An Old-Fashioned Love

“You contend, Miss Temple, that the defendant, Lieutenant Colonel Wyatt Gilley, retired, owes you the maximum damages allowed in this court due to the theft and destruction of your property by his sons, Paul Rex and Phillip Max, both juveniles ten years of age. Is that correct?”

“That’s correct, Your Honor.”

“And what evidence have you to uphold this contention, Miss Temple?”

“My own eyewitness account and three other signed statements, duly notarized, Your Honor.”

“I see. Lieutenant Colonel Gilley, what have you and your sons to say to Miss Temple’s suit?”

Wyatt Gilley linked his hands together before him and spread his legs comfortably wide. “Nothing, Your Honor,” he said evenly. “Er, that is, we admit full responsibility.”

Traci gasped, her mouth falling open, and the judge sent her a mildly censorious look over the tops of her glasses before turning her attention back to Wyatt Gilley and the two scamps flanking him with heads bowed.

“Am I to understand, sir, that your youngsters admit their guilt in the matters charged by Miss Temple?”

“Yes, they do, Your Honor.”

“And as their father and legal guardian, you, therefore, accept financial responsibility for their actions?”

“I do.”

The judge removed her glasses and folded her arms over the top of the desk, splitting a stern look between the two boys. For a long moment she said nothing, and then she sat back. “You’re very fortunate boys,” she said. “Which is which? I like to know whom I’m talking to and you’re as alike as peas in a pod.”

It was Max who spoke up, but not to identify himself. “He’s Rex,” he said, leaning forward to point past his father to his twin.

The judge lifted her chin, her facial expression carefully closed. “That means you are called Max, I gather.”

The boy nodded. His father nudged him, and he spoke up. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, Max, as I was saying, you are very fortunate boys because Miss Temple could have chosen to file criminal charges against you, in which case you would have been remanded to incarceration as juvenile offenders. Do you know what incarceration means, Max?”

The boy shook his head, realized he must respond audibly and said, “No.”

“I do,” Rex piped up, and the judge looked down her slender nose at him.

“Do you now? Then suppose you tell me.”

“It means jail,” he replied tonelessly.

The judge nodded. “So it does, or more precisely, confinement. In other words, Max, Rex, Miss Temple could have had you taken into custody, separated from your parents and guarded by specially trained officers until such a time as the court could decide your guilt and investigate the suitability of your home to be certain that you two are getting the proper guidance from your parents. Any number of things could have happened after that, depending upon whether or not the charges against you were proven correct—and by your own admission, they are. You could even have been removed from the care of your parents, should they have been found negligent in the responsibilities toward you. I am persuaded, however, by your father’s behavior here today—and yours—that such is not the case. Nevertheless, you are fortunate, for the processes involved in making those determinations under court order are sometimes grueling, and Miss Temple has spared you that. I hope you are appropriately grateful.”

“If they are not, Your Honor,” Wyatt Gilley said, his electric gaze sliding to Traci, “I certainly am.”

Traci had to look away, her upper teeth clamping down on her lower lip. She felt as though a butterfly was fluttering its wings madly in the center of her chest and wished fervently that Wyatt Gilley wasn’t so dashingly good-looking. No doubt he would make a stirring sight in uniform. Certainly the uniform was all that was lacking in the picture he presented, for his bearing, his manner, even his haircut, clearly proclaimed his association with the military.

Why she suddenly found that so attractive was beyond her. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that he was no longer denying his responsibilities both to her and to his sons. And perhaps…perhaps it had to do with that smile he had given her out there in the antechamber. On the other hand, maybe she’d gotten a knock on the head that she simply couldn’t remember right now or some strange virus had upset the chemical balance of her body. Or maybe her grandmother was going to wake her shortly from a very strange, very disturbing, but not altogether unpleasant dream. She shook her head, amazed at not only her reactions to this man but to her obvious flights of fancy concerning those reactions.

“I take it you disbelieve the sincerity of the lieutenant colonel’s expression of gratitude, Miss Temple?” the judge asked.

“Oh, no, Your Honor,” Traci quickly replied. “I-I’m quite satisfied that he is sincere. I’m simply surprised.”

“I gathered that much.” The judge sat forward again. “Well, we’ve taken up enough of the court’s time with this matter. My judgment is obvious. Therefore, I state for the record that I find for the plaintiff. She is awarded the maximum monetary damages allowed by law, which is fifteen hundred dollars, plus court costs.”

But Wyatt Gilley had one more surprise up his sleeve. “If Your Honor pleases,” he said, begging permission to speak once again.

The jurist nodded. “You have something else to say, sir?”

“I fear, Your Honor, that fifteen hundred dollars will not fully recompense Miss Temple for her losses, and I want it known now that I’m willing to make full restitution, as I should. But it also occurs to me that the chief culprits in this incident are getting off rather lightly, and I’m not at all certain that is in their best interests.” As he spoke, he looked down to his left and then to his right. Both boys had turned wide, fearful eyes up at him. He went on. “That being the case, Your Honor, I would like to propose that my sons be required to offer their services to Miss Temple after school and on weekends in any capacity she deems helpful until her ice-cream shop is ready to be reopened. If Rex and Max could help repair the damage they’ve caused, I think it might give them a better understanding of the seriousness of what they’ve done, and they just might think twice before taking someone else’s junk’ again.”

Traci was struck dumb. Not so the judge, who nodded sagely and commended the defendant for seeking to fulfill so well his parental duties. “I agree with you, sir,” she said. “Unfortunately it is not within the jurisdiction of this court to order such action. I do not see a problem, though, with you enforcing such an arrangement on your own authority, provided the children are not exploited in any way. There are such things as child labor laws, you know.” This last she addressed to Traci as well as to Wyatt Gilley. Then she picked up her gavel and brought it down. “My judgment stands as stated. This court will recess for ten minutes before calling the next case.”

“All rise,” the bailiff intoned, and the judge stood, stepped down from the platform upon which her chair rested and swept out of the room, leaving the majority of the spectators somewhere between their seats and standing positions.

It was over, Traci thought numbly. And then it hit her. It was over, she had won, and not only was she going to collect her damages, but that surprisingly admirable, good-looking man was shepherding his two recalcitrant sons toward her at that very moment! She fumbled with purse and file folder and managed to get her hand out by the time he drew near enough to take it, which he did without hesitation, his own much harder, much tougher hand effectively swallowing hers. Good grief, the man radiated heat like a stove, and it was spreading from her hand up her arm at an alarming speed. Unless she was mistaken, it was also glowing upon her cheeks in splotches of bright red.

“Well, what do you think?” he said with amazing cordiality. “Would these hoodlums of mine be a help to you? I wouldn’t want you to agree to taking them on unless you’re reasonably certain they can be of help. God knows we’ve caused you enough harm already.”

Traci licked her lips, wishing he’d let go of her hand, and forced her mind to consider his question. “I—I think they could be of help if they wanted to,” she finally told him.

Wyatt released her and dropped looks on each of his sons. “I’ll leave it to you, boys,” he said. “Do you want to help Miss Temple get her shop ready to open, or would you rather spend your afternoons and weekends alone in your rooms?” One of them shot his eyebrows upward as if to say the choice was no choice at all. Apparently he preferred even actual work to solitary confinement. The other twin scowled and dragged the toe of his shoe across the highly polished floor. “Rex?” Wyatt prodded. “What’s it going to be? Honest toil or deep, protracted boredom?”

Rex sent a look to his brother and got one in return. Clearly, whatever Rex decreed would decide it for both of them. He was a tough little character, and Traci wondered if he had any concern at all for his brother’s preference. Seemingly he did, for he finally dropped his head in a curt nod and mumbled, “We’ll help her.” Not content with acquiescence, however, he jerked his head back up, vowing, “We’re not crooks! That place looked abandoned to us. We didn’t think anyone would care.”

“Rex, that lumber you hauled off was new,” Wyatt said. “Maybe you didn’t know the difference when you took it, but you darned sure knew somebody cared when Miss Temple confronted you, so you lied to cover up and, heaven help me, I believed you. We danced the jig, my boy, now we pay the piper. It’s that simple.”

Rex sighed and shook himself in resignation. “Yes, sir.”

Wyatt Gilley fixed his fascinating eyes on Traci Temple once again. “When do you want them?”

She shrugged, feeling less awkward now that he was no longer touching her. “Um, tomorrow afternoon, four, four-fifteen?”

“They’ll be there. Now if you’ll give me a minute, I’ll write you a check.” He fished a leather checkbook from the hip pocket of his black slacks and reached into his shirt pocket for a pen.

“Oh, wait. That’s not necessary,” Traci heard herself saying. “I mean, the court will send you papers showing the exact amount and where to send it and everything.”

“I understand that,” he said, “but I was thinking that you could probably use some cash right now, and I meant what I said to the judge about making full restitution.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” she said, and once again had to backtrack. “I mean, the fifteen hundred dollars should cover everything.”

“Listen,” he argued, “these guys have given me a good picture of things. I know the doorknob was ruined and windows were broken and that torn awning must have cost a pretty penny….”

“It’s all right,” she rebutted. “Honestly, I—I think I may be able to repair the awning instead of replacing it, and having the boys’ help will mean I can spend less for labor costs…and, well, a couple of the estimates I got were on the high side, you know. Anyway, I’d rather not.”

“Take my money, you mean,” he said, smiling when she blanched. “Okay, let’s do it this way, then. I’m a fair to middlin’ carpenter. Why don’t I make some of the repairs myself? That will save you considerably more on labor costs than anything this duo is likely to manage, and I’ll feel better about this mess.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t think—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupted, with a wag of his finger. “I insist.”