Page 116 of Risking it for the Cowboy

“That it confirms exactly what I was hoping,” Tyler said. “Money scandals and infidelity are the two things, based on those records you isolated, Thaddeus, that matter more than anything to Mitchell and his platform. He’s tough on making sure noncustodial parents pay their fair share, and he’s loud ’n proud of his picture-perfect family, his wife of sixty-one years and their family of five children, two daughters and three sons, all between the ages of thirty-seven and twenty-seven. A host of grandchildren. A real family values guy. And I wondered … what would a guy like Mitchell want to hide more than anything?”

“An affair,” T.R. and Charlie realized in unison.

“It’s what I’m thinking. Because why would a judge, lauded for his hardline record on child support, go easy on Jason over and over again? The only reason I could think of would be that they’re related within a prohibited degree of kinship and Mitchell doesn’t want anyone to know. Otherwise, he’d have to recuse himself from presiding over Jason’s legal fights and for some reason he either can’t or doesn’t want to.

“I found a will in a search for public records from Dallas, considering that’s where Jason was born and raised. The grantor of the will, Suzanne Thompson, appears to have attended Yale law with Mitchell years ago, and she named Calvin Mitchell, Esquire, Jason Thompson’s trustee in the event she died before Jason reached majority. Judge Thompson died of cervical cancer when Jason was seventeen, according to an archived obituary from a Dallas funeral home.”

Charlie’s eyes shot to T.R.’s. “Does this mean he’s Mitchell’s … son?”

“Damn straight, it’s possible, likely probable,” Tyler replied triumphantly.

“Probable? Why else would Mitchell be Jason’s trustee?” T.R. demanded, fishing for his clothes to start redressing as the bedframe creaked, nodding at Charlie and mouthing, Let’s pack and get you home.

Home. He glanced to her uncle’s cabin, framed on her wall.

“If he’s Mitchell’s relative, that definitely makes Mitchell presiding over his cases a conflict of interest. Does that mean you can file that complaint of judicial misconduct?”

“Not necessarily.”

T.R. groaned, but Tyler continued.

“It’s what her will doesn’t state, which could be exculpatory. Nowhere in the will does it say Mitchell is Jason’s father. Or uncle. Or some other relation. So, for all we can assume, Mitchell could simply be an old college boyfriend or friend who Suzanne trusted to care for her child because she had no one else. Until I have something that spells out their relationship, this could backfire on you.”

“But what public record could possibly demonstrate a relationship between these two?” T.R. asked.

“Death records—can’t find any yet—or arrest records, tax records, contracts if a transaction was made that required state or county approval like various property purchases or gifts…”

Charlie’s brow furrowed. “Like real estate?”

“Yeah,” Tyler said after a beat, and T.R.’s eyes flashed to Charlie, who’s entire face dropped as her body sprang upright.

“Did Jason ever own a home?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Charlie said. “That’s one of the ways his dad helped him out. He bought Jason his home. When I was pregnant with Daisy, I lived there with him. But Jason sold it a year after she was born to pay off a debt.”

“The house was a gift, put in Jason’s name at the time of purchase?” T.R. clarified. “Ty, it’s like when the farm was on the table and the lawyers told me about affidavits estate managers need to sign indicating what their relationship is to the folks being … gifted to—”

Shit.

He cut himself off. Back when he’d been young and foolish and asked for a piece of property to inherit but had been blocked out of the proceedings. And less so, like now, when that farm was up for grabs again, when Ty put it on the market for more than T.R. would ever be able to afford.

A hand came out to touch his arm.

He looked down at Charlie, a gentle smile on her face for him. She understood.

T.R. planted a kiss to her lobe, resting his forehead against her, then compelled his hands to keep dressing, pulling on his other sock and sliding his dress shirt up his arms unbuttoned.

Ty cleared his throat and continued through the awkward silence.

“Similar to that, yeah. I think we’re onto something here,” Tyler said. “What’s that address, Charlie?”

It had been so brief a home, so long ago, and she scrambled off her bed, creaking the old metal again, to dig through the stacks of folders, coming back to the bedside to flip on the light.

She sifted through court documents. “Three nineteen, Magnolia Way. Here in Nacogdoches,” she said.

Tyler was scribbling it down. Then he clacked on his computer, when the man who barely ever cracked a smile chuckled like a hunter whose quarry was stepping right into his snare, as T.R. handed Charlie her bra and his old T-shirt.

“Oh, man … you wanna know who took advantage of tax-free gift laws to an adult child Jason Thompson, ten years ago?”