Page 4 of Danny Hall Gets a Lawyer (Goose Run #1)

As predicted, Chad’s lawyer laughed his ass off before telling me he’d get back to me.

I spent the rest of the afternoon going through the file notes in the vain hope that we weren’t totally screwed, but I couldn’t focus.

The image of Missy in a thong had invaded my brain like black mold and was proving just as hard to dislodge.

In the end I set the whole mess aside and went and grabbed some lunch.

Once I’d eaten I was able to appreciate the absurdity of the situation at least a little, even if it didn’t bring me any closer to a solution.

Callahan had promised that if I came to work for him, I’d see a whole other side of practicing law, and hoo boy, he hadn’t been kidding.

My boss’s law firm was the definition of casual—“a dog bed in the corner of his office” levels of casual—but he was also a hell of an attorney, and I was learning a lot by working with him.

In some ways I wished I could stay, just for the entertainment value, but that was a pipe dream.

My plans included places and opportunities bigger than anything Hopewell had to offer me.

It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with Hopewell per se.

It was a nice enough place, with a couple of good bars and restaurants and the usual assortment of takeout joints, and it was pretty in the way that many small Virginian towns were, with rolling green lawns and well-kept houses with white-painted trim and matching planter boxes, all set along wide streets that were lined with maples and lilacs that provided dappled shade in the summer and probably looked awesome in the fall.

It was also home to Lassiter U, which meant it was populated with college kids—including the guy who was currently vying for the title of worst intern ever.

Seriously, I’d done my share of hours interning when I was in college, and I was pretty sure I’d done a lot more work than this guy ever did.

Then again, my boss hadn’t had a perpetual dusting of dog hair on his jacket.

The point was, it was clear that there was no future for me in Hopewell, or at least not the future I wanted.

On my way back to the office, I stopped and picked up a box of glazed donuts because I knew Callahan had a sweet tooth, and the donuts eased the guilt I felt for planning to leave when I knew the assumption was that I was here for the long haul.

I carried the box into the office and headed for the small kitchen in the back.

The intern was sitting at the table, leaning back in his chair so it was balancing on the back legs with his feet on the table.

He was slurping on a smoothie, and his eyes lit up when he saw the box. “Donuts! Can I have one?”

“Sure,” I said, because saying no would have made me look like a dick.

“Sweet!” The chair legs hit the floor with a thump, and he reached out and snagged a donut and shoved it in his mouth like he was worried I’d change my mind.

Then he grinned around his mouthful and grabbed another one.

He stood up suddenly, sending his chair skittering backward, and bolted out the door with a muffled, “Fanks!”

I rolled my eyes, then closed the lid on the box and left it on the table. Callahan would sniff it out soon enough. He was like a bloodhound when it came to donuts.

I spent the rest of the afternoon seeing clients.

My calendar wasn’t super full—most of the locals still preferred to see my boss and I could respect that—but I had enough on my plate to keep me busy.

I spent a full hour trying to explain to one man that no, he couldn’t sue his ex-wife for divorcing him, and that yes, his divorce was still final, even if he had ignored “all those darn lawyer papers.” Fun times.

Once he left I went and made myself a coffee and retrieved a donut, and after that I spent some time on Alfred Prentice’s real estate transaction and the associated paperwork, getting it ready for closing.

It was pretty much plain sailing, which was a relief.

Even though I was only in my first year of practicing law, I’d already seen enough unhinged shit go down during divorce cases to make me swear off dating, possibly forever, so a straightforward real estate transaction made a nice change.

The phone on my desk rang. I picked it up and the intern said, “Hey. Missy Thirsting-Wallace is on hold for you.”

I blinked. “Did you just say Thirsting-Wallace?”

“Bro, I’ve seen how she looks at you. Thirsting. Wallace.” He hung up, but I could hear him cackling at his own joke all the way from the front desk. And I had to admit, it was pretty funny. Maybe the guy wasn’t a complete idiot.

I took a deep breath and summoned up my customer service voice as I retrieved the call. “This is Miller Clarke.”

“Miller! You have to help me!” Missy’s voice teetered on the edge of hysteria. “Chad wants to kidnap Alexander Hamilton!”

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” I said while wondering if Missy had left my office and gone directly to a bar, because she was making zero sense.

“Alexander Hamilton! Chad’s threatening to keep him. He says I’m an unfit mother!” She let out something like a sob.

Missy was a mother ?

I racked my brain for any mention of a child—side note, anyone who named their kid after a musical or a politician probably deserved to lose custody—but came up blank.

“I see,” I said, even though I didn’t see at all.

“Chad doesn’t even like dogs,” she said, sniffling. “He’s threatening to keep poor Alexander Hamilton out of spite .”

Of course Alexander Hamilton was a fucking dog.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Let’s not panic just yet, Ms. Thurston-Wallace,” I said. “I’m sure we can work this out.”

“Do you really think so?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“I’m going to do my very best to make sure Alexander stays with you,” I promised.

“Alexander Hamilton,” she said. “He’s pedigree, so we use all his names.”

“I see,” I said again and wondered if I could convince Callahan to go forward with the case instead of me now there was a dog involved.

Unlikely, though, since he’d met Missy, and there was no dog in the world that was cute enough to make up for dealing with her and her husband.

“What sort of dog is Alexander Hamilton?” I asked, expecting something like a Great Dane maybe. I should have known better.

“He’s a pug,” Missy said, and I wondered why I was even surprised. It figured that the world’s most high-maintenance client would have the world’s most high-maintenance pet.

“Hmm,” I said and hoped it came across as enthusiastic.

“Chad makes fun of him. He once said Alexander Hamilton looks like he ran face-first into a sliding door. But I told Chad if looks mattered to me, he’d still be single.”

Chalk personal insults up as reason number seven hundred and forty-six in their divorce, I guessed.

There was the sound of a throat clearing, and I glanced up to see Callahan standing in my open doorway, a donut in one hand and a file in the other.

“Can I get back to you on this once I’ve spoken to your husband’s lawyer and we have more clarity around the whole situation, Ms. Thirsting-Wallace?”

Fuck. Maybe she wouldn’t notice.

“Or I could come in and we could discuss it,” she said hopefully, so at least I’d dodged that bullet. Now to see if I could dodge a second one.

“I wish I could,” I lied, “but I’m booked up for the rest of this week.”

“Oh,” she said, her disappointment palpable. “Then I guess I’ll wait to hear.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

She disconnected the call without saying goodbye.

Callahan stepped into the office, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Thirsting-Wallace, huh?”

I groaned. That name was going to stick in my head forever, and worse, I couldn’t even be mad because it was fucking hilarious. Fuck that intern, seriously.

Callahan sat down and said, “Such a shame your calendar’s booked out.”

“It’s not, but don’t tell Missy.”

Callahan gave a wry smile. “Good. Got a case for you. Know anything about tree law?”

I hesitated before settling on the truth. “I’ve read a subreddit on tree law?”

“I don’t know what a sub-whatever is,” Callahan said, “but I’d like you to take a look at this.”

Honestly, after the day I’d had, a case that involved trees instead of people sounded real tempting. “Sure thing.”

“Great. A guy’s neighbor chainsawed down the maple in his front yard, and he wants to know if he can sue. It’s over in Goose Run.” He said that as though it was supposed to mean something.

“Sorry, where?”

“Goose Run. It’s around sixty miles from here.”

I grabbed my phone and pulled up maps and typed in “Goose Run.”

“You won’t need that. Take the intern. He’ll give you directions.”

“I don’t think?—”

Callahan flapped a hand. “He knows a surprising amount about tree law. He’ll be useful.” He eased himself out of the chair and stood there waiting, so I guessed I was going right now.

I followed him out to the front desk where the intern was playing with a fidget cube.

“Hey,” Callahan said, leaning on the countertop. “Wanna go on down to Goose Run with Miller? Got a case there. It’s tree law.”

The intern twirled around in his chair, face alight with excitement. “Really?”

“Really,” Callahan said, giving him an indulgent smile.

The intern stood up, brushing down the front of his blue and orange Hawaiian shirt, and said, “What are we waiting for? Road trip, bro!”

I hadn’t thought my day could get any worse after catching an eyeful of a naked Missy Thurston-Wallace.

Obviously, I hadn’t counted on being stuck in a car with Marty fucking O’Brien.