being involved.”
“What does that mean?”
“Once we book you, you have to go into the system,” Pete Redmond explained, not unkindly, and she was a little sorry she hadn’t agreed to go out with him all those years ago. “That means your arrest will always be on record, even if you’re not charged.”
“The police chief is on the phone with the district attorney, trying to iron things out.”
“How long will that take?” she asked.
“Who knows?” Pete said.
He started to explain the judicial system to her but she tuned him out. He was saying something about bail hearings when she heard a commotion through the open doorway.
“Where the hell is my daughter?”
Merde. Any alcohol that hadn’t been absorbed into her system by now seemed to well up in her gut.
Dylan gave her a careful look and shoved a garbage can over with his foot. “You’re not going to puke on me now, are you?”
She willed down the gorge in her throat. “I’m fine. I won’t be sick.”
She was almost positive that was true, anyway.
“Good. Because I have to say, that would just about make this the perfect date.”
An inelegant snort escaped before she could help it. Again, she blamed the mojitos, but her father walked in just in time to catch it.
He stood in the doorway and glowered at her, and she was filled with such a tangle of emotions, she didn’t know what to do with them—anger and hurt and an aching sort of shame that she was always a disappointment.
“Genevieve Marie Beaumont. Look at you. You’ve been back in town less than forty-eight hours and where do I find you but in the police station, associating with all manner of disreputable characters.”
Beside her, Dylan gave a little wave. “Hey there, Mayor Beaumont.”
Some of her father’s stiff disapproval seemed to shift to an uncertain chagrin for a moment and it took her a moment to realize why. She had heard enough in her infrequent visits home to know that Dylan was considered a hero around town, someone who had sacrificed above and beyond for his country.
“I didn’t, er, necessarily mean you by that general statement.”
“I’m sure,” Dylan said coolly.
“Yes, well.” Her father cleared his throat and turned back to Genevieve. “I’m doing what I can to get you out of here. I’ve already been on the phone with the district attorney to see if we can work things out with his people before this goes any further. I’m quite outraged that no one called me first. That includes you, young lady. I realize you haven’t been in trouble with the law before but surely you know the first thing you should always do is call your attorney.”
“You’re not my attorney.” Her words came out small, and, as usual, her father didn’t pay her any mind.
He went on about his plan for extricating her from the mess as if she had said nothing.
“You’re not my attorney,” she said in a louder voice. “Andrew Caine is.”
Her father didn’t roll his eyes, but it was a close thing. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’ll represent you.”
“I thought attorneys weren’t supposed to represent family members.”
“That’s people in the medical profession, my dear,” he said indulgently, as if she were five years old. “Attorneys have no such stricture. If you would prefer, I can call one of my associates to represent you. Either way, we’ll have these ridiculous charges thrown out and pretend this never happened.”
She could just cave. It would be easy. Her father would take care of everything, as he had been doing all her life—as she had let him do, especially the past two years.
He couldn’t have it both ways, though. He couldn’t one moment tell her he was cutting her off financially to fend for herself and then still try to control the rest of her life.
“I have an attorney,” she said, a little more firmly. “Andrew Caine.”
Her father gave her a conciliatory smile that made her want to scream. “You’re overwrought, my dear. I’m sure this has been an upsetting evening for you. You’re not thinking clearly. Mr. Caine is a fine attorney, but how would it look if you had someone else represent you?”
As if she had finally found a little backbone?
She was spared from having to answer by the arrival of the police chief of Hope’s Crossing, Riley McKnight.
William spotted him at the same time. “Finally!” he exclaimed and headed out to apprehend the police chief, leaving her and Dylan alone.
An awkward silence seemed to settle around them like the cold snow falling outside. “Wow. Your dad...”
“Is incredibly obstinate. Either that or he has selective hearing loss,” she finished for him.
“I was going to say he’s concerned about you. But those work, too.”
She could feel her face heat. “He’s tired of cleaning up my messes. Can you tell?”
“Caught a hint or two. What kind of messes, Genevieve?”
Oddly, she didn’t mind his exaggerated French pronunciation of her name this time. It was actually kind of...sexy. “It’s a very long and boring story.” One she didn’t feel like rehashing right now. “Listen, I am sorry you were messed up in this whole thing. I had a bit too much to drink and I guess I went a little...crazy.”
“I would describe it as completely bat-shit, but that’s just me.”
“I did, didn’t I?” It wasn’t a completely unpleasant realization.
“I wish I’d thought to shoot some video of you punching that woman. I haven’t enjoyed anything that much in...a long time.”
She was glad, suddenly,