Falling Grace. Melissa Shirley

At least, not in such a lilting accent. “I suppose you have an opinion?”

      “I’m trying to keep an open mind, but Blane took it to a grand jury.”

      I’d faced this argument before and had a reply at the ready. So, I breathed out a whooshing breath and launched into it. “They only hear one side, and this is a case where people want the easy answer so they don’t have to consider the alternative.”

      “Which is?”

      I shrugged and took a big drink of water to stall for an answer. “I don’t know, a boogey man preying on their kids, or a passer through who fixated on a three-year-old.” He shook his head. “Those things happen, Jamie. Accusing Mom, believing she could do it, let’s people sleep better at night. It’s horrible, but it’s true.”

      “And when Mum actually is that awful?”

      I tilted my head and gazed out at the path, considering his question more than any other. “When that happens, we have to hope justice prevails. We have to hope the prosecutor is as good as he thinks he is.” I smiled. “And that maybe I have an off day.”

      “You’re confident.”

      “I don’t have any reason not to be.”

      He nodded for a full ten seconds before he stood and held out a hand to me. “Shall we?”

      I did a full body just-woke-up stretch, then stood. While we ran, he gave me a little local history and a few murmurs of encouragement. He told a few jokes, slowed when I did, and sprinted to the end one step behind me when I raced to beat him.

      When we walked back to the car, he smiled a smile that would have melted hell. “I run every morning.” He toyed with the lid to a water bottle he’d reached in through an open window and retrieved from his car. “If you want company.” His cheeks colored and I swallowed a smile.

      I gave him one last, thorough go over before I nodded. “Around seven good for you?” Who wanted to run alone anyway?