“Every baby needs a teddy bear,” said a husky voice behind us. “Guess your age, guess your weight, guess the baby’s due date?”

We turned, and there, standing a little apart from the others, was a head-high hinged set of shelves stuffed with small pastel bears beside a large step-on scale. In front was the woman who’d been in my courtroom earlier this month—tall, blue-eyed, dressed tonight in a white shirt tied under her bare midriff and cutoffs that showed long, tanned legs.

Aines? Tampa Aines?

No, not Tampa or Miami. Tallahassee?

Yes, that was it. Tallahassee Ames. And she had recognized me, too.

“Hey, Judge! Guess your weight?”

As if I’d step on a scale anywhere except in a doctor’s office.

My horrified expression made her laugh. “How about your birthday, then? Get it within two months or any bear’s yours, okay?”

I peeled off two dollars, and she eyed me up and down as she added my money to the wad of bills in her pocket, then said, “Virgo, right? End of August?”

“On the nose!” said my nephew Reese, who’d suddenly appeared at my elbow. He’s one of my brother Herman’s sons. The one that hasn’t finished growing up. The one who owns nothing but a white Ford pickup and the contents of a trailer he rents from my brother Seth. An unfamiliar young woman hung on his arm.

“Aren’t they just the cutest little bears?” she cooed. “See if you can win me a pink one, Reese?”

“Guess your age within two years, your weight within three pounds, your birthday within two months. Only two dollars,” Tally Ames chanted.

Reese handed over the money. “Weight,” he said.

She walked around him, talking trash as she eyed his tall Knott build. “Muscles in those arms. Skinny backside, but a coupla beers too many in that belly. Let me see your hands. Umm, hardworking hands, but slow, right?” She winked at Reese’s girlfriend, who giggled in agreement.

She scribbled a number on the tiny pad in her hand. “A hundred and eighty-seven pounds, okay?”

Reese grinned, handed his foot-long chili dog to his girlfriend, and stepped confidently toward the scales. “I ain’t weighed but a hundred and seventy-five since—”

His grin turned to disbelief as the needle swung back and forth, then settled at 188.

“Better cut back on the beer and hot dogs, Reese,” I teased.

But my nephew was peeling off another two dollars. “So how old you think I am?”

She peered deeply into his eyes, then wrote the number on her pad. “I’ve written it down. What do you say?”

“Twenty-eight,” said Reese.

She showed him the pad where she’d scribbled twenty-eight.

“Damn!” said Reese, and two more dollars changed hands. “When’s my birthday?”

More scribbling. “I’m ready.”

“July,” Reese said.

She showed him her pad where she’d abbreviated “Jly.”

Reese swung around and glared at our laughing faces. “Y’all are telling her!”

“No, I they’re not,” said Tally Ames, her bright blue eyes sparkling from the roll she was on. “Son, I can even tell you what beer you drink!”