A Baxter's Redemption Page 8

  “James?” she wondered aloud, looking down at her cell phone. He was the best bet she had at the moment, but even so, she held back. She’d asked him for a favor back in high school, then forgotten him. And now she was going to ask for another one?

  She attempted to move the sideboard once more, and when she felt a muscle twinge along her back, she gave up. Her body weight wasn’t going to be enough. She’d need some muscle behind this one, even if that muscle came with a bit of judgment attached.

  Pulling her phone back out of her pocket, she started to type a text, and then changed her mind. This required an actual call. She dialed his number. He picked up on the second ring.

  “James Hunter...wait, is that you, Isabel?”

  “It is.” She grimaced. “Look, I feel terrible about forgetting you. And about Andrew, too. I was so self-involved back then. I don’t even know what to say.”

  “It’s okay,” he said gruffly. “It’s fine.”

  “But it isn’t.” Not by his reaction last night, at least.

  “I said it’s fine.” He sighed and then was silent for a beat. “Andrew and I were inseparable. Our birthdays were exactly one month apart, and we did everything together from going to kindergarten to tux shopping for the prom. I even fixed his girlfriend’s car. What can I say?”

  Obviously, Andrew’s cousin would have known the truth, but the term “girlfriend” still jolted her a little.

  “Then one day, he was gone. His parents got a visit from an army rep, and I got even less than that. I miss him. I guess I’ve been missing him more than usual lately. It funny how that happens. I shouldn’t have dumped that on you.” He cleared his throat, and the intimacy of the moment before seemed to evaporate. “So, how are you?”

  “I’m fine. Just working in the store, and—” How exactly was she supposed to ask for a favor now? “Never mind. You have a good day, James.”

  “You called for a reason,” he prompted.

  “I know it’s obnoxious of me, but I was wondering if you might be free to help me move something this morning. It would only take a couple of minutes, but now that seems like a really dumb thing to ask.”

  “What do you have to move?”

  “A rather large sideboard,” she admitted. “I can’t move it alone.”

  “I’d have to be the most expensive muscle you ever hired.”

  “Probably,” she agreed. “But worth every cent. Feel free to charge the time to my father.”

  He was silent for a couple of beats, and she stood stock-still, wondering if she’d just made an even bigger fool of herself. If she’d had anyone else to call, she would have.

  “Sure, I’ll come by,” he said at last. “I’m going to be working late tonight, so I can take a bit of time this morning.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

  “And I won’t be charging anyone.” There was a smile in his voice. “See you in a bit.”

  Was that forgiveness she heard in his tone? She tucked her phone back into the back pocket of her jeans and put her rubber gloves back on. She sat on her haunches for a moment, her mind moving over his words. She picked up a scrub brush, and she couldn’t help the sad smile that came to her lips. His loss was devastating, but he’d been willing to share that with her, and James struck her as a man who didn’t talk about his feelings too often. Call it gut instinct—she knew men, if nothing else. She had a feeling that while James seemed to fight it tooth and nail, he was becoming her friend. Whether he liked it or not.

  Her phone rang again, and she peeled off her gloves again and pulled it out. It was Carmella.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Girl, I heard you were out with Mike Gum last night!”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Tricia Libbon saw you and called me immediately. So what happened?”

  “Nothing.” Isabel shook her head. “And I’m busy right now, so you’ll just have to believe me.”

  “I need details!” her friend prodded. “Come on. If you don’t fill me in, I’ll pass along a rumor of my own making.”

  “I’ll have to take the chance,” Isabel replied wryly, and then paused. “Carmella, do you remember that time we tried to parallel-park my brand-new BMW and I put that massive dent in the fender?”

  “Vaguely,” Carmella replied. “Why?”

  Isabel suddenly realized that she hadn’t told Carmella how she got the car fixed. Andrew had been a bit of a secret, and explaining his cousin would have let the secret out.

  “Nothing. Just remembering old times,” she replied, putting more cheer into her voice than she felt. “But I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”

  Isabel disconnected and stood in silence. She’d been oblivious back then. And mean. She couldn’t help but wonder how many people she’d stepped on over the years, and never even noticed. And she was trying to open a business here? She might be as stupid as her father thought.

  * * *

  JAMES HAD STARTED EARLY, spent the morning in meetings, and now had some time off before he had another round of meetings in the evening. When he’d gotten the call from Isabel, he’d already been regretting the night before. The war in Afghanistan wasn’t her fault, and while her cruelty had pushed his cousin into the army sooner, Andrew had been talking about joining the armed forces since he was sixteen, so it wasn’t exactly out of the blue.

  He also sensed that she really did need his help in her shop. She used to be able to crook her finger and men would dash to her side, but now—

  “I’m not dashing,” he muttered aloud.

  His office was walking distance from Nicholson Avenue, so he took advantage of the bright June day, left his suit jacket in the office and headed down Main Street toward her store. The afternoon was quiet, and as he passed the familiar shops, he realized how long it had been since he’d taken a break in the middle of the day. Work was his refuge.

  Nicholson Avenue came up quickly, and he walked around the corner, then crossed the street to the closed bakery. The windows weren’t covered, and he could see inside. Everything looked clean and empty, but Isabel was nowhere to be seen.

  He scanned the place. It was a nice location, and he had to admit that she had good taste.

  Isabel’s head popped up right in front of him, and he startled. She waved sheepishly, a dirty rag in one hand, then pointed toward the front door. She wore a pair of jeans and a fitted white T-shirt—a relaxed look that suited her more than he liked to admit. In high school, Isabel had been the girl always done up to the nines, but this look appealed to him more. It felt more honest, somehow. James met her at the door, and she pushed it open for him.

  “I didn’t know you were down there,” James said with a laugh. “The place looks good.”

  “Thanks.” She stood back to let him in. “I appreciate your coming. I know this isn’t exactly in your job description.”

  She looked worried, a little pent up. This was why he wished he hadn’t said anything last night. He didn’t want to talk about it—not with her. And he didn’t want to make things awkward. His task was difficult enough with this family, without adding to the tension.

  “I’m not here as your lawyer,” he said.

  “No?” She eyed him cautiously.

  “Call this a friendly gesture.” He inhaled the scent of floor wax and the distant hint of cleaning products. “So when are you going to open?”

  “Well, I have to get this place put together first. I’d designed my sign as a project for a class in Yale, so it’s just a matter of waiting for it to be made and delivered. I’m sure there are more things to do than I’m even planning for right now—” She stopped and color rose in her cheeks. “Sorry, I guess I’m excited.”

  “I can tell.” He regarded her with a hint of admiration. She was her father’s d
aughter, all right, and he could almost hear that Baxter hunger for business coursing through her veins.

  Isabel led the way to a long, narrow table with three sets of drawers beneath it. It looked like solid wood with marble on top, and he could see why she wouldn’t be able to move the thing.

  “If we can just get it over here—” She pointed to a square of cardboard waiting in the center of the room. “Then I can work on it without making a mess.”

  “Sure.” James tested one end. It was heavy. He unbuttoned his shirtsleeves and rolled them up. Her gaze flickered to his arms, then she cleared her throat and took the other side of the piece of furniture. Was she actually noticing him? That might be a first.

  “On three,” he said. “One, two—”

  She attempted to lift her side, then shook her head. “Wait, wait.” She adjusted her grip. “Okay. I’m ready.”

  “Three.”

  They both lifted, and while James carried the bulk of the weight, pulling the sideboard toward the center of the room, Isabel at least kept her side skidding above the ground until they were at the cardboard. When they put it down, she heaved a sigh.

  “Thank you. I couldn’t have done that alone.”

  Isabel sounded like she meant that. This was a side to her that James hadn’t expected to see—the hardworking entrepreneur—and he was undeniably impressed. She brushed a strand of hair away from her face with the back of her wrist, then smiled.

  Crikey, she was still gorgeous.

  “Not a problem,” he said. “You had good timing. I’m not normally free this time of day.”

  After last night, he figured he owed her this much, at least.

  “Do you want a soda?” she asked.

  He should go. He’d done the favor, and broken the ice again. It was better to just head out and see her the next time she needed legal advice. But she stood there with her fingers tucked into her back pocket, brown eyes fixed on him as if she half expected him to turn her down, and he couldn’t bring himself to.

  “Sure,” he said.

  She led the way into the kitchen and pulled two bottles of cola out of the fridge, passing him one. He cranked off the lid and took a cold sip.

  “Thank you for fixing my car...the fender.” Color rose in her cheeks. “I don’t believe I ever thanked you for that.”

  “You’re welcome.” He nodded, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, you know.”

  “No, it’s okay,” she replied. “I have a feeling not many people are happy to see me back. Do you remember Miss Maitland?”

  “Yeah. She’s still teaching at the high school,” he said with a nod.

  “I saw her today.” Isabel shrugged. “And she didn’t seem too pleased to see me. Am I being overly sensitive?”

  No, she wasn’t. He’d heard some of the gossip around town, as had Eugene at the office, and people weren’t overjoyed to see her.

  “Maybe just a bad day,” James suggested.

  “I hope it doesn’t affect sales,” she said, and he realized that the sentimental side had closed. Business wasn’t personal. Wasn’t that what people said? With Isabel, that seemed to be an odd balance. She sipped from the bottle and met his gaze. “Why did my father hire you?”

  The conversation was taking an unexpected turn, and he frowned. “Because I’m good at my job.”

  “You’re young,” she countered.

  “And top of my class.” He shot her a grin. “I’m a lot more impressive in the courtroom.” He paused, then eyed her uncertainly. She wanted to know why her father had chosen him, but he wanted to know something more specific than that. “Why did your father fire Ted Jackson?”

  He’d wondered what happened for a long time, but no one knew. All they knew was that Mr. Baxter had a change of heart about Ted Jackson as his legal representation and he’d handpicked James as the replacement. James had been more than curious, but Ted hadn’t shed any light on it. All he’d said was, “George is your client. Trust no one but George. You work for him and no one else. Got it?”

  “He advised my father against marrying Britney,” she replied. “He told him that she was after his money, and that he was foolish to marry a woman younger than his own daughter.”

  But that didn’t really sound like Ted, either. What would he care if an older man married a woman half his age? Lawyers wrote up prenuptial agreements for these situations, they didn’t give relationship advice.

  “And your father fired him for that?” James asked.

  “He said that law has as much to do with a gut instinct as it does with actual legalities, and he no longer trusted that man’s gut.”

  That sounded like George, but right now, James’s gut was telling him something different. “Did you ask him to talk to your father about it?”

  Color rose in her cheeks, and she looked away for a moment. “Yes, I did. I honestly didn’t know my father would fire him, though. My dad always said that business wasn’t personal. But it got personal there, and he reacted in a way I didn’t expect. I thought he’d think about Ted’s advice and give it some serious consideration. I was wrong—really wrong.”

  This explanation made Ted’s warning make a whole lot more sense. If James cared about his position with Mr. Baxter, he wouldn’t allow himself to be influenced by his persuasive daughter. She seemed to have a pattern of using men for her own aims. She seemed to be deeper now since the accident, apologetic even, but obviously Ted had fallen for her wiles, so how could he trust that she wasn’t doing the same thing to him? He should be more careful. Business wasn’t personal, and neither was the law. But with Isabel, all those lines kept blurring.

  “I don’t trust Britney,” Isabel said. “I really don’t, and that hasn’t changed. But my dad seems to love her.”

  “And that counts for something.” James took another sip of cola. “Plenty of men have married younger women.”

  “And plenty of women have married older men,” she agreed. “But I always thought my father deserved a woman who loved him for himself, not just for his money.”

  “Maybe she does love him.”

  Isabel shrugged. “Do you honestly think she’d stick around if my father lost his last dime? Without his money, he’s no longer a debonair millionaire—he’s just a sagging old man.”

  Did she really expect him to badmouth her father behind his back?

  “I can’t judge that,” James said. “And like you’ve said, it isn’t in my best interest to judge it, either.”

  She smiled wanly. “That’s true.”

  “Maybe he’s getting exactly what he wants out of his marriage,” James said. “I mean, if she really did marry him for his money—and I’m not saying that she did—then maybe he’s just as happy with a beautiful, young wife to come home to. Maybe he doesn’t want anything more than that.”

  Her gaze clouded and she shrugged weakly. “You mean maybe my father is no different from any of those other rich men who want a beauty queen without much intelligence?”

  James shook his head slowly. “That’s dangerous ground, Miss Baxter.”

  She shrugged. “I felt terrible for getting Mr. Jackson fired. I won’t do the same to you. I promise.”

  James wasn’t quite convinced, however, and Ted’s warning was ringing in his mind. He worked for George Baxter, and while George had asked him to give his daughter advice, he’d better keep his loyalties in order.

  “I have to get that sideboard sanded,” she said, pushing herself away from the counter and heading for the door. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to put you in an awkward position.”

  James glanced down at his cell phone. He’d put it on Silent, and he’d already missed three calls. He watched her walk away from him, and for a moment, he considered asking her to wait—to talk more. But this was alre
ady dangerous ground, and he sighed.

  “I’d better return a few of these calls,” he said.

  She turned and took a few steps backward as she moved out of the kitchen and into the store area. “James, are we okay?”

  “Sure.” He nodded. “We’re just fine.”

  “Okay.” She smiled hesitantly, then picked up a piece of sandpaper. James angled his steps to the door, and when he looked back, she was already crouching next to the table, ready to work. She glanced up with a small smile as he pushed open the door.

  As he ambled back up the street, he couldn’t help but realize that he honestly liked her at this point. That might not be good, because he was still uncertain about her character. He had Jenny to look out for, and a life here in Haggerston. Starting anything with a woman accustomed to using the people around her was dangerous, not only for his career, but also for his sister. Jenny didn’t deal with betrayal well. If he had only himself to consider, he might take a chance, but not with Jenny. It took a special woman to take on a man’s family—a family that might need his direct support for the rest of their lives. And Izzy? Well, he knew better than to even daydream about anything more with her.

  He liked Isabel, was even finding himself attracted to her, and that was going to make his job with her father that much more difficult. Whatever her intention, she’d just given him a warning.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THAT EVENING, ISABEL sat in the center of her bed, a bottle of pearly pink nail polish in one hand as she leaned over her toes and meticulously painted her smallest nail. She liked having her toes painted, even in the winter. It made her feel put together, and it was as far away from her face as possible.

  Her face wasn’t the only part of her body that bore the scars from the accident. Her arm was scarred from a nasty break, and her leg had been gashed, as well. When the seasons changed, the puckered lines ached again, reminding her of the injuries that never quite went away.