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

by Pat Warren

  At first, Sheila had been afraid to believe Hannah when she said she’d return. But she knew now she could trust her. She gave her a shy smile. “Okay.” She reached under her pillow for the red leather book. “And thanks for this, too.”

  Her mother had always written in a journal, as she herself had. Hannah had thought perhaps Sheila would enjoy recording her thoughts. “You’re welcome, sweetie.” She gave the child a fierce hug, then left the room, hurrying as she glanced at her watch. She’d stayed longer than she’d intended, but then, Sheila seemed to look forward to their visits so much that she hated to cut them short.

  She would be a little late, but her two favorite men wouldn’t mind, Hannah hoped. At that thought, she found herself smiling as she started her VW.

  * * *

  “A little more to the left.” Hannah cocked her head to one side. “A bit too much. Back to the right just a wee bit.” She stepped back, surveying from another angle. “Yes, that’s it. Perfect.”

  “Okay, then,” Joel said. “You come hold the stem still while I tighten the bolts in the stand.”

  Hannah did as he requested and watched him flatten himself to the floor and inch his way under the full Douglas fir that was filling Will’s living room with a marvelous scent. “What do you think, Will?”

  From his easy chair across the room with his feet propped onto a broad footstool, Will grunted. “I think you two have gone to an awful lot of bother for an old man. I told you I have a small ceramic tree put away in the attic that would do.”

  “You can’t not have a real Christmas tree,” Joel muttered from underneath as he turned screws so the tree would stand straight. “It’s downright un-American.”

  “Right,” Hannah agreed, smiling at Will. “And besides, you’re not an old man. You’re merely in the twilight of your years, a lovely place to be, where you needn’t work if you don’t feel like it, where you can fish when you want and let others do things for you now and again.”

  “Well said by a woman who hardly lets a man pour her coffee, so independent is she,” Will said by way of counter.

  “Touché. One for your side, Will.” Joel crawled out from under. “Do we have a watering can or something?”

  Hannah let go of the tree. “I’ll look. In the kitchen, Will?”

  “Under the sink,” he called to her. With longing, he eyed his pipe sitting in the big ashtray on the end table. Damn doctors. Took away every pleasure a man had on account of a couple of chest pains.

  Hannah returned with the can and bent to hand it to Joel, then walked over to Will. “Would you like me to make some tea?”

  “Only if you’re going to lace it heavily with whiskey. I hate tea.” He looked up hopefully. “The Jameson’s on the top shelf. I keep it for medicinal purposes only, of course.”

  “I didn’t see Jameson’s on the list of doctor’s orders.” She smiled at him affectionately. “I’m so glad you’re looking so good.” And he was, his color once more healthy looking, his eyes bright, his orneriness back to let them know he was on the mend. The only evidence of his illness was a slight weight loss and the fact that he still tired quite easily.

  Will folded his hands and rested them on the belt of his robe. Never before could he remember entertaining in his robe, but first Joel and then Hannah had surprised him, dropping in and insisting on decorating his home for the holidays. He was secretly pleased, despite his grumblings, not only to have a little Christmas spirit in evidence, but at the easy rapport he could see between the two of them.

  They’d shared more than good rapport would be Will’s guess. They hadn’t done anything overt, hadn’t kissed at the door when Joel had opened it to let Hannah in, nor so much as touched hands while the three of them had shared the Chinese dinner Hannah had brought. Yet Will knew. Love was a difficult thing to hide from a man who’d seen the many sides of it for nearly seven decades.

  The knowledge warmed his heart more than even the Jameson’s would have. Briefly, sadly, Emily’s face came into focus in his mind’s eye. Ah, that first bloom of love, that first realization that there is another human being you care for more than your biological family. Far more than for yourself. More than life itself.

  So wonderful, so heady. He closed his eyes a moment as they became moist. Must be getting old, or perhaps it was the medication causing him to get so sentimental so often lately. Or maybe it was just the season. The Christmas season. The season of love.

  Will saw Hannah looking at him kind of funny and realized he’d been so lost in his thoughts he’d missed what she’d said. “I’m sorry, honey. Off in my own world, I guess. What did you say?”

  “I asked if you like tinsel on your tree or not. I brought some, but it’s sort of a personal choice.”

  He glanced over at his aging cat curled up near the hearth, where the fire Joel had built was blazing nicely. “I never use the stuff. If Benjamin ate a strand or two, he’d choke. I can’t risk it.” His look was filled with tolerant affection. “Poor old Benjie’s bones are as creaky as mine these days.”

  “No problem, then.” Hannah shoved the icicles back into the sack. Straightening, she saw that Joel had finished stringing the lights. “Looks good already,” she said, reaching for the first box of bulbs. They’d found six boxes neatly labeled and stocked in the attic. “But wait until we finish.”

  “The angel’s in that red box,” Will directed. He hadn’t put up a tree the past several years, accepting holiday invitations from friends so as not to spend much time at home alone. But this year, the doctor had warned him to stay put, especially during the cold weather. He didn’t like it, but he’d do it.

  Carefully, Hannah removed the angel, smoothed the wispy yellow hair and straightened the filmy white dress. “She’s lovely.”

  “Emily made her,” Will said. “Even painted the china face. She’s old but still as good as she was that first Christmas.”

  Hannah handed the angel up to Joel, who was waiting on the footstool, and watched him put her in position with care. Traditions were lovely, she couldn’t help thinking. Emily and Will with their angel. Joel’s family probably had ornaments handed down through several generations now that there were grandchildren. Just one of the things she’d missed out on.

  What, she wondered, had become of the things in the farmhouse where she’d been born? All the furniture, the personal possessions. Who’d taken them or sold them after her parents were gone and the three of them had been scattered?

  Absently, she handed ornaments to Joel to hang near the top, but her mind was back in Michigan seeing longago Christmases when she and Michael and Katie had helped Dad trim the tree while Mom had made hot chocolate for them and strung berries to hang and played carols on the phonograph. They’d had fun together and laughed a lot in those days. How few were the good years they’d been able to share. The ache of that terrible separation seemed worse at holiday times.

  Deliberately forcing a smile, Hannah set down the empty box and picked up another. Moving to the far side of the tree, she turned to see Joel watching her, his eyes soft with understanding. As she handed him a delicate ornament in the shape of a teapot, he captured her hand in his.

  “We’ll make new memories,” he said softly, for her ears only.

  Surprised that he could read her so well, she could only stare.

  The three of them were having a cup of tea laced with honey rather than whiskey and gazing at the completed tree when the phone rang. Since it was on the end table next to Will’s chair, he answered it.

  “Well, hi, Marcie. You should get yourself over here and see what a wonderful tree I have in my living room.”

  “Invite me over next week and I’ll check it out, Will.” A note of anxiety crept into her voice. “Is Hannah still there? She told me she planned to help trim your tree tonight.”

  “She sure is. Just a minute.” He held out the phone. “Marcie for you, Hannah.”

  Frowning, Hannah took the receiver, thinking it had to be important
for the secretary to call at Will’s. “Yes, Marcie.”

  “I got a little piece of news I think you ought to know. Lee from Sanctuary called me. It seems they had a little problem. Rod Baxter tried to break into Sanctuary. One of the women identified him for sure, but Ellen didn’t see him. They called the police and they caught him several blocks away. But somehow, there was a scuffle and he got away.”

  “Oh, Lord. Is Ellen all right, then? And the kids?”

  “Sure. That place is like a bloody fortress, according to Lee. Between Cookie, Lee and Daisy, no one can get in. It’s not them I’m worried about. The cops came back to tell Lee something Rod said.”

  Hannah braced herself. “What was it?”

  “’Tell that lawyer of Ellen’s I’m going to get her for taking away my family,’ is what he said. Hannah, why don’t you come spend the night with me? I don’t like the sound of that lunatic.” Marcie’s voice trailed off.

  She didn’t, either. “Thanks, but that won’t be necessary, Marcie.”

  “This is no laughing matter, honey.”

  “I’m not laughing, I assure you. But he’s threatened me before. He doesn’t even own a car. I’m very careful, so don’t worry. And thanks for calling.” Thoughtfully, she hung up.

  Joel had been listening intently to her end of the conversation, well aware that Marcie wouldn’t have phoned unless something was fairly urgent. “Rod Baxter again?”

  Sighing, Hannah nodded as she resumed her seat and took a sip of her tea. The man was obsessed and drunk most of the time. How was it that he managed to get away from two police officers?

  “What’s this all about?” Will asked.

  Very concisely, Hannah filled him in, downplaying the aspect of danger for herself. “They’ll pick him up soon, probably later tonight. They’re watching Sanctuary and his home. He’s on foot with probably very little money. How long can he evade them on a cold, wintry night?”

  “You can stay here with me, honey, in my spare room,” Will suggested. “I’m not much of a bodyguard these days, but I’ve got good locks, and two pairs of eyes and ears are better than one.”

  She sent him a grateful smile. “Thanks, but don’t worry, please. I’ll be fine. They’ll get him by morning.”

  Joel came to a decision as he stood. “We’re not going to wait for that. You’re coming to my place tonight.”

  She sent him. an annoyed look. “By now, I’m sure you must know how very fond I am of being told what I’m going to do, right?”

  “This is different.” His concern for her safety had his voice harsher than he intended. “The man’s a loose cannon. We can’t take the chance that they’ll nab him right away. Rod’s crazy enough to take all sorts of risks a smarter, more sober man wouldn’t. Don’t be unreasonable with me about this, Hannah.”

  She wasn’t stupid; she knew what men who had little else to lose might do. And certainly, she didn’t want to get hurt. But she also didn’t like him telling her what she must do. “I’m not trying to be unreasonable. But I have no intention of going into hiding until Rod Baxter gets caught.” She also stood and began picking up the tea things. “Thanks for your offer, but I’ll be careful.”

  His teeth clenched, Joel watched her take the full tray into the kitchen. Exasperated, he looked at Will, who was watching him.

  “I believe I told you early on that she was stubborn and independent,” Will said calmly.

  “Truer words were never spoken.”

  After loading the dishwasher, Hannah returned and went to the closet for their coats. “Will, I’m sure you’re ready for some rest. We’d better get going.” She leaned down to hug him. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

  “No, honey, I’m fine. Thanks for everything.” Will watched Hannah put on her coat, then her gloves, while Joel shoved his arms into his jacket. “You, too, Joel.”

  Joel shook hands with the older man. “Enjoy your tree.”

  He can’t fool me, Will thought. He’s fuming inside. He wondered what Joel was going to do once they got outside. He didn’t know, but even money said that his young partner was definitely going to do something. As they closed the door behind them, Will hoped Joel could do what no other man had yet been able to do: make Hannah listen.

  He stayed several blocks behind her, after having said good-night by the curb and lingering a bit before starting out to give her a head start. Stubborn female. She absolutely wouldn’t listen to reason. All right, fine. He would have to take matters into his own hands.

  A lunatic on the loose, looking specifically for her, one who knew where she lived, where she worked, the places she frequented, like Sanctuary and, of course, the courthouse—and yet Hannah said she’d be all right. Sure, she’d be all right. Because Joel was going to make damn sure she was.

  A block from her place, he sped up, pulling in behind her in the back driveway. Jumping out, he saw her surprised expression when she noticed him. She’d probably been so lost in thought she hadn’t spotted him following behind. “Hold it right there,” he ordered.

  Hannah curled her gloved fingers around her keys in frustration. She should have known he’d given in too easily back at Will’s to be believed. “What do you want?”

  “You’re coming with me,” Joel said, his voice firm.

  “No, I’m not,” she answered, her voice equally as firm.

  Joel watched his warm breath curl up in the cold night air. It was silly standing out here arguing. “You have two choices—you can go upstairs, pack an overnight bag and then come along with me like a civilized person. Or you can fight me on this. If you choose door number 2, I’m going to throw you over my shoulder, cram you into my car just as you are, with no clean undies, and drive off. Either way, you’re coming with me tonight. What’ll it be?”

  Planting both curled fists on her hips, she glared up at him. “You have no idea what a turnoff these caveman tactics are to me. I am not—I repeat not—going anywhere with you.”

  “Door number 2 it is.”

  Faster than she could ever have guessed, Joel scooped her up, flung her over his shoulder, marched around to the passenger side of his car, opened the door and unceremoniously deposited her on the leather seat. Breathless, she tried to raise her arms in order to bat him away, but before she could get off a punch, he’d already fastened her seat belt tightly around her. While she struggled with that, he rushed around the front, slid behind the wheel, shoved the gearshift in reverse and squealed out of the driveway. They were speeding around the Common, down Charles Street, heading for Beacon Hill before she managed to free herself.

  “Damn you, Joel Merrick, you’re going to pay for this,” she all but hissed at him.

  “You’re probably right,” he said quietly, trying desperately to keep all traces of humor from his voice. If he laughed at her now, she’d probably punch him in the jaw.

  “Why must things always go your way? Why can’t you believe that my decision might be right for me? Why must you act as if I were a child and you were a Neanderthal? Which, by the way, you are.”

  He appeared to consider that. “I am something of a Neanderthal at times, but you’re definitely not a child.” He dared glance at her, but only for a moment. She was glaring fiercely. He pressed his lips together.

  She could jump out of a speeding car, Hannah supposed. Naturally, all the lights were with him, so he scarcely slowed even for turns. She could make a try for the ignition keys, but he’d probably grab her hand before she could connect. She could punch him hard and… No, she doubted if he’d even feel it through that heavy leather jacket. Damn!

  Minutes later, he pulled into his regular parking space, turned off the ignition and placed a finger on the doorlock button before turning toward her. In the shadowy lot, he stared into her angry eyes. “I want you safe because I love you. Is that so terrible?”

  The steam whooshed out of her rebellion. How was it that he knew exactly what to say to make her drop her defenses immediately? “It’s the wa
y you go about things, Joel. You don’t ask. You command.”

  “Hardly ever. Only when it involves your safety. I would have bound your hands and feet and carried you off rather than allow you to place yourself in danger.” He grinned. “Love makes you do stupid things.”

  “Apparently.” She let out a ragged sigh. “I don’t want to fight with you. But I honestly can’t go into seclusion every time one of my clients or their batty husband threatens me. You ought to know. Lawyers get threats all the time.”

  “Just until he’s caught. That’s all I ask. If this car wasn’t so cramped, I’d get down on my knees. Please come upstairs with me, Hannah. Please.”

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of the smile that was just about to break free. Instead, she turned her head. “All right, but I don’t even have anything to sleep in.”

  “I like it best when you don’t have anything to sleep in.” Before she could react, he stepped out and hurried around to help her. If it was the last thing he did, Joel vowed, he’d make Hannah forget about the madman out there somewhere gunning for her. And he knew just how to do it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Joel locked the door of his apartment behind them, but didn’t turn on the lamp. Ten stories up, moonlight drifted in through the wide living-room windows. He turned to Hannah and held her captive there with just a look, his hands at his sides.

  He didn’t touch her, didn’t speak, but instead let his eyes do the asking. He could see she understood, could almost see the wheels of her mind turning, considering, rethinking. He did a great deal of negotiating in his work and knew that the first one to break the silence or make the first move in a tense situation was the one to give in So he waited, wanting this to be her call, her decision, made willingly.

  Hannah studied Joel’s face, that wonderfully familiar face that monopolized her dreams, awake or sleeping. That she wanted him wasn’t the question. That accepting his invitation might move them to a new plateau might be. She sensed that he was asking more this time, more than a physical expression of their feelings. He wasn’t demanding, something she would have known how to deal with. He wasn’t even using his considerable powers of persuasion, by word or touch. He was doing something far more deadly.