Page 6 of The Cowboy's Justice

While the handshake itself was firm enough, William’s palm was baby skin soft, and his nails were manicured. Devlin didn’t judge people, but in addition to his pristine appearance, William Buckley carried himself with a supercilious air.

“And obviously this is my client, Portia Peyton.”

“Hi,” Portia said, lifting her hand in a wave. “I’m really sorry about everything.”

Though she sounded sincere, Devlin wasn’t convinced.

“Mornin’ Devlin!” the sheriff said, striding up to join them.

“Mornin’, Sheriff. Please, everyone, come inside,” Devlin offered, then trotted back up the steps and opened the door. “Right through there” he continued, pointing to his study as Portia approached. She looked nervous, which surprised him. He’d expected her to be annoyed, or bored, or arrogant, but she didn’t appear to be any of those things.

Devlin had chosen the room because it was where his trophies and awards were displayed. Shiny cups and medals sat gleaming in a tall glass case, and the walls sported countless ribbons and framed certificates. As she entered he heard her gasp, and when William followed her in, Devlin saw him stop and stare.

“Shall we get down to business?” the sheriff suggested. “Devlin, do you want to outline your proposal?”

“How did you achieve all this, Mr. Hatfield,” Portia asked before Devlin had a chance to respond. “There’s so much here.”

“Call me Devlin, and it’s been years of blood, sweat and tears. When things get tough I come in here to remind myself I really do know what I’m doin’. But, yes, Sheriff Cooper, I’ll be happy to.”

“Sorry, Devlin, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Portia said, looking him in the eye. “It’s just so much to take in.”

“Not a problem. Have a seat.”

“So, let’s hear it,” William demanded as Portia sat down.

“I know your client is a wealthy young woman,” Devlin began, fixing the lawyer with a steely stare before turning his eyes back to her. “The money it would cost to make the repairs wouldn’t amount to loose change for you. Heck, I expect buyin’ me a new truck would probably be like a raindrop in a winter storm.”

“Might I remind you, Mr. Hatfield, my client will also be facing charges.”

“William, let him speak,” Portia said impatiently. “Sorry, Devlin, you were saying?”

“You’ll be payin’ fines, but from what I understand there won’t be any other penalties, No jail time or even community service. Even if you lose your license you could easily afford a full time chauffeur to drive you around.”

“So…what’s the bottom line?” she asked, her voice tinged with nervousness. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to work here at the ranch for thirty days.”

“Doing what?” William interjected brusquely.

“I accept!” Portia replied quickly, ignoring her lawyer’s question. “When do you want me to start.”

“Hold on, I don’t think this is a good idea,” William continued. “Portia, you’re not some girl off the streets who needs hard labor. You’re a—”

“I’ve made up my mind,” she exclaimed, cutting him off. “I’ve never been around horses and Helen is always talking about how great it is.”

“This won’t be a picnic. There’ll be hard work,” Devlin warned. “Don’t get me wrong, I won’t be unfair, but I won’t be easy either.”

“Mr. Buckley, bear in mind this deal was made in conjunction with the D.A.,” the sheriff piped up, “It’s part of Miss Peyton’s sentencing. If you choose not to accept she’ll be looking at further charges, and possible jail time.”

“Jail time!” Portia shouted, jumping to her feet. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Where do I sign.”

“Here’s the contract,” Devlin announced, lifting a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “I’m no lawyer and it’s very simple.”

“Give me that,” William demanded, striding over to him.

“I know how to read,” she shot back, but before she could take it, William snatched it from Devlin’s hand.

“This is ridiculous,” the lawyer exclaimed. “It has more holes in it than a slice of Swiss cheese. I’ll have to redraft it and—”

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