LITMIR.BIZ

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the whisper inside her that said, “I could do this...”

      “How do women manage?” she asked herself aloud, and her fingers fluttered up to the scars along her left cheek.

      She’d never felt more powerless in her life.

      * * *

      JAMES DROPPED HIS briefcase on his desk and pulled off his suit jacket. Jackson, Hobbs and Hunter was a small law firm, consisting of James, Ted Jackson, who made a habit of doing far too much pro bono work, and a transplanted lawyer from another town west of Haggerston named Eugene Hobbs. Eugene was tall, gangly and looked like a fourteen-year-old, but his thirty-five-year-old brain was a steel trap.

      The office building was on the corner of Preston Street and Main, a three-story building that overlooked Saint Mary’s Catholic Church’s parking lot on one side and a string of little shops along Main Street on the other. James enjoyed the view of the parking lot, as strange as that seemed to his law partners. He watched kids learn how to ride their bikes in that parking lot, people come and go from the church, teenagers get their first driving lessons with white-knuckled parents. Looking over that parking lot helped him to think and put his mind onto different paths. This afternoon, the church parking lot was empty, except for one small hatchback car that belonged to the priest. It wasn’t helpful.

      James turned on his computer and checked his email. A smile twitched at the corners of his lips when he saw a forward from his younger sister, Jenny. She was always sending him little jokes—this one about driving in England. He was about to reply when Eugene stuck his head around the door.

      “Hey, you’re back,” the gangly man said. “Did you get Ted’s email about billable hours?”

      “Yeah, I got it.”

      Eugene came into the office and looked out the wide window at the parking lot. “So how’ve you been? I haven’t seen much of you the last few days.”

      “I’ve been busy with the Baxters,” James replied.

      “They keep you hopping.”

      “It’s called a retainer,” James quipped.

      “I heard that Mr. Baxter’s daughter is back in town.”

      James shrugged, unwilling to say too much. “Yeah, she’s back.”

      “I’ve seen the pictures of her during her beauty queen days, but I haven’t seen her in person yet. Are the scars as bad as they say?”

      James considered for a moment, thinking back to Isabel and the white lines that tugged at the left side of her face. But it wasn’t just the scars that had altered Isabel—there was something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but she’d changed. “Yes,” he admitted. “She looks a lot different.”

      “The gossip has been fierce,” Eugene said. “It doesn’t seem like people around town liked her much.”

      James shrugged noncommittally. He had his own grudge with the Baxter beauty, not that it mattered. Life went on, and people who held on to their anger only punished themselves. According to Gandhi, at least.

      “So what was the deal with her?” Eugene pressed.

      “Oh, just that she was gorgeous and wealthy, and relied on her looks a lot.”

      “I know the feeling. I rely on mine, too.”

      “It’s because you look like Opie,” James said with a laugh. “Everyone opens up to you.”

      “That’s what I mean.” Eugene’s face broke open into a wolfish grin. “It works for me.”

      James laughed. Eugene wasn’t as young, or as simple, as he looked. At thirty-five, he still looked like a teen, a cowlick making the hair at the back of his head stand up straight, no matter how much product he applied to flatten it. The tiny lines forming around his eyes were incongruous.

      “But you liked her?” Eugene asked.

      James barked out a bitter laugh. “I can’t say that any of us liked her much. She used people—men, mostly. She knew how to get her way. But I’m not willing to carry a grudge from high school. If you saw her—what the accident did to her—you’d see what I mean. That’s punishment enough.”

      Eugene’s phone blipped, and he pulled it out of his pocket, raised a finger and picked up the call. “Eugene Hobbs here.” He listened for a moment, then covered the mouthpiece and said to James, “Talk later, okay?”

      James gave a thumbs-up, and Eugene headed back out into the hallway, leaving James in quiet. Isabel had left her mark all over this town—from being Miss Haggers ton three years running to breaking hearts. And though she hadn’t done much to James himself, she’d broken his cousin’s spirit, just before he left for war.

      His office phone rang, and James answered on the second ring.

      “James Hunter,” he intoned.

      “Mr. Hunter? This is Bob over at Family Cheese.”

      James closed his eyes and suppressed a sigh. What was wrong now?

      “What can I do for you, Bob?”

      “I’m afraid we have to let Jenny go.”

      “You’re firing her?” James clarified, his stomach sinking. This wasn’t exactly a surprise—he’d dealt with this before. “What happened?”

      “I’m sorry. We did our best, but she just lost it on a customer. Screaming, yelling. It isn’t working out. Can you come pick her up?”

      Jenny had Down syndrome, and he’d become her legal guardian after their mother’s death in a car crash three years earlier. It had been hard enough to find a job again after the last time she’d “lost it on a customer” at a local diner. There was more to the story, of course. There always was, but no one wanted to hear it.

      “Why did she get upset?” James asked.

      “No reason that I could see,” Bob replied. “Look, I’ve got customers, so I’ve got to go. But you’ll need to come pick her up. She’s waiting outside on the bench.”

      “I’ll be there in five minutes,” he replied. “Thanks, Bob.”

      Hanging up the phone, he pushed himself to his feet. Jenny was his only sibling, and he’d always been protective of her. In school, she’d never been picked on because everyone knew that if they messed with Jenny, they were taking on Jim Hunter, too. With Jenny’s big blue eyes and wide, laughing mouth, it was hard to imagine her getting angry, but she’d been having trouble keeping a job for the past year. He clicked his computer into sleep mode and rose to his feet. His jaw was tense, his gaze drilling into the wall ahead of him.

      “Oh, James—” Eugene poked his head back into James’s office, then froze. “Okay. Sorry. Not a good time.”

      James didn’t even bother reassuring his colleague. Right now, he had something else to do, and that old protective instinct was kicking in. No matter how many years slipped by, his role remained the same—Jenny’s big brother. He’d be the brick wall between her and an unkind world.

CHAPTER THREE

      ISABEL TURNED IN a circle, taking in the large kitchen. It was more than she needed, but a full, professional bakery was hard to resist. For the last couple of years, she’d been mulling over a new idea for a small business—a chocolate shop. She’d call it Baxter’s Chocolates, and her father would be enraged at her use of the family name for another one of her business schemes, but it was her name, too. He wasn’t the only one with claim to it.

      Gleaming ovens, a ceramic stove top with a huge stainless steel hood hovering above it, vast counter space and everything tiled in brilliant white. A double refrigerator loomed next to the owner, Roger Varga, who stood near the door, arms crossed over his chest

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