Free Cavanaugh Judgment by Marie Ferrarella Page B

the deal,” she answered with a broad smile. And then she turned to the judge. “I’ll make you a bargain, Your Honor. You come with me tonight and tomorrow, I’ll get someone on the squad to go shopping for me and I’ll make dinner here.”
    “You cook?” Blake asked in surprise. A woman who looked as good as she did didn’t have to know how to cook. He could see men falling all over themselves for the privilege of wining and dining her.
    “Almost as good as Uncle Andrew,” she said with just the right touch of modesty.
    He did his best to remain steadfast, although he felt the ground beneath his feet turning to sand. And the vibrant detective who probably had no clue that she was getting to him at the speed of light was the sandstorm. Damn, under any other circumstances…but it was what it was and he had to remember that. This was a professional situation. He couldn’t allow himself to let it get personal. Or intimate.
    “That’s not necessary.”
    “You let me be the judge of that—no disrespect intended,” Greer added.
    “None taken.” This time, the judge fairly growled his response.

    “Good, you came. We can get started,” Andrew Cavanaugh declared heartily less than thirty minutes later. Rubbing his hands together in anticipatory pleasure, Andrew had walked out to greet Greer and his other two guests just as she pulled her vehicle up into the driveway.
    Andrew positioned himself on the passenger side of the sedan so that Blake and his father had no choice but to greet him and shake the hand that the former police chief offered.
    “Hello,” he said warmly, “I’m Andrew Cavanaugh, Greer’s uncle, and this is my wife, Rose.” He nodded at the youthful-looking woman beside him.
    The man was a hell of a lot more than that, Greer couldn’t help thinking. He ran a 24/7 kitchen and was a saint to boot. Everyone in the family turned to him when they needed emotional support. That was definitely far and away more important than just being her uncle.
    But hearing Andrew say it sent a warm, happy feeling through her, as if, for the first time in her life, she actually belonged somewhere.
    “Alexander Kincannon,” the older man said, taking Andrew’s offered hand first. “Gunny to my friends.”
    “I hope I’ll number among those.”
    “Let me try your cooking and we’ll see,” Alexander responded half seriously.
    “I’m Blake Kincannon.” Leaning forward, Blake shook his host’s hand. “You’ll have to excuse my father,” he apologized, slanting an irritated glance at Alexander. “He doesn’t get out much.”
    “Look who’s talking,” Alexander hooted. “If it wasn’t for going to court, I’d have to start referring to you as The Shadow.”
    The reference was to an illusive comic book hero from the forties, but from the knowing look on Andrew’s face it was clear he was familiar with it. Very neatly, the man got in between father and son, a human barrier to their escalating exchange of words.
    “Judge,” he said to Blake, “I took the liberty of inviting my son-in-law over. Brent’s a sitting judge and I thought the two of you might have things in common to talk about.”
    He knew of only one Brent on the bench. “Brenton Montgomery?” Blake asked.
    “Right here,” a deep voice announced from the family room. The next moment, Brent had crossed over to his father-in-law’s newest converts.
    Greer caught Andrew’s eye and mouthed, “Thank you,” gratitude flowing from every pore. She knew the situation was tense for the two men she’d brought, but the last thing she wanted was a verbal confrontation between them.
    She should have known she could count on Andrew not just to defuse the situation, but to generate a feeling of well-being, not only verbally, but also with the food he so deftly prepared.

    Uttering a deep, satisfied sigh, Alexander Kincannon pushed himself away from the table after having consumed three generous helpings of the lamb stew that Andrew had