“I’ll seat the county commissioner beside you, Cole,” Brooke said softly.

“He always likes an orderly room.”

I stood in the cold draft from the garden doors while Cole went to the sideboard to check his leather briefcase.

“Did you call the law office in Nashville today, Cole?” I asked.

Cole went still for a second, his hand resting on the silver clasp of his briefcase.

“What law office?” he asked.

“The one named on the draft custody petition in your desk,” I said.