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

by Pat Warren

  “In just those words?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You win again. Congratulations, honey.”

  Hannah sobered. “I’m not the winner, Marcie. Those two little kids are. They shouldn’t live practically in poverty while their father carries around a wad of twenties that would choke a goat.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I’m glad for them. But you made it happen. I’ll update the support papers.” She set aside the file, then glanced toward Joel’s office. “I wish he was having as good a day as you.”

  “What happened?”

  Marcie wouldn’t have said a word if she didn’t honestly think that Hannah could make Joel feel better. Since the week she’d taken chicken soup to Hannah’s when she’d been ill and seen the concerned way Joel took care of her, she’d realized that there was something between these two. She’d mentioned her suspicions to Will, and the old man had just smiled knowingly. They both seemed to be fighting the attraction, and she wondered how long that would continue. “First, his father called and tried to strong-arm him into dropping the lawsuit on that tenement owned by Jason’s friend, the city councilman.”

  That didn’t surprise Hannah. “I’d wager Joel said no.”

  She smiled. It was gratifying to know that Hannah believed in Joel’s innate goodness. “You’re absolutely right, but I could tell from Joel’s expression that his father’s really annoyed with him this time. And then that Lang woman showed up, insisting she see Joel. She’s hell-bent to hire him to represent Rusty Lang for killing his brother.”

  “That’s a messy one. Is he going to take the case?”

  “I don’t know. She left about half an hour ago, and he’s been mighty quiet in there. Told me to hold his calls. What do you think?”

  Hannah shrugged. “The ones involving moral dilemmas are always tough. It appears as though Rusty shot Tom Lang in cold blood. But did he? Or was he set up? If so, why and by whom? And even if he did, doesn’t he deserve fair representation?” She glanced toward Joel’s office door, standing ajar. “I don’t envy him his problem.”

  Marcie looked up hopefully. “Why don’t you go see him? Problems often seem more solvable if you talk them over with someone.”

  Hannah looked hesitant, remembering how they’d parted just yesterday in front of Sanctuary. Joel had been angry; she’d been stunned. But then, his kisses always left her feeling overwhelmed. And needy. He’d said he cared for her, and she longed to believe him.

  Because she’d done some soul-searching of her own since then. She knew she cared for Joel Merrick more than she should. She didn’t want to believe he’d tire of her and walk away, hurting her badly. But she feared that he would. And, caring so much this time, she wasn’t sure she would recover. “I don’t know….”

  “Go on, honey. He doesn’t have Will to confide in these days.” That should do it, Marcie thought. Tug on the old heartstrings.

  Marcie was right. Joel had been her sounding board more than once. “All right, I’ll try.” She left her things on Marcie’s desk chair and walked toward Joel’s office.

  As Hannah reached Joel’s halfway-open door, a paper airplane came zooming out, arcing up, then zeroing down and crash-landing. Amused, she shoved open the door. “I hate to interrupt you when you’re obviously very busy.”

  In the process of forming another airplane, Joel glanced up. “Damn right I am. It’s not easy folding these so they’ll fly.” Scattered about the floor were a dozen or more paper aircraft.

  Hands in the pockets of her gray wool suit jacket, Hannah strolled in. “I think I was out the day they taught airplane folding in law school.”

  “Too bad. You don’t know what you’re missing.” Putting the finishing touches on the tail, he then lifted his newest creation to eye level and examined the sleek lines. “You’ve got to take into consideration wind velocity, structural soundness, air speed—all that.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Taking careful aim, Joel launched the plane. It sailed through the air, going high then curving into a loop before spiraling to the floor. “Not bad,” he announced, checking his watch. “Five seconds.” He picked up another sheet of paper from a stack on his desk.

  Uninvited, Hannah sat down opposite him and crossed her legs. The stack, she noted, had at least fifty pages to go. “Do you plan to spend the day in aeronautical comparative studies?”

  He made a face. “As good a way to pass the time as any.”

  “Does this have anything to do with avoidance, or are you mentally going over a puzzling case while perfecting your planes?”

  He shot her a quick glance. “Avoidance is your specialty. And yes, I’m trying to decide whether to represent a client or recommend another attorney to his somewhat aggressive wife.”

  She caught the avoidance barb and decided to ignore it. “The Lang case. I heard she was in.”

  “Oh, yeah, she was in.” He busied himself folding.

  “I thought you were fairly certain you weren’t going to take the case.”

  “I did say that, didn’t I?” Losing interest in playing with paper, Joel tossed aside the half-finished plane. “My problem here is that I can’t really empathize with the guy. So his father favored his brother and left him out in the cold. That’s life. You’ve got to accept certain things.”

  Hannah thought she knew where this was going.

  “For instance, if my father died tomorrow,” Joel went on, “I’m sure he’d leave the practice to my brothers. But I’m not going to go shoot Todd or Sam over it.”

  “I doubt that he would. Jason may be annoyed with you about not staying in the family firm, but he wouldn’t disinherit you.”

  “You don’t know him like I do.” He didn’t say it angrily or with self-pity, but just stated a fact.

  Hannah had a feeling this strange, melancholy mood had more to do with Joel’s phone conversation with his father over the tenement case than over the Lang decision. “Joel, why don’t you take up ranching and give up law, like Bart did? You seemed so much happier in Montana. Then you wouldn’t have to wrestle with moral decisions like the Langs and you wouldn’t have to contend with your father’s interference.”

  Funny, he’d been thinking along those lines himself. Yet he wasn’t entirely sure that such a move would make him happy, either. Something was missing from his life, but was the location the key? Maybe it had more to do with people. Or a certain person. “Would you come with me if I did?”

  Her shocked expression was quite genuine. “Go with you? I…”

  A knock at the door had Hannah looking over her shoulder, grateful for the interruption. “Hannah, Judge Eastman’s on the line about Sheila Barns. He says he can spare you ten minutes if you’ll hurry on over to his chambers right now.”

  “Great.” Hannah got to her feet. “Thanks, Marcie. Tell him I’m on my way.”

  “What’s that all about?” Joel asked.

  “I haven’t got time to explain, but it’s really important. I’ll tell you later.”

  “Okay. Your place. Seven o’clock. I’ll bring the pizza.”

  In the doorway, Hannah paused. “As friends and no pressure for anything more?”

  He affected an innocent pose. “Who, me? Pressure you? Never!”

  She didn’t have time to argue. “You’d better mean that,” she said over her shoulder as she hurried off.

  Smiling broadly, Joel picked up his discarded plane and went to work perfecting it.

  At five to seven, Joel pulled into Hannah’s driveway and parked behind her Volkswagen. It was snowing heavily again, and by the slight accumulation on her car, she hadn’t been home long, either. He stepped out, grabbed the pizza box and hurried up the back stairs.

  She pulled the door open before he had a chance to knock. “It seems you’re always feeding me,” Hannah said, standing back to let him in. “Mmm, that smells heavenly.”

  Joel stomped snow from his shoes and stepped into her kitchen. He saw that she’d set
the drop-leaf table with blue place mats and napkins, and two tall white candles were waiting to be lighted in brass holders. She never ceased to surprise him. He hadn’t known if she’d be welcoming or feisty or just plain not interested in sharing a meal. He wondered if she meant to keep him on edge or if this ambivalence was part of her personality.

  Hannah took the pizza to the counter while Joel removed his coat. “Would you like beer or wine with your pizza? Or I have soft drinks and coffee made. I’ve also got a gooseberry pie I baked yesterday.”

  “I haven’t had gooseberry in years.” He pulled a slim paper bag from his coat pocket. “Wine. I remembered you like Chardonnay.” He held up the bottle.

  “Great. The corkscrew’s in the second drawer, glasses up above.” While he served the wine, she dished pizza onto two large white plates, then decided to zap each in the microwave for a minute or so. The drive over had cooled them.

  He found slender wineglasses, set them on the table and poured the cool wine in both, then turned to her. She was wearing a white blouse with the same gray skirt she’d had on, obviously not home long enough to change. Except she’d removed her shoes and put on red slippers. Her hair had been up earlier, but now hung past her shoulders, looking as if she’d recently brushed it. She was a knockout and didn’t even know it.

  “So, have you decided whether you’re going to tackle the Lang case?”

  “I have.” He sat down. “I called and told her I pass on this one. I don’t believe in his innocence and wouldn’t be doing him justice.”

  Hannah carried their plates to the table and sat down. “I’d bet she wasn’t too happy.”

  “You’d be right.” He noticed that her dark eyes were bright with excitement. “Are you going to tell me what has you so keyed up?”

  “Patience, patience.” She held up her glass. “Here’s to good days. May we have more of them.”

  “I’ll drink to that.” Joel touched his glass to hers and took a long swallow. “I hope you like everything on your pizza, because that’s what you have.”

  Suddenly starving, Hannah took a bite. She rolled her eyes in appreciation. “Wonderful. Double cheese, too. I love it.”

  “Maybe you’re part Italian,” he said, digging in.

  “Actually, I have some Spanish blood. My grandparents married young and migrated to New Mexico, where my mother was born. Later, they all moved to Michigan where work was more plentiful. My grandmother was a wonderful cook.” She hadn’t thought of that in years, Hannah realized.

  She’d actually volunteered some information about her background, Joel thought with surprise. “Then you knew your grandparents before your folks died. What happened to them?”

  Hannah finished chewing. “My grandfather died before I was born, but my grandmother lived with us. The social workers told us that when they took my mother to the hospital, Grandma went back to New Mexico, where she had some cousins. She wasn’t well and needed to live with someone who could help her.”

  “Later, when you were older, did you ever try to find her?”

  “Yes. Mr. Murray, from the last foster family I lived with, helped me. We wrote to all kinds of agencies and finally learned that she’d died two years after leaving Michigan. By then, the cousins had scattered, and we couldn’t find any family members.” Remembered frustration washed over Hannah, but she was determined today to not let the past drag her down. “Let’s not talk about that now. I want to tell you about Sheila Barns.”

  Joel got up to get himself a second helping. “All right, tell me.”

  “She’s twelve with long black hair and these huge dark eyes. Not much to look at, but one day, with the proper care, she’s going to be lovely. She was picked up for shoplifting. Not clothes or jewelry. Food, because she was hungry. I just happened to be in the courtroom when they brought her in before Judge Eastman. My heart went out to her. Thin, dirty, scared. She’d just run away from her fourth foster home.” Hannah leaned back in her chair, her expression melancholy.

  By now, knowing Hannah, he could guess where this was headed. “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You talked the judge into letting you take over.”

  “Well, of course I did. I couldn’t let them lock her up. It’s a first offense.”

  “That we know of.”

  She hadn’t planned on eating more, but it was so good. She got up for another piece. “Listen, no child should have to be locked up for stealing food because they’re hungry. There’s something wrong with the adults in this world if we can’t feed our kids.”

  Joel sipped his wine and grinned at her. “Spoken like a true bleeding heart.”

  Narrowing her eyes, Hannah sat back down. “I am not a bleeding heart. You don’t know anything about it. You’ve never been in foster care—often scared, ignored, lonely. You’re a ward of the state, and they look out for you. But you can’t talk to them, explain how you feel. The state can’t hug you and make it all better. I have a feeling, if you’d been in that situation, you might have run away a time or two yourself.”

  Propping his elbows on the table, Joel leaned forward. “You’re right. But what are you going to do about Sheila now that you got her released to your care? Where did you put her, and how are you going to keep her from being a repeat offender?”

  “I’ve already taken care of that, smarty. Lee told me about this halfway house for teens. I checked it out, and it’s not bad at all. I took Sheila there for now. They gave her a clean bed, a change of clothes, a hot shower. Monday, I’m going to see about getting her back in school.”

  Joel studied her, his face serious. “You’ve taken on an awful lot here, Hannah. A kid like that needs so much. Counseling, probably. A medical exam. Maybe a…”

  “What Sheila needs most is a big sister. A friend. That’s where I come in.” Her eyes took on a sadness. “I keep remembering the way she looked when I left her just a little while ago. She looked so small, so young sitting on that cot, with all her worldly possessions in a paper bag. ‘Are you sure you’re coming back?’ she asked me. She thinks I’m going to abandon her like everyone else has.”

  Like everyone abandoned Hannah, Joel thought, whether by death or design. “What about her last foster family?”

  Hannah pushed back her plate. “That’s the one that really put her on the run. The teenage son tried to molest her.” She drew in a shaky breath, feeling Sheila’s pain.

  “Is that why you relate to her? Did that happen to you?”

  “No, thank God. Plain girls are usually left alone.”

  Finishing, Joel folded his napkin. “Are we going to have this discussion again? You are not plain.” She’d brought this up once too often. He got to his feet, took hold of her hand and all but dragged her out of the kitchen. “Come with me.”

  “What are you doing?” Hannah asked, wondering if he’d lost his mind.

  He’d been in her bedroom when she’d been sick. He remembered a cheval mirror by the window. Pulling her along, he stopped to turn on the bedside lamp, then turned her so she was facing her own image. “There. Take a good, long look. What do you see?”

  Memories resurfaced reluctantly. Her grandmother saying what a sweet girl she was, so good with a needle and in the kitchen. Not pretty like Katie, but smart in school. She remembered foster parents, several of them, whispering when they thought she couldn’t hear. She’s so plain that at least we won’t have to worry about boys coming around. And none had. She would tell him, and then he would know. She didn’t want to point out her shortcomings, but she wanted to end this.

  “I see an average woman with eyes that are too big for her face and cheekbones that are too prominent and hair that can’t make up its mind whether to be red or brown, curly or straight, and…”

  “That’s enough.” He was standing behind her, his arms encircling her. “I see perfect golden skin so soft my hands itch to touch it. I see hair so beautiful I want to lose myself in it. I see a slender nose and gorgeous deep brown eyes that have seen too much and yet
still crinkle up at the corners when you laugh, which isn’t often enough. And I see a mouth made for kissing, made for loving.”

  Hannah watched him silently, wanting desperately to believe he was telling the truth, yet afraid to.

  “Now look at me,” Joel said. “Do you remember what you told me once? That I’m easy on the eyes, have a terrific career and money to burn, or words to that effect. Is that what you think?”

  This, she was certain of. “Yes.”

  “If that’s so, do you think I’d have a hard time finding a woman, Hannah? Tonight, even within the hour?”

  The truth of that brought a lump to her throat. “No,” she whispered.

  He turned her around to face him, his expression gentle. “But I’m here, aren’t I? Why is that? Why do you think?”

  His nearness here in her own bedroom, with the soft light playing across his strong features, was making her head swim. She struggled to find a way out. “Honestly, what I think? I think you want to get me into that bed. Put another notch on the scoreboard. I’ve heard that women who are reluctant become a challenge. You want me so you can say you’ve had me.”

  He was angry at her assessment but not surprised. Someone had apparently sweet-talked his way into her life, used her and then left her. Left her feeling abandoned, unwanted, alone and unable to trust again. He had to prove to her that he wasn’t like that someone. He drew in a deep, calming breath, his hands resting lightly at her waist. “There’s usually a time in the early years of most men when getting women into bed is high priority. But I long ago outgrew meaningless sex.”

  She watched him carefully. He seemed so sincere. Could she let herself believe?

  “I want you. Not anyone else. You. Because I care about you, a great deal.” He dipped his head to kiss her gently, oh, so gently.

  Hannah closed her eyes and sighed. Her limbs felt heavy, but comfortably so. He was seducing her. She wasn’t fighting him, but it was a seduction nonetheless. She felt as if she’d drunk the entire bottle of wine instead of half a glass. She felt his lips move to her ear, his warm breath causing her to shiver.