Travis's Appeal

“I had no idea you cared, Bea.”

Bea paused in the doorway to smile at him over her shoulder. “Always said you were clueless,” she murmured before crossing the threshold. And then she stopped, turning around again. “By the way…”

The phrase hung in midair like one half of the old popular “shave and a haircut, two bits” refrain tapped out with knuckles hitting a hard surface. He gave in after less than a minute.

“What?” Travis prompted.

“Hang on to your socks.”

He blinked. “What?” he demanded.

Rather than elaborate, Bea merely smiled at him. Her eyes danced with delight over her enigma. “You’ll understand,” she promised.

With that, she left the room.

In her wake, half a beat later, Travis’s latest clients entered. His ten o’clock appointment, Shawn O’Reilly and Shana O’Reilly.

And Bea was right. Travis could feel his socks suddenly slipping down his ankles. Curling. Along with the hairs along his neck.

Shawn O’Reilly looked like a modern, slightly wornout and pale version of a department store Santa Claus. But it was the young woman beside him, Shana, that Travis instinctively knew Bea had issued her warning about. Shana O’Reilly looked like something Santa Claus might have left beneath the Christmas tree of a deserving male if the latter had been exceptionally good, not just for the year, but for the sum total of his entire life.

Chapter 2

Travis stopped breathing.

To his recollection—and he was blessed with a mind that forgot absolutely nothing—Travis had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. She was tall—about five-seven—slender, with the face of an angel and long, straight blond hair that brought to mind the phrase “spun gold.” Her eyes were crystal-blue, and she moved like whispered poetry as she crossed the room.

Belatedly, Travis remembered that he was endowed with a rather pleasant, articulate voice and that remaining silently frozen in place like a plaster statue in an abandoned corner of a museum did not go a long way in inspiring confidence in clients.

Mentally shaking off his trance, Travis rose to his feet. Rounding his desk, he paid for the quick action with another breath-snatching salvo of sharp pain firing across his temples.

Travis silently congratulated himself for not wincing. It would have made for a terrible first impression. People didn’t expect their potential lawyer to wince when he first met them. At the very least, it would have conjured up a myriad of questions over his abilities.

“Hello.” Putting on his widest smile, Travis extended his hand to the heavyset man. “I’m Travis Marlowe.”

“Shawn O’Reilly,” the man responded genially, then nodded his head toward the ray of sunshine on his right. “And this is Shana. O’Reilly,” he added the surname as if it was an afterthought, then followed it up with, “My daughter.” He actually beamed as he made the announcement.

Not that the man probably hadn’t been a decent-looking sort in his youth, a hundred pounds and several chins ago, but this was definitely a case of the apple falling miles away from the tree. He and his brothers looked like a composite of their late mother and their father, while his sister, Kelsey, looked like a miniature version of Kate. Travis was fairly certain that Shana O’Reilly had to take after her mother because, other than the bright, cheerful, electric blue eyes, not a thing about her even remotely brought Shawn O’Reilly to mind.

“Hello,” Shana said, extending her hand to him.

She had a voice like a low blues melody, sinfully seductive.

No surprise there. It took Travis a second to take her hand and shake it. Holding her hand, he experienced an almost overwhelming reluctance to release it again.

What the hell was going on with him, he silently upbraided himself. He was too young to be going through a second adolescence and too old to be going through his first one.

They were right, he concluded, those people who said that you weren’t at your best without a full night’s sleep. He was obviously not operating with all four engines burning.

Out of the corner of his eye, Travis saw Shana’s father glancing toward one of the two chairs positioned in front of his desk. Shawn O’Reilly looked like a man trying to decide whether the chair would accommodate his girth without mishap or groaning, or the sofa would be a wiser course to follow.

Travis nodded toward the sofa. “You might find the sofa a bit more comfortable, Mr. O’Reilly,” he suggested. “I know I do.”

His words brought out an even wider smile from Shana. His breath went missing for a full thirty seconds. It was like standing beside an early morning sunrise.

Travis glanced down at her left hand. No ring.

Sunshine permeated his inner core.

Pleased at the suggestion, Shawn turned around and sat down on the sofa. Soft tan leather sighed all around the man’s considerable form. Shana took a seat beside him, shifted slightly and crossed her legs, her white skirt hugging her thighs. Travis forced himself to look away. He wouldn’t be able to form a coherent thought for several minutes if he didn’t.

Grabbing one of the two chairs that stood facing his desk, he swung it around and sat down opposite his potential clients. A small, glass-topped coffee table took up the space between them.

“Can I get you anything?” Travis asked amiably, looking from the man to his daughter. “Coffee? Tea? Soda? Water?”

“We’re fine,” Shawn assured him.

“All right, then tell me,” Travis settled back in his chair. “How can I help you?”

Shawn moved forward a touch, creating an aura of privacy as he did so. “They tell me you’re the go-to guy around here when it comes to putting together a living trust.”

Each at the firm had an area of expertise, although areas did overlap. Several attorneys specialized in living trusts. Somewhere, he had a guardian angel who had brought these people to him. “I’ve written a number of them, yes.”

His answer seemed to irritate Shawn rather than please him. Shaggy gray eyebrows came together like teddy bear hamsters huddling for warmth. “I don’t want false modesty, boy. I want the best.”

All right, you want confidence, you’ll get confidence. “Then you came to the right place,” Travis told him.

A pleased smile folded itself into the ample cheeks. “Better,” Shawn nodded. “A man should always know what he’s capable of and what his shortcomings are.”

Shawn’s voice was big and booming, with a slight Texas flavor. The man was obviously not a native Californian.

Travis found himself wishing that his new client’s tone was a little softer. Each word the man uttered seemed to vibrate inside his head which had turned into a living echo chamber.

Leaning forward, his elbows digging into his wide lap, Shawn asked without preamble, “Do these things really do what they say they do?”

He had no idea what the man referred to. It was a completely ambiguous question and Travis felt his way around slowly, not wanting to give offense or make Shawn think he was stupid. “And what is it that ‘they’ say, Mr. O’Reilly?”

“That if my money and my property are secured within the specifications of a living trust, then my girls won’t have to go through probate or pay Estate taxes.” When Shawn frowned, his chins became more prominent. “Already paid taxes on all the money once. Doesn’t seem fair to have to pay taxes on it again just because my girls get to hang on to it instead of me when I die.”

He heard that sentiment expressed a lot. Travis smiled. The effort cost him. It seemed that every movement, partial or otherwise, had pain associated with it. The aspirin he’d swallowed was taking its sweet time.

“That’s why most people look into getting a living trust,” he told Shawn.

The man nodded, pleased. “Now, we’re not going to be talking fortunes, boy. I’m not a Rockefeller,” Shawn warned.

“Most people aren’t,” Travis acknowledged. “You mentioned your ‘girls.’ Spouses enjoy the greatest elimination or postponement of Estate Taxes. Other generations, less. But I’ll need to know more about your particular assets and beneficiaries, after applying the Estate Tax Credit.” His eyes shifted toward Shana. It didn’t appear as if they were waiting for someone else to join them. That meant that Shana was the one the man relied on, Travis surmised. Beautiful and reliable. A hell of a combination. “I take it you’re referring to your daughters.”

“Well, yeah,” Shawn laughed heartily. “I don’t own no night club with dancing girls in it. Just a restaurant.” The way he said it, Travis could tell that there was no “just” about it. “Been running it for longer than Shana’s been on this earth,” the man said proudly. “Want that to go into the living trust, too.” Shawn pinned him with a look. “You can do that, right?”