Page 12 of A Legal Affair
God, she was beautiful.
She swung her backpack over one shoulder and smiled at him. “See you in class tomorrow, Professor Thorne.”
Caleb nodded slowly. “See you then.”
This time when she walked away, he forced himself not to watch.
He’d already punished himself into enough cold showers to last a lifetime.
5
Although the rain had stopped by the time Daniela left campus that evening, the humidity clung stubbornly to the air, as unwelcome as toilet tissue stuck to a pair of designer pumps.
As she drove through the tree-lined streets of the King William District, she fantasized about taking a long, relaxing shower and unwinding with a glass of pinot grigio and a good book—something that didn’t include lengthy discussions of torts and statutes of limitation. After a day spent researching case briefs and how best to write one, she’d reachedherstatute of limitation. Not for the first time, she questioned her sanity in agreeing to go undercover as alawstudent, of all things.
Around the corner from her house, she slowed to a stop sign and watched as an elderly couple meandered across the street with a gray-bearded miniature schnauzer in tow. They smiled at her, and she waved at them and thought how refreshing it was to be on friendly terms with her neighbors. Not like before, at the apartment building where her neighbors had blasted music at all hours of the day and regularly stole her parking space. She’d patiently bided her time, saving up enough money to buy a house in the King William District, where she’d dreamed ofliving ever since attending an art show at the Blue Star Arts Complex as a little girl.
The historic town ran parallel to the San Antonio River, and featured grand old Victorian houses and quaint bungalows painted in sedate hues of surrey-beige, sèvres blue, hawthorn-green, frontier-days brown and Plymouth Rock-gray.
Many years ago, the city’s most famous literary personality had caused an uproar in the community by painting her house a shocking shade of periwinkle-purple. Many of the town residents had protested her decision, claiming that the house’s contemporary color scheme was inappropriate for the historic district. The controversy had drawn the attention of the local media, who printed a flurry of articles on the topic. In the end, the author won the battle against her neighbors, and her purple house now drew almost as many tourists as the town’s other attractions, which included a charming array of tiny shops and restaurants, two museums and more bed-and-breakfasts than Daniela could count.
Twenty minutes after leaving Northbridge University, she pulled up in front of her house, a one-story beige bungalow shaded by large pecan trees and boasting a wraparound porch. The lawn was a tidy swath of green, the shrubs meticulously trimmed by her own hands.
But as Daniela steered her convertible into the driveway behind a black BMW, she was too distracted by the sight of the vehicle to pause and admire her landscaping skills, as she often did. Grabbing her purse and backpack, she hurried from the car and into the house.
She skidded to a halt at the entrance to the kitchen.
Seated at the breakfast table, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows as he feasted on a plump piece of fried chicken, was Kenneth. The plate before him was piled high with candied yams, collard greens and macaroni and cheese.
At Daniela’s appearance, he glanced up and froze, midchew. His eyes flickered with guilt and then slid away at the murderous look on her face.
“The rolls are almost ready, baby,” their mother announced, oblivious to Daniela’s arrival as she leaned down to peer into the oven. “Do you want one or two?”
“As many as you can fit into a glass,” Daniela snarled, advancing on her brother like an enraged lioness. “Because when I get done with him, he’ll be sucking his food through a straw!”
Eyes wide with alarm, Kenneth lurched from his chair as Daniela charged him, teeth bared, fists raised and ready to do damage.
“Daniela!” With a speed that belied her sixty-one years, Pamela crossed the room and planted herself squarely in front of Kenneth just as his sister came within striking distance.
Wearing a mint-green chenille robe and matching bedroom slippers, Pamela stood at just five-two. Skin the color of mocha cream maintained an elasticity that defied gravity. Her short silver hair had been cropped into stylish layers that accentuated her fine-boned features.
She wagged a reproachful finger at her daughter. “Stop this! What has gotten into you?”
“Me?” Daniela cried in disbelief. “I’mnot the one who has you slaving over a hot stove when you’re supposed to be in bed resting!”
“Hey, I didn’t ask Mom to cook for me!” Kenneth protested over his mother’s head.
“That’s right. He didn’t,” Pamela affirmed. “Iwantedto cook. Beats lying around in bed all day feeling sorry for myself.”
“You have the flu, Mom,” Daniela pointed out in exasperation.
“Hadthe flu. Sister Jenkins came by this morning and prayed over me. I’m all better now. Prayer works. Isn’t that what I’ve always taught you and your brothers?”
“Mom—”
“Not another word about it, Daniela. Who’s the RN in this room, me or you? Now, why don’t you have a seat and let your brother finish his meal in peace? I’ll fix you a plate too, if you’d like.”
“I’m not hungry,” Daniela grumbled, reluctantly allowing herself to be ushered into a chair at the antique cedar table. Kenneth eyed her warily as he sat down and picked up his abandoned chicken breast.
