“I made coffee and lemonade,” she said.

“A cup of coffee would be nice,” he said. “Black.”

She preferred lemonade and he waited for her to get settled. He had his laptop with him but he pulled out a simple tablet from his canvas bag. He told her a little about himself, that he’d been practicing law for ten years but the last year he’d been on leave, traveling, just kicking around. Then, mainly to see how she’d respond, he said, “I lost my wife to a long illness and needed time to adjust.”

She ran her thumb and forefinger up and down the icy glass of lemonade. Her nails were perfect. Her eyes were large and luminous. “I’m so, so sorry. She must’ve been very young.”

“My age. So, I don’t have an office and I haven’t had a firm in a year, but I’m licensed in Colorado.”

“Bless your heart,” she said, her eyes so soft and warm. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must be. You must miss her so much.”

“So, once you decide you want me to represent you, you can notify the DA’s office and I can pick up a copy of the police report. But first, maybe you should tell me what your expectations are.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, tucking a leg under herself, leaning an elbow on the table.

“What do you think I can do for you, Becky?”

“Hopefully you’ll keep me from going to jail,” she said. “It’s such a terrible, unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Shouldn’t you be expecting a fine? Maybe a fine and community service? It’s not typical for a jail sentence for soliciting.”

“I don’t dare take any chances and go without a lawyer,” she said. “The last time the judge said if it happened again, he’d give me ninety days. That was a misunderstanding! But I never had a chance to explain. I’ll lose my job and everything.”

“Everything?”

“Well, my income, my benefits. And people will know. The people at work, the family, probably the whole neighborhood. The kids...”

“Your arrest is a matter of public record,” he informed her.

“But why would anyone look?” she asked. She teared up, her blue eyes getting a little glassy.

A blue-eyed redhead? Well, they weren’t really blue, it was probably contacts, and was the red hair real? None of the four kids had red hair. She smoothed her hair over one ear and looked at him with those big blue eyes. And she slowly lowered her lids. A hand went gently to her throat.

“I was so careful.”

“Careful?”

“I’m not a prostitute. I’m more of an escort. There are a few men who come to town regularly and we go out, that’s all. Sometimes they’re a little lonely and need someone to talk to. It’s like performing a service. You know?”

“Becky, you don’t have to convince me of anything. Just tell me the facts because I’m going to find out the reason you were arrested. And it wasn’t for going out on a date or performing a service. How long have you been in this business?”

“The escort business?” she asked.

“Precisely,” he said, encouraging her.

Her graceful hands moved around as she talked, stroking the glass, touching a button, smoothing her napkin. Her tongue touched her lips and she blinked sometimes. But her mascara didn’t run.

“Business, yes. A friend I once worked with invited me to dinner with a couple of gentlemen from out of town. She was an escort. She said we’d be paid by the hour just to have dinner with these men and it was a lot of money. I can’t remember how much, but I think fifty dollars an hour or something. And when dinner was over, I just went home. I did that a few times. Then a couple of the gentlemen I’d been out with called me and asked me for a date and I said yes and they paid me—as if it was a paid date, just like before. I was thinking it was just an ordinary date—meet at the restaurant, have dinner, go home. I didn’t do any more than that for a long, long time. After a year or so, with a gentleman I happened to be quite fond of, it went further. But the money was the same so you see, I wasn’t selling my body. I was selling my time. I was a paid escort who made an adult decision to be more intimate with a client. Consenting adults.”