His Pregnant Courthouse Bride. Rachel Lee
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rear side of the county clerk’s office, then climbed some equally creaky stairs to the second floor, where they entered his chambers.
The walls in the outer office were lined with books of statutes, something that must be left over from earlier days, she decided. Everyone relied on online research these days, and law libraries were available at the touch of a key if you had a subscription. They’d certainly done that in law school. But she looked around the walls, admiring the books, their solid look and feel. Two desks sat in the middle of all this magnificence.
“My reporter and clerk work there,” he said.
Then they passed through to a chamber that was all dark wood, a massive desk and a few chairs. She thought she could detect old aromas of cigar smoke embedded in the walls. The only modernity was a multiple line phone and a computer.
“My home away from home,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got a few minutes. Do you want to stay here or go into the courtroom?”
She’d been in a judge’s chambers before, of course. It was inevitable for a lawyer. It didn’t look like a place to browse, and she’d come to see him in court anyway.
“Courtroom,” she answered decisively. A kind of tickled excitement awoke in her. She was going to see her old friend in the role of a judge. It was just cool enough to make her forget her other problems.
She walked through the door he pointed out and emerged in the courtroom, walking past the raised bench and past the attorney’s tables, which were already occupied, ignoring the curious looks as she took a seat in the front row. She had no idea what was on his docket for today or whether the people waiting in the gallery with her were here to deal with legal problems or just to watch, but the place was filling rapidly. The clock slipped past eight, almost as a courtesy to late arrivals, then a bailiff, in what appeared to be a deputy’s uniform, called the court to order and announced Wyatt. “All rise. The Tenth District Circuit Court of the state of Wyoming is now in session, the Honorable Wyatt Carter presiding.”
He came striding in, wearing a black robe, his jeans and boots flashing beneath it. She had to cover her mouth with her hand. She hadn’t expected to enjoy this so much.
Wyatt tapped the microphone in front of him, and the thump came across the speakers. “All right,” he said, looking out over the room. “Traffic court. Really, folks, don’t you know better?”
And thus it began.
* * *
Amber was soon amazed. Wyatt didn’t treat most of these people as if he just wanted them to pass out of his sight as soon as possible. He actually talked to them, and when he deemed it appropriate, he asked questions. He even postponed a few cases when the charges were serious and the accused claimed to be unable to afford an attorney. He promptly assigned them to the public defender on the spot.
“This is the second time you’ve come before this court for not having a driver’s license,” he said to a thirtysomething man in work clothes. “Didn’t I order you to get a license last time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So why are you still driving without one?”
The man shuffled his feet. “I need to go to work.”
Wyatt leaned back a little and studied the notes on his desk. “It says here you can’t read. The state has an application for people who can’t read. Why didn’t you get one?”
“I tried.”
At that Wyatt leaned forward. “What kind of work do you do?”
“I work at the ranches. Hired hand.”
“No reading required for that, I suppose.”
“No, sir.”
“So why didn’t you get a license?”
“I keep calling but they’re busy. I can’t even talk to someone. Always busy.”
Wyatt turned to the clerk. “You get me the license people and you get this man an appointment with them before this day is over.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Wyatt turned back to the man in front of him. “Will you go to the test when my clerk tells you the time?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’d better. And I’m suspending your case pending your getting that license. Crap, can’t get through?” He turned to the clerk again. “Let ’em know I’m not happy about this.”
The clerk almost grinned. “Absolutely.”
He looked at the man. “You stay here until she gets your appointment. And you’d better find somebody to drive you home, because you cannot drive without a license and I don’t want to see you here again. Understood?”
Amber was amazed. Wyatt took a lot of personal interest, sometimes waiving fines when people simply couldn’t pay them. But again and again, when something caught his attention, he zoomed in.
Then came the guy who was in front of him for the second time for driving on a suspended license.
“I told you to stop driving,” Wyatt said. “What makes you think you can ignore the law like this? Your license was suspended for DUI. Now you’re in front of me again for driving when you’re not allowed to?”
The amusing part came after Wyatt ruled, telling the guy that the next time he was going to jail and was being spared this time only because he had small children to support. Then he added, “I’m leaving here in another few minutes, so you’d better find someone to drive you home. Because I’ll recognize your face now and I’ll chase you down and arrest you myself. Got it?”
Amber had never guessed that traffic court could be so fascinating and even moving. And Wyatt broke the mold.
* * *
Amber waited in the court after everyone had departed. She didn’t feel free to just walk back into Wyatt’s chambers. He might be dealing with something that was none of her business, or he might just be busy. She only waited about twenty minutes, though, before he entered the courtroom again, this time wearing his jacket and no robe and carrying a briefcase. “Free for the rest of the day,” he said with a smile. “Do you want to go home or would you rather go down the block to the diner with excellent food and service that never comes with a smile?”
That surprised a little laugh from her. “Really?”
“Maude and her daughter are the local gorgons, but the food more than makes up for it.”
“Then by all means the diner.”
“Let’s walk,” he suggested, and this time they exited the courthouse by the grand front entrance. “I think these places were built to impress and intimidate,” he said as they walked down the wide marble steps.
“I think you’re right. It’s a beautiful building.”
“That it is. And you see the stone benches and tables scattered in the little park? When the weather allows we have people at nearly every one of them playing chess or checkers.” He pointed. “Over there is the sheriff’s office.”
It looked like a regular storefront, which surprised her. “No Corinthian columns for him?”
Wyatt laughed. “None. They used to be in the courthouse basement a couple of generations ago, but then they needed more room and were getting squeezed out by the records and clerks. So they took up one side of the street there, and their offices run back inside behind the storefronts. Bigger than it looks from out here.”
They crossed Main, which was right in front of the courthouse, to a side street where he pointed out other shops to her, one of them a craft shop in a house a little way past the diner, a dentist’s office, a dress store, a bail bondsman and a couple of lawyers, one of them with the name Carter painted in gold letters on the window.
“Your