A Baxter's Redemption

by Patricia Johns

  Britney came into the room just then, and she slid onto the arm of the chair, Isabel’s father slipping his arm around her hips.

  “Dinner’s ready,” Britney announced, rubbing her belly. She glanced around. “Is Jimmy here yet?”

  Isabel shot her father an incredulous look. “Why did you invite the lawyer, Dad?”

  “The lawyer.” He eyed her with exaggerated disappointment. “He’s got a name, you know.”

  Was he really going to lecture her about recognizing the household workers as people with names and lives? She was no longer a self-centered teenager, and if James was coming to dinner, then that meant that he had some business planned.

  “His name is James.” She emphasized his first name, irritated with Britney’s insistence on calling him Jimmy. “I’m well aware. The question is, why invite him to a family dinner?”

  She had a suspicion of why her father would want James Hunter here this evening. She already knew that this dinner was about her chocolate shop, and her father was bringing in some reinforcements. He wasn’t about to let her spend her money without his input, that much was obvious. Had James been part of the ploy all along? Was he stringing her along, reporting back to her father?

  “I didn’t invite him, but he’d be welcome to stay,” her father retorted. “He’s dropping off some papers for me, not that it’s any of your business.”

  She didn’t believe that for a second. The doorbell rang and Britney smiled brilliantly.

  “Well, speak of the devil. I’m sure that’s him.”

  * * *

  GEORGE BAXTER WAS the patriarch of a very wealthy family. He was a self-made man, and George had volleyed between making money and losing money for a decade before he finally started making more than he lost. Word around town was that George Baxter was hungry to prove himself to the old money of the county. He was now one of the ten most influential men in Montana, and he’d raised his daughter with the expectation that she’d marry well and never experience the hardship that he had. He was giving her a better life on a silver platter.

  The big house had the look of old wealth, even though the Baxter dynasty was young, indeed. Mr. Baxter’s first wife had been the decorating master, and she’d had a delicate touch. The house was big, but not overly ostentatious. The furnishings were high quality and expensive, but homey, too. The grounds around the house were natural and reminded James of the perfect place for a tire swing and a red-checkered picnic blanket. The original Mrs. Baxter’s touch was the foundation of the place, and it couldn’t be erased. As James stepped inside, he smiled at the housekeeper who ushered him in. He’d always liked Mrs. Franklin. She was a constant, a regular rock, and under that stony facade, he always suspected there was a sense of humor, although he couldn’t quite prove it.

  “Here are those documents, sir,” James said, passing an envelope to his employer. “It looks like I’m interrupting. Have a good evening, everyone.”

  “Oh, stay for dinner,” Mr. Baxter said. “We have more than enough.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve got work—”

  “Come on through,” Britney called, beckoning him toward the dining room. “You’re just on time. I’ll be so disappointed if you don’t.”

  “It smells amazing, Mrs. Baxter,” he replied with a smile. “Thanks for the invitation.”

  His gaze landed on Isabel, and he found himself relieved to see her here. She interested him. Professionally, of course. That’s what he’d been telling himself all day. Her hair was up, pulled away from her face so that her large, dark eyes were dominant, meeting his with an expression of mild surprise. It was enough to make her scars melt away in the moment, and instead of facing a scarred former beauty, he was facing the beauty herself. She looked less than pleased with his arrival, however, and before he could say a word, she turned and walked into the dining room without a word.

  “Never mind her,” Mr. Baxter said with a chuckle. “She’s just moody. She’ll get over it.”

  Mr. Baxter sounded like a man making excuses for a teenager’s petulance, but Isabel was no teen, and he couldn’t help but wonder what family drama was about to unfold. Mr. Baxter never invited him to dinner just for the pleasure of his company, and this whole friendly scene wasn’t how things normally went. He was willing to bet that this whole display was for Isabel’s benefit.

  “Not a problem, sir,” he replied with an uneasy smile, following the older man into the dining room.

  The Baxters dined in relaxed style. A long, farmhouse-style table dominated the room, early evening sunlight streaming in through tall windows. The table was set without a cloth or place mats, gold-edged china placed directly onto the polished wood. Gleaming silverware sparkled on top of napkins. An extra place had already been set, and he got the distinct impression that this was more planned than he thought. Flowers spilled from vases, placed around the table in a way that looked almost meticulously casual—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. A bowl of steaming potatoes sat in the center next to a large, clear jug of lemonade. Another dish of string beans reminded him that he was indeed hungry.

  “Oh, you know us,” Britney said with a wave of her hand. “Sit wherever you like. We’re family, after all.”

  Family, huh? James didn’t actually know them that well, at all, and he had that awkward feeling like anywhere he chose to sit would be wrong. James sat down at the nearest place setting, while Isabel and Britney both moved toward the same chair.

  “Except for this one.” Britney laughed lightly. “I always sit here, don’t I, Georgie?”

  “She always does,” Mr. Baxter agreed absently. “Never would sit at the foot of the table like a proper wife.” He laughed at his own little joke, then kissed Britney’s fingertips.

  “Of course,” Isabel said, moving to the seat next to James. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.”

  Here. Not home. James noted her wording.

  “Oh, here comes the ham,” Mr. Baxter said.

  The dining room doors swung open and Mrs. Franklin wheeled in a cart with a covered serving tray. The savory aroma of ham filled the room, and all eyes turned to Mrs. Franklin, who stood in her gray uniform, sweat on her brow.

  After everyone was served, the meal began, and for several minutes, the only sound was silver against china. The food was amazing, and James had to admit that he didn’t often eat like this in Haggerston. He was used to the regular diners that the town had to offer, and his own cooking, of course. He wasn’t a bad cook, but he wasn’t too proud to admit that Mrs. Franklin’s cooking was a treat.

  “You’ll have to bring us some of your chocolates, Isabel.” Britney broke the silence. “I’ve never tried them, and I’ve been craving chocolate something fierce with this pregnancy.”

  “They’re good,” Mr. Baxter said, around a bite of food. “A nice hobby for her.”

  Isabel smiled tightly.

  “Speaking of business—” Mr. Baxter began.

  “We weren’t speaking of business,” Isabel replied, her tone even, but a look of warning sparkling in her eyes.

  “We’re always speaking of business,” the older man replied. “It’s like breathing. But have you done the research, Princess?”

  “We’ve already discussed this,” she said, putting down her fork with a clink. “Not now.”

  “Why not now?” Mr. Baxter looked around the table. “It’s family. What’s the problem?”

  “James isn’t family,” she replied tersely.

  She had a point. James sat back in his seat, watching the strained expressions around the table. He’d been in courtrooms that were more relaxed.

  His employer shrugged. “He’s a lawyer. His job is to be discreet. I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

  “Fine. Since in this family, all we talk about is business,” she re
plied icily, “what were you going to say?”

  “I was going to ask if you know how many small businesses fail after starting up.” Mr. Baxter swirled a speared potato through a puddle of gravy and popped it into his mouth.

  “You didn’t fail,” Isabel replied. “You’re a raving success, I’d say.”

  “James?” Mr. Baxter turned his attention toward him, and James heaved a sigh. They were quickly coming to the reason for his invitation. Like Britney’s cooking, Mr. Baxter’s research was never done personally.

  “Forty-seven percent,” James replied.

  “And in the food industry?”

  “More than that.” He was doing Isabel a favor by not mentioning the number.

  “Chocolate is a niche market,” Mr. Baxter said, wiping his lips on a napkin. “It’s high cost, low margin. The real estate market has the highest rates of success.”

  “I’m aware of that, Dad,” Isabel replied stiffly.

  “Now, James, if you were to advise my little girl about starting up a business, what would you tell her?” Mr. Baxter asked.

  Isabel turned her glittering eyes to him, daring him to speak. He could feel the repressed rage radiating from her, and he had to swallow twice before he spoke.

  “I’d tell her to ask her father’s advice,” he replied cautiously.

  “Aha! Smart man.” Mr. Baxter chuckled. “Pass the green beans, please, Britney.”

  Britney passed the dish, and he helped himself to another serving.

  “And you would tell her to ask my advice because I’ve made money, right? Because it takes a success to know how to be successful.”

  “You’ve also lost money,” Isabel countered. “You went bankrupt when you and Mom first got married.”

  Mr. Baxter’s eyes darkened, and he dropped the spoon back into the bowl with a clatter. Red crept up his neck and into his cheeks. James had never seen Mr. Baxter openly challenged before, and he found himself mildly concerned that the older man might pop a blood vessel.

  “I paid for this home, for every stitch of clothing you ever wore, for all of your beauty contest coaching, for your vacations, your hobbies, your shiny Yale education...and you dare throw my failures in my face?” He sucked in a breath through his nose. “I’m your father, and you don’t have a penny except by what I’ve earned! Show some respect, young lady!”

  “You’re throwing your money in my face,” Isabel shot back. “You supported me through school, and I appreciate that. But when I got a job of my own in New York, I told you I could support myself. You’re the one who insisted that I stay in that overpriced condo so that you wouldn’t worry about my safety. So yes, you paid for it, but I never asked for it.”

  She was shaking, and she closed her fist over a crumpled napkin. “You say that we talk business in this family, but we don’t. We talk money.”

  “I’m trying to spare you a monumental failure!”

  “And what if I succeed?” she demanded. “What if I’m actually good at this, after all?”

  Mr. Baxter calmed himself, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment as he gathered himself once more. The red in his face faded, and he opened his eyes.

  “You were always a pretty girl,” he said. “I didn’t properly prepare you for the shark pool that is the business world.”

  “Dad, shut up!” Isabel rose to her feet and glared at her father across the table. She leaned forward, her skirt sweeping free as she pushed her chair back. “You know I love you, so when I say this, it’s coming from a good place. But Shut. Up.”

  The room fell into awkward silence, and Mr. Baxter gaped up at his furious daughter. Her lips quivered and a tendril of hair slipped down from the bun at the back of her head, sliding down her pale neck. She wadded her napkin and tossed it onto the seat of her chair.

  “Thanks for the family dinner.” Her voice dripped disdain. “But I think I’ll pass.”

  She turned and nearly collided with Mrs. Franklin, who was just coming back into the room with a bottle of sparkling cider, uncorked.

  “Thank you for the delicious meal, Mrs. Franklin,” Isabel said sweetly. “You’re an excellent cook, and I’m sorry I can’t stay to enjoy it.”

  And with that she was gone, leaving James at the table.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “ISABEL!”

  Isabel stopped next to her SUV and turned to see James in the doorway of the house. He swung the door shut behind him and jogged down the steps, heading in her direction.

  “What now?” she demanded, pulling the door open a little harder than necessary, but she needed some way to vent this anger.

  “I just wanted you to know that I didn’t know that was going to happen,” he said as he reached her.

  “And how did you think that would go down?” she retorted.

  “I came to drop off papers. Nothing else.” He met her gaze easily, dark eyes drilling into hers. “That wasn’t planned.”

  “And the extra place at dinner?” she asked with an icy smile.

  “Okay, someone planned it,” he admitted. “But not me. I was a pawn in that one.”

  She was tempted to believe it. Her father was nothing if not dramatic in his attempts to “get through to her” when she wouldn’t cooperate with his decisions. It had worked when she was a teenager, but while he admitted that she’d grown up, his tactics hadn’t changed.

  “So what are you doing out here?” she asked cautiously. “Did he send you out to calm me down?”

  “Nope.” He shrugged. “Wanted to know if you’d get a coffee with me.”

  She regarded him for a moment, weighing his words. “You’ll annoy my father.”

  “Who says I’m not annoyed already?” he retorted.

  Isabel sighed. “Sure. As long as there is no more talk about my business.”

  “Understood.” He put up his hands and shot her a wry grin. “I told you before that I wasn’t going to get in the middle.”

  “You have noble intentions.” She chuckled bitterly. “But my father might have other plans with that one.”

  “Let’s meet up down at that old coffee shop at Main and Spruce—the one we all used to go to during high school,” he suggested.

  Isabel smiled at the memories and nodded. They’d felt so grown up frequenting a coffee shop back then. “That sounds good. I’ll see you there.”

  The drive from her father’s house to town was short, and as Isabel pulled up and parked in front of the little shop, she heaved a sigh. She’d always known that her father was a force of nature, and it wasn’t often that she went against his wishes, but she couldn’t back down this time. This decision was her own, and she’d see it through.

  She was overdressed for a coffee, and the pretty dress reminded her of times when she’d draw every eye in a place when she stepped through the door. Some days she missed the attention, but today she felt differently. She’d take respect and trust over admiration. She wanted someone to believe she could succeed based on her intelligence and character. Was that so much to ask? Now that she’d lost her flawless face, her father seemed to doubt that she could do much of anything.

  Isabel pulled open the door and stepped inside. Soft jazz music played in the background, mingled with the hiss of a milk steamer. A few tables were scattered around the shop, the lowering light outside the window growing softer and more golden as the sun sunk closer to the horizon. James was waiting, standing at the counter. He looked taller than she’d given him credit for, dark eyes moving over her in slow evaluation.

  “What’ll you have?” he asked, accepting a latte from the barista. He nodded his thanks to the young man.

  “I’ll get it myself, thanks,” she said and he shrugged. She wasn’t even in the mood for chivalry tonight. She ordered a latte as well, then headed over to w
here James sat waiting for her.

  “So what was that at your father’s place?” James asked.

  “That’s what happens when my father thinks he knows best.” She slid into the seat opposite him. “My father can be a big pussy cat, but the minute he turns his iron will on you, it feels a whole lot different.”

  “So you have a complicated relationship,” he concluded.

  “You could say that.” She took a sip, letting the sugar soothe her frayed nerves. “You know the really stupid thing? Dad thinks I can’t do this because when I was eighteen and twenty, I tried two different business ideas. Now, for most eighteen-year-olds, their stellar ideas get filed away for when they’re older, but not for me. I had a dad who financed every business idea I had, and when they flopped—which, of course, they did—he took it as proof that I didn’t have what it took to be like him.”

  “So if he’d done a little less financing...” he suggested.

  “I’d have been better off,” she agreed. “And I know how dumb that sounds coming from someone who just had her trust fund signed over to her. But I wasn’t ready to have someone make my dreams a reality. I needed to dream a little longer.”

  “Wow.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

  “I’m full of surprises—” She stopped herself short. That was the old flirtation coming out again, and she really should know better by now. James wasn’t flirting, and she had nothing to gain by trying to manipulate him. She sighed. “He’s judging my adult abilities by my adolescent attempts.”

  “Not exactly fair,” he agreed, and his confirmation of that simple fact relaxed something inside her. Most of her conversations with men ended much earlier than this—at least back when she still had looks. She’d bat aside serious topics and fix him with her smoldering gaze and enjoy the power. It was fun to get men flustered, to make them forget the matter at hand.