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

by Pat Warren

  How often, he wondered, did she do this kind of thing? Hannah tried to appear tough, but Joel knew how much these women with their many problems got to her. More than to most people. He wondered why, but today wasn’t the day to ask questions. She looked all done in as she checked her list and reached for another package of diapers to add to her cart. “Can I help you deliver the stuff? You look ready to drop.”

  “Thanks, but I can manage. Dawn doesn’t live far.” Grateful that he hadn’t launched into a bleeding-heart lecture, she gave him her best effort at a smile. “Good luck in court tomorrow.”

  Of course she’d refuse his offer of help. Didn’t she always? “Thanks. See you later, then.” He moved on, wondering what on God’s green earth it would take for Hannah Richards to accept a modicum of help from anyone. And, more important, what had made her so damn obstinate and independent?

  Just three more blocks, Hannah thought as she maneuvered the Volkswagen over an icy patch in the street. She’d be home in a few more minutes, where she could take something for her pounding head, her stuffy nose and the persistent cough.

  Snow had begun to fall as she’d left Dawn’s tiny apartment, where her two- and three-year-old had to sleep in their mother’s bedroom and the cupboards were bare most of the time. Anger had her gripping the wheel. Adam Carruthers, the children’s father, worked for his father’s automotive-parts company on the outskirts of Boston. An only child, spoiled since boyhood, Adam was irresponsible to a fault, quitting his job frequently, getting in one jam after another and letting his folks bail him out. Small wonder he didn’t support his children. You’d think the grandparents would have a conscience, but apparently not.

  How to get blood from a turnip was the problem, Hannah thought as she at last turned into her driveway. How can you garnishee wages when the man claims he doesn’t work? Adam lived with his parents, wore expensive clothes and zoomed around town in a new BMW. Where was the money coming from, and how could she get some of it for Dawn? Go after the grandparents, maybe? She doubted there was a precedent for that sort of action.

  Climbing out of the car, Hannah almost fell back as a great gust of freezing wind slammed into her. Lips trembling, she grabbed her shoulder bag and briefcase, closed the VW’s door and made her painstaking way up the back stairs to her apartment. Her cold fingers could barely get the key in the lock. Inside, she didn’t know if she had the energy to undress.

  This was a bad time to get sick, Hannah thought with a moan she couldn’t suppress. She had so much work to do, so many people counting on her. Tomorrow, she had to meet with Lisa Tompkins’s rape counselor, then file a contempt charge against Adam Carruthers so she could get him back into court and show cause why he hadn’t been paying support. And she needed to stop in at Sanctuary for another referral Lee had called about.

  She couldn’t afford to let anyone else down. She’d taken an oath to defend these people, to help them. She couldn’t get Jenna Nichols’s stricken face from her mind. She couldn’t let that happen to another client. She’d just have to get over this cold by morning. She simply had to.

  Somehow, she managed to get herself into a long flannel nightgown she’d had for years. A comfort item, one she loved. She turned up the heat, took a cold capsule and removed her makeup while the water for tea boiled. She’d meant to buy some whiskey but hadn’t gotten around to it. Honey and lemon would have to do. Walking slowly, she carefully carried the steaming mug into her bedroom and placed it on the nightstand.

  She turned back the covers, drank half of the tea and, still shivering, crawled under. She was asleep in seconds.

  Joel sat at his office desk at four in the afternoon, his thoughts as restless as his hands as he doodled on a legal pad. He’d been working on his closing argument in the Fowler case for two hours and still wasn’t satisfied. Something wasn’t right. If only he could get a handle on what it was.

  In a separate trial, the gardener, Toby Woods, would face his own jury. But who had hired him? Amanda, as he’d claimed, or someone else? Amanda was a cool one, showing little emotion publicly over the length of the trial. He hadn’t put her on the stand for that very reason. She came across as cold and calculating. But was she?

  And where the hell was Hannah? Surprisingly, he would have liked to have talked over his case with her. He’d found during the past weeks that her views were more insightful than he’d originally suspected. Or did he just enjoy talking with her, being with her?

  True, she was feisty as hell at times and stubborn enough to flare up his temper regularly. But she was also beautiful and caring, a woman with a loving heart. Like his mother, only far more independent. And, in his arms, though her lips would deny the attraction, Hannah responded almost instantly to his touch.

  At first, he’d thought she might just be working from home or taking a few days off. Apparently not. It seemed that her cold had hit her harder than she’d admitted to him the other night at the Bread Basket. She’d checked in with Marcie but hadn’t shown up at the office in two days. That didn’t seem like Hannah, to let a mere cold keep her away from her work. Unless she was sicker than he thought and…

  The ringing phone interrupted his thoughts. Absently, he picked it up.

  “Hey, Joel, glad you’re in.” The deep voice of Tyler Brent, one of Joel’s best investigators, came on, sounding rushed and excited. “Finally, I have something for you.”

  “Your timing’s perfect,” Joel told him. “What’ve you got?”

  “The guy’s on his way in to see you. Name’s Harry Templet on. He used to work with Kent. And does he have a story to tell.”

  Joel sat up straighter. “Let’s hear it.” When Ty finished, Joel let out a low whistle. “Think he’s legit?”

  “You bet. I’ve checked him out. But don’t take my word. See for yourself.”

  “Thanks, buddy.” Joel hung up. He didn’t really believe in eleventh-hour breaks. But maybe, this once…

  Twenty minutes later, when Harry Templeton walked into his office, Joel remembered seeing him in the visitors’ gallery in court. The man was in his late twenties with curly brown hair and a wispy mustache that drooped over his upper lip. He wore a turtleneck sweater over cords and a heavy denim jacket. After shaking his hand, Joel asked him to have a seat and waited.

  “I wasn’t gonna come in,” Harry began. “I don’t need any hassle from cops, you know. But I been following the case, listening every day in the back row, and I think the wrong person’s gonna get put away.” Harry shifted in his chair, stroking his mustache in what was probably a habitual gesture. “I’m no saint, but I can’t let that happen. When that fellow Tyler came into the store asking questions again today, I took him aside, told him I got something might interest you.”

  “I appreciate your coming to me. Tell me what you know.”

  Harry crossed his legs. “First, I want to know if the cops are gonna want to question me over this. Tyler didn’t say.”

  “That depends on what you know. Are you in trouble with the police?”

  “Nah. I had a little juvie record years ago. Nothing since, ‘cept maybe a couple of parking tickets. I’m just not real fond of John Q. Law, you know.”

  “I understand. If what you say is pertinent to the case, most likely the prosecutor would want to hear it directly from you. Unless you’re directly involved in something illegal, the police probably won’t bother you.” He watched the nervous fellow digest that, then decided to nudge him along. “What’s your connection to the Fowlers?”

  “I work at the Bay Village store. Kent used to work with me, and we got to be friends. We took a couple of fishing trips together and one jaunt- to Vegas. He really likes to gamble.”

  “So I gather. Do you?”

  “I can take it or leave it alone. Not Kent. He’d bet on what time the sun comes up tomorrow. His favorite’s the track. His dream is to own a racehorse.”

  “That takes quite a bit of money.”

  “Yeah, sure does. But that’s h
is plan. Soon as his old man’s estate’s settled and he gets his share.” Harry looked over his shoulder to make sure the office door was closed and then leaned forward, lowering his voice. “He kind of made sure he’d be coming into money, you know.”

  Joel felt an adrenaline rush, then tamped it down. Tyler had never sent him false leads before, but it would be wise to be cautious. “And how did he do that?”

  “He took every dime he could scrape together and hired that gardener to knock off his old man and frame the wife. He purely hates Amanda Fowler. Toby’s not real bright, you know. His IQ’s real low. Kent poured a couple of drinks into him and got the poor stiff to agree. Damn shame.”

  “And how do you know all this?”

  Suddenly looking confident, Harry leaned back. “’Cause he told me the whole story. He’s a guy who likes to brag, you know. About the places he’s been, how much his old man’s worth. He even asked me if I wanted a piece of his horse, so I could make money, too. I told him I didn’t make enough to invest like that.”

  Joel reached for a yellow pad and picked up his pen. He checked his watch. Ten to five. He’d have to call the prosecutor tonight, make an appointment for early morning. If Harry’s information checked out, they’d have to inform the judge and request a recess until they could work this out. “When did this conversation take place and where?”

  As Harry told his story, Joel began to write.

  Sprawled in the chair across the desk from Will, Joel grinned at his partner. “I wish you’d have been there. Everything went the way it’s supposed to and rarely does. Harry didn’t waver on the stand, and then I recalled Kent. I got in about two questions, and he fell apart. It was beautiful.”

  Will puffed on his pipe, as pleased for Joel as if it had been his own case. “So you got the lovely widow off, just like she knew you would. Correction. The rich lovely widow. She may want to show her gratitude in more ways than merely paying her fee.”

  Joel quickly shook his head. “Nope, not my type. I have to admit I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I believed her story right up until Harry came into my office. Amanda told me something surprising afterward. She really loved Blake Fowler. He was the father figure she’d never had, a man who was kind and generous to her.”

  “And does she stand to inherit all his millions?”

  “He didn’t leave Kent and Peter out of his will entirely. But Kent will need every cent for his own defense trial. Goes to show you, you never know how these things will play out.” The adrenaline was still pumping throughout his system.

  And the one person he wanted to share his victory with still wasn’t back.

  “Have you talked with Hannah? She can’t still be out with a silly cold.”

  Will adjusted his rimless glasses. It was a question he’d been expecting. Marcie had mentioned that Joel had been inquiring about Hannah daily. “I spoke with her this morning. She sounded terrible. Said it’s moved into her chest. I suspected this might happen. She let herself get run-down.”

  “She has to be pretty sick to stay away from her desk this long.” Coming to a quick decision, he got to his feet. “I think I’ll go see her, maybe take her some chicken soup. From the deli, of course.”

  Setting down his pipe, Will shook his head. “I wouldn’t if I were you. She’s a very private lady. She won’t thank you for dropping in when she’s not up to par.”

  At the doorway, Joel swung back. “Then again, I might be just what the doctor ordered to cheer her on to recovery.” He shot Will another grin. “I’ll let you know.”

  Listening to his partner grab his coat and rush off, Will sat back in his creaky chair and smiled. So Joel was going off to offer tea and sympathy, and chicken soup. Interesting. Will wished he could be a little bird on Hannah’s windowsill when Joel arrived.

  She was having a hazy dream, one where her feet were dragging through thick snow and a winter wind whipped at her face and blew her hair all about. Step after grueling step, she struggled on, her teeth chattering and her limbs aching with the cold. And somewhere in the distance, there was a pounding sound that wouldn’t quit. Her head thrashing on the pillow, Hannah moaned aloud.

  She awoke with a start when a voice called out her name. Had she been imagining the sound? With shaky hands, she shoved off the heavy covers, suddenly hot all over. This going from freezing cold to burning up was wearing her out. And the damn pounding was back.

  Blinking in the dim bedroom, she tried to sit up so she could see the nightstand clock. Three o’clock. Through the slanted blinds on the window, she saw light creeping in. It had to be daytime, though which day, she couldn’t be sure. It seemed to Hannah as if she’d been in bed fighting this cold for weeks. Then she heard her name called again, a male voice.

  Oh, Lord, did she have the energy to go to the door? She made an effort, finally sitting up. Her gown was damp, though she remembered changing it a while back. From the foot of the bed, she picked up her chenille robe and struggled into it, nearly falling back onto the bed twice.

  The pounding grew louder, the voice more insistent. Not Will’s voice, she decided as she shoved her feet into her slippers. Suddenly, she knew exactly who her uninvited visitor was. No one else would be so loud, so persistent.

  With shuffling footsteps, she made her way to the door, shoving her hair back with fingers that shook. “All right,” she called out, wondering if her weak voice could be heard through the thick wooden door. “I’m coming.”

  The pounding stopped, thank goodness. Hannah opened the door, leaving the chain on, and peeked out.

  Sure enough, Joel Merrick in all his handsome glory stood on her landing, a scowl on his face. Just what she needed.

  Joel’s frown deepened. Her face was so pale, her eyes dark and bruised looking. “You look like hell,” he told her.

  “Thank you. So nice of you to come and tell me that.”

  “What are you doing in there?” he asked, trying to figure out what was wrong with her.

  “Hosting a dinner party for twenty of my closest friends. You’re not invited. Go away.” She made as if to shut the door, but it rammed into his big-booted foot. She raised impatient eyes to his. “I’m not up to fencing with you, Joel.”

  “You’re sick. Open the door.”

  “I like to be alone when I’m sick. Go away.” She shoved the door against his foot, but found it solidly planted.

  “I’m not leaving. Open the door. I want to take your temperature and check you out. If you don’t let me in, I’ll break the door down.”

  He probably would, too. Hannah felt what little strength she had left drain out of her. Without another word, she nodded. She waited until he moved his foot, then shut the door, slid back the chain and opened it again.

  He came bustling in, bringing in a rush of cold air, causing her to shiver all over. Slowly, she made her way to the kitchen, thinking another cup of tea might taste good. She’d had several over the past hours—or was it days?—but never managed to finish one. At the counter, she paused, steadying herself. She couldn’t pass out in front of this man. Hadn’t she already shown him enough of her weaknesses?

  Joel flung his coat onto a chair and followed her. “Have you eaten lately?” he asked, gentling his voice. Even so, she flinched as he touched her arm.

  “I’m not hungry. Some tea, maybe.”

  He found the teakettle, filled it, turned the burner on. Then swung back to study her. Dark shadows under her eyes, eyes that looked a little glazed, flushed face, damp brow. Reaching over, he touched the backs of his fingers to her forehead. “You’re burning up. Have you got a thermometer?”

  Did she? She thought so. But where? “Maybe in the bathroom medicine chest.”

  Hannah hobbled to a kitchen chair and sat down, propping her head in her hands. Wouldn’t it have to be the one man she’d found attractive in years who’d come to see her looking her absolute worst? At her best, she wasn’t a beauty, but now! She had to look a sight. And felt even worse.

&nb
sp; He returned with the thermometer and shook it down. “Open up.” He waited until she did, then popped it in her mouth. The kettle was whistling, so he moved to the counter to make her tea. When he took it over, he saw that her eyes were closed, her head leaning heavily on her hand.

  He removed the thermometer, and his eyes widened. “A hundred and four. You’ve got more than a simple cold here, lady.”

  Hannah rolled her aching shoulders. “I get a bad cold once a season. Then it goes away, and I’m fine the rest of the year.”

  “I come from a big family. I watched my mom take care of all four of us. You don’t spike that high a fever with just a cold.” He looked around, spotted the wall phone and went to it.

  Her head was throbbing again. Where’d she leave the aspirin? Through squinting eyes, she looked over at him. He was dialing her phone. “Who are you calling?”

  “Information.” Joel removed a pen and notepad from his jacket pocket, spoke into the phone, then jotted down the number they gave him. He quickly dialed the new number.

  He was doing it, taking over. Hadn’t she told him repeatedly that she didn’t want someone taking over her life? He was talking with someone now, arranging heaven only knew what all.

  Hannah placed her hands on the table and pushed herself upright. The room spun around. She held on, closing her eyes, until finally it stopped. With determination, she walked over to him as he was hanging up. “Who’d you call?”

  Joel wanted to pick her up and carry her to her bed. She shouldn’t be up. But he knew she’d fight him. “My cousin, my uncle’s son, Terry. Dr. Terrence Merrick, actually. Another family rebel. Turned his back on the law and went into medicine. He has a practice not far from here. I caught him just as he was leaving. He’s coming over to take a look at you.”