A Baxter's Redemption. Patricia Johns
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workers as people with names and lives? She was no longer a self-centered teenager, and if James was coming to dinner, then that meant that he had some business planned.
“His name is James.” She emphasized his first name, irritated with Britney’s insistence on calling him Jimmy. “I’m well aware. The question is, why invite him to a family dinner?”
She had a suspicion of why her father would want James Hunter here this evening. She already knew that this dinner was about her chocolate shop, and her father was bringing in some reinforcements. He wasn’t about to let her spend her money without his input, that much was obvious. Had James been part of the ploy all along? Was he stringing her along, reporting back to her father?
“I didn’t invite him, but he’d be welcome to stay,” her father retorted. “He’s dropping off some papers for me, not that it’s any of your business.”
She didn’t believe that for a second. The doorbell rang and Britney smiled brilliantly.
“Well, speak of the devil. I’m sure that’s him.”
* * *
GEORGE BAXTER WAS the patriarch of a very wealthy family. He was a self-made man, and George had volleyed between making money and losing money for a decade before he finally started making more than he lost. Word around town was that George Baxter was hungry to prove himself to the old money of the county. He was now one of the ten most influential men in Montana, and he’d raised his daughter with the expectation that she’d marry well and never experience the hardship that he had. He was giving her a better life on a silver platter.
The big house had the look of old wealth, even though the Baxter dynasty was young, indeed. Mr. Baxter’s first wife had been the decorating master, and she’d had a delicate touch. The house was big, but not overly ostentatious. The furnishings were high quality and expensive, but homey, too. The grounds around the house were natural and reminded James of the perfect place for a tire swing and a red-checkered picnic blanket. The original Mrs. Baxter’s touch was the foundation of the place, and it couldn’t be erased. As James stepped inside, he smiled at the housekeeper who ushered him in. He’d always liked Mrs. Franklin. She was a constant, a regular rock, and under that stony facade, he always suspected there was a sense of humor, although he couldn’t quite prove it.
“Here are those documents, sir,” James said, passing an envelope to his employer. “It looks like I’m interrupting. Have a good evening, everyone.”
“Oh, stay for dinner,” Mr. Baxter said. “We have more than enough.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got work—”
“Come on through,” Britney called, beckoning him toward the dining room. “You’re just on time. I’ll be so disappointed if you don’t.”
“It smells amazing, Mrs. Baxter,” he replied with a smile. “Thanks for the invitation.”
His gaze landed on Isabel, and he found himself relieved to see her here. She interested him. Professionally, of course. That’s what he’d been telling himself all day. Her hair was up, pulled away from her face so that her large, dark eyes were dominant, meeting his with an expression of mild surprise. It was enough to make her scars melt away in the moment, and instead of facing a scarred former beauty, he was facing the beauty herself. She looked less than pleased with his arrival, however, and before he could say a word, she turned and walked into the dining room without a word.
“Never mind her,” Mr. Baxter said with a chuckle. “She’s just moody. She’ll get over it.”
Mr. Baxter sounded like a man making excuses for a teenager’s petulance, but Isabel was no teen, and he couldn’t help but wonder what family drama was about to unfold. Mr. Baxter never invited him to dinner just for the pleasure of his company, and this whole friendly scene wasn’t how things normally went. He was willing to bet that this whole display was for Isabel’s benefit.
“Not a problem, sir,” he replied with an uneasy smile, following the older man into the dining room.
The Baxters dined in relaxed style. A long, farmhouse-style table dominated the room, early evening sunlight streaming in through tall windows. The table was set without a cloth or place mats, gold-edged china placed directly onto the polished wood. Gleaming silverware sparkled on top of napkins. An extra place had already been set, and he got the distinct impression that this was more planned than he thought. Flowers spilled from vases, placed around the table in a way that looked almost meticulously casual—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A bowl of steaming potatoes sat in the center next to a large, clear jug of lemonade. Another dish of string beans reminded him that he was indeed hungry.
“Oh, you know us,” Britney said with a wave of her hand. “Sit wherever you like. We’re family, after all.”
Family, huh? James didn’t actually know them that well, at all, and he had that awkward feeling like anywhere he chose to sit would be wrong. James sat down at the nearest place setting, while Isabel and Britney both moved toward the same chair.
“Except for this one.” Britney laughed lightly. “I always sit here, don’t I, Georgie?”
“She always does,” Mr. Baxter agreed absently. “Never would sit at the foot of the table like a proper wife.” He laughed at his own little joke, then kissed Britney’s fingertips.
“Of course,” Isabel said, moving to the seat next to James. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”
Here. Not home. James noted her wording.
“Oh, here comes the ham,” Mr. Baxter said.
The dining room doors swung open and Mrs. Franklin wheeled in a cart with a covered serving tray. The savory aroma of ham filled the room, and all eyes turned to Mrs. Franklin, who stood in her gray uniform, sweat on her brow.
After everyone was served, the meal began, and for several minutes, the only sound was silver against china. The food was amazing, and James had to admit that he didn’t often eat like this in Haggerston. He was used to the regular diners that the town had to offer, and his own cooking, of course. He wasn’t a bad cook, but he wasn’t too proud to admit that Mrs. Franklin’s cooking was a treat.
“You’ll have to bring us some of your chocolates, Isabel.” Britney broke the silence. “I’ve never tried them, and I’ve been craving chocolate something fierce with this pregnancy.”
“They’re good,” Mr. Baxter said, around a bite of food. “A nice hobby for her.”
Isabel smiled tightly.
“Speaking of business—” Mr. Baxter began.
“We weren’t speaking of business,” Isabel replied, her tone even, but a look of warning sparkling in her eyes.
“We’re always speaking of business,” the older man replied. “It’s like breathing. But have you done the research, Princess?”
“We’ve already discussed this,” she said, putting down her fork with a clink. “Not now.”
“Why not now?” Mr. Baxter looked around the table. “It’s family. What’s the problem?”
“James isn’t family,” she replied tersely.
She had a point. James sat back in his seat, watching the strained expressions around the table. He’d been in courtrooms that were more relaxed.
His employer shrugged. “He’s a lawyer. His job is to be discreet. I don’t know what you’re worried about.”
“Fine. Since in this family, all we talk about is business,” she replied icily, “what were you going to say?”
“I was going to ask if you know how many small businesses fail after starting up.” Mr. Baxter swirled a speared potato through a puddle of gravy and popped it into his mouth.
“You didn’t fail,” Isabel replied.