Page 107 of The Bitterroot Inn (Jamison Valley 5)
I was smack in the middle of an episode of Law & Order.
“Deep breaths.” Stuart covered my hand with his to stop my drumming fingers.
I obeyed, filling my lungs with air before pushing it out with a breathy, “I’m sorry.”
“It will be fine. Trust me.”
I nodded, and when he let go of my hand, I slipped it under my thigh.
The air shifted as the doors pushed open and my half of the room spun to see who was walking in. Please be Hunter. My hopeful gaze turned to an annoyed glare when Eleanor Carlson stepped through the door, followed by her attorney. I looked past the short, balding man, expecting to see a witness or two, but the pair was alone.
No witnesses? I wouldn’t complain. No witnesses for her was a good thing for me.
Because without witnesses and evidence showing I was unfit to parent Coby, it would be Eleanor’s word against mine. Judge Tubor might be less likely to give her time with Coby if she came across as the bitch she clearly was.
Eleanor’s high heels clicked sharply on the linoleum as she strutted to the front of the room. Her black blazer and pencil skirt silhouetted her rail-thin frame. The top button on the black blouse under the blazer had to be choking her. With dark hair tied in a fierce bun, the fine lines of her forehead had been stretched to near invisibility. I’d give Eleanor one thing; she was a beautiful woman. She looked well younger than her years and clearly had the money to maintain herself. Her nose had a stiffness that was far from natural.
With her chin held high, Eleanor walked to her table opposite ours. Only when she sat did she bother making eye contact. She aimed a nasty glare right at me before sitting in her own wooden chair.
That glare was all too telling.
I’d come to a conclusion after our initial court appearance and our awful mediation attempt. This custody battle wasn’t about Coby, it was about me. Eleanor Carlson was punishing me for killing her son. I just hoped—for Coby’s sake—that Judge Tubor saw it too. My son didn’t deserve to be used as a pawn in this war between adults.
As Eleanor’s attorney settled into his own chair, I looked back to the clock.
Five minutes.
Five minutes and this ordeal would be underway.
Five minutes for Hunter to get his ass to the courthouse.
Where was he? Had something happened at the hospital? Had he gotten called in for an emergency?
I bent to my purse under the table and felt around for my phone. The screen was blank. Firing off a Where r u? text to Hunter, I quadruple-checked that my device was on silent before putting it away.
Then I sat deathly still. The silence in the room was ominous. I was having trouble taking a full breath, and as much as I needed to suck in some oxygen, I didn’t dare. Breathing would be too loud.
Two minutes passed like twenty until the judge’s chamber door opened behind his bench and out he came.
This was it. The wait was over.
I swallowed down the bile that had risen in my throat and concentrated on the judge so I wouldn’t puke.
Judge Tubor was an older man, likely in his late fifties, and had lived in Prescott my whole life. His hair was fully gray but his youthful face betrayed his age. The olive skin of his face was nearly wrinkle-free except for some laugh lines around his eyes.
He’d been the district judge for Jamison County for as long as I could remember. Our community loved him and no challenger had ever been able to beat him in an election. He’d always won my vote because of his fair but firm judgments, but if he took Coby away from me, I’d never vote for him again.
“Morning.” Judge Tubor nodded to us all and then sat on his bench, adjusting his black robe before shoving on reading glasses to review the papers at his desk.
With the judge not looking at us, I stole one last glance at the back doors just in time to see Hunter’s broad frame slip in sideways.
Finally. My shoulders relaxed as I sighed.
“Sorry,” he mouthed before taking the last empty seat at the back.
I nodded and swiveled toward the front. As I turned, I caught a glimpse of Eleanor glaring again. But this time, her snarl wasn’t aimed at me, but at Hunter.
Okay, weird.
