“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 where 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.
But everything was different now, and she’d opened a vent on thoughts and feelings she hadn’t ever put into words, and James’s quiet attention was loosening her lips. As she talked, her thoughts came together, making sense of a dynamic she hadn’t been able to sort out yet.
“I agree that my ideas back then were pretty stupid, but I couldn’t really be blamed. My world was small. I was patterning myself after movie stars who started their own clothing or makeup lines—women who wanted to be taken seriously in the business world, but went about it in a stereotypically girlie way. But that was all I saw. I mean, we’re in Montana, and if you aren’t in the beef industry, there aren’t a lot of role models.”
“And your mom?” he asked.
“A beauty queen before me.” She felt the bitterness in the words. “Mom was amazing, but she was someone who ran more on heart and less on intellectual examination, you know? There’s nothing wrong with that. She was artsy and beautiful and described her feelings with colors. And maybe Dad wants me to take after her more… I don’t know. But while I got Mom’s face, I got Dad’s brain. And he’s never really accepted that.”
Her father had used pet names with her mother, too: Beautiful, Gorgeous, Sunshine, Lover… The last one had embarrassed Isabel, but that had been what their home was like—two beauties doted on by a proud man.
“Did you notice what he called Britney?” she asked.
“No…” He frowned. “I didn’t.”
“He called her by her name.” She swept her hair away from her face. “Me? I’m Princess, Sweet Pea, Cupcake, Sugar, Sweetie Pie…and do you know why?”
“You’re his daughter?” he asked.
“Exactly.” She took a sip of her latte, as if to punctuate the point. “I’m his daughter. Britney gets to be Britney. I get dumbed down to the name of a plush toy.”
A small part of her was relieved that he hadn’t recycled those old endearments that he’d used on her mother the way he had the diamond necklace—that something had remained sacred—but Britney’s retention of her name irritated her in a whole new way.
James chuckled. “A little more than a plush toy, but I see what you mean.”
Fine, the toy part was dramatic, but she was sick of being patted on the head. She’d kept her distance in New York, putting together a life of her own. Her father may have bankrolled her apartment, but accepting that gift had soothed her father’s conscience and he’d given her some space. Her friends from work thought she was silly to be so annoyed with her overprotective father, and they’d joked that they’d gladly take her place, but they didn’t understand what that entailed. Those strings were tighter than anyone imagined.
“And it isn’t because I want to spend his money,” she went on. “Well, my money now, since he signed it over. Britney does nothing but spend his money. It’s because he knows that I want to do something more, and he honestly doesn’t think I’ve got what it takes. And that’s what hurts the most. He uses words like Princess and Sweet Pea, but underneath all that is his true opinion of me, and it isn’t high.”
“He’s pretty old-fashioned,” James agreed. “And his views on women could probably use some updating, but he does love you.”
“With a stranglehold.” She smiled coldly. “Just like his business.”
James was quiet for a moment. “He can’t actually stop you, you know.”
“I know.” Sadness welled up inside her. “But this isn’t about having my way. It’s about having his respect. I can get the former easily enough, just not the latter.”
She was definitely saying too much. She didn’t know where all this talkativeness was coming from, but she’d been on her own with these issues for too long. And back in Haggerston, she was more isolated still.
“I should stop talking now,” she said, and laughed uncomfortably. “That all just sort of came out, didn’t it?”
“I don’t mind.” James took a sip of his coffee. “There’s more to you than I thought.”
“Thanks.” She smiled wryly. “I think. So enough about me. What about you?”
“What about me?” he asked, raising a brow.
“Why law?”
“I want to help,” he replied. “I’ve seen too any people get tilled under, and I wanted to stand up for the underdog.”
“Like me?” she asked, eyebrows raised. He’d seemed to take an interest in her since she’d arrived in town, and if anyone counted as an underdog right now, she was pretty sure that she did.
“You?” He laughed. “No, not you. You’re hardly an underdog, Isabel.”
“What makes you so sure?” she asked. She certainly felt like she’d lost her glossy position here in town. She’d gone from stunning beauty to ordinary woman, and she had to fight for every ounce of independence she got.
“You’re wealthy, Izzy.” That was what people had called her in high school—was that how he still saw her? How many times had she been reminded that she was rich? She came from money, so she had no right to complain.
She blinked. “Money isn’t everything. I used to be rich and beautiful. Now, I have access to some money, but it isn’t as glamorous as it looks. Trust me.”
“But it smooths over a whole lot,” he replied curtly. “Even after that accident, you’re no underdog.”
She found herself annoyed with his pronouncement. He hadn’t been through the pain that she had. He hadn’t been laid up in a hospital for weeks, thankful not to be paralyzed. He hadn’t lost what she’d lost.
“I hardly think you can judge that,” she said quietly. “I’ve been through a lot.”
“Sure you have. So has everyone else.”
She eyed him skeptically. Was there a monopoly of suffering—anyone who’d endured less than a POW didn’t count?
“Well, you seem to be doing okay for yourself,” she said. “You’ve climbed enough for my father to notice you and you’re under thirty.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he admitted. “But we all have our pain. I lost my cousin in Afghanistan the year after high school. He was like a brother to me. Do you remember Andrew?”
She froze, the memory of her math tutor coming back. But he’d been more than a tutor… Their romance had surprised her as much as it had him. He’d been lanky with hair like a dust mop and the sweetest smile. She hadn’t told anyone because she knew it couldn’t last. It was doomed right from the start—he wasn’t from the right people. It got ugly at the end.
“Yes,” she said. “I do. He died?”
He should have been married with kids by now. And he’d been the type of guy who would have made a good husband to some girl around town. She could imagine him with a couple of little girls and a doe-eyed wife.
“What happened?” she asked, the image of the adult Andrew evaporating.
“Afghanistan happened,” he replied bitterly. “He was trying to save a buddy, and he got shot. He never made it back.”
“He was a nice guy,” she said. That was an understatement—he’d been really special. He’d been smarter than the football players she normally got involved with. It was sad that he’d died so young. “I’m sorry.”
“He was a hero. A real hero. You can’t replace people, Isabel. You might have lost your looks—and I’m really sorry for how painful that accident was—but you didn’t lose as much as you could have. Everyone’s lost something.”
The muscles in James’s clenched jaw rippled. They sat in silence for a moment, and Isabel rolled his words over in her mind. He was angry, that much was clear, but why he should be mad at her, she had no idea. She was used to having men fawn over her, brush aside her weaknesses—at least before. James wasn’t like that.
“You think I’m spoiled, don’t you?” she concluded.
“A little bit,” he agreed.
Anger simmered up inside her and she shook her head. “So because I survived, my hard times don’t count?”
“I didn’t say that.”
She shook her head irritably. Did he blame the wealthy for his cousin’s death? Was this a political stance? And how could the death of a soldier in Afghanistan make her own disfiguring accident any less horrible?
“So what are you saying then?” she demanded.
“I’m saying that you’re not as hard done by as you think, and while everyone else might be inclined to feel sorry for you, I don’t.”
“I didn’t ask for your pity,” she snapped.
It was then that she remembered something that she hadn’t thought about in years—sitting in Andrew’s basement across from another young man with that same unsympathetic glare. Jimmy Someone…his dad had been a mechanic, and Isabel had just dented her brand-new car.
“What?” James seemed to sense a change in her.
“You fixed my car, didn’t you?” she asked quietly. “Back then—in high school. You’re the Jimmy who knocked that dent out for me.”
The door to the coffee shop opened and closed behind her, though she didn’t bother turning until she heard the low rumble of a familiar voice.
“Izzy Baxter, is that you?”
She swallowed her irritation at the interruption and turned to see who’d come in. Mike Gum was an old friend, a friend she’d almost gotten romantically involved with once or twice after breakups, if she had to be utterly honest, and she hadn’t seen him since high school graduation. He was now a slightly portly man with a broad smile and a tan.
“I thought that was you!” Mike said, nodding to James. “How about a coffee?”
She looked back toward James. He gave her a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I’ve got an early morning tomorrow anyway. Have a good time,” James said curtly and picked up his briefcase.
“That was you, wasn’t it?” she repeated, unwilling to be put off.
“Yeah. That was me.” He gave her a nod and strode out of the coffee shop without a backward glance. She watched him go, hoping he’d turn back, but he didn’t.
She had met him back in the day—he’d even done her a favor. She remembered how relieved she’d been that Andrew had a cousin who could make her problem go away, and that had been all she’d cared about. How could she have forgotten? No wonder he thought she was spoiled.
We talked about me the entire time, she realized with a stab of embarrassment. There was a time when that would have been the status quo, but she hadn’t wanted to talk about herself tonight. She’d actually wanted to know more about James, and then she’d started blathering on.
“So, Mike,” she said. “How are you?”
She had to stop monopolizing conversations.
* * *
JAMES LOOKED THROUGH the window at Isabel’s back, her glossy dark hair coiled up into a bun, and her pink dress blending softly into the creamy skin at the top of her back.
He shouldn’t have told her about Andrew. It brought up too many old memories for him, but once he started talking, it all just seemed to spill out of him. He hated that—talking when he should just keep his mouth shut. Professionally, he could keep secrets. In his personal life, he’d always been pretty tight-lipped, too. So what was it about Isabel Baxter that made him talk about things he’d rather keep private?
But she’d remembered him—at the last moment. He’d been wondering if he’d made any impression on her at all back then. Not much of one, apparently. Still, she’d realized who he was, and that was oddly gratifying.
What was I thinking? He got into his truck and slammed the door. He started the motor, the growl of the engine rumbling comfortingly beneath him. Maybe this was what Andrew had felt like in the army—surrendering himself to something bigger, something big enough to swallow his own pain. The rumble of a hemi engine certainly didn’t compare to a US Army tank, but it was something.
He put the truck in Reverse, and the wheels crunched over the gravel as he pulled out of the parking lot. Somehow he felt like he owed this to Andrew—to remind the girl who’d so cruelly crushed him that he’d existed, and he’d been worth something. He was a war hero, killed in the line of duty. Andrew had always been the heroic type—taking on more than he had any right to try for, Isabel included. James could recite by heart that last letter that Andrew had sent him:
Hey man, how are things in college? You wouldn’t believe the size of the spiders here. I keep finding them in the shower—enough to make a guy avoid bathing for life. I can’t even describe what it’s like. It’s hot—always hot. You breathe in dust constantly. We cough up brown stuff. At least it keeps me from thinking. I think too much over here.
Happy birthday. Hope it’s a good one.
Don’t take the shade for granted.
The streets of Haggerston were deserted, and he stopped at an empty intersection before easing forward again. He thought he knew what had been taking over his cousin’s mind—or did he? Had the war managed to squeeze out the humiliation and heartbreak of his senior year? He wasn’t sure if it was kind to hope for that or not. Maybe it was more merciful to have a man’s heart broken than put the horrors of war into his soul.
Isabel might think that she was hard done by, but the Baxters rolled over everyone in their paths, and they never seemed to notice the bump in the road. Isabel certainly hadn’t seemed to notice what she’d done to Andrew. He was a nice guy. That was all she remembered?
He was her legal counsel, nothing more, and he regretted opening up that part of himself. He hadn’t spoken about Andrew to anyone in more than a year. It was easier to just bury all of that deep inside him. Opening up tonight had taken off the pressure, and it all came out. He should have kept his trap shut.
He pulled his truck onto the highway. The gas tank was full. He’d drive out his frustration tonight. It was safer than talking. Pretty much anything was safer than talking right now.