The Judge

Judge Frank J. Outlaw, the brass nameplate beside the door said. She smiled. Outlaw—a peculiar name for a judge.

With a few directions from a clerk, Carrie located the records she wanted to study, took out her minicomputer and a pad and got to work.

CARRIE’S STOMACH growled, and she glanced at her watch. Five of twelve. Her yogurt was a faded memory, and she was hungry. She couldn’t believe she’d been working all morning without a break, but as usual she’d gotten absorbed and time had flown by. Stretching, she loosened the kinks in her back, stiff from bending over the papers so long.

Her first thought was to go across the street to the City Grill for lunch, then she decided that the tearoom was a better choice. She packed her briefcase and left the tax office. Not a dozen steps away, her cell phone rang, and she dug through her shoulder bag to retrieve it.

While she was looking, she collided with someone. “Sorry,” she said, glancing up.

Her heart lurched, and she could feel the blood leave her face. It was Horace P. Pfannepatter.

“My God,” she said. “It can’t be. You’re dead!”

He smiled. “I don’t think so.” He looked down at his hands, turning them over and back. “Nope. I seem to have all my working parts. Your phone’s ringing.”

“But…but the waitress this morning said that you’d had a heart attack and died.”

He frowned. “Which waitress?”

“Vera at the café across the street.”

“I can’t imagine why she would have said that. I had breakfast there this morning with my brother. You’d better get that,” he said, pointing to her ringing purse.

Not taking her eyes from his face, she grabbed the phone, said, “I’ll call you back,” and crammed it back into her bag. “Maybe it was your father they were talking about. Do you have the same name?”

“Nope. My father’s name is John Wesley Hardin Outlaw, Wes for short.”

“Outlaw? Then…how…Aren’t you the JP?”

A slow smile spread over his face. “You thought I was Horace? No, I’m Frank Outlaw.” He stuck out his hand.

Bedarned if she didn’t feel herself blush as she took his hand. “Carrie Campbell. Sorry that…” She forgot what she was about to say. He had a million-dollar smile. And a kind of charisma that radiated from him and enveloped her in its magnetism.

“Have you had lunch?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I was on my way to eat during the noon recess. Why don’t you join me, and I’ll explain about Horace.”

“At the City Grill?”

“I’m not too keen on their special today. I’d planned on the Twilight Tearoom. It’s not too far.”

“I know,” Carrie responded. “I’m staying at the motel.”

“Of course you are. I remember that Maureen mentioned that.”

She drew a blank. “Maureen?”

“The clerk at the JP office.”

“Oh, yes. I…uh…need to drop by my room for a minute. Why don’t I meet you there?” She suddenly realized that he was still holding her hand, and she withdrew it quickly and started for the stairs.

“Where are you parked?” he asked as they descended.

“By the south entrance.”

“And I’m by the north. I’ll go ahead and get a table before they’re all gone.”

“Is the Tearoom a popular place?”

“Very. They have the best food in town.”

At the foot of the stairs Carrie’s cell phone rang again. “Excuse me,” she said. “I suppose I should take this.”

He waved and turned down a hall while she answered. It was her uncle Tuck.

“How are things going in the boonies?”

“Going fine. I’m at the courthouse now. I’ve just stopped for lunch.” She continued out the door while she talked.

He asked for some figures from another job, and she promised to e-mail them to him that afternoon.

“Carrie, play this one extra close to your vest. I ran into Wyatt Hearn at the Petroleum Club last night, and he was sniffing around too close for comfort. I’d hate for him to get wind of things and steal this out from under us. You haven’t seen any of his boys around town have you?”

Wyatt Hearn was another independent oilman and a bitter rival of her uncle. “Nope. I haven’t seen anybody. I’ll keep an eye out. Think I should dye my hair and wear a fake nose?”

Uncle Tuck hooted with laughter. “I don’t think you have to go that far, darlin’. Just don’t let on to anybody why you’re there until you’re ready to get their names on the dotted line.”

“Gotcha. I’ll report in at the end of the week.”

At her car, she tossed her bag and her briefcase onto the seat and climbed in. If she hurried she’d have time to freshen up a bit before lunch. It wasn’t often these days that she got to have lunch with a good-looking guy.

Remember that he’s married, she told herself.

She sighed. For a few minutes she’d forgotten. Wouldn’t you know—the first guy who turned her on in ages, and he was taken. Just as well, she told herself. She had work to do and didn’t need the distraction.

AS HE DROVE to the tearoom, Frank felt as nervous as a kid on his first date. But it wasn’t a date, he told himself. It was a simple shared meal. Still, he wondered why in the world he had opened his big mouth and invited her to the tearoom of all places. His brother was bound to be there—along with some of the biggest gossips in Naconiche. His mother and half the town would know that he was eating with a beautiful woman before they finished dessert.

God, what a mess he’d gotten himself into—and all because of an innocent invitation. He didn’t like what everybody would be thinking, but one look into those incredible eyes of hers had short-circuited his brain.

He made it to the tearoom just in time to get the last available table. Unfortunately it was in the middle of the room. He sat facing the door so that he could see when Carrie arrived.

“I’ll have iced tea for now,” he told the young waitress. “Make that two teas. I’m waiting on somebody. It should be just a couple of minutes.” He turned to study the menu on the chalkboard over the bar.

“Hey, big brother,” a familiar voice said as a chair scraped the floor.

Damn. It was J.J. “What are you doing here?”

J.J. chuckled as he sat down. “What am I doing here? Hell, I eat lunch here almost every day. Half of the time with you. What do you think I’m doing here? Hey, Lori,” he said to the waitress who served the tea along with a basket of bread. “I’ll have the chicken spaghetti special. What are you having, Frank?”

“I haven’t ordered yet.”

“Why not?” J.J. picked up one of the tea glasses and took a big swig.

“I’m…waiting on someone. Lori, would you bring another tea?”

“Sure thing, Judge. Be right back.”

J.J. frowned and set down the glass he held. “Whoops, have I stepped in a cow patty? Do I need to move?”

“No, no. Stay where you are. It’s just somebody I ran into at the courthouse.” Carrie came through the door just then, and Frank stood to get her attention.

She smiled and walked to the table. If she was surprised to see J.J. sitting there, she didn’t let on. J.J. was the one who looked surprised. Frank quickly introduced the two of them and, feeling awkward as the devil, helped seat her.

“A sheriff and a judge named Outlaw,” Carrie said. “That is strange.”

“We’ve taken some ribbing from time to time,” J.J. said, “especially since my whole name is Jesse James Outlaw.”

“And mine is Frank James Outlaw,” Frank said to her. To J.J.. he said, “I met Carrie yesterday when she stopped by the JP’s office. I went over to pack up Horace’s personal things for Ida.” He turned to Carrie and explained. “Horace died over the weekend. Ida is his wife and a second cousin to our father.”

“We’re kin to ’bout everybody in the county,” J.J. told her.

Carrie grinned and said to Frank, “It’s a relief to know that you’re not a ghost.”

“A ghost?” J.J. said, frowning.

“I saw him in the justice of the peace’s office, and I assumed that he was Horace Pfannepatter.”

J.J. hooted with laughter. “Naw, old Horace was bald as buckshot and had thirty years and a hundred pounds on Frank. Are you new in town?”

Carrie shook her head. “Just visiting. I’m here doing research.”

“What kind of research?” J.J. asked.

Lori returned just then with another glass of tea and J.J.’s plate. “You folks ready to order?”

“The menu is on the blackboard,” Frank told Carrie. While she read it, he ordered the spaghetti special.

“Make that two,” Carrie said, glancing at J.J.’s plate. “That looks delicious.”

“It is. Mary Beth makes the best chicken spaghetti in town. I’m not marrying her for her cooking, but it’s a nice bonus.”

“Oh,” Carrie said, “are you and Mary Beth engaged?”

“Yep,” J.J. said. “I’m a lucky man. What kind of research did you say you were doing?”

“Some old county records, deeds and such.” She took a sip of her tea. “This is fabulous. Raspberry, isn’t it?”

Frank nodded. “House specialty.”

“You looking to buy some property?” J.J. asked.

What was it with J.J.? Frank wondered. He sounded like he was grilling a suspect.

Carrie chuckled. “Me? Heavens no. Please eat, J.J. Your food will get cold if you wait on us.”

“Nope. Here yours is.”

The waitress served plates to Carrie and Frank and added another basket of bread to the table.

B.D., one of the old guys who played dominoes and helped run the motel, passed by with a tray of food just then. B.D. greeted them all with a “hi-dee” and said, “Miss Carrie, you had a chance to talk to Millie yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Millie?” J.J. asked.

“Millie down at the library,” B.D. said. “Miss Carrie’s one of them genealogists, don’t ya know? Well, I’d better get this grub over to the office. The boys are waiting.”

“You’re a genealogist?” J.J. said.

Carrie laughed. “You make it sound like a disease.”

“I think what J.J. is trying to say is that you don’t look like the typical genealogist,” Frank offered, trying to steer away from the interrogation. The minute the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to kick himself. Oh, hell. Had he really said that?

J.J. grinned like a possum in a persimmon tree. Frank turned his attention to his plate, hoping she’d ignore his gaffe. She didn’t.

“And exactly what does the typical genealogist look like?” she asked, looking amused. “Have you known many?”

“Now that I think about it, I don’t think I know any genealogists. You’re the first.”

“There’s Millie,” J.J. said. “She’s the local expert. She’s even written a book.”

“I’ll have to buy a copy.”

She smiled, and Frank almost missed his mouth with his fork. He tried to think of something to say and drew a blank.

“What family are you researching?” J.J. asked between bites.

“I’m really not at liberty to say much about my business. Clients like to keep some things private.”

J.J. laughed. “Must be a horse thief or two in the clan.”

She smiled again, and the room seemed to grow brighter. “I have a couple of my own ancestors who were on the shady side. They’ve been expunged from the family bible. Speaking of shady characters, why in the world are you Outlaws named after outlaws?”

“It was my grandfather’s idea,” Frank said, relieved that finally he could contribute to the conversation. “He was a judge, too. He thought that having a memorable name would be an asset in both business and politics, so he named our father John Wesley Hardin and our uncle Butch Cassidy. I guess his idea worked. Our dad was undefeated for sheriff until he retired, and Uncle Butch was a state senator when he died.”

“And now the two of you are sheriff and judge. Undefeated?”

“So far,” J.J. said.

After Frank’s tongue got untangled, they talked about the history of the town and the old courthouse while they ate. Carrie seemed interested and asked all kinds of questions about the town and the county. He found himself growing very comfortable talking with her.

J.J. asked, “Where’s home for you, Carrie?”

“Houston.”

“Our oldest brother lives in Houston,” Frank told her. “He’s in homicide with H.P.D.”

“And his name is…”

“Cole Younger Outlaw,” J.J. supplied. “And our other brother is a Texas Ranger. Sam Bass Outlaw.”

“And our baby sister is with the FBI,” Frank said. “Belle Starr Outlaw.”

“Quite an impressive family,” Carrie said.

“We try.” J.J. polished off the last bite on his plate. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going into the kitchen to kiss the cook. Nice meeting you, Carrie.” He stood, bowed slightly and left.

She smiled. “I like your brother.”

“He’s a good guy. Do you like his brother, too?” Frank nearly groaned. Had he really said that?

“Of course. I’m glad you didn’t die.”

Her attention seemed to be on his hands, and he looked down to find that he was twirling his wedding ring round and round on his finger. “Me, too. My wife did, though.” God, that was awkward.

Carrie looked puzzled. “Did what?”

“Died. My wife was killed in a car wreck.”

She reached across the table and touched his hand. “I’m so sorry. When was this?”

“It’s been almost two years.” He shook his head to keep the memories from intruding. “How about dessert? Mary Beth makes a mean apple tart.”

“Sounds tempting, but if I eat another bite, I’ll nod off over the records this afternoon. I need to scoot.”

She took her wallet from her bag, but Frank waved her off. “My invitation, my treat.”

“Thanks. I’ll get the check next time.”

“It’s a deal.” He stood as she said her goodbyes, then watched her walk out the door. He liked Carrie Campbell. She was warm, open and easy to talk to. Plus she was a beautiful woman.

Behind him J.J. said, “Beautiful woman.”

“Is she? I hadn’t noticed.”

J.J. hooted. “You’re lying and your feet stink!”

Frank tried to suppress a grin. “She is easy on the eyes. But don’t make more out of this than it is.”

“Me? I’m not making anything out of it? When are you going to see her again?”

“I don’t know. Want some dessert?”

“You buying?” J.J. asked.

“I bought breakfast, you mooch.”

“Say, Mary Beth and I are going over to Travis Lake Saturday night to see a musical that the college is putting on. Why don’t you ask Carrie, and go with us?”

“I doubt that she’ll even be here then.”

“Sure she will. Mary Beth said her reservation is for several weeks. Ask her. Get out and enjoy yourself, Frank. It’s time.”

He took a deep breath and blew it out. “I’ll think about it.”

Chapter Three

Keeping her identity secret was turning out to be a problem, Carrie thought as she hurried to her room after lunch. She’d been squirming as she’d sat there with a sheriff and a judge trying to walk a fine line between sidestepping the truth and telling a blatant lie. While she’d been very careful not to actually lie to them, neither had she said anything to correct the impression that the old man had made about her being a genealogist. In fact, she could have kissed the old codger for getting her off the hook. She hoped she wasn’t getting herself into a huge mess by her evasions. It was one thing to misrepresent herself to townspeople and quite another to mislead officers of the law.

Maybe she needed to do a little genealogical research on the side to keep herself honest. Had any of her ancestors come from this area of Texas? Seems as if there might have been a great-great-uncle on her father’s side whose first wife was from around here. She’d check. In the meantime, she would be wise to avoid the Outlaw brothers.

Carrie stayed so busy the rest of the day that she didn’t have much time to think about him, but that evening when she took a break from studying the county platts scattered over her bed, her thoughts turned to Frank Outlaw. She lay back on her propped pillows, took a sip of her cola and remembered that smile. And the handsome contours of his face. And the timbre of his voice.

Frank Outlaw was a hunk.

And he wasn’t married.

But she needed to forget about him. She couldn’t afford to jeopardize this deal.

Easier said than done. She thought about him some more as she creamed off her makeup and put on her sleep shirt. She thought of him the next morning as she passed his office in the courthouse. And again at five of twelve when she decided to go to lunch. Not in a long, long time had she met a man that interested her as much as Frank.

But, she told herself, she’d be wise to steer clear of him. Basically an honest person, she felt a little guilty about giving him the wrong impression about her business in Naconiche. No. She felt a lot guilty.

He wasn’t in the hall as he’d been the day before.

Which was good, she quickly reminded herself, if she wanted to avoid him. Maybe she’d have lunch at the City Grill. Yes. He’d be going to the tearoom.

She hurried across the street to the café. There wasn’t an empty seat at the counter and all the tables were taken. Then, as she scanned the room again, their eyes met. It was Frank. If he hadn’t seen her, she’d have made tracks out the door, but she didn’t want to look like an idiot. She’d simply wait until there was a seat available. Trying to avoid looking at the judge, she studied the framed photographs of baseball teams hanging near the cash register.

“Carrie?”

Turning, she saw that Frank had come up behind her. She smiled. “Hello.”

He smiled. “Hello. Would you like to join me?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding. And you’re not likely to find a seat anytime soon.”

So much for trying to avoid him. Accepting fate, she said, “Thanks,” and followed him to his table. After she was seated, she scanned the menu. “What’s the special today?”

He looked amused. “Liver and onions.”

She made a face and shuddered. “I hate liver and onions.”

“Me, too. When my mom used to fix liver for dinner, I always offered my little brother Sam a quarter to eat mine.”

“And he did it?”

“Yep. Sam would eat almost anything.” He chuckled. “If the price was right.”

Carrie loved that chuckle, the way it rumbled deep in his throat and sent little ripples up her spine. And his mouth fascinated her. Although it was definitely masculine, the full, curved shape of his lips was downright beautiful—and sexy as the dickens.

He must have been reading her mind, because just then the tip of his tongue appeared and moistened his lower lip. Entranced, she watched his tongue withdraw, observed his lips press together, then relax, noted the glisten left on his mouth by the action.

Darned if her toes didn’t curl.

She glanced up, and his eyes locked with hers. They were dark, very dark and filled with something indefinable…but totally captivating. His eyes alone would have made him enormously attractive. Bedroom eyes they called them. The kind that made such glorious promises that women wanted to throw themselves into his arms and follow him anywhere. She wasn’t immune. Her impulses ran along the same line.

“What would you like?” he asked.

A slow smile spread over her face. Wonder what he would do if she told him the truth? “What would you like?”

“I…uh—” he took a deep breath and pressed his lips together again “—think I’ll have a BLT,” he said to the waitress who had appeared. He closed his menu and began twirling his wedding ring.

She shrugged. “Sounds good to me.” If she didn’t know better, Carrie would have thought that she made the judge nervous. Why? She was tempted to ask but wise enough not to.

Her female antennae told her that he was just as attracted to her as she was to him. She’d have to be an ignoramus to have missed it. Maybe he was still mourning his wife, she reasoned. But two years was a heck of a long time.

“What was it like growing up in a large family?” Carrie asked, turning the conversation to safe territory.

“Chaotic at times, and we had our share of squabbles. But mostly it was fun. We’re all very close.”

They ate their sandwiches and made small talk. She carefully avoided any discussion of her work.

“Want dessert?” Frank asked. “Their cobbler isn’t bad.”

Carrie shook her head. “I have a yen for ice cream, and I’ve heard that the Double Dip has the best in town.”

Frank grinned. “I can vouch for that.”

“Join me?”

“Sure.”

He reached for the check, but she insisted on paying. “It’s my turn. You can get the ice cream.”

“That’s a deal. I get a family discount.”

“Family?”

“My mom owns it. After she retired from teaching a few years ago, she got bored and decided to find something to do with her time. The Double Dip was up for sale, so she bought it.”

They walked across the street to the old-fashioned ice-cream parlor, and as they approached, a serious wave of nostalgia rolled over Carrie. It reminded her of the little shop where Burt, one of her long line of stepfathers, used to take her when she was a kid. Was Burt number three or number four? She couldn’t remember. But she had really liked him; he was a kind man and told silly jokes that made her laugh. Obviously her mother hadn’t liked him nearly as well as Carrie had, for they soon packed and left, and no amount of weeping and begging had convinced her mother to stay.

A bell over the door announced their arrival. The stools at the counter were red, just like the ones from her childhood. She took a seat at the chrome-trimmed counter and inhaled the wonderful cold-sweet fragrance, a blend of smells so poignant that she could almost feel her pigtails on her shoulders.

“Gosh, this brings back memories,” she said. “I love this place already. I used to go to a shop just like this one when I was a little girl.”

A grandmotherly type with short gray hair bustled in from the back, drying her hands on a towel. She smiled. “Hello, son.” She turned to Carrie, and Frank made the introductions.

“Carrie is in town to do some work at the courthouse, and she heard that you had the best ice cream in town,” Frank said.

“I hope I can make good on that claim,” Nonie Outlaw said. “What would you like?”

“Do you have peppermint?”

The woman smiled. “We surely do. It’s my husband’s favorite.”

“Mine, too. I’ll have a double dip.”

“Cone or dish?”

“Oh, a cone. And do you have chocolate sprinkles?”

“Surely do.”

“Put some of those on top.”

When the cone was made, Carrie took the two fat scoops of peppermint ice cream, the top dark with sprinkles. She closed her eyes and savored the aroma, then licked a dollop from the side—and sighed. The taste was everything she remembered.

“I’ve died and gone to heaven. I can’t believe that I’ve waited over twenty years to have another one of these. Mrs. Outlaw, this is delicious.” Her tongue made another swipe, then another in a distinct pattern that was suddenly familiar.

The woman laughed. “I’m glad you like it. But most everybody just calls me Miss Nonie from my teaching days. Welcome to Naconiche. Are you going to be staying long? We have several events coming up soon that you might enjoy.”

“I’ll be around several weeks.”

“She does genealogical research,” Frank said.

“That’s wonderful. Have you met Millie at the library yet?”

“Not yet, but everybody tells me she’s the town authority. I plan to go by tomorrow.” She turned to Frank. “Aren’t you having any ice cream?”

He glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to pass. I’m due back in court. Mom, put this one on my tab.”

Other customers came in and Miss Nonie left to take their orders. Carrie waved goodbye to her as she and Frank left.

“This ice cream really is fabulous. I’m going to do some window-shopping while I finish it. Thanks for it and for sharing your table.”

“Thanks for buying my lunch,” he said.

“No problem.”