Page 24 of A Colorado Claim
He gripped the banister, forced himself to keep moving.
“Not only will I get to see you in that dress again, but you’ll be wearing it for our date.” His pulse jackhammered at the vision that created in his mind. “At awedding. Where I can ask you to dance as an excuse to have my hands all over you.”
He didn’t know how he’d wait to touch her until then. But at the soft, quickly stifled gasp that Lark made at his words, at least he knew he wasn’t the only one who’d be fantasizing about seeing each other again.
“Lark, look this way!” the voice of a reporter outside Routt County Courthouse called to her as she strode toward the municipal building on the first day of the court challenge.
A small throng of camera operators hovered behind a few on-the-spot media members. Lark kept her feet moving, remembering Gibson’s advice. Reporters couldn’t hassle her or impede her. She didn’t have to talk to them.
She had the control—not them.
Still, she felt glad to be entering the court with her sisters. Jessamyn and Fleur were two steps behind her. Her mother had wanted to attend the session, but a long day of travel had left Jennifer Barclay under the weather. Privately, Lark worried the stress of facing their father in a courtroom again had taken a toll of its own on their mom. They’d left her to rest in a spare room at Crooked Elm.
“Lark, are you hoping Gibson returns to Los Angeles this coming season?” A petite woman asked, taking two steps to Lark’s long stride in order to keep pace with her on the left side. The awkward gait made the woman’s microphone bob up and down around Lark’s chin. “Is it true he’s testifying here today to support you?”
On her right, a man’s voice added to the noise. “Lark, have you spoken to any of the female athletes who’ve come out in strong support of your campaign to re-center media attention on women?”
Is that what she’d been doing? Campaigning?
It took all her effort not to snipe back that her campaign must not have been very successful since journalists like him still followed around the former wife of a major athlete rather than anactualathlete. But today wasn’t about her battle with the superficial entertainment media types. Since her rant on camera, she’d been disciplined about blocking as many news sources as possible that might speculate on her relationship with Gibson in hurtful ways.
Eyes forward. No comment.
While a part of her regretted not figuring that out in time to help her marriage, another part of her knew that Gibson’s extended absences were more to blame than the media. The press interference just added fuel to the fire. And how was it she ended up thinking about Gibson so often lately? She still couldn’t believe they’d parted ways two nights ago without touching. She’d been on edge ever since.
Beside her, Fleur’s voice pulled her from her musing at the same time as the distinctive rumble of a helicopter’s rotor sounded overhead. “You okay?”
The aircraft must be flying close by, the sound growing louder still.
“Perfect,” she lied, needing it to be true. “Ready to show the court what a liar our father is and secure Gran’s legacy.”
They were halfway up the stairs into the building when raised voices from the parking area made Lark turn to see what was happening.
At first, she couldn’t quite make sense of it.
The reporters—mostly a ragtag collection of freelancers trying to invent a story to sell, although there’d been one local network affiliate—were swarming in the opposite direction of the courthouse. They moved as one toward the grassy space behind the court while thewhap-whap-whapof the helicopter blades increased in volume.
A shadow fell over the open green area, and Lark realized that the aircraft she’d been hearing was descending onto the lawn across the street.
It didn’t look like a rescue vehicle. The gray bird touching down was unmarked. Yet why would the press think it was a big deal?
“Do you think it’s Dad trying to make a showy entrance?” Fleur asked, shading her eyes as they all watched.
“Dad hates helicopters,” Jessamyn murmured, craning her neck to see around a few other pedestrians who’d been on their way into the courthouse building. “I could never get him to take one in or out of Manhattan even though it’s often the fastest way.”
Then, the door opened and a tall man with unmistakably broad shoulders stepped from the craft.
Three-time league scoring champion Gibson Vaughn had arrived.
“What would he pull a stunt like that for?” Lark asked herself as much as her sisters. Surprised she still had air in her lungs to talk after his drool-worthy entrance.
She understood that Gibson had always been good with the media. He was often the face of the league, sought out for his opinions on big-picture issues that affected all of hockey. He’d always been able to steer negative press away from his teammates, shouldering blame for hard losses himself where he could as a longtime captain.
But for a man who was supposedly retiring, he sure was working the media now.
“You seriously don’t know?” Jessamyn asked her, spinning around to pin Lark with narrowed eyes. “Lark, he’s been on a quest all week to make sure the media knows he supports your efforts to draw more attention to women’s sports.”
Frowning, Lark wondered why he hadn’t mentioned it to her when she’d seen him at Crooked Elm two nights ago. Did he have an ulterior motive? Even as the thought formed, she felt guilty for doubting him.