“This isn’t good,” he muttered. It seemed like his job was to deliver bad news lately. He double-checked the dates, the names, all the pertinent information. He’d searched through baptismal records first and come up with nothing. Then he took a shot at hospitals in the towns where Isabel’s parents had lived, looking for births to a mother named Stella Baxter. And bingo—it had almost been too easy.
“Yeah, it’s right...” He sighed and pushed himself up from his chair. This was the sort of thing he couldn’t fire off in a text message. Isabel deserved to hear this in person.
Grabbing his suit jacket, James angled his steps out of his office and down the air-conditioned hall. The receptionist sat at her desk, squinting at her computer screen.
“Maggie, I’ll be out for a little while. If there’s anything pressing, text me.”
“Will do, Mr. Hunter.” She smiled up from her desk. “Oh, these faxes just came for you—”
She spun around and grabbed some papers, then passed them over. James glanced at them. They were the scans from Montana’s state records. He nodded his thanks and headed out of the office.
As he walked down Main Street toward Nicholson Avenue, his mind was spinning. Of course, he wanted to see Isabel—he wanted the excuse to drop by. He would have found a reason, even if this hadn’t come up, but she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. She’d said that she thought the baby might be a cousin or a godchild. She wasn’t expecting a brother.
She’s opening her store today. The timing was miserable, and twice, he almost turned back, determined to leave this for a better time, but when would that be? Her father had passed away, her hopes of running the family business had been crushed, the family money evaporated, and what was left she had to share with her late father’s wife...but this was something he could give her—a small piece of information, a meager explanation. And then he was going to have to take an emotional step back.
He couldn’t be Isabel’s rescuer. She’d be fine—she was a Baxter, after all. Business sense was in their blood. And for all his client’s lack of faith in his daughter’s moneymaking abilities, James disagreed. Isabel was smarter than she looked, and hungrier for this than anyone else imagined. She’d succeed, if only to prove her point. She might be a wounded shark, but as she said, she was still a shark.
James stopped at the front of the store and looked through the window. Isabel stood with her back to him, sorting through some papers on the counter beside the cash register. He tapped on the glass, and she turned.
My God, she was beautiful. The scars didn’t take that away from her—if anything they made her more relatable. She was stunning, but she was on a mortal level now. Somehow, he didn’t think she’d stay there for long. Isabel wasn’t the “normal life” type. She’d build something more for herself.
“Hi, James.” She smiled, pulling open the door. “Ten minutes until I open.”
“Maybe this could wait—” He nodded to his sister and Britney, who were arranging some platters of chocolates.
“What is it?” Isabel asked. “Is it about the picture?”
“I found out who the baby is, but it’s probably better to let you focus on your opening day first. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“James, I’m perfectly capable of dealing with more than one thing at once.” She shot him an annoyed look. “What did you find?”
“Your parents lived in Billings before moving to Haggerston, right?” he asked.
“Yes. They came here just before I was born.”
“Well, I checked out the public birth records,” he said, then paused. “Did your mother ever mention a pregnancy before she had you?”
Isabel shook her head, but the color drained from her cheeks, and she put a hand back onto the counter. “Do I have a sibling?”
James nodded. “Well, you would have. There was a baby boy born two years before you—” He looked down at the certificate in his hand. “—to George and Stella Baxter at the Saint Vincent Hospital in Billings, Montana. He was born on September 6 at one fifteen in the morning.”
When he felt uncomfortable with feelings, James dug down into facts and figures. He knew his own tendency to hide in the minutiae, and he shot Isabel an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry,” he concluded.
“I have a brother out there somewhere?” she breathed. “Why? How? I don’t understand—”
“He passed away,” James explained. “He was only three days old when he died. The death certificate says that he was born with severe birth defects, and I suppose he just couldn’t make it.”
Isabel took the papers from his hands and looked down at them, her lips moving silently as her eyes scanned the words. She shook her head slowly.
“Tyler Baxter,” she said, lifting her gaze to meet his. “His name was Tyler. I don’t understand... Why did they hide him? Why wouldn’t Dad say anything—” She swallowed hard, the papers falling to the counter beside her.
“I don’t know,” James said quietly. “But the information was available in public records for anyone who cared to look.”
“I was their only child.” Her voice grew strong again. “I was their one and only child. That’s what they told me. They said they longed for a baby, and when my mother discovered she was pregnant with me, I was an answer to her prayers. She was never able to have any more children, and I was it.”
“Maybe they thought you wouldn’t be able to handle it.”
“Why not?” she retorted. “How would it have changed anything to tell me?”
“Maybe they couldn’t cope with it,” he suggested quietly. Grief did strange things to people.
Isabel nodded, and tears welled up in her eyes. “Do you have the picture?”
James pulled the photo from his pocket and passed it over. She looked down at the picture and smoothed a finger gently over its surface.
“Thank you, James.” Her voice was low and choked. “This is—” She sucked in a breath. “Thank you.”
“Look, Izzy, I—” James wasn’t sure how to say what he was feeling. “If you need anything—”
What was he hoping she’d say? He knew he needed to back off, but here he was, putting himself forward again. She just looked so vulnerable standing there, shocked by this news and rocked by the loss of her father. He didn’t know what he was hoping she’d ask for, but he knew he’d give it—whatever it was she wanted. That was the power she’d always held over men, but for him it wasn’t because she was beautiful, it was because she was her. He’d fallen for her—against all his better judgment—and he’d have to deal with his emotional fallout alone.
“I’m fine.” She nodded curtly. “I’m fine.” She sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than him. “I have a store to open. Thank you for this, James. Just give me an invoice, and I’ll pay you.”
What she was feeling with all of this, he could only guess. But she wasn’t looking to him for comfort.
“This one was on the house,” he said.
“That’s sweet.” She wiped a tear from her cheek that had slipped past her defenses. “But I’ll pay you, James. You don’t owe me anything.”
And maybe he didn’t. Was he just another fool reading more into Isabel Baxter’s smiles and touches than he should?
“Take care, Izzy.”
As he turned away, he made the choice to keep walking. It was time for him to back off. She might be a Baxter without a fortune, but she was still a Baxter, and he knew what that meant. She was his sister’s boss and landlord. That balance of power was always tipped ever so slightly in her favor.
She’d be just fine. Baxters landed on their feet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ISABEL STOOD BACK, watching as the last customer ambled out of the store, a Baxter’s Chocolates bag swinging at his side.
That logo—the stylized letter B—felt heavy with meaning now that her father was gone. This was all they had left of the Baxter empire, and ironically it was a tiny start-up of which her father hadn’t approved. Baxter Land Holdings Inc. was being disbanded. It wouldn’t be anything more than some old letterhead now. A lifetime of work, all for nothing. But Baxter’s Chocolates bore their name, too, and it was fueled by the same passion to succeed...although perhaps this Baxter would balance her life a little more successfully. Would that logo—the Baxter’s Chocolates sign—mean something for the generations to come?
“It’s good, right?” Jenny asked jubilantly, coming out of the kitchen.
“It’s very good, Jenny.” Isabel grinned, and she realized that this was the first real smile since her dad’s passing, and she had a feeling he’d understand it.
Isabel grabbed a box of bags and started to refill the cubby under the till. The bell over the door tinkled, and she looked up to see the photographer from a few days ago come in. He was a man in his forties with a belly and a camera over one shoulder.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he said. “I wanted to take a few pictures for the paper. Would you mind?”
“You’re writing about my store for the paper again?” Isabel asked.
“You’re the talk of the town, Miss Baxter,” he replied. “I’m sorry about your father, too. He was a good man.”
“Thank you.” She accepted the condolences with a nod. “I appreciate that.”
“With your permission, I’d like to get a group shot,” he said.
“Sure.” The exposure was good for business—free advertising. She was tired but grateful that the town was taking an interest in her store, after all. Without the support of Haggerston, this business would most certainly fail.
“If we could get you all together,” he said, glancing around the store. “Over here, with the windows behind me would be perfect.”
“Sure,” Isabel said, and she gestured for Britney and Jenny to join her. They had worked just as hard as she had today. They stood in front of the counter, Isabel in the center. Behind them was the Baxter’s Chocolates sign.
The photographer took a couple of shots, then checked the results on his view screen.
“What a beautiful group,” he said with a smile. “If those faces don’t sell chocolates, I don’t know what will.”
He was trying to be friendly, and a couple of years ago she might have enjoyed the flattery and attention, even thought it her due. But those years were behind her. She didn’t want to be complimented on her looks—this was something she’d worked for, not something she’d been born with.
“One more,” the photographer said. “Smile this time—beautiful! Yes!”
Isabel smiled for the camera, and she could feel the scars tugging at the side of her face. She didn’t feel ugly anymore. The scars were becoming a more natural part of her, and she didn’t feel the urge to turn to the side, to hide the damage. She’d survived a lot in the past year, and she’d survive even more, but she wanted to do more than get through. She wanted to thrive.
After a few more photos and some pleasantries, the photographer headed off with a small box of samples. Isabel hadn’t expected herself and Britney to make such a good team today. Their dynamic was different without her father between them. Without the “Georgies” and the machinations, they actually did get along, and Britney had proved to be an exceptional saleswoman. She could sell chocolates to anyone, it turned out, and she’d barely had to try. If Isabel had Britney’s help in the store—but dare she go that far?
“What’s the matter?” Britney asked.
“Hmm?” Isabel glanced over to find Britney eyeing her.
“That photographer annoyed you,” Britney said, and Isabel was surprised at her acuity.
“I thought I hid that better.” Isabel smiled wanly. “Yeah, he did. It’s the compliments that get to me. ‘Aren’t we pretty.’ ‘Aren’t we lovely.’ ‘These smiling faces...’” She sighed. “You know what, Britney? I don’t want to be called beautiful. I want to be called ‘ma’am.’”
Britney gave her a peculiar look. Maybe she couldn’t appreciate that yet. Britney still had her looks. But Isabel didn’t need the reassurances that she was still attractive. She wanted to build this store into a chain, then into an online chocolate empire. She wanted a head office in Billings, a team of accountants, and when someone approached her for a photo, she didn’t want to be called “you ladies,” she wanted to be called “Ms. Baxter, ma’am.” It wasn’t about money or social status—it was about having earned the right to their respect. When people came to her, she didn’t want them to be patting her on the head with patronizing compliments. She wanted them coming with a résumé in hand, asking her to hire them.
“I’m serious,” Isabel said. “My dad didn’t think I had what it took to make a business thrive, but I think I do. And with the right people, I can grow this business into something we can be proud of.”
“This felt good,” Britney said quietly. “I miss George so much...but this was nice. I have a feeling he’d approve.”
Isabel nodded. She had the same feeling. He’d gotten his wish, after all, and the two Baxter women were bonding. Britney ran a hand over her belly, and Isabel was suddenly reminded that they wouldn’t be the two Baxter women for much longer. A new Baxter girl was coming soon, and maybe, just maybe, they could grow this business into something that would show her what women could do when they put their minds to it.
“You’re grieving and you’re pregnant,” Isabel said. “You shouldn’t push yourself right now. But when you’re ready, if you want to be part of a Baxter business, we could sort something out.”
Her father had been the businessman, providing for the ones he loved. He’d wanted to leave behind a thriving business that could fuel the family for generations, but he hadn’t managed it. However, he had raised a daughter who’d watched his every move, and he’d sent that daughter to Yale. He might not have left them a fortune or a salvageable business, but he’d left something more important—a legacy.
Britney would need some support for the next while, and so would their little girl. Someone had to step into George Baxter’s shoes. Someone had to bring the Baxter name back to its earlier glory.
This is for you, Dad.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE NEXT EVENING, James sat across from his sister at her kitchen table. Jenny’s roommates were watching a reality show in the living room, the tinny voices filtering across the hall. Their evenings were always so happy and celebratory, and he knew that Jenny would miss this house. This arrangement had been good for her—for both of them. She’d really blossomed since she’d had some space to herself, and he’d enjoyed having his own privacy, too. But with George gone, the balance of power was different, and it felt wrong.
“I know you like it here, but things change. That’s part of life. Luckily you’ve got me, and I’m too stubborn to change.” He tried to cajole her with a smile.
“I don’t have to leave here, though,” Jenny countered, not willing to be mollified. “Isabel says I can stay.”
“Look, Jenny...” He tried to control his frustration. “Living here in Haggerston means I don’t get paid as much as I would in the city. It isn’t easy to pay for your rent, my mortgage, taxes, food, gas... It adds up. And even if I found a way to make it all work, things are different now with Mr. Baxter gone.”
“But Isabel says I can stay!” Jenny shook her head irritably. “You can ask her. She said so yesterday.”
“She says that now,” James said. How could he explain this to her in a way she’d accept? “But this is all she’s got, Jenny. Her dad didn’t leave her much else. I think she wants to let you stay, but eventually, she won’t have much choice.”
Besides, he hated this—being beholden to her. He could take ca
re of his sister himself, and he didn’t need charity from Izzy in order to do so. He sincerely wished that George had left Izzy a different house and allowed this one to be swallowed up in the disbanding of Baxter Land Holdings Inc. It would have been simpler that way, black-and-white. Jenny would still have had to move, but at least he wouldn’t be the bad guy.
“Where would we go?” Jenny demanded.
“Well, you’d come to live with me again,” James said. “And your roommates would find something else, too. But that would be between their families and Isabel.”
“I don’t want to live with you, Jimmy.” She used the air quotes around “with you.” She was mad.
“I’m not such a bad roommate,” he joked. “I don’t have big parties. I make coffee when I get up. I’m pretty clean, too.”
“You get up too late to make my coffee,” she replied with annoyance. “I have a job now.”
She was just throwing up barriers now, and he felt sorry for her. She hated change, and as far as she could see, he was the one messing up a good situation.
“Jenny, it isn’t about the coffee. Things change, and we have to roll with it. But you can rely on me to always be here, okay?”
“When do I have to move?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t know yet, but I don’t want you to worry about it.” He knew that was easier said than done. Jenny was a worrier by nature, but she did better with a little warning. “Let’s talk about something else. How are you enjoying your job?”
“I’m good at it.” She met his gaze solemnly. “I make good chocolate.”
“That’s great. Maybe you could make some for me.” He smiled hopefully.
“No, sorry.” She shook her head. “I can only make it for the store. It’s Isabel’s recipe.”
“Oh, I see.” She wasn’t going to forgive him that easily.
“But you could buy some, and then you’d know that I helped to make it,” she conceded.
“I’ll do that.” He squinted at her. “You seem happy lately.”
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