Patricia Johns - A Baxter's Redemption

“How did you find me, exactly?” she asked. She hadn’t given him her address—she hadn’t given it to her father, either, for that matter.

“In Haggerston? Nothing’s as secret as you think,” he replied with a shrug. “I asked around a little. Didn’t take much.”

She didn’t doubt that for a minute. Haggerston was nothing if not efficient in its gossip. James opened the truck door and hopped out.

“What can I do for you?” she asked. She turned and climbed the three steps up to the tiny porch and opened the front door. Inside, she had everything arranged already—two wood-framed leather chairs on one side, an oval table between them that doubled as a place to eat and a place to visit. Across from the little table was another compact chair, this one upholstered in gold and burgundy, with a Tiffany lamp perched on a plant stand next to it. Afternoon sunlight slanted through a window, brightening everything into a cheery glow.

James ambled after her, pausing on the porch to peer inside. “Does your father know about this?”

She turned to eye him curiously. “Do I need his permission?”

He smiled wryly. “Sorry, that was just curiosity.” His gaze moved around slowly. “It’s kind of neat.”

“Thanks.” She moved toward the kitchen space. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“I take it you don’t remember me.”

“You’re my father’s lawyer,” she said, giving him a funny look.

“I mean from before.”

“No. Should I?” Her parents had always had a hundred business contacts, and she’d never been able to keep them straight. Perhaps James was the son of one of them. Although he didn’t come from money if his suits were anything to go by, so maybe a nephew. She pulled open the small fridge under the counter and began to unpack her groceries into it—peaches, pears, nectarines.

“I’m James Hunter.” He paused. “Jim Hunter. They called me Jim. We went to high school together.”

“Oh—” She stopped herself before she could pretend to remember. She certainly hadn’t been friends with a Jim Hunter, and she’d remember a guy as good-looking as this lawyer was. He was tall, broad and muscular, with green eyes and the faintest hint of freckles across his cheekbones as if he’d stepped off the farm and into a suit. His jaw was strong, and he met her gaze with easy directness. She shut the fridge and rose to her feet.

“It’s okay. We didn’t run in the same circles.” He smiled wanly, and for the life of her she wished she could remember him, put him into context.

“I’m really sorry,” she said with a sigh. “I stayed pretty busy in high school.”

“I know.” He cleared his throat. “I came to bring by those documents your father mentioned. I have a check for you here, and a few pages for you to sign.”

He put a folder onto the tabletop.

“Have a seat,” Isabel said, sinking into the chair opposite him.

“Thanks.” He sat down and opened the folder. He slid a check toward her, and she scanned the amount. It was the contents of her trust fund, enough to invest in a small business of her own. She folded it in half. “I just need you to sign here stating that you’ve received the money, then here and here and initial here.”

Isabel looked over the papers, then signed in the designated spots. She put down the pen with a click and looked at James speculatively. “Why are you really here?”

James didn’t appear surprised at the question, and he met her gaze easily. “What do you mean?”

“You could have called me into your office,” she replied. “You were holding the check. If I wanted the money, I’d have come to you.”

“I’m the family lawyer, remember?” he replied. “This is my job.”

“You’re my father’s lawyer. There is a difference.”

“No, I’m here for you, too. If you need any legal advice, I’m here to help. Everything will be billed to your father.”

Isabel laughed softly. “The one thing my father taught me was that nothing in life is free. There are always strings attached. What are the strings here?”

James shrugged. “He’s your dad. He worries.”

“So you’re the official spy?” she clarified. “He’s just signed over a large chunk of cash, and you’re here to make sure I don’t do anything silly?”

James dropped his gaze. She’d hit the nail on the head, and on her first try, at that. She would have been more impressed with herself if she weren’t so annoyed with the situation.

“I’m not interested in spying on you,” James said after a momentary silence. “I’m a lawyer, and contrary to family opinion, I do have a few limits on what I’ll do. I’ll tell you what I told your father—I’m happy to give you some legal advice. I’ll even pass along any advice your father has for you, if you’re willing to hear it. But after that, my duties are complete, and the rest is none of my business.”

He rose to his feet and collected the papers together once more.

“Look, James—” Had she offended him? “I don’t mean to take this out on you. We’ve got a complicated family dynamic.”

“Tell me about it.” His tone was grim, but he shot her a wry smile. “Don’t worry about me, Ms. Baxter. I’ve got a hide like an elephant.”

“And a memory to match,” she replied with a low laugh.

“It doesn’t take a stellar memory to remember you,” he replied, pausing at the door. “Everyone knew Isabel Baxter.”

Isabel smiled wanly. “Well, as you can see, those days are gone. I’ll have to face life just like everyone else now.”

James regarded her thoughtfully. “You’ll do okay,” he said. Then he pulled the door open and stepped out onto the small porch, then he paused and took a business card out of his pocket. “That’s my contact information. If you need anything, give me a call.”

Isabel watched as James made his way back to his truck and slid into the seat. He raised his hand in a wave, then slammed the door.

James Hunter—Jim, he’d been—had done well for himself. And in a way that no one could dismiss. He’d worked hard, become a lawyer, and if he weren’t one of the best, her father would never have put him on retainer. No one would brush off his success as a by-product of his good looks. Isabel had worked hard for her degree, too, but she still felt like her self-confidence had been pulled out from under her. She knew how to face these challenges as a beautiful woman, but how was she supposed to get over the hurdles without a brilliant smile, a flirtatious laugh or a lingering look that would leave the men weak-kneed? Those had been her tricks, because under that surface confidence, she hadn’t really believed that she could succeed based on her intelligence alone. She’d wanted to, of course—she’d desperately wanted people to take her seriously—but she’d never really believed they would. Somehow, the patronizing smiles and pats on her hand were more believable than the whisper inside her that said, “I could do this...”

“How do women manage?” she asked herself aloud, and her fingers fluttered up to the scars along her left cheek.

She’d never felt more powerless in her life.

* * *

JAMES DROPPED HIS briefcase on his desk and pulled off his suit jacket. Jackson, Hobbs and Hunter was a small law firm, consisting of James, Ted Jackson, who made a habit of doing far too much pro bono work, and a transplanted lawyer from another town west of Haggerston named Eugene Hobbs. Eugene was tall, gangly and looked like a fourteen-year-old, but his thirty-five-year-old brain was a steel trap.

The office building was on the corner of Preston Street and Main, a three-story building that overlooked Saint Mary’s Catholic Church’s parking lot on one side and a string of little shops along Main Street on the other. James enjoyed the view of the parking lot, as strange as that seemed to his law partners. He watched kids learn how to ride their bikes in that parking lot, people come and go from the church, teenagers get their first driving lessons with white-knuckled parents. Looking over that parking lot helped him to think and put his mind onto different paths. This afternoon, the church parking lot was empty, except for one small hatchback car that belonged to the priest. It wasn’t helpful.