The man was incorrigible. How could he possibly be related to Matt O’Malley? “That’s very gratifying to hear because you’re going to scrub every one of those vehicles so clean, they’ll look like they just came from the showroom.”
The deputy coughed politely. “What?” she demanded.
“They did just come from the showroom, Judge.”
Becky could feel a monumental headache brewing. Maybe she should adjourn court for the rest of the day. Better still, go on permanent sick leave—preferably until her term in Spruce Lake was up. She took off her glasses and frowned at the defendant. “Don’t you have any respect for other people’s property?”
He managed to look indignant. “Of course I do. It’s the reason I didn’t use spray paint. I was trying to make a point and get publicity for our cause.”
“Vandalizing expensive equipment does not make for good publicity. There are more effective ways to get your point across without breaking the law. Since you feel so strongly, why not approach the company about buying back the buildings?”
“I’ve considered that, Judge, but I don’t have the financial resources.”
Obviously, he wouldn’t. The guy might be dazzlingly good-looking, but he was a dreamer. Like so many troublemakers, Will O’Malley was full of high ideals and no real substance to back them up. Pity. Because there was something about this particular troublemaker that troubled her libido. After rubbing the bridge of her nose, she put her glasses back on and said, “You’re to clean up the equipment you’ve vandalized within the next forty-eight hours. I’m also assigning you community service. Do you have a job?”
He shifted his feet and, for the first time since entering her courtroom, his bravado seemed to desert him.
She removed her glasses again. “Mr. O’Malley?”
WILL WISHED SHE’D PUT her glasses back on. She was too darned pretty to be a judge and he was having difficulty concentrating.
His former career had been guaranteed to have women the world over flirting outrageously with him. He was sure that the judge, like any warm-blooded woman, would be impressed. But he didn’t want to talk about it. Not since the avalanche.
“Ah, I’m between jobs at the moment, Your Honor,” he said, ignoring Matt’s groan of resignation.
“In that case, what skills do you have that might be of use to the community?” She put her glasses back on and picked up a pen as though ready to take copious notes on his potential skills.
Will had a college degree but no truly useful skills. Until today, that hadn’t bothered him. Until today, he hadn’t met a woman he wanted to impress as much as the new judge.
“What was your most recent job?” she prompted.
“Tell her!” Matt said under his breath.
There was nothing else for it; he’d have to come clean. “I was a ski-movie actor,” he said, squirming with embarrassment. The movies were short on dialogue—long on action and death-defying stunts. Strange how he’d only come to realize that in the past couple of months.
The judge paused in her note-taking and glanced up at him.
“You’re a ski-movie actor?” Her tone told him exactly what she thought of that.
“Yes, ma’am. Although it’s more stunt work than acting,” he said, trying to downplay the glamour image associated with acting. Stunt work sounded as though he had a genuine career. He named some box-office successes. “Perhaps you’ve heard of Vertical Slide? Extreme Dreams? Aspen Altitude?”
The judge blinked. Guess not. Although it was tremendously lucrative, he wouldn’t be going back to the movies. He’d traveled for ten years doing what he loved most—skiing the world’s extreme terrain—but an avalanche had nearly claimed his life during shooting in the Andes two months ago. He’d been caught in dozens of avalanches before and, tragically, had friends die in them, but this time he’d come too close to death. Trapped and slowly suffocating while he awaited rescue, he’d reflected on his life and how pointless his career really was. Sure, the viewers enjoyed the action and probably the scenery, too, but the lifestyle was shallow, based on thrill-seeking, looking cool and never putting down roots. What had he really achieved that was worthwhile? What had he given back to his community? What would his epitaph say?
“I’ve retired from that line of work,” he murmured.
“So you have a lot of time on your hands?”
Will winced. He wasn’t used to sitting still. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Then what are you good at that could be utilized by the local community?” she asked, sounding exasperated.
“Skiing, meeting women and ironing.”
Will ignored Matt’s glare. It was true—he enjoyed ironing. He’d gotten up to more than his share of mischief as a kid and his mom’s punishment of choice was to make him do the ironing for their family of seven. In the process, he’d become an expert. Even Matt was impressed by his skill with an iron. He’d offer Matt several hours of free ironing to make up for the embarrassment he’d caused him over the protest.
“Maybe I could work at the information kiosk on Main Street?” he suggested. “I know a lot about the town.”
“IRONING?” BECKY SAID, deliberately ignoring his suggestion regarding the information kiosk. She suspected he thought working there would be an excellent way of meeting women. The notion of a defendant—particularly this one—spending his community service flirting annoyed her. What annoyed her even more was her ridiculous, bordering-on-jealous contemplation of him flirting with other women.
“Ahh…Judge? I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
“Deputy O’Malley!” she snapped. “Please do not interrupt me.” Returning her attention to the defendant, she fixed him with a glare that brooked no argument. “In addition to cleaning the development company’s vehicles, you’ll complete fifty hours of community service.
“As you apparently enjoy the company of senior citizens and have no real qualifications, you can do the ironing and shovel snow at the Twilight Years Retirement Home. You have one month to complete your assigned service. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Becky wished he’d stop calling her that, especially in that lazy drawl of his. It woke long-buried desires. She’d been so busy with her career and raising her young son—the result of her short-lived marriage—that sex and romance simply weren’t on her agenda. Yet from the moment Will O’Malley had looked up at her and smiled, she’d felt a bolt of sexual awareness she hadn’t experienced in a very long time—if ever.
She checked his details. He was thirty-two—four years younger than she was. Definitely not what Becky wanted in her life—a younger man, especially one who was irresponsible and had no respect for authority or the law. A charming rogue was not the answer to her sexual frustration. Not that she was aware she had any until he’d walked into her courtroom. She needed to get him out of there, fast. “If there’s nothing further—”
“Well, I do have a question…”
“Yes, Mr. O’Malley?”
“Would you have dinner with me tonight?”
Becky blinked. Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Excuse me?” she said, and tried to ignore the warm flush climbing up her chest.
“I asked if you’d go out with me tonight.”
The court audience leaned forward, eagerly anticipating her response.
Will O’Malley was without doubt the best-looking defendant who’d ever stood before her. The fact that he’d pleaded guilty straight up—rather