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

by Pat Warren

  Joel tightened his arms around her. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore. You don’t have to face anything alone anymore. I’m here.”

  After long minutes, Hannah straightened, needing to end this unexpected confession. She swiped away the tears and leaned back. “The following year, at graduation ceremonies, which the Murrays insisted we attend, I watched Paul go up and receive commendations for his scholarly achievements, and I wanted to throw something at him. But I didn’t. It wasn’t all his fault. It takes two. You’re only a victim if you let yourself be one.” She raised her eyes to his. “That’s when I decided I’d never again let myself be a victim, not for anyone.”

  “And why you fight so hard for women who are victims,” he added. “I knew there had to be a serious reason behind your dedication.” His thumb caressed her wrist as he held her hand. “I didn’t guess how terrible it was. You’re a hell of a woman, you know. To go through all that and instead of turning bitter, you help others.”

  “I do it for me, Joel, as much as for them. I need to do something so others won’t have to pay such a high price for youthful stupidity, for making the wrong choices, as I did. And maybe one day I can stop wondering what my baby would have looked like, would have been like.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Is that why you said you didn’t want to have children, because of the one you lost?”

  She dropped her gaze to the sheet. “Not altogether. I should have gone to a doctor after the miscarriage. But I was too ashamed. Finally, much later, when I did, I found out there’d been complications internally. I might never be able to have children. As a precaution, I still take birth-control pills, but I know it wouldn’t make any difference.” The eyes she turned to him were bleak. “So I go on paying for trusting a man.”

  “Not just a man, Hannah. The wrong man. I’ve known men who’ve trusted the wrong woman, too, and been scarred for life. This works both ways. You made a mistake and you’ve paid for it. But that doesn’t mean that all men are like Paul.” He tilted her chin up. “I’m not Paul, Hannah. I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating. I won’t ever hurt you.”

  More than anything in the world, she wanted to believe him. But if she allowed herself to trust again, she’d be vulnerable once more, opening herself up to possible pain once more. The fear and the doubts lingered. Yet intellectually, she knew that Joel wasn’t anything like Paul. If only she could convince her heart.

  “I can’t get over years of fear and mistrust in a few weeks, Joel. I don’t believe you want to hurt me, but I need time.”

  He kissed her forehead lightly. “I can give you time. Just don’t shut me out. Don’t back away from me. I love you, and that makes me pretty vulnerable, too.”

  She angled to look at him, at his wonderful blue eyes. “No, not you. You’re strong.”

  “Not always. Men can be hurt, too.”

  “I believe that. And I know there are many good men—my father, Mr. Murray, Will, you. I don’t want to hurt you, either, which is why I said you’d be better off with someone who isn’t so screwed up inside.”

  “We’re all a little screwed up, Hannah, some more than others. I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

  How could she turn away from that? “I want you to know that I do care about you, but love isn’t something I’m prepared to consider right now. Perhaps one day, perhaps never. There’s so much I have to work through. I don’t know if I’ll ever get rid of all that baggage.”

  “I’m willing to wait. I’m in no hurry.”

  Maybe then, maybe this time. Hope. She’d been without it for so long that it was heady just to contemplate hoping again. She placed her hands on his face, on his beautiful face. “I do care, Joel.” And the feeling was so brand-new, so frightening.

  That would have to be enough, for now. He kissed her, deeply, softly.

  Hannah settled back into his arms, feeling an unexpected rush of contentment. Another sweet feeling.

  “We started this conversation because you said you weren’t very good at making love. Was it Paul who made you feel that way?”

  Another memory, this one no less bitter. “He used to call me ‘little girl,’ not because I was so small, but because I was so inexperienced.” Now, after what she’d experienced in Joel’s arms, she knew that there was a great deal Paul had lacked, too. “He wasn’t a man who cared much about the before and after, just the moment itself. But when he left that final time, he said that I’d never been very good in bed anyway and he was glad to get me out of his life.”

  Joel ground his teeth, his anger rising. “And you believed him?”

  “Of course. I had no basis of comparison. About two years later, I did have a brief relationship, but by then, something had happened to me. When it came right down to it, I froze and couldn’t go through with it. We tried twice, but I simply couldn’t respond. I was too honest to fake it, and he became furious.” She sighed audibly. “So I gave up on sex.” She glanced at him, wondering what he was thinking. “That’s why, that first time you kissed me and I felt so much, I was truly stunned.”

  He let go of the useless anger at the men who hadn’t cared enough to take care of her, and smiled. “Maybe your heart was telling you that here’s a guy you can trust.”

  She returned his smile. “Maybe.”

  “Have you looked out the window lately?” Joel asked. “It’s still snowing like mad. You wouldn’t want to send me out in a snowstorm, would you?”

  She snuggled down more comfortably. “Of course not.”

  Sometime during their discussion, the sheet had slipped down. Joel gazed at her breasts, moving gently with her breathing. He circled each with just his fingertips and saw the pulse in her neck begin to pound. He touched his tongue to that throbbing center, then skimmed up to whisper in her ear. Sweet things, wild suggestions, sensual needs. And felt her shiver as he returned to take her mouth.

  He’d heard her say that only with him had she been able to respond, to leave this world and enter one of their own making. He wanted to see her lose control again, to watch her climb and know he’d been the one to send her off the edge.

  His mouth went on a mad journey of her, ravishing her flesh with teeth and tongue, feeling her quiver, hearing her moan. She felt boneless as she arched to accommodate his roving lips, his searching hands that had her skin rippling under his touch. This time, there was a wildness in him that wanted to push her to the limits, to send her soaring over and over again. He wanted to indelibly imprint his actions on her memory so that, even in quiet moments, when she thought of him, she would ache with longing for only him.

  Hannah whispered his name, unable to believe that passion could have her so helpless, have her straining again so soon. His hands knew exactly how to touch her and where. His smoky male taste lingered on her swollen lips as she shifted, her entire body humming. Need for him was like a drumbeat playing loudly in her ears as her mouth reached for his. The desire to possess him and be possessed was like a heady drug in her bloodstream, making her crazy, making her wild beneath him. Unable to bear the wait, her hand sought him and her fingers curled around him.

  He took her then as if it had been weeks, months, since they’d last made love instead of mere minutes ago. Frantic, desperate, he drove her up and up still higher. The flush of desire on her face pushed him on, his breathing labored, his heart pounding within his heaving chest. Still, he held off, until finally he felt her shudder of surrender and he was able to let himself join her.

  When it was over and she was limp in his arms, Joel cradled her against his spent body and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  The ringing of the bedside phone woke both of them, Hannah more quickly than Joel. Reluctantly, she reached for the receiver and cleared her throat before murmuring a hello.

  “Is this Hannah Richards?” a harsh male voice asked.

  She frowned, trying to identify the caller as she shifted from Joel’s embrace. “Yes, speaking.”

  “List
en, bitch, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll call off the cops,” the man snarled.

  Fully awake now, she felt a shiver of alarm. “Who is this?”

  “Rod Baxter. You bad-mouthed me to my family. You took them away from me. I can’t go home because of you. Call off the cops or you’re going to be one sorry dame.”

  Hannah sat up, her mind clear now. “Mr. Baxter, your behavior drove your family away and brought you to the attention of the police. Turn yourself in and accept the counseling they offer. You need help to—”

  “Shut up.” Impatience and rage had his voice raspy. “I don’t need your advice. Everything was all right between me and Ellen until you started filling her head with filthy lies. I want my wife and my kids back.”

  She felt Joel’s hand on her arm and turned to see his concerned expression. She shook her head. She would handle her own clients. “So you can beat them up again, break Ellen’s other arm? I don’t think so. Maybe one day, if you’ll submit to counseling to deal with your anger—”

  “I’m angry, all right. I’m telling you once more. Get the cops off my back and send my family home. If you don’t, you’re going to wind up with a lot more than a broken arm.” The phone clicked, and the line went dead.

  Swallowing hard, Hannah slowly hung up, then fell back against the pillow.

  “Baxter, the wife beater, right?” He’d heard enough to recall the pale woman he’d seen at Sanctuary, her arm in a cast, her eyes frightened and defeated.

  “Yes.” How had he discovered her phone number? Perhaps Ellen had left one of her business cards at the house.

  “What did he want?” Joel thought he had a pretty good idea.

  Hannah drew up the sheet, suddenly chilled. “He wants his family back and the police called off. He blames me for all his problems.”

  He watched her face. “Did he threaten you?”

  She ignored his question and reached for the phone. “I need to call Lee at Sanctuary and warn her that Rod might try something.”

  The fact that she didn’t answer was answer enough for Joel. “You also need to alert the police. Maybe they’ll look harder if they know he threatened you.”

  Hannah glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearly ten. But Lee picked up on the third ring. First, she asked if Ellen and the children were all right. Determining that they were, she quickly told Lee about Rod’s call, skirting over the threat. “Has he tried to contact Ellen there?”

  “He called twice, but Daisy wouldn’t give him any information as to her whereabouts.”

  “Good. I don’t have to remind you to be sure you keep the doors locked, even during the day. And when you or anyone else leaves, check the area carefully. I don’t trust Rod Baxter. He’s mean and he drinks, as you well know.”

  Lee’s voice was calm, as always. “Yes, I’ve seen proof of his handiwork.”

  “Probably you should alert the staff, but I see no purpose in telling Ellen. She’ll only get upset.”

  “I agree.”

  “I’ll stop in tomorrow. And thanks, Lee.” Wearing a concerned frown, Hannah hung up.

  “Are you going to call the police, get a restraining order?” Joel asked.

  “What for? Rod Baxter’s out of control. He’ll only ignore it.”

  “Damn it, Hannah, you’re in danger, too. The cops need to know that they have to find this guy.”

  It was happening already, Hannah thought. He was interfering in her case, trying to call the shots, overriding her objections. That’s what happened when you let someone into your life.

  Why was she so damn stubborn? Joel forced her to look at him. “I don’t want to lose you. Please.”

  It cost him to ask, she knew. Because of that, she picked up the phone.

  Finally, I’m out of the hospital. Two full years of my life, gone without a thing to show for them. Except that they say I’m well now. I do feel better, a little stronger. But my heart aches far more than my body ever did.

  I have a little money that they’d put into a bank account for me from the sale of the farm after all the bills were paid. Not much, but a start. I bought a used car and rented a small apartment. I don’t need much. I drove to Frankenmuth and stopped in front of the farm. It’s thriving now with another family living there, working the fields. So many memories. Heartbreaking. I couldn’t stay.

  The social worker told me my mother has died. I weep for her, for all of us. So much sadness. Why did this have to happen? But crying will not bring back my children. I must find them. I get tired easily and have to be careful not to get sick again. But I go out every day. I visit agencies, adoption centers, orphanages, homes for runaways. I talk with the police, with an attorney one of the nurses recommended. No one gives me much hope, not after two long years.

  Faith. My mother had so much. I must have it, too. God will not let me fail this time. I will search everywhere, go anywhere, follow even the smallest lead. I will keep myself strong so I can reunite us. I live for that day.

  Oh, God, where are my children?

  Chapter Eleven

  Sheila Barns sat on the bed in the cubicle at the halfway house where Hannah had taken her and looked up at her benefactor with eyes bright from unshed tears. “They’re mine to keep? Really mine?”

  Taking the chair alongside the single bed, Hannah smiled at the young girl. “Yes, absolutely. Yours alone to keep.”

  Sheila ran a hand over the winter jacket, two pairs of jeans and sweaters, the package of brand-new underwear, then glanced over at the shoes still in the box. “I…I don’t know what to say.”

  Hannah watched the girl struggle with her emotions and smiled. “Your expression has said it all.” She’d gone begging, something she never minded doing on behalf of someone in need. The clothes donated to Sanctuary were mostly for adult women and small children. So she’d finagled some donations and picked out the things for Sheila herself, making up the difference when the money ran out. She had a feeling the child couldn’t recall the last time she’d owned new clothing.

  “I’ve got you enrolled in the elementary school not far from here, for now. You’ll start classes after the Christmas holidays, but I’ve made an appointment to take you in for testing next week, so they’ll know what grade to put you in.” Hannah softened her voice. “Sheila, when were you last in regular classes long enough to finish out the semester?”

  The young girl dropped her eyes to where her hands were stroking the soft sweater fabric. “Finished all the way? Fourth grade, I think. I’m not sure.”

  That would put her two years behind kids her own age. But Hannah had a feeling that Sheila would catch up, for the conversations they’d had indicated she was quite bright. Moving from one foster home to another, bouncing from school to school, had put her behind. And she’d missed a lot of school due to illness. “We’ll find where you belong after the testing. How are you feeling?”

  Sheila blinked away the tears, determined not to cry in front of this wonderful woman as she placed a hand on her thin chest. “A lot better. I’m not coughing anymore.”

  Hannah had called Dr. Terry Merrick, hoping he would take a new patient. Joel’s cousin had been wonderful, seeing Sheila that very day. He’d found she had bronchitis and the beginning of an ear infection, which hadn’t surprised either of them, given the fact that the girl had been wandering the streets and sleeping in the bus station and God only knew where else. When Hannah had tried to pay Terry, he’d refused, endearing him to her forever, Hannah decided.

  “You keep taking the medicine Dr. Terry gave you until it’s all gone.” Hannah glanced around the big room, past the curtain that separated each small cubicle from the others. The place was clean and neat, if not terribly homey. “How is it here? Are they nice to you?”

  “Maggie’s real nice, and the food’s good.” Again, Sheila looked away, hesitant about saying more. It felt good to be out of the cold, to eat well and to have a clean bed and clothes. But she was scared and lonely. Still, she couldn�
�t criticize anything here at Maggie’s Haven, as the place was called. She didn’t want Hannah to think she was ungrateful for saving her from juvenile detention.

  Hannah watched the emotions the girl was unable to hide come and go on her expressive face. She’d been in situations similar to what Sheila was facing, though she’d never had to steal to eat. But she’d felt the bone weariness, the fear, the hunger for love.

  “I know it’s not home, Sheila,” she said, leaning forward. “This is only temporary, you know. I’m looking for another place for you.”

  Home. Sheila wasn’t sure she’d ever really had one. Alcoholic parents who drank up all the money and scarcely knew she was around. She’d run away from them and landed in a system that shuffled her from one family to another until she’d run from that, too. “I’ve never had a real home,” she admitted. It was something she wouldn’t have confided to anyone else. But this woman had done more for her in the short time she’d known her than anyone else she’d ever met.

  Hannah felt her chest tighten at the sad confession. “You will, Sheila. Give me some time and you will.” If it was the last thing she ever did, she’d see to it. No child’s eyes should look so hopeless.

  She’d gone out on a limb, with Judge Eastman’s permission, and gotten in touch with a local television anchorman, Curt Wheeler. A few weeks ago, she’d caught a new program Curt had begun, called “Wednesday’s Child.” That one evening a week, he’d feature a child in need of adoption, showing films he would take earlier of them at play, perhaps reading, taking a walk and chatting with him. Hannah felt that Sheila would make an excellent subject. Maybe out there somewhere in the viewing audience was a couple able to tackle a young lady who needed a great deal of TLC, but would give a lot of love back in return.

  Rising, Hannah brushed back a lock of Sheila’s lovely black hair. She’d taken her for a haircut just yesterday and thought she looked awfully cute with the stylish trim. “I have to go now. Enjoy your new things. I’ll be back soon.”