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A Baxter's Redemption
Patricia Johns
Has she really changed?Former beauty queen Isabel Baxter returns to her hometown, scarred after a near-fatal accident. But in high school, she was the fantasy of every teenage boy in Haggerston, Montana, including James Hunter. Even though James was too far below her social circle to be noticed…Now her father’s attorney, James isn’t ready to forgive Isabel for the part she played in his own family tragedy. Yet she seems eager to make amends and prove herself capable of being more than a pretty face. Has the girl he once worshipped—his boss’s daughter—grown into a woman James can respect … and maybe love?
Has she really changed?
Former beauty queen Isabel Baxter returns to her hometown, scarred after a near-fatal accident. But in high school, she was the fantasy of every teenage boy in Haggerston, Montana, including James Hunter. Even though James was too far below her social circle to be noticed…
Now her father’s attorney, James isn’t ready to forgive Isabel for the part she played in his own family tragedy. Yet she seems eager to make amends and prove herself capable of being more than a pretty face. Has the girl he once worshipped—his boss’s daughter—grown into a woman James can respect…and maybe love?
Isabel grimaced.
“I feel terrible about forgetting you. I was so self-involved back then. I don’t even know what to say.”
“It’s okay,” James said gruffly. “So, how are you?”
“I’m fine. Just working in the store, and—” How was she supposed to ask for a favor now? “I—I was wondering if you might be free to help me move something this morning. Feel free to charge the time to my father.”
He was silent. She wondered if she’d just made an even bigger fool of herself.
“Sure,” he said at last. “And no need to charge your father.” There was a smile in his voice. “See you in a bit.”
Was that forgiveness she heard in his tone? 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.
Dear Reader (#ulink_aee435fc-c1bf-51e4-b605-8345c9e261b0),
When you’re twenty-two, you have it. Youth has a beauty and allure all its own, and when you look back on photos of your twenty-two-year-old self, you wonder what you were agonizing over back then. Then you get into the business of life, and you get married, have kids, start going gray… Your body changes, your perspective changes, and the other women who are in the same boat start reassuring you—perhaps a little too ardently—that you’ve still got it. You’re a “hot mama.”
Whoever first told us that it’s our job to be “hot”? And why on earth did we accept the position? “The successful candidate will be a visual stimulus for males within her general vicinity.”
There’s nothing wrong with being attractive. I am beautiful—my husband reminds me of it all the time. But I’m a woman—not a trophy. I’m a partner, a cheerleader, a warrior, a defender. Let’s start with the assumption that we’re all beautiful—because you are!—then let’s go forward from there. What else are you? And what are you going to do with the wealth of skill, insight and passion that you bring to the party?
It isn’t my job to be “hot.” My job includes being intelligent, thoughtful and caring. Being well-read is an advantage, and when it comes to protecting the women around me, I’m a force to be reckoned with. When men see me coming, I don’t want appraising glances. My body isn’t their business, and if this brain intimidates them, then they can call me “ma’am.” I prefer it that way, anyway. Ladies, we’re so much more than what society asks of us. I will never call you hot, but I will most certainly call you magnificent!
If you’d like to connect with me, you can find me on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/PatriciaJohnsAuthor/), or at my website, patriciajohnsromance.com (http://www.patriciajohnsromance.com).
Patricia Johns
A Baxter’s Redemption
Patricia Johns
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
PATRICIA JOHNS has her honors BA in English literature. She lives in Alberta, Canada, with her husband and son where she writes full-time. Her first Harlequin novel came out in 2013, and you can find her books in the Love Inspired, Western Romance and Heartwarming lines.
To my mom, the businesswoman.
She’s five-two and tough as they come.
Give her a goal and she sinks her teeth into it, then shakes the stuffing out of it. “Almost” isn’t good enough for her. I love you, Mom.
You taught me well!
Contents
Cover (#u8fe80fae-b794-5d66-a1d9-1c2db5404b32)
Back Cover Text (#u2c898263-4421-5f21-bd1d-00035b13df6d)
Introduction (#ucf756b3b-8a66-514f-82d6-10b77764c6fa)
Dear Reader (#ulink_bf044853-fefb-50b7-9840-fc2e81947006)
Title Page (#u2296120f-6047-58e3-985e-78d396fc3c69)
About the Author (#ue5a7af43-956a-5ce0-9af1-2bfba5a2dca6)
Dedication (#uef03e0eb-ae15-5d75-8e7b-286c1cbd53b9)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_f6a6bfcf-6a01-51cb-b0b0-a77c3374a3c9)
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_30971f60-093b-55af-90c4-512187335678)
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_67babb6f-6632-5d4f-9367-3d5c62054584)
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_5047c984-230f-55aa-8345-ba6dea3893d2)
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_46299add-09d3-5aa3-ac23-a6dc477a6a89)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_e809fa5a-feac-550f-8e35-a325e361c215)
ISABEL BAXTER’S STOMACH curdled as she glanced around the sunny living room of her childhood home—a rambling, three-story house just outside Haggerston, Montana. Coming home wasn’t the same since her father’s second marriage, the thought of which still left her angry. The house itself had stood the test of time, but the interior had not. The portrait of her parents was gone, replaced by a jarring abstract painting over the stone fireplace. The removal of that portrait was to be expected, of course, but it still felt like a betrayal to the family they used to be. The antique rocking chair that had belonged to Isabel’s maternal grandmother had also been removed, replaced by a modern monstrosity that looked like a dried orange peel, a cup waiting to embrace the hindquarters of unsuspecting visitors.
Her father, George Baxter, was balding and portly, and he sat in his same old spot in the leather armchair. The family lawyer loomed behind him—a young man with a steely gaze. She knew he was the lawyer the minute she stepped into the room, although she’d never met him. Lawyers all had the same look: well ironed and expressionless. Isabel eyed him for a moment, taking in his broad shoulders, his suit jacket tugging ever so slightly around a muscled chest. She sighed. This was the kind of family reunion she’d expected—the kind that required a lawyer. Baxters were nothing if not prepared.
“Do we really need a lawyer here?” she asked.
A slight smile flickered around the corners of the lawyer’s lips, and she met his gaze. He was muscular with chiseled features and an easy way of standing that made her suddenly more aware of her own appearance. There had been a time when Isabel would have flirted with him, just to see if she could get his attention, but those days were past. She knew better than to flirt since the accident.
“I’m glad you’re here, Princess,” her father replied, ignoring her tartness. “How are you feeling?” Was it her imagination, or was he trying not to look too closely at her face?
She knew what he was getting at. She wasn’t the same daughter that George Baxter had sent off to New York six years earlier. A year ago, she’d been hit by a car, leaving her severely scarred. After a bad reaction to anesthetic where she nearly died on the operating table, she declined further cosmetic surgery. She’d just have to carry on as she was. It wasn’t a decision her father had ever fully embraced.
“I’m fine, Dad. I assume you asked me here to talk business.”
“Yes.” Her father heaved himself to his feet with a grunt. “It’s about the money.”
“What money, specifically?” she asked.
“Your money.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “The doctor says I’ve got to slow down with my heart acting up this way, and I’ve decided to sign over your trust fund now, instead of when you turn thirty.”
“Why?” She pulled her hair away from her face. “What did the doctor say, exactly?”
“I’m not dying, if that’s what you’re getting at,” her father retorted.
“But what did he say?” she pressed.
“Hardening of the arteries. Some fibrillation. Nothing earth-shattering. Your grandfather lived to be ninety-five eating nothing but bacon and eggs, so I’m sure I’ll be just fine. All the same, I’m slowing down.”
“And you’re finally ready for me to run Baxter Land Holdings?” Isabel guessed, her pulse speeding up at the prospect. She’d been angling for this—preparing for it—since she went to college, not that her father had encouraged it. He’d suggested she take a degree in art history. She’d been the one to choose a degree in business, with a minor in marketing.
“Take over?” George shot her an alarmed look. “Heavens, no. But with your accident, and all that, I thought you could use some cheering up—”
Isabel pressed her lips together. Her father had a stranglehold on the family business, and in his eyes, she’d always be his princess—an endearment that came with as many strings as a spider’s web.
“I love you, too, but you know money won’t fix this, right?” she asked blandly.
George gestured to the younger man. She glanced uneasily toward the lawyer, and he smiled, then crossed the room. He wore a nicely tailored suit, but it wasn’t expensive. She knew suits, and this one was store brand.
“Hi, I’m Isabel Baxter,” she said. “George’s daughter, in case you weren’t up to speed there.”
“James Hunter.” He shook her hand, his grasp strong and warm. “Nice to see you again.”
Again? Isabel squinted at him. Have I met him before?
“So come take a look.” Her father went on, ignoring their personal introductions. He held a folder, which he opened. “I’ve requested that your funds be taken out of the investments. There was some good growth, so you’ll be comfortable.” He came to his daughter’s side and pointed to a dollar amount. “It takes a few days for the funds to be released, but I’ll give you the paperwork as soon as it is.”
“Sure.” She nodded. “That would be fine.”
There was movement in the doorway, and Isabel glanced up to see her young stepmother, Britney Baxter. Britney was two years younger than Isabel, and she wore yoga pants and a midriff-baring top, with a towel tossed around her neck as if she’d just finished a workout. If she had, she hadn’t worked up a sweat. To Isabel, Britney’s outfit spoke volumes about her maturity. Technically, this was Britney’s home and she could wander around it dressed as she pleased, but she still looked more like a high school cheerleader than a married woman. It was that tanned midriff that drew Isabel’s eye—a gently domed belly. Reality took a moment to sink in, then her gaze whipped back to her father in shock.
“You’re—” She cleared her throat. “You two are having a baby?”
When her father had married a woman forty years younger than himself, Isabel had considered the possibility of siblings, but somehow she still wasn’t prepared for this.
“Yes.” Her father shrugged. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you, so—”
So they thought they’d announce it with a sports bra and yoga pants? There were better ways to announce these things, and she was uncomfortably aware that this awkward family moment was being played out in front of James Hunter. She glanced in his direction irritably.
“Congratulations,” she said, her throat constricted. “That’s wonderful news.”
It didn’t feel like wonderful news, but she wasn’t going to confess her true feelings at the moment. Any lawyer would be pleased with that.
Her father smiled widely. He gestured toward his young wife. “Come on in, beautiful. We’re done with the business talk.”
Britney padded into the room on bare feet and slid into her husband’s embrace. She eyed Isabel cautiously.
“Well, I should be off,” Isabel said, sucking in a breath. She’d had enough surprises on her first day back in town.
“No, no. You’ll stay here, of course.” George patted Britney’s hip, then released her.
“No, Dad, that’s not a great idea.”
“Why?” her father demanded, glancing between his young wife and his daughter. “There is plenty of space. This is your home. You grew up in this house.” Britney and Isabel had exchanged heated words after the wedding, and they’d never actually made up afterward. But they were expected to forget about all that and act like one big, happy family. Not likely. Britney looked away, her cheeks pink.
“And I’m fully grown now.” Isabel shot her father a smile. “Thanks all the same, Dad, but I need a bit of privacy, too.”
