Free Center of Gravity by Laura McNeill

you’re here?”
    The kid shakes his head. The office crasher shifts his eyes, sweeps the room. He pushes a stray lock of dirty-brown hair out of his face, pulls at the neck of his camouflage T-shirt.
    I ease back in my chair, letting my arm drape over one side. “Want to sit down?” I ask and motion at the seat across from my desk.
    After a morning of twisting paper clips and making sure the office phone has a dial tone, the interruption is a welcome distraction. Much better than popping Advil like candy and trying to ignore my aching leg.
    He slides into the chair and starts to grin, but then thinks better of it. “I kinda got into the Jack Daniels last night. Then I got a wild hair to ride Daddy’s new John Deere. I took her down Main Street.”
    â€œHer the tractor?”
    â€œNo, sir.” The kid rubs his forehead. “Her being my Becky. Becky Marshall.”
    Marshall. Marshall. I pick up my mug, take a drink.
    He grins. “Um, yeah, she’s the DA’s daughter.”
    I nearly spit out the coffee. “How old?” I sputter. My pen pauses above the page.
    â€œSixteen next week. She’s a looker, now, my Becky.” He crosses his arms, smiles to himself. “That she is.”
    I want to choke him. “Property damage?”
    He taps his forehead. “The corner store, Mac’s grocery, missed the telephone pole . . .”
    List made, details recorded, I take a breath. Being new in town, I need the clients, even a mess of one like this kid. Farmer’s son, first offense. Just a joyride with major consequences. “So,” I ask, “how’d you end up in my office?”
    â€œBecause if my Daddy finds me, he’ll kick my tail. My sister was pretty sure he won’t look here.” He glances around my office. “And you don’t have coffee regular at Miss Beulah’s like all the cops and judges and them.”
    I stifle a laugh. “They probably don’t much take to outsiders.”
    The farmer’s kid grins. “Especially one who rides a Harley.”
    â€œIs that a fact?” I eyeball Mr. Smart-Ass.
    The alcohol-induced cockiness vanishes. He turns pasty-white. “Don’t mean no harm.”
    â€œNone taken.” I pretend to look over my calendar, empty as a tomb. “After checking my schedule, I believe I can find time to take your case.”
    â€œThank you, Jesus,” he breathes into his hands and wipes his face.
    I stifle a grin. I’ll take any assistance at this point, even from unknown and unseen forces. “First, you’re going to have to bathe, comb your hair, and put on some clean clothes. Okay?”
    The kid bobs his head. “But I can’t go home. I told you Daddy’ll kill me. I’ve missed my chores, blew off school, messed up things bad.”
    My mouth twists. “Seems like your father will tear your hide anyway—it’s just a question of when.”
    â€œI reckon,” he agrees. “But I’d rather face the law before I head home.”
    With a quick glance at his stature, I can guess the kid is about my size. “Can you manage to walk into that house behind the office and get a shower? There are clothes on the bed—or get Miss Becky to drop some off?”
    His eyes widen.
    â€œIt’s my place,” I explain. “You can sleep on the couch if you don’t have anywhere to go. We’ll sort all this out in the morning.”
    Bug-eyed, he digs a wad of bills out of his overalls and sets the crumpled mess on my desk. “It’s not much. A few hundred. I hope it’s enough. I’ll get paid next Friday.”
    My first paying client. A tractor-driving delinquent with a dad who probably resembles Arnold Schwarzenegger. A man who will also want to kick my ass when this is all over.
    â€œWe can settle up the rest later.” I stuff the bills in my middle drawer, then lock it.
    â€œYes, sir,” the