A Man To Count On. Helen Myers R.

      A Man To

      Count on

      Helen R. Myers

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For my Robert

      So many miss you

      Me most of all

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      “Congratulations, Judge. I’m so proud and excited for you.”

      “Thank you, Paulie.” Stopping just outside his Austin chambers, Texas Court of Appeals Judge Dylan Justiss smiled fondly at his longtime secretary, Pauline Lawrence. He wasn’t surprised she had got wind that the governor himself had encouraged him to file and run in the autumn election to fill a vacancy on one of the state’s two highest courts, the Court of CriminalAppeals. If elected, he would replace TheaYork, who’d been named to a federal position in Washington, D.C. “But I’ll resist upgrading my jogging shoes, until I see who the competition is.”

      “Once word gets out that you’re a candidate, I’ll bet you’ll be unopposed,” Paulie gushed. “Everyone admires and respects you.”

      “Well, just for that bit of flattery, if you’d like to leave now, I’ll sign whatever is on my desk and lock it in yours. I’m going to wait and watch the five o’clock news here before I head home.”

      The silver-haired woman sporting a flattering wedge beamed at him like an adoring parent. “You’re always so thoughtful. How on earth you remembered tonight is my eldest grandson’s district play-off game and that he’s pitching is beyond me.”

      Unzipping his black robe, Dylan nodded to one of the photographs on her desk. “Must be the Post-it notes stuck all around the frame of his picture. Let me know how he does.”

      Enjoying her chuckle, Dylan continued into his suite, quickly rid himself of the robe, and reached for the TV remote. Considering the pace of state, never mind world events, he didn’t expect his news to be covered at all, but he wanted to be prepared for anything. Most of the time, judges were invisible beings who were credited, or blamed, by a choice few for decisions that could have widespread and lasting results. However, while in his current position, he presided over one of fourteen courts; if elected in the fall, he would join an elite nine. Anytime change incorporated elevation, he approached it with as much caution as he did respect.

      At forty-two, Dylan thought he’d had a good run so far. Great mentors, a phenomenal stretch of pretty smooth sailing regarding cases on his docket, as well as bipartisan support, all of which had allowed him a steady rise up the career ladder. His setbacks had been few and personal—the worst was the death of his wife and best friend, Brenda, eleven months ago after a long illness.

      What about a missed, possibly great love?

      It was best not to go there.

      Then First News at Five came on to mock that cautionary thought.

      “Good evening, I’m Ross Kendrick. Our top story tonight involves the shocking revelation made by the husband of prominent Deputy District Attorney E. D. Martel. Tonight KTXA can confirm that Trey Sessions has filed for divorce from Ms. Martel, the darling of the D.A.’s office, often called the Black Widow for her consistency in winning the death-penalty verdict. Her latest victory is Ed Guy, convicted only minutes ago for the rape and murder of UT-Austin coed Misty Carthage.

      “KTXA News has also learned that Sessions has obtained a restraining order to keep Martel from their two children, ages eleven and seventeen, claiming negligence and endangerment of a minor. While we haven’t been able to confirm the allegations behind these two career-shattering moves, this also could spell trouble for District Attorney Emmett Garner—his party’s likely candidate in the next gubernatorial election—since Martel is said to be his handpicked successor. So far neither D.A. Garner nor Ms. Martel have been available for comment.”

      And who could blame them? Dylan fumed. Damn. Damn Sessions’s useless hide. If anyone was guilty of neglect, Dylan would bet it was E.D.’s house-pet of a husband. What on earth had happened?

      While co-anchor Lynly Drew went on to a report about an armed robbery in an Austin hotel parking garage, Dylan dealt with E.D.’s shocking news. He knew—at least he’d heard rumors—that there might be problems in her marriage and that she had been putting a good face on a difficult situation for some time. Whatever househusband Trey thought he’d come upon to make himself less indebted to E.D., it sure as hell couldn’t have been her parental neglect. As for endangerment, Dylan would bet a year’s salary that allegation was nonsense, too. She would and did do everything and anything it took to give her daughter and son a stable home life. Dylan considered himself proof of that.

      He rubbed his face and struggled to keep his thoughts in check. The strength of his impulse to reach for the phone jarred him. They hadn’t said more than a few dozen words to each other since Brenda’s memorial service last June, and then he couldn’t deny being relieved that she’d barely looked him in the eye for fear of what his own gaze might have exposed. Nevertheless, he could remember the poignant encounter down to the second; how she’d first squeezed his hand, how without thinking he’d turned that into a hug and whispered so softly that only she could hear, “Eva Danielle.” He need only to close his eyes to recall the warmth and softness of her skin, the silk that was her hair, the subtle scent of lily of the valley that always whispered of her presence. The memory continued to haunt him and his insides ached with the deepest hunger pang.

      Eva Danielle.

      How she hated for anyone to use her given name; his tightened lips couldn’t help but twitch into a brief smile. Too romantic for an attorney, she’d claimed in interviews. She’d once confided to him that she’d been cringing over it since the fifth grade when she’d first become fascinated with law. Eventually, she refused to answer to it, especially after she’d begun to hear people predicting her future as a debutante or some version of trophy wife instead of a determined prosecuting attorney. That charming disclosure had occurred at the University of Texas when she’d been his student escort at an evening lecture he’d been giving there. She had been a senior and he only a few years out of Baylor Law School, but already touted as a rising star in the profession.

      A year later they’d met again…on his wedding day, when she’d appeared as the date of one of his grooms-men, Cole Bryce. That had been the oddest of ego blows, although he’d known instinctively there was nothing but affection between them. Regardless, when in six months she’d invited Dylan to her wedding to Sessions, he couldn’t bring himself to go.

      E. D. Martel—the beautiful, brainy blonde, sharper than many in her field, the woman as devoted to her family as she was to her work—a bad mother? Sure, and the president was a flag burner.

      Having tormented himself enough, Dylan reached for his desk phone,