A Family for Tyler. Angel Smits

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      CHAPTER THREE

      A WEEK LATER, Wyatt found himself headed toward the county court offices. The building was old. Not ancient old as to be pretty, but built-in-the-1970s old, with harvest-gold siding. Wyatt stared at the ugly-as-sin building and frowned. Why had the judge asked to see him without Tyler? What was she up to?

      Not knowing the answer made him uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. He’d climbed out of his truck into the late-spring heat and headed for the glass doors. By the time he entered the cool air-conditioned inside, he was irritated.

      He hadn’t dealt much with the legal system—that was his brother Jason’s arena—but he’d been in the cattle industry a long time, so he had plenty of experience with government agencies. This felt very similar.

      Hat in hand, the brim cupped in his wide palm, he took a calming breath and approached the desk. The brunette sitting there looked up at him over a pair of half glasses that seemed to practically glow in the dark. What color were those supposed to be?

      “Can I help you?”

      “I have an appointment with Magistrate Ivers.” Wyatt didn’t even recognize his own voice. So formal. So distant.

      “I’ll let her know.” The woman stood and walked down the short hall to disappear behind a thick wooden door.

      He sat down on one of the chairs lined up neatly along the far wall. He was the only person here and the room was quiet. Where the outside of the building had hurt his eyes, this office was polished and modern. He liked the marble and glass.

      A rack of brochures on how to be a guardian caught his eye. He’d just read the titles on the third row when the woman returned. “She’ll be right out.”

      Wyatt nodded and stared at the sign beside the door. E. J. Ivers. He leaned closer to read her full name printed in smaller letters beneath. His frown deepened.

      In Wyatt’s book, E. J. Ivers, magistrate, was not supposed to be Emily Ivers of the soft, feminine variety. Before last week, he’d had a vision of a graying older man with a booming voice. Or maybe one of those polished judges like on TV. Showed what he knew.

      All through court, Wyatt had been stunned by the much younger, much prettier, definitely female judge. The long, black robes had hidden everything except the collar of the vibrant pink blouse that had set off her dark hair.

      On the bench she’d been thorough and direct, and intelligence had snapped in her dark eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Now here he sat outside her office wondering what the hell to expect next.

      * * *

      EMILY GLARED AT the stacks of papers and files lined up on the conference table that took up nearly half her official chambers.

      Even if she wanted to have a meeting here, she couldn’t. The piles never really seemed to shrink, though she knew Dianne frequently shuffled them around.

      Emily stalked past the stacks and flopped down into her desk chair. She arranged the current file neatly on the blotter, reluctant to add more to the table.

      She was tired. Court had been exhausting this week, covering for Judge Ramsey as well as her own responsibilities. And then there’d been Wyatt Hawkins and his nephew.

      Emily leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Half of last night she’d tossed and turned, seeing Wyatt’s handsome face and feeling his reassuring hand on her own shoulder. She’d awoken before dawn this morning from a particularly vivid dream so clear she’d known there was no sleep left.

      Now here she sat, waiting for the man to arrive at her office, barely able to keep her eyelids open. Shaking herself out of the stupor, she sat forward and opened the file.

      Tyler Easton was an adorable kid. Instead of seeing the brown folder, she pictured his earnest young face. He wanted so badly to believe his mom was coming back for him and that his dad would want him. He’d pulled every worldly possession from his pockets to prove to her how important he was, to prove he belonged.

      She smiled, wondering at the depth of those pockets. How could a boy carry so much around with him?

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