A Baxter's Redemption. Patricia Johns
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not a great idea.”
“Why?” her father demanded, glancing between his young wife and his daughter. “There is plenty of space. This is your home. You grew up in this house.” Britney and Isabel had exchanged heated words after the wedding, and they’d never actually made up afterward. But they were expected to forget about all that and act like one big, happy family. Not likely. Britney looked away, her cheeks pink.
“And I’m fully grown now.” Isabel shot her father a smile. “Thanks all the same, Dad, but I need a bit of privacy, too.”
“Fine, fine,” he muttered gruffly. “Suit yourself. You’re staying for supper at least, aren’t you? I asked James here so he could go over a few of the legalities with you. He’s got papers for you to sign, and we could start all of that now—”
“I have a hundred things to do still, so no. Next time. The legalities can wait until the money is transferred, I’m sure.” She smiled—not from happiness but from habit, an automatic coping mechanism she hadn’t stopped using now that her smile lost its power. “I’d better get going.”
Her father shrugged, then stepped forward and enclosed Isabel in a strong hug. “It’s good to see you, Princess.”
“I missed you, too,” she whispered, squeezing him back.
Turning toward the door, she heaved a sigh of relief. She’d been dreading this first visit home after her move back, and now she could tick that off her list of uncomfortable obligations. All she wanted right now was to get as far from this house as possible.
Dad’s having another child.
She knew things were different, but seeing Britney’s pregnant belly had hammered that fact home. Everything—absolutely everything—had changed.
* * *
JAMES WATCHED AS Isabel left the room, her low-heeled pumps tapping against the hardwood floor. Her long dark hair swung halfway down her back, a few inches above her close-fitting blue jeans. She hadn’t lost her ability to dress for her figure over the last decade, and James was reminded of the Isabel from high school—the girl with whom a hundred teenage boys fell in love from afar. He had, too, but she hadn’t been a terribly compassionate person back then. She’d known how much power she wielded over the male population, and she’d used it regularly. Sweet smiles or scathing criticism—she’d use whatever helped get her way. He’d recognized that smile she’d shot her father—he could still see Haggerston’s exploitive beauty queen beneath the scars.
The front door opened and shut, leaving the room in awkward silence.
“It looks like you won’t be needing me, after all,” James said, glancing toward Mr. Baxter. The older man shrugged.
“Actually, there is something you can do for me,” Mr. Baxter replied. He patted Britney’s shoulder, and the young woman hesitated for a moment.
“I’ll leave you boys to the business chatter,” she quipped, and headed for the door. “I thought I’d go shopping this morning, Georgie...”
“Good girl.” Mr. Baxter smiled fondly in his wife’s direction, but he waited until the door was shut before he spoke again. “I need you to keep an eye on my daughter.”
“Isabel?” James couldn’t hide his surprise. “Why?”
“She’s—” Mr. Baxter stopped, frowned. “How to say this... She takes after her mother more than me. She’s not exactly business minded.”
James swallowed a laugh. “Doesn’t she have a bachelor’s degree in business from Yale?”
That constituted some business sense in James’s mind.
Mr. Baxter batted his hand through the air in dismissal. “A degree and an actual instinct for business are two different things. She tried to start up a line of natural soaps and creams a couple of years ago, and it tanked. I’d told her that the market was saturated, but she wouldn’t listen. Hers would be better, she said. Even if they were, it didn’t matter. There was no more interest in skin-care start-ups by fashionistas. Before that, it was a line of scarves, I think—those wispy things women accessorize with. She insisted that all the girls wanted to be like her, and now they could—for the low, low price of thirty-five bucks. She spent a few weeks in front of a sewing machine until she realized she hated sewing, and apparently no one outside this town wanted to be just like her. I could have told her that much, but would she listen to me? Never. She needs guidance with the money I’m signing over to her, and she might not be willing to accept it from me—directly, that is.”
“So you want me to give her your advice?” James clarified.
“And keep me informed.”
This was very quickly inching beyond the scope of his job description, and James glanced around the room while he gathered his thoughts.
“I won’t follow her,” he said, bringing his attention back to Mr. Baxter. “I’m your lawyer, not a private eye.”
“I thought you’d be willing to be somewhat flexible.”
James smiled grimly. He’d never been described as flexible in anything, least of all matters of conscience. “Not that flexible, sir.”
Anger simmered in Mr. Baxter’s eyes, but he nodded and turned away for a moment. “Fine. But give her advice so that she doesn’t do anything stupid, would you?”
“That I can do,” James agreed.
“She wasn’t raised to survive in this world without that pretty face, James. I spoiled her, and I let her think that she was doing things on her own when she never was. I had friends buy two thousand dollars’ worth of scarves with my money. She needs more help than she realizes.”
James was more familiar with his boss’s daughter than the older man even realized. He’d been in her graduating class, and his cousin had dated her. Everyone knew Isabel Baxter.
“Understood, sir.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, unless you wanted to move into another billable hour, I’d best be on my way.”
Mr. Baxter shot him a grin. “All right then. I’ll be in touch.”
The housekeeper showed James to the door, and as he stepped out onto the spacious veranda, he was mildly surprised to see Isabel sitting in a shiny black sedan, the windows down and her head leaning against the headrest. She glanced toward him as he trotted down the stairs. He grimaced inwardly. While he was curious to see if Isabel had changed at all since her disfiguring accident, she still wasn’t high on his list of favorite people. He couldn’t just walk by, though, so he angled his steps toward her car.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“My car won’t start.” She glanced toward the house. “And I can’t go back in there.”
He nodded. He could understand that, at least. The tension in there had been unmistakable.
“Want me to take a look?” he asked, jutting his chin toward the hood of the car.
She arched a brow—a look she’d perfected years ago, but when she did it now, it tugged at the damaged skin along her temple. “You fix cars, too?” she asked incredulously. “I thought you were the lawyer.”
“I am, but my dad’s a mechanic. I picked up a few tricks.” She really didn’t seem to recognize him, and he wondered why that even surprised him. She’d flirted her way into having him fix her car after a fender bender back in high school, too. But that was when she was “secretly” dating his cousin, Andrew. Of course, she couldn’t tell anyone about their relationship, but she could cash in on James’s skills to hide her bad driving from her father.
She leaned forward from the driver’s seat, stretching to reach something, then the hood clicked and released. She opened the door and got out, meeting him at the front of the car. A waft of vanilla perfume tickled his senses as he took off his