To: Miss Celia Gamble Miss Gamble,

Congratulations on your new veterinary practice. What a huge achievement. I’m sure you’d do anything to make it succeed. Unfortunately, I’ve read some nasty things on the Internet about you recently. Things like: -Offering sexual acts in exchange for preferential grading -Obtaining hospital assets as payment for sexual acts -Violation of the Montana Animal Cruelty Act I understand the pain this must cause you and would like to offer my assistance in clearing up this matter. While a woman cannot put a price on having her life stolen out from under her, I’m sure you’ll see my twenty- five thousand dollar fee as completely reasonable. Sincerely, a friend. PS: I’ll be in touch.

Celia Gamble scanned the words again, then folded the letter up with shaking hands and returned it to the envelope. No return address. She placed it on her brand-new reception desk carefully, as if it were a bomb, and took a step back. When she hit the wall, her knees buckled. She slid to the floor, pulled off her glasses, and buried her face in her hands. Animal cruelty? Sexual acts? Twenty-five thousand dollars?

The excitement she’d felt since returning from Bozeman two weeks ago disappeared in a tide of disbelief, humiliation, and fear. And yet another surprise wave of grief. Yeah, she knew exactly who this letter was from. She pressed the heels of her hands hard against her eyes, trying to convince herself this wasn’t what it looked like. Maybe she read it wrong. She needed some sleep, after all. Who was she kidding? She needed a lawyer.

*

“Jonah.” The middle-aged woman stood in the doorway of his office, clicking one polished talon on the frame. “You can’t keep ignoring me.”

E I E I I O U. Old MacDonald Loses Farm Putting Son Through Law School. Worth it? Not lately. Jonah Clarke, attorney- at- law and her boss, didn’t look up from his smartphone. Some kid was beating him at Words With Friends and that wouldn’t do.

Anne-Marie shook a sheaf of papers at him, making the bracelets on her wrist jangle madly.

“Mitch is one of your best friends. A little fresh air and fun on a Saturday? You remember fun, don’t you?”

Yeah. I was having it until about five seconds ago. “A little help orienting a couple of new kids to ranch life.” “I don’t work with young offenders.” He kept his eyes on his game.

“You think this is a job offer?” she snapped. “A few Saturdays.” Her voice softened. “Mitch does what he can for these kids, but he needs your help.” “Which I give him. In large amounts. As you know.”

He rearranged the letters on his screen yet again, but had no choice but to take a dive. So far, his opponent had gotten the X, the J, and the Q. Heels tapped on hardwood as she approached.

Here it comes, he thought. Mitch had turned his whole life around when he left the corporate world to buy a run-down ranch and turn it into a camp for high-risk kids. These kids were guilty of little more than chronic truancy, shoplifting, and getting kicked out of foster care. Hard Tack was the best place for them, and Jonah wished Mitch every success.

However, bridges still smoked from when Jonah finally gave up fighting the hopelessly inept juvenile justice system. He wished Mitch the best. The kids that landed at Hard Tack had no idea how lucky they were. They had a chance to turn their lives around. And if they failed, it wouldn’t be Jonah’s fault.

“You give money.” She dropped the files onto the gleaming glass surface of his desk. “He wants you. Those kids need all the help they can get.” “Have you ever tried to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped?”

She raised an eyebrow at him meaningfully. Jonah nudged the files aside. “I’m done with youth court. I’m done with advocacy and mediation. I’m done with being part of something that only ends up hurting people.”

Contracts and insurance, that was his life now. Facts, documents, numbers. No messy emotions to deal with. No more desperate kids pretending they didn’t care what happened to them. No more kids promising, too late, to change. No more files closed with a coroner’s report.

“Some days,” she continued, shaking her head, “I don’t know why I clock in. It’s not for the slave wages you pay and it’s sure as hell not for the workplace culture.”

“Slave wages,” he snorted. “I pay well above the going rate and you know it.” And since she did the work of three, he was spoiled for anyone else and he knew it. What did he have now? I O U L A D Y. Got that right. No one could torture him like Anne- Marie.

“Maybe it’s the sparkling conversation.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Wait. I get more from my goldfish.” Jonah heard the swish of fabric as she crossed her arms. “I can stand here all day.”

He pushed his swivel chair back until it hit the wall then looked up, smiling deliberately, blankly. “Annie-honey, good morning! Have you changed your hair? You look lovely.” She narrowed her eyes. “If you ask me about coffee, I’ll—”

“Coffee!” Jonah beamed at her. “I’d love some. Thanks for offering, especially since I know the strong feelings you have about paralegals acting as waitresses. That’s what I love about you, your selfless dedication to my comfort and well- being. You are the definition of a team player.” She pulled a chair up and lowered herself across from Jonah, smoothing her skirt and composing her face.

“Sweetheart,” she began. “You know I think of you as a son—”

“Nope.” Jonah made a back-off motion with his hands. “We are not going there.”

“A special kind of son,” she continued. “A handsome, sweet, well-meaning boy who spent a little too much time in the birth canal and can’t be trusted to look out for himself properly.”

“Anne-Marie, you’re fired.”

“And you are a mid-thirties not-entirely-repulsive male whose closest female relationship is with a menopausal paralegal who, due to her exceptional skill and training, could bludgeon you to death with a merlot bottle and never do a day of time.”

“Before you go, I’ll have a double espresso, thanks.”

Anne-Marie leveled a gazed at him. “Think about it, Jonah.”

Right. He steepled his fingers and stared back at her. “Yesterday’s leftovers microwaved would also be fine.”

Anne-Marie smiled and shook her head. “There’s more to life than work, you know.”

“I know. That’s why I’m back in Lutherton.” Jonah got up and walked to the window, feeling a muscle in his jaw twitch.

“If I believed that, I’d be in a hammock in Mexico, sipping tequila, waiting for my Botox appointment, instead of babysitting you.”