A Baxter's Redemption

by Patricia Johns

  Isabel pulled into the drive and followed the curves around to the big, three-story house. The lights on the lower level were all off, but several lights glowed in the windows upstairs, so she knew that her father was still up.

  The timing wasn’t convenient, though.

  She parked the car and turned off the engine, uncertain if she should disturb them or not. It wasn’t like old times when it was just her father in that house, and she could come and go as she pleased. This was Britney’s home now, too.

  Isabel grimaced at the thought, not that her feelings mattered at all. It was what it was.

  The porch light flicked on and the front door opened, revealing her father in his bathrobe. He shaded his eyes.

  “What are you doing out there?” he barked.

  “Deciding if I was too late to knock,” she said, getting out of her vehicle and slamming the door behind her. “Am I?”

  “Yes,” he grumbled, but he stood back and gestured her in. “Come in, come in. What’s going on?”

  “I had dinner with James.”

  “Oh?” He turned his back so she couldn’t see his face. He ambled into the sitting room, and they sank into their traditional spots—her father in his armchair and Isabel on the couch. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

  “Don’t ever try to set me up again, Dad.”

  “Who says I did?”

  “I say you did!” she retorted. “Don’t meddle, do you hear me?”

  Her father didn’t answer, and she knew better than to try to force him. Instead she added, “Maybe instead we could talk about his sister’s house. You’re very generous with my property.”

  At those words, her father froze. He shut his eyes, then he heaved a deep sigh.

  “Yes, that,” he said. “I should have mentioned it.”

  “You gave away my house?” she asked incredulously. It wasn’t her house, exactly. The deed was still in her father’s name, but when he purchased that particular house, he’d told her that it would be hers when she got old enough. That it was to be her home to do with as she pleased.

  “I didn’t give it away.” He scrubbed a hand through his sparse hair. “I simply allowed the girls to live there rent-free. You were in New York, and it didn’t look like you’d be coming back here anytime soon.”

  “You couldn’t have handed over a different piece of property?” she asked. Her annoyance was petty, and she knew it, but there was more to this than a simple rental agreement.

  “The others were rented already. And that one—” He cleared his throat. “Those young ladies needed to live in a safe part of town. I bought that house for you because of the location. Safety first.”

  “How long ago was this?” she asked.

  “Three years. Back then, you didn’t care what I was doing here. You didn’t care about that house.”

  He was right. She’d been driving a Bentley, dating a funds manager for a major bank and not looking back. “I just wish you’d told me,” she said.

  “I should have.” He nodded slowly. “That was about the time that I started dating Britney, and...”

  She understood all too well. That had been an awkward time, and her father had hidden his new relationship for the better part of a year. When he asked Britney to marry him, he’d been forced to tell his daughter, and it had been ugly. Things had been said.

  “Okay, well, apparently there are some property taxes due, and the letter was sent to the house instead of to you.”

  “What?” He scowled. “Those idiots at city hall...”

  “Probably some clerical error,” she agreed. “I thought I’d let you know, because James was about to pay it himself.”

  “Pay my taxes?” he scoffed. “Ridiculous. I’ll take care of it.”

  “That’s what I told him.” She eyed him cautiously, and silence stretched between them. Her father heaved a sigh and shot her an apologetic smile.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said at last.

  “It’s okay.” She leaned back into the soft pillows of the sofa. “A lot has changed.”

  He nodded and grunted. “Life does that, Princess.”

  “You know what I miss?” she asked quietly.

  “Hmm?”

  “That painting of you and mom that used to hang over the mantel.” She looked over at the modern monstrosity that beamed down on them. “Where is it?”

  “In the attic. Do you want it?”

  “I have no room for it,” she admitted grudgingly.

  “That’s why you need a decent home,” her father said, shaking his head. “I have no idea why you decided to live in that...that dollhouse.”

  Isabel laughed. “I like it.”

  “There’s no room for anything.”

  “I like that, too.”

  Her father sighed. “I’ll never understand you, Izzy. It’s like you find the one thing that will drive me the craziest, and that’s what you commit to.” He waved his hand through the air in dismissal. “So are we okay now?”

  Isabel nodded. “We’re fine.”

  “Do you want to live in that house?” he asked. “I can relocate the renters—”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I’m fine where I am. Let them stay there.”

  Her father nodded, his flinty eyes locked on her. “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Okay, well...” He pushed himself forward with a grunt. “It’s late.”

  “Wait.”

  There was one more thing that had been nagging at Isabel, and she opened her purse and pulled out the photo of the baby that she’d found behind the picture of her parents. For some reason, she hadn’t been able to forget that little, newborn face, and she wasn’t sure why. She held out the picture.

  “Whose baby is this?” she asked.

  “What?” Her father took the picture between two stubby fingers, but when his gaze focused, his face turned ashen and he let his hand drop, the picture still pinched in his grip.

  Isabel jumped to her feet, alarmed. Was he having a heart attack or something?

  “Dad, are you okay?”

  He nodded dumbly and handed back the photo. “Don’t know who that is.”

  “You look sick. Should I call Britney?”

  “No!” he barked.

  “So you don’t know who this baby is?” she pressed. “I just wondered. I mean, this is Mom. I recognize the necklace.” She took the picture back. “Were you godparents to this baby or something?”

  “Where did you find it?” he asked suspiciously.

  “It was behind that picture of you and Mom that was in that silver frame. Remember? It came loose, and when I opened it, I found this picture behind it. I didn’t know why Mom would hide it back there.”

  “Who says she hid it?” he retorted, anger flashing in his small eyes.

  “Just a guess.” Isabel frowned. “Dad, who is this baby?”

  “I said I don’t know,” he snapped. “Do you think I’m lying?”

  Frankly, she did. She’d never seen her father get so rattled as when he looked at that photo, but he wasn’t about to tell her anything tonight.

  “I just thought I’d ask.” She sighed. “Okay, well, I guess I should get going.”

  Isabel tucked the photo back into her purse and headed for the door. She felt guilty, somehow. She’d caused something, and she couldn’t even say what it was, but her father’s reaction had scared her. This baby wasn’t just familiar to her father—this baby mattered more deeply than she’d ever guessed. But whose was it? And how many more secrets was her father harboring?

  “Thanks for coming by,” her father said gruffly. “Take care.”

  “Dad, I—” Isabel turned back as she reached the door,
but the words caught in her throat. Standing at the top of the stairs, Britney stood in a long, white nightgown, her hand cradling the bottom of her growing belly. She stood utterly still, staring down at them nervously.

  “Hi, Britney,” Isabel said. “I’m sorry to come by so late.”

  Britney didn’t answer aloud, but she smiled wanly, and after a moment, Isabel pulled open the front door.

  I’ve overstayed my welcome.

  “Well, good night,” she said quickly, and plunged out into the cool evening.

  “Good night. Drive safe, Princess.”

  The door clicked shut behind her. She stood motionless for a moment on the porch, trying to sort through all of this new information, but nothing made sense. Nothing added up. Her father didn’t normally give people free rent for years on end. That wasn’t part of his nature. And that picture...

  She heaved a sigh and trotted down the stairs and headed to her car. Only when she’d started her vehicle and begun to back up did the porch light flick off.

  At the very least, her father had watched to make sure she got out safely. That was something.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ISABEL WOKE UP the next morning feeling restless. No one ever really stopped relying on their parents for love and support, but life wasn’t carved in marble. Her father had a new wife now, and the tensions there didn’t help her relationship with her father.

  Did a childhood home ever stop being home?

  It might have for her. That house might hold her memories, but the family inside was no longer hers. Not in the same way. Her father had divided loyalties, and as a grown woman, she could appreciate his position, but it still left her feeling mildly adrift.

  It was time to make her own traditions. She’d always relied on her family and their position to give her a sense of identity and safety, but coming home again had blown that apart. Her father wasn’t the same man she left behind. He wasn’t the doting father and widower anymore. He was now a husband again, and his wife was about to have a baby. Isabel was no longer his world.

  Maybe parents felt the same way when their children grew up, but that bittersweet heartbreak was part of the natural order of things. Wasn’t it? Maybe not.

  But in the midst of her melancholy was the memory of a kiss that had taken her breath away. Did James have feelings for her? Was she about to do the same thing to him that she’d done to his cousin—lead him on and then pull away? She shut her eyes and rubbed a hand over her face. It was time to start the day.

  That morning, Isabel whipped up two batches of truffles—mint chocolate and hazelnut chocolate—to use as gifts for the owners and employees of various local businesses. It was good to let people know that her store was opening, and to give them a taste of her wares. She’d finally set a date, and that in itself felt good. This was happening. She’d already ordered boxes for her chocolates—the more ornate version with her logo embossed on the top would take another week to arrive, but she had a carton of simpler boxes that would do just fine for today.

  After making a dozen boxes of truffles, four to a box, she locked up the store and headed down Main Street. The employees at the local businesses gladly accepted her sample boxes and eyed her business cards curiously.

  “I’m opening in three weeks,” she told them cheerily. “I’ll be coming by with more samples...so tell your friends!”

  If there was one thing she was sure about, people passed the word when there was free chocolate at stake.

  After making her way up one side of Main Street and down the other, she had one box left, and her stomach was rumbling. She glanced at her watch, and it was noon on the dot. She’d bring this box to the bistro across the street from her shop, and stop in for lunch at the same time.

  Carlo greeted her with a smile as she came inside, and he put his hand on the pile of menus.

  “For...two?” he asked.

  “For one. Thank you.” She handed him her last box of chocolates. “I’m also handing out some samples. I’m opening a chocolate shop across the street. Opening day is in three weeks. I thought you might like to try some truffles on the house.”

  “Really?” Carlo peeked in the box. “Nice. Thanks. My girlfriend will love these.” A blush rose in his cheeks. So the flirtatious waiter had a girlfriend. He smiled guiltily.

  “Your secret is safe with me.” She winked. “No worries.”

  He laughed self-consciously. “Let me find you a table, Miss Baxter.”

  Carlo led the way through the dining room, and on her way past a table, she bumped the person seated.

  “Sorry about that,” she said quickly, looking down. Her heart skipped a beat in surprise. “James?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. The last time they’d seen each other, they’d been kissing outside her little house. James looked equally surprised. His sister sat across from him, both with glasses of water in front of them, but their meals hadn’t arrived yet.

  “Isabel, hi.” He motioned to a seat at their table. “Care to join us?”

  “No, no.” Isabel shook her head quickly. “Thanks, though. You’ve had me foisted upon you enough, I’d say.”

  She still wasn’t sure what she thought about that kiss, let alone what he thought, and she felt the flush of embarrassment.

  James gave her a boyish grin. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. And I’m inviting you to eat with us.”

  She paused, turning his words over in her mind.

  “Sit, sit,” Jenny insisted, and Isabel realized there wasn’t a graceful way to get out of this, and she’d have to face James eventually. At least this way his sister was here, which would protect her from having to talk about that kiss.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Jenny,” Isabel said, shooting the younger woman a smile. Jenny beamed back.

  “Can I take your order?” Carlo asked. “Unless you need time...”

  “What did you order, James?” she asked.

  “Soup and sandwich,” he replied.

  “That sounds perfect.” She looked up at Carlo. “I’ll have the same. Tomato soup and grilled cheese for the sandwich.”

  “Very good.” Carlo vanished into the din of the dining room.

  Isabel turned back to James and Jenny and found Jenny staring at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

  The scars.

  “Jenny,” James murmured, but Jenny didn’t take the hint, her gaze still locked on Isabel’s face.

  “It’s okay,” Isabel said. “Are you noticing my scars, Jenny?”

  “I saw them before, but now I’m closer,” Jenny said in utter honesty. “Sorry.”

  “No, I don’t mind.” It was a half lie. She ordinarily did mind, but Jenny was different. There was no guile there. “I used to be pretty like you,” she explained. “Now, well...”

  “You’re pretty still,” Jenny said, shaking her head. “My brother thinks so, too.”

  James looked up, alarm in his eyes, and seeing him discomfited was oddly reassuring.

  “Right, James?” Jenny pressed. “You said so before. You said that Isabel Baxter is still gorgeous, right?”

  James winced, then nodded. Gorgeous. That wasn’t a word that had described her in a long time. But now wasn’t the time to melt under a compliment, and she fell back on her old ploy of pretending that the guy didn’t feel anything more than passing interest in her.

  “Thanks, James. That was nice of you.”

  Did he feel something? Was that kiss about more than a moonlit night and some compassion?

  “He never just says something,” Jenny said earnestly. “He’s a lawyer. He doesn’t care what people think.”

  He seemed to care right then, and Isabel cast him an apologetic look. “So how are you doing, Jenny?” she asked, changing the subject.


  “I got fired.”

  “I heard about that.” Isabel winced. “Sorry.”

  “I’ll get another job,” Jenny replied. “James will help.”

  Carlo came back with their meals, and for a few minutes, everyone focused on their food. The soup and sandwich hit the spot, and Isabel sighed in contentment as she crunched into the buttery sandwich, stringy cheese stretching out between the toast and her mouth. Jenny was having a burger and fries, carefully dunking home-cut fries into a little bowl of catsup. James had minestrone soup and a beef sandwich on rye.

  “This is so good,” Isabel said after finishing half of her sandwich.

  “Mmm,” James agreed, his mouth full.

  Carlo came by again and Jenny reached out and tapped his arm.

  “Yes?” Carlo asked politely.

  “May I speak to your manager?” Jenny asked. “I’d like a job.”

  “Sure.” Carlo smiled and disappeared again.

  “Jenny, this isn’t a good idea,” James said, swallowing his bite. “This place is pretty busy.”

  “That means they need people to work here,” Jenny retorted. “And I need a job.”

  A few minutes later, the manager stopped at their table. Jenny sucked in a deep breath and addressed him, a dab of catsup on one cheek.

  “Hello, my name is Jenny Hunter, and I’d like to apply for a job.”

  “We aren’t hiring right now, I’m afraid,” he said, a smile pasted to his face. “I’m sorry.”

  “But what about that sign?” Jenny asked, pointing, and Isabel followed her finger to a prominent sign at the front desk. Help Wanted: All Positions.

  “Oh, uh—” The manager smiled again, his smile still not reaching his eyes. “I should take that down...”

  “I can do things,” Jenny insisted. “I can wash dishes and I can clear tables. I did that once at Ruby’s Diner. And I’m really nice.”

  “We aren’t hiring,” he said more firmly. “Enjoy your meal.”