CHAPTER FOUR

      THREE MORNINGS LATER, Genevieve was still annoyed with Dylan, with Natalie, with her parents—with the world in general—as she dressed carefully for her first day at A Warrior’s Hope. She really had no idea what to expect or what she might be asked to do, which made it difficult to determine appropriate attire.

      She finally selected black slacks and a delicious peach cashmere turtleneck she’d picked up at a favorite little boutique in Le Marais. Probably overkill, but she knew the color flattered her hair and eyes.

      Or at least it usually did. Unfortunately, it clashed terribly with the overabundance of Pepto-Bismol-pink in Grandma Pearl’s hideous bathroom.

      This was her least favorite room in the house. How was she supposed to apply makeup when this washed her out so terribly? If she could afford it, she would renovate the entire room, but she doubted her budget would stretch to cover new bathroom fixtures.

      She was just finishing her second coat of mascara with one eye on her watch when chimes rang out the refrain of Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus.” Grandma Pearl’s ghastly doorbell. She shoved the wand back into the tube and hurried through the house, curious and a little alarmed at who might be calling on her this early in the morning.

      “Good. You are home.” Her mother beamed at her as soon as Genevieve opened the door.

      “Mother! What are you doing here?”

      “Oh, that awful doorbell! Why haven’t you changed it yet?”

      “I’m still trying to figure out how. Seriously, why are you here?”

      “I’m on my way to the salon. When you were at the house the other day, I couldn’t help noticing your nails. Horrible shape, darling. I thought I would treat you to a mani. I’ve already made the appointment with Clarissa. She had a tight schedule but managed to find room first thing this morning. Won’t that be fun?”

      Her mother gave her a hopeful look and Genevieve scrambled for a response. Since the end of her engagement—and the subsequent death of all Laura Beaumont’s thinly veiled ambitions to push them both into the higher echelons of Denver society—Genevieve’s interactions with her mother had been laced with heavy sighs, wistful looks, not-so-subtle comments about this gathering, that event.

      Being married to one of the most financially and politically powerful men in small Hope’s Crossing wasn’t enough for Laura. She had always wanted more. When she was engaged to Sawyer and she and Laura worked together to create the wedding of the century, Genevieve had finally felt close to her mother.

      She had missed that closeness far more than she missed Sawyer.

      “I can’t,” she said regretfully. “I’m starting my community service today.”

      Laura gave a dismissive wave of pink-tipped fingers that looked perfectly fine to Genevieve. “Oh, that. Well, you can just start tomorrow, can’t you? I’m sure they won’t mind. I’ll have your father give them a call.”

      This was her family in a nutshell. Her mother didn’t understand anything that interfered with her own plans, and when she encountered an obstacle, she expected William Beaumont to step in and fix everything.

      When Gen’s younger brother, Charlie, had been arrested for driving under the influence in an accident that had actually resulted in the death of one of his friends, William had been unable to prevent him from pleading guilty. Charlie had served several months at a youth corrections facility, and Laura hadn’t spoken to her husband for weeks.

      Now both of their children had been embroiled in legal difficulties. She imagined Laura found it much easier to pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened.

      “I don’t believe it’s that simple, Mother,” Gen said. “It’s court-mandated. I have to show up or I could go to jail.”

      Laura pouted. “Well, what am I supposed to tell Clarissa? She’s expecting us.”

      How about the truth? That you see the world only the way you want to see it?

      “Tell her I have another obligation I couldn’t escape. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

      Laura gave a frustrated little huff. “I was looking so forward to finding a moment to catch up with you. We hardly talk when you call from France. I can’t say I agreed with your father’s decision to cut you off financially. I tried my best to talk him out of it. I told him you were having a wonderful time in Paris, that you needed this time and why shouldn’t you take it? As usual, he wouldn’t listen to me. You know how he can be when he’s in a mood. Still, I told myself at least this would give me the chance to spend a little more time with you, darling.”

      Her parents drove her crazy sometimes...she couldn’t deny that. These past two years away had helped her see their failings more clearly, but she still loved them.

      “I’m sorry. I wish I could go,” she said, not untruthfully.

      “I understand. You have to do what you must. I’ll see if I can reschedule for tomorrow.”

      “Mother, I’ll be going to the center tomorrow, too. And the day after that.”

      “Every day?”

      Laura obviously didn’t quite grasp the concept of a commuted sentence. “I have a hundred hours of community service to complete in only a few weeks. Yes, I’ll probably be going every day between now and Christmas.”

      “This is what happens when you decided not to have your father represent you. He could have had the whole misunderstanding thrown out.”

      Like Charlie’s little “misunderstanding” that had killed one girl and severely injured another? William had been helpless to fix that situation. Charlie had taken full responsibility for his actions and had come out of his time in youth corrections a different young man, no longer sullen and angry.

      “It’s done now,” she said. “I’m sorry, Mother, but I really need to go or I’ll be late for my first day.”

      “Well, will you come back to the house instead of staying in this horrible place? Then I would at least have a chance to catch up with you in the evenings.”

      Again, her mother saw what she wanted to.

      “I can’t. My evenings will be spent here, trying to do what I can to prepare this house for sale. Dad didn’t give me any other choice.”

      “He has your best interests at heart, my dear. You know that, don’t you?”

      “He might have thought he did. We have differing opinions on what the best thing for me might be.”

      Not that anything was new there. Her father had notoriously found her lacking in just about every arena. He thought she had been wasting her time to obtain a degree in interior design, nor could he see any point in the sewing she had always loved or the riding lessons she tolerated.

      The only time either of her parents seemed to approve of her had been during her engagement.

      “Will you at least go to dinner with us this weekend? With Charlie back in California for his finals week, the house is too quiet.”

      “I’ll try,” she promised. She ushered