A Home For Hannah (Reunion: Hannah, Michael & Kate #1)

by Pat Warren

  She was smiling when she turned to him. “You love Montana.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yeah, I guess I do. My father doesn’t understand, but ranching sort of gets in your blood. Out there, you’re in charge of you, you know. No one else to tell you what to do. You have to make the decisions, to take the blame and enjoy the credit. Both ways. Bart loves it as much as I do. Dad went once, said he couldn’t stand the loneliness.”

  “But you can be lonely in a city full of people.” Of course, she’d denied that she’d been lonely since arriving in Boston. The truth was, she hadn’t realized she was until this evening.

  Joel smiled, pleased at her perception. “That’s exactly how I feel. There’s a difference between being alone and being lonely.”

  The waiter brought their wine, then took their order before withdrawing. Joel lifted his glass. “Thanks for coming with me.”

  Hannah raised hers. “Thank you for dragging me along. I think maybe I needed this.” The wine, cool and tart, slid down easily.

  “Bad day?”

  “Oh, not necessarily. Just long.”

  “How are things going with that battered-wife case? Ellen somebody, didn’t you say?”

  “Ellen Baxter, yes.” She set down her glass, feeling a mixture of anger and disappointment. “Her husband hit her again and scared her so badly that she wound up in Emergency. I thought I had her convinced to press charges. But he threatened to really hurt her if she involved the police, so she went back to him.”

  “He threatens to kill her, so she returns to him?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. That’s often the way it is with battered wives. Fear rules their every thought and action.”

  “Do they have children?”

  “Yes, a boy of six and a girl who’s just seven.”

  “Why do you suppose she stays?”

  Hannah took another sip of wine before answering. “It’s so hard for those of us not in such a relationship to understand. The whole thing has to do with self-image. These men manage somehow to convince the women that it’s all their fault, that she makes the man so angry he has no choice but to hit her.”

  “Unbelievable. How is it possible to get them out of these potentially deadly relationships?”

  “That happens usually when the man goes too far. Nearly kills her, and she finally agrees to prosecute. Or he hurts the children. Or, all too often, he actually kills her.”

  “It sounds as if you’ve handled cases like that.”

  “Only one. It was awful. She died, kids became wards of the court and he’s in prison for life. It’s all so sad and so unnecessary. We need more family counselors trained in this specialty.”

  Their food arrived, baked halibut for Joel and stuffed flounder for Hannah. By mutual, unspoken agreement, they talked of lighter things while they ate, sights around Boston that Hannah hadn’t yet visited, some funny stories about Will and a comment or two about Marcie’s many boyfriends. By the time the check arrived, they were both full enough to welcome the mile stroll back to their cars. Their footsteps crunched on the snowy walk, the sound loud as they turned onto a side street. Someone had a fire going, the woodsy smell tantalizing in the crisp air.

  Halfway there, Joel slipped his arm around Hannah as a chill wind whipped at them. “It’s gotten quite a bit colder,” he commented to explain the familiarity.

  Was she mellow from one glass of wine, sated from the best dinner she’d had in weeks or did she just want to be closer to him? Hannah wondered as she found herself not objecting. She no longer knew the answer herself.

  She only knew that it felt good to be up against his strong, solid body, to have his warmth drift to her along with a most pleasant masculine scent. Only until she got to the car, she told herself. What, after all, was the harm?

  “Do you ski?” Joel asked, his mouth close to her ear.

  “No, I’ve never tried. But I love to ice-skate.” On the farm, each winter her father had flooded a section, and all of them had had skates. She’d been rather good, if memory served correctly. Some memories at least were good.

  At the back parking lot of Will’s building, Joel stopped alongside Hannah’s car. “Will you go skating with me soon?”

  “I don’t know, Joel.” Suddenly, her heavy briefcase on the passenger seat, containing work yet to be done, brought her back to reality. “This has been nice, but I can’t afford to play again so soon. I’m new in town and…”

  “You can work days. Evenings, you need to relax. Or don’t you enjoy being with me?”

  There was that hesitancy again, that guileless look. Did he know she was particularly susceptible to it? “I do enjoy being with you. But…”

  “No buts, then.” He placed his hands on her upper arms, his eyes serious in the parking-lot lighting. “Listen, being an attorney is tough, demanding, difficult. You need to regroup regularly or you’re doing your client a disservice. A rested, relaxed mind is more able to defend and represent.”

  She smiled at that. “I’ll bet you’re hell on wheels with a jury.”

  He didn’t answer but shifted even closer, his hands moving around her back. He watched the smile slip from her as she read his intention. Her dark eyes were in shadow, so he couldn’t read her thoughts, but she didn’t push him away. With that small encouragement, he lowered his head and captured her lips.

  She was hesitant, letting him lead the way, getting used to the feel of his mouth on hers. Slowly, after long moments, she responded cautiously, almost as if against her will. Gathering her closer, Joel felt a sharp tug of desire he hadn’t experienced in some time.

  Hannah had seen the kiss coming and could easily have pulled away. She hadn’t, curious about his kiss. Yet she hadn’t been ready for the rush of awareness that had her blood heating, churning. She hadn’t thought his mouth would be so soft, so careful, as it moved over hers, so sensitive when she’d not expected gentleness from this confident man.

  But most important, she hadn’t expected that her arms would creep up around his neck, pulling him nearer and nearer still. She hadn’t anticipated the soft sigh of pleasure that escaped from deep within her as she opened her mouth more fully to his. In short, she hadn’t expected to feel so much.

  Joel shifted slightly, deepening the kiss. One hand moved up into the silkiness of her hair, while his other hand slipped low on her back, aligning her more perfectly with his body. Drawing in a deep breath, he saw her eyes drift open, looking surprised yet hazy with desire. With a soft moan, he dipped to taste more of her.

  Hannah had thought she’d prove to herself that she was one of the few women immune to Joel Merrick’s kisses. She’d been wrong, she realized. Dangerously wrong. She felt her breath catch in her throat as his tongue moved into her mouth. The sensual, smoky taste of him, remnants of wine lingering, had her senses swirling as, unbidden, her hands caressed his nape. This kiss was even more potent than the first, an awakening, an exploration, and it had her blood racing.

  Equally stunned, they drew apart slowly. Joel’s arms remained loosely around her as if reluctant to let go. Hannah had trouble finding her voice even as she wondered what to say.

  “Look, I don’t want to get involved,” she finally said, thinking she sounded as inane as she felt.

  “Me, either. I can’t say I didn’t want to kiss you, but I had no idea you’d pack such a wallop, Red.” Releasing her, he stepped back when what he really wanted to do was pull her back and do it all over again.

  Hannah licked her lips and tasted him, then felt the heat rise in her face. It was chemistry, that’s all. It had to be. She had to leave, to be alone, where she could think more clearly. Her reaction to him had jolted her to her core.

  “You’re something of a puzzle, Hannah. You have many sides, it seems. So cool, so controlled. Then wham!”

  Opening her car door for her, he gave her his killer smile. “Like you, I just love puzzles.”

  * * *

  I take my pen in hand to write tonight, and my
hand trembles. How can our lives fall apart so completely in just six short months?

  He’s gone, my Lance. We buried him last week, but I’ve been too sick at heart to pick up my journal. He’d repaired the old tractor, trying to hold it together since we have no money to buy a new one. Then he climbed up, and something went terribly wrong. It bucked and tossed him off, then ran him over. Michael and I found him there on the hard ground, no longer breathing.

  My heart died with Lance, I think. My cough is no better, and now I ache, both physically and clear through to my soul. I must keep on, for the sake of the children. There is no laughter in our house now. Only sadness, tears and pain. We’re trying to keep the farm going, to tend to the animals and ourselves. But we only go through the motions. Lance was our strength and he’s gone. With him went our hopes, our dreams.

  Michael does a man’s work now, but his schoolwork suffers. Hannah helps with the meals and washing the clothes, but she grows thinner. Even bright-eyed little Kate no longer smiles. The pain in my chest as I lie in bed at night makes me want to join Lance. But I must keep going, must find strength somewhere.

  What will become of us?

  Chapter Four

  Lisa Tompkins was a slender young woman who was probably quite pretty when her face wasn’t red and blotchy from crying, Hannah thought as she took the chair opposite the settee in her office. She’d found that most of her clients felt more comfortable in that cozy corner rather than facing her across the desk.

  She’d started a fire in the grate to make her office more inviting, as well as to add warmth, and she’d poured Lisa a cup of coffee from the small pot she kept on the counter in the bathroom, but the nervous girl hadn’t touched it yet. Hannah crossed her legs and balanced a legal pad on her lap. “Can you tell me what happened, Lisa?”

  Lisa tasted her coffee, perhaps for courage, but kept her eyes downcast as her hands shredded a tissue during her recital. It was brief and oddly unemotional, some of her statements quite disturbing.

  Hannah worded her questions as gently as possible. “Why did you agree to go to Lyle’s apartment after the concert, Lisa?”

  “He told me he’d just gotten a new painting and he wanted my opinion on it. I’m an art major, so I didn’t think his request was unusual. Several friends have asked me about colors and textures.” Her tone was wary. She was obviously bright enough to realize that agreeing to go with him to his home had been a cardinal mistake.

  “It never occurred to you that he’d try anything?”

  “No!” Lisa looked up, her attitude defensive. “I knew that my Uncle Bill and Lyle’s father were friends. I sure never thought he’d make a move on someone with a family connection. Besides, he’s a straight-A student, you know. On the student council. A respected senior and…and…” She tried to hold back tears that suddenly began flowing like a dam that had sprung a leak. “I hear myself say all this and I know how stupid it sounds. I was stupid to go.” She shuddered over a sob.

  Hannah reached over and touched the girl’s folded hands. “Not stupid, Lisa. Innocent and trusting. That’s not a crime. Unfortunately, he took advantage of that trust.” Like someone had once done to her. She hadn’t been physically raped like Lisa, but he’d destroyed her trust forever.

  She waited until Lisa wiped her eyes and got herself under control. “Since we talked, have you told your uncle?”

  Lisa pressed her lips together. “I did, but I shouldn’t have. Uncle Bill went right over and confronted Lyle in front of his father. Lyle denied everything. He said he’d asked me in to check out his new painting, then he’d driven me back to my dorm and hadn’t even kissed me good-night.” The tears began again in earnest.

  “He said that he has a steady girl and only took me out because he knew my family and felt sorry for me because I was so shy. He…he said if I was raped, it had to have happened after he dropped me off.” Blinking, she looked at Hannah. “Lyle’s father was furious, and Uncle Bill told me I’d only make a fool of myself if I took on Lyle and his family. I told you no one would believe me.”

  “I believe you, Lisa. And so will the judge.” Hannah leaned forward, intent on convincing the young girl. “We can and will prove this. You need to trust me. Do you, Lisa, because that’s paramount?”

  Lisa took another tissue from the box Hannah had placed on the table and blew her nose. “I trust you, yes. I know you mean well and all. But I just don’t know if I can get up there and tell…tell everyone what happened. Especially since I don’t know if they’ll believe me.

  Hannah folded her hands over the yellow pad. “I believe they will. You didn’t do anything wrong and you shouldn’t be the one to pay.” Uncapping her pen, she began her notes. “Now, I want you to go over everything and leave out no detail. Can you do that?”

  Taking a steadying breath, Lisa dried her eyes. “I think so.”

  “Okay, start at the beginning, your first date with Lyle.” As Lisa began her recital, Hannah took notes.

  The session lasted two hours, and Hannah could see that by the time they finished, Lisa was exhausted from having to recall every emotional detail. Hannah felt that they had a strong case. She’d have to go to the hospital and meet with the rape counselor. Thank goodness Lee had seen to it that Lisa had been examined immediately after. That was always crucial.

  The clock on the mantel showed that it was nearly noon when Hannah stood up. “I know this has been tiring, but you’ll have to go through some of it again. You have to go to the police station to report the rape.” At the look of shock on the girl’s face, Hannah hastily rearranged her afternoon schedule mentally. She’d ask Marcie to make a couple of calls for her. “I’ll go with you, if you like.”

  Lisa’s lower lip trembled. “I…I thought you could handle that part for me.”

  Lord, but she was young, Hannah thought. Had she ever been that innocent? “I’m afraid not. But I’ll be right there with you.” Provided the cops let her stay in the room. Sometimes they did, and other times, they took a hard-nosed attitude. No point in mentioning that until they got to the station.

  “We might as well get it over with.” Hannah went to the closet for their outerwear. “Would you like to stop for some lunch on the way?”

  Lisa took her coat from Hannah. “I don’t think I could eat a thing. I’m hoping this coffee stays down.”

  Hannah could empathize. Slipping her arm around the girl’s shoulders, she led the way downstairs. “This will all be behind you soon, Lisa. Then you can get on with your life.”

  The man on the witness stand was no kid. Kent Fowler, the dead man’s son, was somewhere in his midthirties, Hannah guessed. Just a few years younger than his stepmother, Amanda Fowler, who sat at the defense table accused of the father’s death. Kent had a bad complexion and a receding hairline, but he wore expensive clothes and a pinkie ring that looked to be several carats from where Hannah sat in the gallery.

  She really couldn’t spare the time to sit in on Joel’s case, she’d told herself as she’d hurried down the courthouse hallway the afternoon following Lisa’s visit. But curiosity had had her checking the docket book and slipping into courtroom C for just a few minutes.

  That had been half an hour ago. She found herself fascinated by Joel’s carefully planned interrogation of Kent Fowler, the son he’d told her had a gambling problem that could indicate a motive for murder. Joel didn’t pace or get theatrical. He held no notes in his hands. He simply stood slightly to the side of the witness box and stared at Kent with those piercing blue eyes as he patiently fired questions.

  “What do you do for a living, Mr. Fowler?” Joel asked.

  “I work in my father’s business.”

  Blake Fowler had made his fortune building a chain of sporting-goods stores. “In which store do you currently work?”

  Kent shifted on the chair. “It varies.”

  Hannah listened intently as Joel hammered away at the son’s alibi for the night of the murder, at his poor relationship wit
h his father and his jealousy of his stepmother. The softer Joel spoke, the angrier Kent became, until he finally lost control.

  “Are you accusing me of arranging the death of my own father?” Kent yelled out.

  “Did you?” Joel asked quietly.

  “No!”

  “Objection!” The prosecutor was on his feet.

  Judge Eaton banged his gavel as the gallery began buzzing. “Order. I will have order.” He looked toward the prosecutor. “Overruled. I’ll allow this line of questioning, but make your point quickly, Counselor.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Joel said. “Now, then, Mr. Fowler, are you familiar with a bar on the waterfront called Eddie’s Place, where offtrack bets can be made?”

  In the back row, Hannah listened in admiration. Joel was good. She’d give him that. He was moving in for the kill, and there seemed little Kent Fowler could do about it.

  And he looked so at ease up there, as if no one or nothing could throw him. If he was nervous, it didn’t show. She wished she had that kind of confidence. Maybe one day.

  He looked every inch the well-to-do, Harvard-trained lawyer in his pin-striped navy blue suit. How could she have thought, even fleetingly, that she could fit into his world?

  Glancing at her watch, she rose. She hated to leave, but she had an appointment. As she glanced one last time to the front, Joel turned and caught her eye. She tipped two fingers to her forehead in a salute to his expertise, and gave him an encouraging smile. He winked back.

  She left the building, her emotions jumbled.

  “You are going to make me fat,” Hannah told Marcie as she gazed at the generous piece of lasagna the older woman offered. Located on the lower level, the small lunchroom had been added when Will realized their long hours often had them missing meals. There was a refrigerator, microwave, sink and small table with four chairs. Despite her protests, Hannah took the dish and sat down.