A Home For Hannah (Reunion: Hannah, Michael & Kate #1)

by Pat Warren

  Will cleared his throat, deciding it was time to break the obvious tension in the room. “Hannah’s agreed to rent our upstairs office, Joel,” he said, watching his young partner’s face. “Of course, she’ll have her own practice, and we’ll all be business associates only.”

  Joel grinned at Hannah. “Of course.”

  He wouldn’t be a problem for long, Hannah told herself. He doubtless had a long waiting list of available women all susceptible to his charms. She was hardly the type to interest a playboy. And she had little interest in a man to whom life seemed one big joke.

  Rising, she turned to Will. “I’ve got to run. It’s wonderful seeing you again.” She walked around to his side of the desk and bent to kiss his leathery cheek.

  From his top desk drawer, Will extracted a key and held it out to her. “May you be happy and comfortable here.”

  Her smile held a wealth of warmth. “I’m sure I will be. See you on Monday.” Hannah picked up her jacket and handbag.

  Joel rose, blocking her exit. “If you need any help moving your things upstairs, I can get a van or a truck and give you a hand.”

  The last thing she wanted was to owe someone a favor, especially Joel Merrick. “Thanks, but I can manage.” Moving around him, she left the office.

  Noting Joel’s surprised scowl, Will hid a smile. It would appear that round one was a draw.

  Hannah flipped her long single braid back over her shoulder, dusted her hands on the legs of her jeans and stepped back to the doorway to get the overall effect. The delivery van had left some time ago, and she’d been rearranging her office furniture ever since. Tipping her head to one side, she studied the room.

  Her distressed-cherry-wood desk and the Queen Anne chair with the delicate blue cushion she’d done the needlepoint work on herself sat just in front of the three arched windows so the light would be at her back. She’d decided that the beveled windows were too pretty to cover up with drapes or curtains. The like-new Tiffany lamp she’d found at a garage sale last year seemed to belong on one corner of her desk. Her books were all neatly arranged on the shelves along with a couple of unusual pottery pieces. Off to one side of the room, she’d placed a settee and matching chair with two low tables to form a relaxed conversation corner. Her clients would need an atmosphere of trust, a serene environment, soft colors and warm woods.

  Hannah glanced to the right at the box of toys and children’s books she’d gathered, knowing many of her clients would come with little ones. It was important to keep them busy while she talked with their mothers.

  The antique filing cabinet in the opposite corner had been a real steal at a “gently used” furniture outlet. On the fireplace mantel, she’d placed a chunky vanillascented candle, a Waterford clock given to her for her college graduation by the last foster family she’d lived with and a sprig of violets she’d picked up on her way in and stuck into a cut-glass vase. Satisfied with the look of things so far, she drew in a deep breath and caught the faint aroma of rich wood polish.

  Yes, the place was shaping up, taking on a personality, one Hannah knew she’d be comfortable with. She’d spent quite a lot on the few pieces she’d purchased over the past two days, a bit more than she’d planned. But the effect was well worth it. After all, she’d gone without lunches for months in Michigan, walked to save gas and done without in many ways in order to accumulate enough to make her office just perfect. And welcoming:

  Most of her clients wouldn’t have much monetarily. The least she could do was to provide a relaxed atmosphere in which to discuss their troubles. She only hoped she’d be able to help the people referred to her by Lee Stanford, the woman who ran Sanctuary. She already had two appointments set up for tomorrow.

  Hannah glanced at her watch as footsteps sounded on the stairs. After five. Her visitor had to be Marcie, who’d begun to stop in each evening before leaving for the day. She moved to stand behind her desk as Marcie appeared in the doorway wearing a broad-brimmed navy hat on her blond beehive hairdo reminiscent of the sixties.

  “I’m leaving, kiddo, and…” She stopped, her generous mouth forming a broad smile. “Oh, my! Isn’t this lovely!”

  Hannah had liked Will’s secretary from their first meeting. In her midfifties, divorced with two grown daughters and two and a half grandchildren, Marcie Goodman was everything Will had said—efficient, knowledgeable and a marvel in the kitchen. Along with her usual apple, Hannah had had one of Marcie’s huge oatmeal cookies for lunch. “You like it?”

  “Oh, hon, I love what you’ve done with this room.” Marcie’s eyes took inventory as she walked to the desk and ran her hand along the smooth wood. “Your clients must be in the bucks for you to want to impress them with all this.”

  Nothing could be further from the truth. “Not really, but I think we all feel good among pretty things.” And most of the women she’d met at Sanctuary had far too little prettiness in their lives. Absently, she picked up the red marble apple from its prominent place on her desk.

  “I noticed that earlier when you unpacked it. Must mean something to you, right?”

  Hannah rubbed the smooth, cool surface with her thumb. “Yes. Will gave this to me. When I was in law school, I was working two part-time jobs, but I still just barely got by. I practically lived on apples and cereal. I used to run into his classroom chewing on an apple. When I graduated, he gave me this as a permanent reminder of those lean days.”

  Marcie smiled. “Will’s a wonderful man. He sweet-talked me into coming to work for him when he moved back from Michigan. For no one else would I have come out of retirement. But I’m glad I did. I was getting fat lazing around the house all day.” She patted her rounded waistline. “Trouble is, I like to cook.”

  Hannah loved puttering around the kitchen, too. But she had so little time to indulge in trying new recipes from her cookbook collection. “I want to thank you for getting my business cards printed up so quickly.”

  “No problem, honey. Fred over at the print shop always puts my orders through with a rush.” Marcie adjusted her hat. “We used to be an item.”

  Hannah wasn’t quite sure if Marcie’s tales about having dated half the eligible men over forty in the Boston area were true or figments of her imagination. The first conversation they’d shared, the older woman had given her a rundown on her disastrous but thankfully brief marriage, her girls—whom she adored—and her current love life, which was both vast and varied.

  “I don’t know how you keep up with all your men,” Hannah commented.

  “Scorecards, hon,” Marcie said with a hearty laugh. “Just kidding. Fred’s happily married now. That was years ago.” Pushing up the sleeve of her white wool coat, she checked her watch. “If you don’t need anything else tonight, I’ll run along. Bob’s taking me to the Ice Capades. Front-row seats.”

  “Thanks for asking, but I’m fine. Have a good time.”

  “I always do.” She turned toward the door, then swung back. “Bob knows a lot of guys, all ages. When you’re ready, hon, just give me the word and we’ll double. See you in the morning.”

  Hannah set down the apple, smiling at Marcie’s retreating back. Double date. No, thanks. The last thing she wanted was to get involved with some man who would undoubtedly be looking for vastly different things from life than she was. No, she’d go it alone, the same way she’d been handling things for years. Alone, where she need answer to no one.

  Of course, she was scared to death about this longdistance move and this whole new venture, Hannah admitted to herself.

  Never mind, she’d do it. She’d conquered a score of fears in the past and would again. She was a survivor with unwavering determination, a woman focused on specific goals. Finally, she was in charge of her career and her life. She’d never again have to dance to someone else’s tune.

  Removing her glasses and placing them on the desk, Hannah walked over to gaze out the windows. She’d take comfort in the fact that Will would be nearby if she needed advice or someone t
o talk over her cases with. She would let the high-profile, hotshot Mr. Merrick take the courts by storm and charm juries. She’d establish herself as an attorney who fought for the rights of the underdog and the often disenfranchised, women beaten up by men and beaten down by life.

  She watched a cold wind rearrange the snowdrifts down below as the streetlights came on, and shivered. Her office was warm, but her thoughts caused her to tremble. She’d already met with several of her new clients at Sanctuary. Half the battle she faced was in convincing these women that the law could help them, that they need no longer be afraid, that she could win for them.

  It wasn’t that she was against men, Hannah acknowledged. Just those men who didn’t respect women and their rights. Before leaving Michigan, she’d represented a young man who wanted custody of his son over his drug-addicted wife. She’d gotten that for him in an area of the law that also seemed to be finally recognizing a father’s rights.

  Hannah sighed. So many wrongs to try to make right. She watched a small winter wren hop onto a barren limb and cock his head as he stared in at her. Then he glanced around at the swirling snow, the ground devoid of anything to eat, the trees offering little protection from the cold. But, fluttering his feathers first, he spread his wings and bravely flew off.

  She could relate. It was a big world out there, often cold and offering little comfort or friendliness. The survivors stepped out anyhow and faced the unknown, if not bravely, then at least putting on a good front. Those who were lucky made it. She didn’t want to think about the ones who didn’t.

  Turning from the view, Hannah was startled to find a tall, lean figure filling her doorway, his lazy smile in place as usual.

  “Your office looks great,” Joel said, strolling in to inspect the contents of her bookcase. Checking out her collection, he nodded approvingly. “Impressive.” Swiveling to face her, he found himself wondering why she always wore her hair tightly contained in some way, today in a long braid. “You’ve done a lot in a week.”

  He’d managed to surprise her that day in Will’s office and twice since, sneaking up on cat feet and suddenly appearing in her path as she was coming or going. It was unnerving. “I’m seriously thinking of hanging a cowbell around your neck so I’ll be forewarned of your arrival.” The thick carpeting throughout the building would muffle a noisy herd of buffalo, Hannah thought crossly. She intensely disliked surprises.

  He grinned at her suggestion. “They don’t do that anymore, you know,” Joel said as he walked over to pick up and examine the marble apple. “Hang bells on cows, I mean. Oh, maybe in Switzerland they do, where cows can get lost grazing along a grassy mountain. But with all the cows in Montana, they’d have to order bells by the carload.”

  Curiosity overcame Hannah’s reluctance to prolong their discussion. “I believe you said you lived in Montana for a while. Must be quite a change from this area.” She knew from Will that Joel had two brothers and a sister, all married and living near their parents, who had a big place in town and an even larger home on the Cape. A close-knit family, Will had called the Merricks. Yet Joel had wandered off, and she wondered why.

  Joel shrugged as he hefted the apple, measuring its weight. “Couldn’t seem to get along at home when I was a teenager, so they sent me to Uncle Bart, hoping he’d straighten me out.”

  Hannah sat down at her desk, needing the little shred of authority that gave her. Why did he have to be so handsome, so beautifully dressed in gray slacks and a Glen plaid jacket, his jet black hair curling onto his forehead and those midnight blue eyes that studied her so intently? “And did he?”

  “I suppose, much as anyone could have.” He strolled over to the settee and tried it out, sitting down in the center and stretching both arms along the seat back. “Rising at five every morning and working till you drop tends to take the starch out of even overactive fourteenyear-olds.”

  He spoke calmly, but there seemed an underlying anger carefully camouflaged. “Were you hyperactive?”

  “More like mischievous. Restless. Unmanageable maybe. Or so Dad said.” Again came the slow smile. “Nothing serious. A couple of fights I got into. One stolen car. Boyish pranks.”

  Hannah raised a brow. “Stealing a car isn’t exactly a boyish prank.”

  Joel leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “Well, not to worry. Daddy got me off. Clean record. And Uncle Bart straightened me out. Now I visit him and Montana because I like the open country. So here I am, law-abiding, taxpaying, registered voter. I rescue kittens, help little old ladies cross streets and never even jaywalk. Pretty boring, eh?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me. Are you bored?”

  Bored. Not the same thing as boring. He wondered why she’d deliberately changed the meaning. To learn more? “Some of the time, like most everyone. Didn’t Thoreau say that most people lead lives of quiet desperation?” Restlessly, Joel rose and went to inspect the watercolor in pastels she’d hung over the fireplace. “This is nice. Do you know the artist?”

  She did, quite well. It was a painting she’d done last year, a hobby she’d taken up years ago to fill her weekends when she wasn’t researching a case or studying. “I’m glad you like it.”

  He swung to face her. “How old are you, Hannah Richards?”

  What now? she wondered. “Twenty-eight. Why?”

  “I’m wondering how you managed to find time to graduate college, earn a law degree, work at a very reputable firm and still know so much about antiques and fine furniture and good paintings.”

  Hannah thought she knew where he was coming from. “Not just people born with the proverbial silver spoon can recognize fine things. It’s all out there for the learning if someone cares enough to bone up.”

  He stepped closer, and the scent of apples drifted to him. He saw the core in the wastebasket, and yet the smell lingered around her as well. The women he dated all wore expensive cologne. He was surprised to find such a simple scent more intriguing. He brought himself back to what she’d said. “You don’t much care for people born with that proverbial silver spoon, do you?”

  She shrugged, took a step back and dropped her eyes to his tie. It was a study in red, gray and black slashes on a white background, vibrant and eye-catching. It suited him perfectly. “I haven’t known enough to form much of an opinion.”

  “You’ll get to know more after your practice gets going.” His fingers ached to uncoil her braid, to thrust his hands into the thickness of her hair, to watch those brown eyes widen in shock.

  “I doubt that.” Naturally, he would assume she was out for the big bucks. Apparently, Will had told him very little about her, which suited Hannah just fine. Sidestepping the desk, she moved to tug at the settee, adjusting its position a fraction.

  “Here,” Joel said, walking over. “Let me help you with that.”

  Hannah straightened, a look of annoyance on her face. “I don’t need your help. I’m used to doing for myself, thank you.”

  Joel was honestly taken aback. “I was only trying to lend you a hand. Is that so hard to accept?”

  “It is for me.” She knew she sounded ungrateful, but maybe if she let him know how she felt, he’d back off. “I don’t like to be beholden to anyone. I pay my own way, I do for myself. That way, I owe no one. I hope you’ll respect my feelings.”

  He frowned, perplexed. “I would if I understood them. Is this some women’s thing?”

  Exasperated, Hannah drew in a deep, calming breath, keeping her temper in check. “No. It has to do with independence, and it doesn’t apply to just women. Dependence weakens a person, makes them vulnerable to others. I don’t ever want to be in that position.”

  She was a piece of work, Joel decided as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets. Certainly, he’d never encountered a woman quite like her. Why was she pulling this tough act with him? “I’m not quite sure why you’re so strong on this, but I have to say that you’re beautiful when you’re angry, Hannah Richards.”

  Suc
h a tired old line. And one she knew had no basis in truth. She’d never been beautiful and she no longer cared. Brains could take you much further than looks any day.

  Joel grew thoughtful as he watched her expressive face register several emotions. He wasn’t looking for a woman, never was. There were plenty around if a man wanted one. He wasn’t even sure why this woman with her cool eyes, chip on her shoulder and prim hairdo interested him. There was something about the flash of vulnerability, mingled with her fiercely individualistic stance and the wholesome scent of apples, that fascinated him. Everything about her seemed to issue a challenge.

  He’d never been able to resist challenges.

  He watched her zip up her briefcase, trying desperately to ignore him. He swallowed a smile. “Do you want to go ice skating?”

  Thrown off balance, Hannah looked up. “What?”

  “Ice skating.” Joel glanced outside at the darkening evening. “I know this great outdoor rink not far from here. Music and lights, even a hotdog stand. What do you say?”

  “You plan to go skating dressed like that?”

  “I’ve got a change of clothes downstairs and skates, too. Come on, Hannah. It’ll be fun.”

  Fun. When was the last time she’d taken the time to just have fun? She couldn’t recall. But spending the evening with Joel Merrick would be a mistake. “Thanks, but I have work to do.” She needed to do some research on how best to represent Ellen Baxter, her first case on her own. She didn’t have time to waste having fun. She reached into the closet for her leather jacket and slipped it on.

  He’d seen the flash of regret in her eyes and wondered why she’d turned him down when she obviously wanted to go. He wouldn’t press. He could tell she would hate being pressed. “All right.” At the doorway, he turned back. “You know what they say about all work and no play, don’t you?”