Page 8 of Swept for Forever
I reached forward, gently wrapping the sheet back around her. “You’re magnificent. But I’m not doing either.”
Her expression stalled. “What do you mean?”
“I quit law.”
She gasped. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not.”
She stared at me. “Wow. You’re serious.”
I nodded.
“So, where’s a guy like you running off to?”
“Somewhere with more trees than people.”
She snorted. “That really narrows it down.”
I hitched my shoulder. “Somewhere with more boots than dress shoes.”
Her lips curved, amusement flashing in her eyes. “If you’reno longer a lawyer, how do you bluff your way into a woman’s panties?”
“Hey, I don’t need courtroom theatrics to get a woman into bed.”
“Oh, so just a natural talent, huh?”
I grinned. “Let’s call it a strong closing argument.”
She rolled her eyes but laughed. “Still don’t buy it. Lawyers can’t go to quiet places. What are you gonna do? Break horses?”
“Last I checked, ‘breaking horses’ isn’t covered under personal injury protection.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh, Dom. This is why any jury would eat out of your hand.”
I tossed her a lopsided smile. “What can I say? It’s a gift,” I said. “Maybe I’ll stick to fishing.”
She looked me over, skeptical. “A man like you sitting still long enough to fish? I give you a week.”
She wasn’t wrong.
But a quiet life was what I needed now. And for the foreseeable future. I might regret it later, but I had a cushion fat enough to carry me for years without working a single case.
I used to be the guy who thought money made the world go round. But almost dying had a way of changing one’s perspective, though it took me a while to figure out what to do with that. Truth was, if I ever needed to put the suit back on, I would. But until then?
I’d be just fine in flannel and jeans.
“Good luck with that, cowboy,” she called after me as if reading my mind.
Pausing at the doorway, I tapped two fingers to the brim of an invisible hat. A half-cooked cowboy salute.
Her laughter followed me out.
I swung by my place to grab my suitcase. The rest of mystuff was already packed and en route. The house had sold fast, and at a price so ridiculous that even I felt bad about it. Almost.
It was another reason I could kick back. Early retirement? Semi-retirement? Cowboy sabbatical? Whatever you called it, I had funds, time, and no one breathing down my neck. I had the freedom to waste my days screwing up in peace, and maybe learning a thing or two along the way.
In the back of the taxi to LAX, I rolled an old courtroom coin between my fingers. It was a gift from my mentor, a man who’d believed in me more than my father ever had. He’d called it a token of promise. I liked to think I’d made good on it.
