She looked at their joined hands and tried to recall why being entangled with the boss was a legendarily dumb idea.

"I'll manage. I always do." Foster care strikes again, though for the first time, Hannah regarded that enforced habit of resilience as something more than simple cussedness.

"If you're going utterly to pieces," Trent said, "ask Linker for a recess. You're a female. He'll let you go pee."

"The things they don't tell you in law school."

"Like how important a good night's sleep is," he said, giving her back her hand. "It's five o'clock, Hannah. Merle will want to know how court went for me today, and because I'm doing a multiday trial, I'm excused from cooking. You want to do carry-out with us?"

Just like that, reality rea.s.serted itself.

This was why getting entangled with the boss was a complicated idea. Not because the boss would take advantage or morale would suffer in the department or Hannah wouldn't pull her share of the workload. Trent would never take advantage, he'd be the soul of discretion, and n.o.body had ever called Hannah Stark lazy.

But there was Grace. Always, for the foreseeable future, there would be Grace, and the need to protect Grace.

"I'll go home and crash," Hannah said, shifting forward on the seat. "I haven't been sleeping well, and for me to sleep during the day, I'm either coming down with something or exhausted or both."

"You look a little short of sleep. You should eat with us some night when I've fired up the grill. Lots of good food, and we eat off paper plates, so no dishes."

"That does sound good." It sounded cozy and domestic and delicious. Hannah struggled to her feet and gave herself a moment to find her balance.

"You OK?" Trent was on his feet beside her, his hand on her elbow.

"Fine. Just wiped out. I'll get my briefcase and be on my way."

"Will you do me a favor?"

This favor wouldn't involve any more kisses. "Ask."

"Leave the briefcase here tonight. I've been a lousy boss this week, but I'm trying to make up for it. You're ready, Hannah. You are. You'll do fine tomorrow, and there's nothing in those files that you need to look at one more time, or review yet again. You need to rest and pamper yourself tonight. Take a hot bath, curl up with a book, paint your toenails."

Be a princess? "I've never painted my toenails in my life."

"So indulge yourself tonight. Ditch the briefcase."

Trent was winding up for a closing argument. Apparently princes could be as obstinate as princesses. "No briefcase."

"That's my lady. May I walk you to your car?"

"You may." Because he'd be obstinate about that too. Hannah got her coat and purse, but Trent followed her to her office and took them from her. He held her coat and drew her hair carefully from the coat collar, then tucked her purse over her shoulder.

"If I were James, I could offer you my arm and make it look smooth."

"If you were James," Hannah said as they made for the parking lot, "you would have been dropping by my office three times a day, offering me your stash of trail mix and fretting over the new a.s.sociate rather obviously."

"Did he bother you?" Four words, but they portended closed fists for James, depending on Hannah's answer. Kinda sweet, that.

"He was being sweet."

That kept Trent quiet until they reached Hannah's Prius.

"Some day, my dear, we must talk about reliable transportation. We can get a lot of snow out this way."

Hannah was fond of George, and so was Grace, which decided the matter. "I am not your dear." An objection for the record, nothing more. "But you are dear, and the car's half paid off."

She climbed into her chariot and left him standing in the parking lot, darkness falling around him, her briefcase locked in his tower.

Chapter 10.

Hannah explained to Grace that Mom was scheduled to try her first contested matters the next day, and Grace responded by being as biddable and solicitous as she could be.

The Stark family was small, but its members were terrifically loyal to each other, and as Hannah drove to work Friday morning, she decided the best outcome of the day would be if Grace could be proud of her mother.

If Hannah could be proud of herself, and if Trent could be proud of his newest a.s.sociate, whom he had kissed witless and held and kissed some more.

Hannah pulled into a twenty-four-hour drugstore to pick up over-the-counter cold and sore throat remedies. Going short of sleep, neglecting meals, and generally stressing about the docket, she'd managed to invite that might-be-getting-sick feeling for a visit. She'd get herself better too, though that would take the weekend and some rest to accomplish.

She was surprised to find Trent's sedan in the parking lot at such an early hour. She parked next to it, recalling the heated seats with something approaching l.u.s.t.

To have tea or to skip tea? Having tea meant managing nature's call when Hannah had to be in court. Though a cup of tea would help wash down the pills she was about to swallow, which was the greater need.

Hannah forgot all about tea and pills when she saw her office. Sitting on her desk in a thick crystal vase was a huge spray of yellow gladiolus. The color brightened the whole room, and Hannah had to drop into a guest chair, so pleased was she by the gesture. She was still beaming like an idiot-or a princess-when Trent wandered in holding a steaming mug and took the other chair.

"Flowers make me sad sometimes," he said, his tone contemplative.

"Sad?"

"Because their beauty is so fleeting. It's as if they offer it up, knowing that for the flower at least, as soon as the blossom opens, it begins to fade toward death. I know the biology of the flower is more interesting than that, but the uselessness, the futility of the beauty is so, I don't know-poignant? It reminds me of childhood, the fleeting beauty that has to die."

He held the steaming mug out to her.

"Thank you," Hannah said, "for the tea, the flowers, the philosophy."

The warmth of the mug in her hands comforted, while his words made her sad. Childhood was not always a time of even fleeting beauty.

"You got some sleep," Trent said, studying her. "Probably not enough, though."

"I'll catch up over the weekend." Hannah took a sip of hot tea, which was ambrosial. "The docket shouldn't go for more than half the day."

"Let's ride over together anyway. You can take my car back at lunch time, or have Gino come pick you up. Then too, you never know when Margaret will get a wild hare and try every case on the docket as a contested matter."

"Somehow the concepts of wild hares and Madam State don't quite mesh. These flowers are truly wonderful, Trent. Truly thoughtful."

"Merle likes flowers. Even Mac likes flowers, though that's a state secret. The Victorians thought the gladiolus stood for strength of character."

"I will need some strength of character today, won't I?" Not only for court.

"Stark, you have everything you need, not simply to endure this day, but to do a good job at it. I don't require const.i.tutional arguments and brilliant interlocutory motions from you. I don't need you to be a hero or a martyr today. Just stumble through the docket as best you can. It's the hardest docket you will ever have to take. After today, you might come across more difficult cases, nastier opposing counsels, more miserable clients, but today is tougher than all that because you're going into it without anything but nerve to sustain you. The practice of law will get easier, I promise you."

He squeezed her hand, then stood.

"I'm supposed to meet my client a little early," he said. "I know you want to be in the bullpen before the crowd gathers, so let's pack up your files and charge the gates, shall we?"

His suggestion made all kinds of sense, because the twenty folders would not fit in Hannah's briefcase. Trent put most of them in the oversize attache he used for court and escorted her to his car.

He popped a disc of Vera Winston playing Chopin ballades into the CD player on the way to court-music to brood by-and all too soon, they were in Courtroom Two, piling cases onto the counsel table in docket order.

"I can't do this for you," he said, "but I would if I could. Ask for a recess if you need one."

"Right." Because even princesses needed to pee.

The courtroom was filling up. Young men stood at the back in small groups, looking nervous or sullen. Young women arranged babies and diaper bags on the church pews, and counsel for the defendants were off in corners, chatting with clients.

"What?" Trent asked.

"I never wanted to practice family law. I still don't, but I need to conquer the courtroom, to make it mine. I see that now." Especially the family law courtroom. Hannah didn't like that revelation, hated it in fact, but it landed in her gut with the low-down, leaden conviction of a personal truth.

"You will be fine," Trent said, and Hannah wished in that moment, boss or no boss, courtroom or no courtroom, she could lean into him and feel his arms around her.

"I will," she said, wiggling her toes in her black high heels. "Go meet with your client. I'm not the only one with a courtroom to conquer."

"One last thing." He lowered his voice and leaned closer. "Gerald Matthews has a case today. I asked Margaret to put Gerald on first, in hopes he'll clear out and leave you free to represent your clients."

Hannah loved this man. Loved him for his protectiveness, for his innocent view of childhood, for his forethought and his flowers.

"I appreciate the warning."

Then Trent was gone, leaving Hannah with an upset stomach, an aching throat, and twenty cases to get through.

Hannah Stark was moving through her docket like a G.o.dd.a.m.ned pro, and Trent couldn't recall when he'd been so proud of another adult. She used the strategies they'd discussed, objecting when she needed to and letting slide what would have been posturing and delay. She got good results for her clients and didn't get bogged down in petty sniping or judicial a.s.s kissing.

On her first day in court, she was ten times the lawyer Gerald Matthews had been with two dozen dockets under his belt.

Trent sat in the back of Courtroom Two while his case took a twenty-minute recess to let the judge hear a domestic violence ex parte. Lucy was off on a smoke break, letting Trent catch a little of Hannah Stark in action.

She was already a very good attorney. She conducted herself like a lady and fought fair, but she fought hard without losing sight of the people she was fighting for. He resented the need to get back to his own case, but when fifteen minutes had gone by, he chose a break between cases and stood up, waiting until he could catch Hannah's eye.

Her expression was impa.s.sive and professional. When Trent winked at her, she scowled, much as Merle would have scowled had Trent started applauding at the wrong moment in the school play.

He gave her two thumbs-up and left, more proud of her than ever.

Hannah got through her cases.

She put up with the judge pulling the same "empty your wallet" drill on some hapless fool she didn't represent.

She put up with Margaret objecting a few times just to try to derail Hannah's questioning.

She put up with the judge asking if she'd been out to the driving range yet.

She put up with Gerald Matthews snubbing her in front of G.o.d, opposing counsel, and everybody, and she'd put up with Trent lurking in the courtroom, probably to hide from his client.

Worse than all that were the feelings she put up with as she made her way to the snack bar in search of ice water with which to take more pills.

Hannah had hated doing that docket.

Hated it, loathed it, despised it. She was competent to manage more dockets, she knew that now, but she was competent to do a lot of things-muck stalls, scrub floors, change dirty diapers. Pick nits.

Any of those might be a better career choice for her. The judge didn't respect the people in his courtroom. The moms and dads didn't seem to respect each other, and many of them didn't even seem to care about their children. Worse, Hannah had a sinking premonition this callous and cavalier treatment between people wasn't limited to the courthouse's family law dockets.

"I wondered where you'd gotten off to." Trent Knightley filed into the lunch line behind her. "I'll buy you lunch, and you can tell me all about your morning."

He scanned the menu, and Hannah wanted to walk away. Except they'd carpooled in, a million years and twenty cases ago, and if she were smart, she'd spend the afternoon watching the brilliant Mr. Knightley demolish his client's marriage at a hefty hourly rate.

He ordered a burger, rare, while Hannah ordered soup and toast. Her throat was killing her, and she wouldn't have been surprised to find she was coming down with the flu, so badly did she ache.

When they found a table over by the windows, Trent held her chair for her, and Hannah wanted to howl at him to get lost. Outbursts of temper were never a good idea. She'd spent years learning that lesson, until she'd been threatened with medication and a diagnosis of explosive temper disorder as an adolescent.

"You don't look like a lady who just handled twenty cases in a row without once putting a foot wrong. I was impressed, Hannah. Really, truly impressed, though you seem a little worse for wear." He folded his bun over his meat, picked it up, and took a big old bite of rare protein.

Hannah looked at her soup and felt queasy. "You must be hungry."

"The food here is surprisingly good. They probably live in fear of being sued, come to think of it. You want a bite?" Trent gestured with his sandwich, munching happily away, like a raptor devouring his kill.

"No, thank you. My digestion's tentative right now."

He put a few potato chips on her plate.

"You'll be an old hand at this in another month. Ready for the tough cases just because they provide some variety. We should have some fun and games this afternoon with my divorce when the very pregnant former paramour and receptionist comes toddling in the door."

He bit into his pickle. If Hannah didn't eat something, she'd never keep her meds down. She lifted her spoon, only to watch it go clattering back into the bowl.

"Hannah?" Trent put his half-eaten pickle down. "You feeling OK?"

"A little shaky. Low blood sugar, I suppose. If you'll excuse me, I forgot to heed nature's call at the morning recess, and it's catching up with me now."

The same tactic he'd told her to use with Judge Linker: tell him you have to pee. She got to the ladies' room sink just as the dry heaves started, then hung miserably for a moment, hoping they'd pa.s.s.