LITMIR.BIZ

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along with the town’s disgraced hero, former baseball star Spencer Gregory, helping a guy in a wheelchair in a Navy cap pick up his luggage.

      She wasn’t sure what she found more stunning: how much weight Charlotte had lost or that she was apparently hooking up with Smokin’ Hot Spence Gregory, at least judging by the way they held hands like a couple of teenagers at the movies and even shared a quick kiss in a quiet moment.

      Her parents had treated Charlotte and Spence with stiff politeness, not bothering to hide their disapproval. She thought it was because of Spence’s past but quickly found out otherwise. Spence had apparently been exonerated of all charges, something else she hadn’t heard about in Paris. Instead, her father had spent the first ten minutes in the backseat of the car service grousing about A Warrior’s Hope.

      From their complaints, she figured out Charlotte and Spence had started the organization to provide recreational therapy to wounded veterans. Her father seemed to think Harry Lange was crazy to condone and even encourage it, which was one of the few times she had ever heard William complain about Harry.

      She wasn’t necessarily looking forward to helping out with the charity but it beat multiple alternatives she could think of, not the least of which was scrubbing toilets at the visitors’ center.

      “You don’t have a lot of options here, Dylan,” Andrew Caine went on. “The assistant district attorneys are pushing hard for jail time, especially since this isn’t your first brush with the law in Hope’s Crossing. Because I happen to be damn good at my job, I was able to talk them down off the ledge. Wounded war hero, bad press, yadda yadda yadda. This is a good deal. As your attorney and as your big brother, I have to advise you to take it. Both of you. You would be stupid to walk away.”

      “I’m taking it,” Genevieve assured him quickly, before she could change her mind. Both of the Caine brothers shifted their gazes to her and she couldn’t help compare the two. Even though he had cleaned up, Dylan still looked dangerous and rough, probably because of the eye patch, while Andrew had an expensive haircut and wore a well-cut suit.

      He was just the kind of guy she should find attractive—well, except for the wedding ring, the reportedly happy marriage and the two kids.

      Somehow she found Dylan far more compelling, though she was quite sure all either Caine saw when they looked at her was a ditzy socialite.

      I know just what Genevieve Beaumont is—a stuck-up snob with more fashion sense than brains, who wouldn’t be caught dead in public with someone like me. Someone less than perfect.

      She pushed the memory away. “Do you, er, have any idea what kind of things we might be required to do?” she asked Andrew.

      She didn’t have a lot of experience with people with disabilities or, for that matter, with warriors of any sort. Unless one counted women fighting over the sales rack at her favorite department store in Paris, which she doubted anyone would.

      “You’ll have to work that out with Spence and his staff. From what I understand, they have another group arriving for a session in a few days, and because of the holidays, they are in need of volunteers.”

      “Sure. Why not,” Dylan said shortly. “Might as well waste the time and money of everybody in town.”

      “You might think it’s a waste of effort, but not everybody agrees with you,” Andrew answered. “Most people in Hope’s Crossing think it’s a great program. They are jumping at the chance to help make a difference in the lives of people who have sacrificed for the sake of their country.”

      The attorney’s voice had softened as he said the last part, Gen noted. He was watching his brother with an emotion that made her throat feel tight. Dylan looked down at the hand clenched on his leg.

      “I don’t claim to be as smart as you. I don’t have a couple fancy degrees hanging on my wall. But be honest, Andrew. Do you really think a week in the mountains can make any kind of difference for guys whose lives are ruined?”

      Was that how Dylan saw his own war injuries? Andrew’s jaw tightened, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

      “A hundred hours,” the attorney said instead. “You can finish that in a few weeks and put this whole thing behind you. Or,” he went on, “you can stand by your belief it’s a big waste of time and choose jail time instead. Before you do that, ask yourself if you really want to break Pop’s heart by spending the first Christmas in a decade when you haven’t been in the desert or the hospital, not with your family but in a jail cell.”

      For just a brief moment, she caught a tangle of emotions in Dylan’s expression before he turned stoic once more.

      “At least tell me the truth.” His voice was low, heated. “This was Charlotte’s idea, wasn’t it? She and Spence won’t back off. They’ve been riding me about this for weeks.”

      “Neither of them had anything to do with it,” Andrew assured him. “If you want the truth, Pop suggested it. When he mentioned it, I thought it was a good idea and brought it up with the D.A. They ran with it.”

      “Remind me to take you off my Christmas list for the next twenty years or so,” Dylan growled.

      “Like it or not, you’re in a unique position to help here,” Andrew said quietly. “Charlotte, Spence...everybody can give lip service about what it takes to walk that journey to healing but you’re right in the middle of it. You understand better than anyone.”

      Genevieve’s face and neck felt hot as the sincerity of the words seemed to arrow straight to her stomach.

      She thought she enjoyed such a cosmopolitan life, but she suddenly realized she knew nothing about the world. She hadn’t given men like Dylan a thought while she had been in Paris.

      It made her feel small and selfish and stupid. He might think A Warrior’s Hope was a waste of time, but she resolved in that moment on a hard chair in her attorney’s office that she would do her best, even if the concept filled her with anxiety.

      “Stand on your principles if you want,” Andrew went on when his brother remained silent. “What do I care? I get paid either way, though I will point out that I’ll be the one to get crap from Pop if you’re enjoying the county jail’s hospitality over the holidays.”

      “Yeah, boo hoo.”

      Andrew rolled his eyes. “Right. Or you can just yank up your skivvies, suck it up and keep in mind it’s only for a few weeks. Lord knows, you’ve endured a hell of a lot worse than this.”

      That hand clenched again on his thigh, then he slowly straightened long fingers. She was certain he would stick to his guns and refuse to agree to the plea agreement and she didn’t want him to. She hated the idea of him spending time in jail, especially when she knew the whole thing was her fault.

      “What’s the big deal?” she said quickly. “Like your brother said, it’s only a few weeks. It might even be fun.”

      “There you go,” Andrew said dryly. “Listen to the woman. Lord knows, you could use a little fun.”

      She knew he was mocking her, that he probably thought she was some useless sorority girl out to have a good time, but in that moment she didn’t care. Not if it meant Dylan Caine wouldn’t have to spend Christmas in jail because of her.

      The silence stretched out among the three of them like a string of too-taut Christmas lights, crackly and brittle, but after a long moment Dylan’s shoulder brushed hers as he shrugged.

      “Fine,” he bit out. “A hundred hours and not a minute more.”

      The attorney exhaled heavily, and she realized he had been as anxious as she was. He had just been better at hiding it. “Excellent.” Blue eyes like Dylan’s gleamed with triumph. “I’ll run these over to the courthouse and let the district attorney and the judge know you’ve both agreed. The paper work should be in order by Wednesday and you should be able to start the day after.”

      “Great.

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