"I know. No job is perfect."

"I'd feel better if you'd argue," Trent said, trying for a bantering tone. "Maybe call me a few names? Threaten to quit?"

"I'll be all right." She stared out the window and remained silent, not offering another word all the way back to the office, until they were in the Hartman parking lot and Trent had turned off the engine.

"Why did Mac make that comment about my maternal instincts?" Hannah asked.

"I don't know. I told him I'd taken your daughter tobogganing with Merle, but nothing of any note about the weekend. Why?"

"You told him I have a daughter?"

She was staring straight ahead, and her tone was miserable.

"Him and James both. Is that a problem?"

She leaned her head back against the seat. "Make sure they know not to mention it to anybody. Get out your cell phone now, and make sure."

Trent considered the stubbornness in Hannah's words. "Is this something we can discuss?"

"Not now," she said. "Maybe someday, but for now, you have to trust me. The fewer people who know about Grace, the better."

"Are you in the witness protection program?" He'd come across three people who were, as if Damson County was on some top secret federal map of nice small towns.

"I won't be cross-examined, Trent. You either accept this or I start looking for a new job, but, no, I am not in any witness protection program."

Hannah's tone was implacable, brooking no argument, no discussion. Trent considered her profile, utterly calm, telling him nothing, and he recalled the night and the day he'd spent with her and her daughter.

He got out his cell phone.

All week, Hannah expected Trent to corner her, to start with the casual questioning, or perhaps even to engineer a confrontation.

Who was Grace's father?

What was his role in the child's life?

Why didn't Grace's father have a role in his child's life?

But Trent was the same as he'd been the first day Hannah worked at Hartman. Friendly, supportive, as helpful as he could be while in and out of the office. By Thursday, Hannah was as focused on her looming confrontation with Trent as she was on her upcoming docket.

He appeared in her doorway late Thursday afternoon, and Hannah had to admit she was relieved to see him.

"Come with me, Stark." He beckoned and backed toward his office. "Time for you to grill me on child support and paternity law."

Hannah grabbed her notebook and followed him. "Did your case settle?" she asked as Trent closed the door behind her.

"To h.e.l.l with my case."

He wrapped his arms around her, and the next thing Hannah knew, he had her up against his desk, his mouth on hers.

"Missed you, Stark," he said against her lips. "I'm climbing the d.a.m.ned walls for want of you."

For a moment she was too stunned to react, then her arms were around him and she was kissing him back.

"Missed me too, huh?" He rested his forehead against hers. "I had to get that out of my system, had to remind myself. h.e.l.l, one single kiss won't do. I have to remind myself again."

He took his time, reminding her of the subtlety and pleasure to be had from a skillful man's use of his mouth for things other than opening arguments and cross-examination. Trent was playful and tender, then challenging, and Hannah's grip on him shifted from pa.s.sive to exploratory to demanding.

"We will consummate our relationship on this d.a.m.ned desk if one of us doesn't show some sense," Trent growled.

That sobered Hannah, barely. "Not during business hours."

He kissed her again, a quick, give-me-strength smackeroo. "Mac would be proud of you. James would laugh his a.s.s off."

"I'm serious." Hannah laid her cheek over his heart. "Not during business hours, not on company time. That crosses a line."

"It does," he said, easing back. "And you deserve better than a quickie on the desk."

"Do you want to hear about tomorrow's docket?" She smoothed her fingers over his hair, resisting the urge to retie his necktie. Nothing equine today, a simple swatch of blue-and-purple paisley.

"I do not want to hear about tomorrow's docket," he said, "but I will be a good sport and pretend I'm listening while you talk about it. The semierect p.e.n.i.s creates in men the ability to appear to mult.i.task. Don't be fooled."

"I have no idea what you're blathering about," she said, hopping off the desk. "But I will tell you about my cases."

"I'm talking about the ability to walk around this office the livelong week with a perpetual nascent erection, all the while impersonating the head of the domestic law department. You are to blame."

His expression held humor and disgruntlement, but something else too.

"You don't like being distracted," Hannah said.

Trent's brows rose. He crossed to the couch, sat and patted the place beside him.

"Distracted? Distracted is when I'm preparing for trial and Merle might be coming down with something. Distracted is when I'm worried about James or Mac, but as usual, they forget the use of the English language where I'm concerned. Distracted is trying one case while I'm in preparation for four other trials. What I'm suffering-and I use the word advisedly-is an annihilation of my ability to concentrate."

Hannah took a seat on the sofa a few inches away from him, knowing he was probably exaggerating, but pleased nonetheless. Despite the awkwardness at the jail, despite the even worse scene following that encounter, despite any worst-scenes-of-all to come, she was pleased.

"I've thought about you too." She did not kiss his cheek.

She didn't dare. Not when she could recall in vivid detail the sight of Trenton Knightley wearing nothing but moonlight, and not when he was likely sitting on a powder keg of questions regarding Grace.

"She's thought about me," Trent observed to the room in general. "I pour out my soul to her, and she's thought about me."

In truth, Hannah had worried about what she was doing with Trent. She'd missed him, in her bed, in her kitchen, in the office, all the while trying to convince herself if Trent pried regarding Grace's father, Hannah really, truly would look for another job.

It would break her heart, but she'd do it.

"You're pouting," she said, patting his hand. "I'm flattered."

He grabbed her fingers and brought her knuckles to his lips. "You should be flattered. I haven't been in this state since high school."

Hannah flipped open the next day's docket. "I haven't been in this state ever. May we talk about my cases now?"

"For nineteen minutes, yes, you may."

The clock read precisely 4:41 p.m.

Chapter 13.

Hannah went over the docket with Trent, case by case, and for a guy who was supposedly only impersonating a lawyer, he paid close attention. His questions and suggestions were helpful, and Hannah realized that in only a week, her confidence and her competence had doubled.

"Are you looking forward to the Christmas party?" he asked when the last case had been briefed.

"I am. Grace is looking forward to having Merle over again too."

"Please thank your friend Eliza for doing double duty," Trent said. "I don't have a long list of babysitters, particularly when both Mac and James will attend the party with us."

"Eliza has sons. She's looking forward to a girls' night. Will you be at the courthouse tomorrow?"

"I might have an ex parte domestic violence hearing. My client isn't coming in until five thirty, so I'll walk you to your car now."

"You don't have to do that," Hannah said, rising. "I'm glad I caught you to go over my cases, though. I feel more prepared when I talk them through with you."

"And I feel better," Trent said, getting to his feet. "I'm supposed to know what you're up to, but the holiday season is typically busy for family law attorneys."

"Another reason to transfer to corporate," Hannah said, wrinkling her nose.

He gave her a silent, frowning perusal, then let his gaze travel out over the parking lot. "I'll let you go if I have to. I won't like it, but I'd rather have you working down the hall for James than hating your job with me."

His p.r.o.nouncement eased a tension Hannah had stashed somewhere on her growing list of things to worry about.

"I wouldn't hate family law-" Hannah stopped herself. "I don't exactly hate it, but the charm of domestic relations law has thus far eluded me."

"Diplomatically put," Trent said as they crossed the hallway to Hannah's office. He held her coat for her, carried her briefcase, and opened doors for her.

"Why are you doing this? It's sweet of you, but bound to cause talk."

"I've walked both Lee and Ann to their cars when they get stuck here late. Mac and James do likewise. We were brought up not five miles from town, and in case you haven't noticed, Damson Valley isn't exactly the throbbing heart of modern civilization."

"So you're simply old-fashioned?" Hannah asked as she unlocked her car. She was old-fashioned enough herself to have parked under a streetlamp.

"I could tell you, yes, I'm old-fashioned, but if I'm honest, I will admit your safety matters to me very much, and I'm happy to have a few more minutes in your company."

He stood beside her car, the chilly breeze teasing at his hair. Hannah wanted badly to touch him, wanted to drag him back into the office now that it was after five.

Trenton Knightley deserved more than a quickie on the desk, and Hannah wanted more than that.

"I probably shouldn't say this," Trent went on. "You'll think I've got a screw loose, but I want people to understand you're spoken for. I want James and Mac and every male looking out these windows to know the pretty redhead at Hartman is already leading Trent Knightley around by his...nose."

He'd surprised her. Not by admitting the attraction, but by admitting any vulnerability where she was concerned.

"I haven't said I'm spoken for," she replied, tossing her worldly goods into the backseat.

"No, you haven't." His breath puffed white in the evening air. "I'm saying I'm spoken for though."

Hannah leaned back against her little car, feeling as if she'd taken a blow to her middle. She expected questions and prying, and he offered her exclusivity, for however long their interest in each other lasted. Handed it to her in blunt, simple words, like a knight knelt before a princess, no ceremony, no rhetoric, but plenty of dignity and heart.

Hannah wanted what Trent offered, had craved it, and longed for it with him, all the while telling herself they would have nothing more than a friendship with benefits, or some d.a.m.ned useless baloney. The yearning made no sense-they didn't know each other well, hadn't even really made love, and were both too busy to spare a relationship much time and energy.

She could trust Trent, though. He wouldn't run away, he wouldn't walk away, he wouldn't leave at all unless she gave him several good reasons.

"You are a brave man. A lovely man, and if I had any experience with this sort of thing, I'd have a glib reply all polished and ready to lob over the net at you. I don't know what to say, Trent, except I believe you mean your words, and you make a gift of a precious sentiment I don't feel I've earned."

That was the ghost of foster care talking, the Hannah who'd been repeatedly welcomed only to be rejected a year or even months later. She'd lived those rejections and died some with each one, and couldn't ignore the legacy of caution they'd given her.

"The gift is you, Hannah." He looked like he'd say more, but Hannah stopped him by opening her car door.

"I'm looking forward to the Christmas party. Really looking forward to it."

She could be that honest.

A smile dawned in Trent's eyes, and Hannah had the sense he'd taken her meaning clearly. There might be more gifts exchanged on Sat.u.r.day night than simply those warranted by the season, circ.u.mstances permitting.

"Good night, then." He took a step back. "I'll sustain myself on antic.i.p.ation and imagination."

Trent watched Hannah drive off, telling himself she'd reacted well to a declaration made too early and in the wrong context. She hadn't laughed; she hadn't told him to take a number; she hadn't been coy or silly or any number of things that would have suggested his heart was dragging him in a foolish direction.

By the time Trent returned to his office, he had still not convinced himself he'd made the right move. When he wanted to ponder and consider and lawyer his exchange with Hannah, he instead had to deal with Mac, who was waiting in his office.

"Your truck still in the shop, MacKenzie?"

"Nope."

"You have a family law question?"

"I do not."

"You still dithering over what to get Merle for Christmas?"