Colorado Christmas by C. C. Coburn Page A

seemed to drag on forever the next morning until at last Will O’Malley’s name was called. A pleasant warmth suffused Becky when she glanced up to find him standing in front of her.
    Devastating, was the only word that could describe how he looked and his effect on her peace of mind. He’d trimmed his hair and was wearing…a tie. A neatly pressed navy-blue shirt molded to his broad chest and muscled arms. The dark shirt accentuated his tanned face. Becky swallowed. He looked…magnificent. And masculine. And unbelievably sexy. If Will O’Malley asked her out now, she wasn’t sure of her resolve to turn him down.
    She’d spent a good part of the night remembering how wonderful his arms had felt around her. And then been preoccupied thinking of those strong arms at breakfast and had burned the toast—twice.
    Get a grip! she lectured herself sternly. This guy is a rogue and a heartbreaker and you don’t want that.
    “Good morning, Your Honor,” he said without his characteristic smile. He handed some papers to the bailiff, who passed them to Becky.
    “This is a petition asking you to grant an injunction stopping the demolition of the buildings situated on Main Street,” he said as Becky scanned the document.
    He explained his reasons for seeking the injunction. He’d certainly done his research.
    “Thank you, Mr. O’Malley,” she said, then addressed the lawyers for the development company, lined up like tin soldiers. Five highly qualified lawyers against a lone petitioner. It didn’t seem fair. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”
    The Denver-based lawyers, led by Jason Whitby, wore smirks of derision, as though they believed “might was right” and they’d prevail in this small community.
    Perhaps “might” ruled in the city, Becky reflected, but in a town like this, passion held a lot of sway. Judging by the size of the audience there was a great deal of passion in Spruce Lake. Also present were several reporters from Denver. It gave her a sense of satisfaction to know the campaign—and indeed the plight of many small towns attempting to maintain their unique character in the face of rampant development—was being taken to the city. The audience started to boo the lawyers for the development company as Jason Whitby began to speak.
    Becky banged her gavel to restore order. “Silence!” she said. “Please remain quiet while the development company presents its case.”
    “They don’t have a case. This is our town and we don’t want them here!” Frank Farquar bellowed. His statement was accompanied by wolf whistles.
    “Mr. Farquar, please leave the court,” Becky said in her sternest tone. “And take your pig with you.”
    Louella snorted at her. Frank Farquar didn’t budge. The Denver Five, as Becky had named them, rolled their eyes and snickered among themselves.
    Will O’Malley turned to the audience and said, “Frank, everyone, please. This won’t help our cause. You have to let the judge hear the other side.”
    Becky was taken aback when the audience immediately quieted and, with a nod of apology in her direction, Frank Farquar left with his pig at his heels.
    She returned her attention to the Denver Five nudging one another like schoolboys, probably sharing a joke regarding her inability to control her courtroom without help. “Youhave something amusing you’d like to tell us, Mr. Whitby?” she asked.
    “No, Your Honor,” he shot back, trying to straighten his face and failing. Becky decided she hated him. He was making fun of her court. Making fun of the people of Spruce Lake who had a genuine love of their town. Okay, so they weren’t the most sophisticated people in the world and no one brought their pigs to court in Denver, but Becky was beginning to realize that such eccentric behavior was part of the charm of Spruce Lake.
    The only reason the Denver Five were here was because of money. Greed. The only reason the Mountain Resorts Development Company was in town