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 stuckup snob with more fashion sense than brains, who wouldn’t be caught dead in public with someone like me. Some one 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. Can’t wait for all that fun to begin,” Dylan said.
“Someone from A Warrior’s Hope will be in touch to let you know details about what time to show up.”
“Thank you,” Genevieve said. “I appreciate your hard work.”
A small part of her had to wonder if her father or someone else in his firm might have been able to get all the charges dismissed, but she wasn’t going to let herself second-guess her decision to have Andrew represent her.
“I’ve got some papers I’ll need you to sign. Give me just a moment.”
He walked out of the office, and she shifted, nervous suddenly to be alone with Dylan. The events of Friday night seemed surreal, distant, as if they had happened to someone else. Had she really been handcuffed to the man in the backseat of a police car?
He was the first to break the silence. “I have to admit, I didn’t really expect to see you here.”
“Why not? Did you think I would have preferred jail? I’ve heard it’s horrible. My roommate in college was arrested after a nightclub bust for unde
rage drinking. She said the food was a nightmare and her skin was never the same after the scratchy towels.”
“I guess taking the plea agreement was the right thing to do,” he drawled. “I wouldn’t want to ruin my skin.”
He almost smiled. She could see one hovering there, just at the corner of his mouth, but at the last minute, he straightened his lips back into a thin line. It was too late.
She had seen it. He did have a sense of humor, even if she had to pretend to be a ditzy socialite to bring it out. “What I meant,” he went on, “was that I figured you would have second thoughts and go with your own in-house counsel. I can’t imagine the mayor is thrilled you’re letting a Caine represent you.”
An understatement. She had finally resorted to keeping her phone turned off over the weekend so she didn’t have to be on the receiving end of the incessant calls and texts.
“He didn’t have a choice, did he? I’m an adult. He might think he can dictate every single decision I make, but he’s wrong. He might be forcing me to stay in Hope’s Crossing but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him strong-arm me in everything.”
“He’s forcing you to stay home? How did he do that? Cut off your credit cards?”
Right in one. Her mouth tightened at the accuracy of his guess. She was angry suddenly, at her parents for trying to manipulate her, at herself for finding herself in this predicament, even at Dylan. He had a huge, boisterous family that loved him. Even more, they seemed to respect him. She had witnessed both of his brothers trying to watch out for him while he only pushed them away.
She and Charlie hardly spoke anymore, both wrapped up in their separate worlds.
“None of your business,” she answered rudely. “Spending an evening handcuffed together doesn’t automatically make us best friends. Anyway, I’m still mad at you for what you said about me to your brother.”
Again that smile teased his mouth. “As you should be. If you remember, I did apologize.”
She made a huffing noise but didn’t have the chance to say anything else after his brother returned.
An hour later, the deed was done.
“So that’s it?”
“On the judicial end. Now we turn you both over to
Spence and his team at A Warrior’s Hope. You only need to fill your community-service hours. They’ll give the judge regular updates on the work you do there and whether it meets the conditions of the plea agreement.”
That wasn’t so bad, she supposed. It could have been much worse. She could only imagine her father coming in and trying to browbeat the judge, who happened to be one of few people in town who stood up to William, into throwing out all the charges.
“Thank you,” she said again to Andrew. “Dylan, I guess I’ll see you Thursday at A Warrior’s Hope.”
He made a face. “Can’t wait.”
With an odd feeling of anticlimax, she shrugged into her coat and gathered up her purse.
“Wait. I’ll walk out with you,” Dylan said.
She and Andrew both gave him surprised looks. “Okay,” she said.
Outside the courthouse, leaden clouds hung low overhead, dark and forbidding. They turned everything that same sullen gray. In the dreary afternoon light, Hope’s Crossing looked small, provincial, unappealing.
She could have been spending Christmas in the City of Lights, wandering through her favorite shops, enjoying musical performances, having long lunches with friends at their favorite cafés.
Paris at Christmas was magical. She had loved every minute of it the year before and had been anticipating another season with great excitement.
Instead, she was stuck in her grandmother’s horrible, dark house, surrounded by people who disliked her. Now she had to spend the weeks leading up to Christmas trying to interact with wounded veterans. If they were all as grim-faced and churlish as Dylan Caine, she was in for a miserable time.
“Where are you parked? I’ll walk you to your car.”
She blinked in surprise at the unexpected courtesy. “That midblock lot over by the bike shop.”
“I’m close to that, too.”
They walked in silence for a moment, past the decorated windows of storefronts. She would have liked to window-shop but she didn’t have any money to buy anything, so she couldn’t see much point in it.
“Your brother did a good job,” she finally said, just as they passed Dog-Eared Books & Brew, the bookstore and coffee shop owned by Maura McKnight. “We got off easier than I expected. We could have been assigned to pick up roadside trash or something.”
“Is it too late for me to sign up for that?” he answered.
She made a face. “What’s the big deal? Why don’t you really want to help out at the recreation center? Your brother’s right. You understand better than anybody some of the challenges wounded veterans have to face.”
The clouds began to spit a light snowfall—hard, mean pellets that stung her exposed skin.
He was silent for a long moment, snow beginning to speckle his hair, and she didn’t think he would answer. She was just about to say goodbye and head for her car when he finally spoke. “I believe Spence and Charlotte had good intentions when they started the program.”
“But?”
“Nobody else on the outside understands what it’s like to have to completely reassess everything you do, everything you thought you were. I hate bolo ties.”
She blinked at the rapid shift in topic. “O-kay.”
“I hate bolo ties but here I am.” He aimed his thumb at his open coat, where she could see the string hanging around his collar, with that intricate silverwork disk at the center. “Andrew ordered me to wear a tie for the hearing. I can’t tie a damn tie anymore. After trying for a half hour, I finally just stopped at that new men’s store over on Front Street and bought this. It was either that or a clip-on, and I’m not quite there yet.”
She didn’t know what to say, especially as she could tell by his expression that he was regretting saying anything at all to her.
She decided to go back to the fashionista ditz he called her. “Personally, I like bolo ties. They’re just retro enough to be cool without being ostentatious. Kind of rockabilly-hip.”
He snorted. “Yeah. That was the look I was going for. The point is, a couple of days playing in the mountains wouldn’t have a lot of practical value when the real challenges are these endless day-to-day moments when I have to deal with how everything is different now.”
She couldn’t even imagine. “I guess I can see that. But don’t you think there could be value in something that’s strictly for fun?”
“I don’t find too many things fun anymore,” he said, his tone as dark as those clouds as they walked.
“Maybe a couple days of playing in the mountains are exactly what you need,” she answered.
“Maybe.”
He didn’t elaborate and they walked in silence for another few moments. As they walked past one of her favorite boutiques, the door opened with a subtle chime and a few laughing women walked out, arms heavy with bags.
She didn’t recognize the blonde with the paisley scarf and the really great-looking boots, but the other one was an old friend.
“Natalie! Hello.”
The other woman stopped her conversation and her eyes went wide when she spotted her. “Gen! Hi.”
They air-kissed and then Natalie Summerville stepped back, giving a strange look to Dylan, who looked big and dangerous and still rather scruffy, despite his efforts to clean up for court.
“How are you?” Natalie asked. “I saw your mom at the spa the other day and she told me you were coming back for Thanksgiving.”
Yet you haven’t bothered to call me, have you?
Natalie had been a good friend once, close enough— she thought, anyway—that Genevieve had included her in her flock of seven bridesmaids. They had been on the cheerleading squad together in high school, had doubledated often at college, had even shared a hotel room in Mazatlán for spri
ng break after junior year.
When she had been engaged, preparing to become Mrs. Sawyer Danforth of the Denver Danforths, Natalie had loved being her friend.
After Gen ended the engagement, she felt as if she had broken off with many of her friends, as well. Natalie and a few others had made it clear they didn’t understand her position. She and Sawyer weren’t married yet. Why couldn’t he have his fun while he still could? She had overheard Natalie say at a party that Genevieve was crazy for not just ignoring his infidelity and marrying him anyway.
Sometimes she wished she had.
“Are you heading back to Paris soon?”
“I’ll be here for a month or so. At least through Christmas.”
She imagined word would trickle out in their social circle about her parents’ mandate and her enforced poverty, if it hadn’t already. Her mother was not known for her discretion.
“Great. Good for you.”
“We should do lunch sometime,” Genevieve suggested. “I hear there are a few new restaurants in town since I’ve been gone.”
“Yeah. Of course. Lunch would be…great.” Genevieve didn’t miss that Natalie had on her fake voice, the one she used at nightclubs when undesirable men tried to pick her up.
“I’ll call you,” Natalie said, with that same patently insincere smile.
“Or I can always call you.”
“My schedule’s kind of crazy right now. I don’t know if you heard but I’m getting married in February. I think you know my fiancé. Stanton Manning.”
He had been one of Sawyer’s friends and cut from the same impeccably tailored cloth. “Of course. Stan the Man.”
Her face felt frozen from far more than the ice crystals flailing into her. Natalie had been one of her bridesmaids, for heaven’s sake, but hadn’t bothered to even let Genevieve know she was engaged.
If she were fair, she would have to acknowledge that she hadn’t been her best self during the humiliation of her marriage plans falling apart. She had been the one to drop all her friends first and flee Colorado as quickly as possible.
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