A Baxter's Redemption

His office phone rang, and James answered on the second ring.

“James Hunter,” he intoned.

“Mr. Hunter? This is Bob over at Family Cheese.”

James closed his eyes and suppressed a sigh. What was wrong now?

“What can I do for you, Bob?”

“I’m afraid we have to let Jenny go.”

“You’re firing her?” James clarified, his stomach sinking. This wasn’t exactly a surprise—he’d dealt with this before. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry. We did our best, but she just lost it on a customer. Screaming, yelling. It isn’t working out. Can you come pick her up?”

Jenny had Down syndrome, and he’d become her legal guardian after their mother’s death in a car crash three years earlier. It had been hard enough to find a job again after the last time she’d “lost it on a customer” at a local diner. There was more to the story, of course. There always was, but no one wanted to hear it.

“Why did she get upset?” James asked.

“No reason that I could see,” Bob replied. “Look, I’ve got customers, so I’ve got to go. But you’ll need to come pick her up. She’s waiting outside on the bench.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes,” he replied. “Thanks, Bob.”

Hanging up the phone, he pushed himself to his feet. Jenny was his only sibling, and he’d always been protective of her. In school, she’d never been picked on because everyone knew that if they messed with Jenny, they were taking on Jim Hunter, too. With Jenny’s big blue eyes and wide, laughing mouth, it was hard to imagine her getting angry, but she’d been having trouble keeping a job for the past year. He clicked his computer into sleep mode and rose to his feet. His jaw was tense, his gaze drilling into the wall ahead of him.

“Oh, James—” Eugene poked his head back into James’s office, then froze. “Okay. Sorry. Not a good time.”

James didn’t even bother reassuring his colleague. Right now, he had something else to do, and that old protective instinct was kicking in. No matter how many years slipped by, his role remained the same—Jenny’s big brother. He’d be the brick wall between her and an unkind world.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_21a5ce03-cd0b-50aa-a54e-14b59ef04bea)

ISABEL TURNED IN a circle, taking in the large kitchen. It was more than she needed, but a full, professional bakery was hard to resist. For the last couple of years, she’d been mulling over a new idea for a small business—a chocolate shop. She’d call it Baxter’s Chocolates, and her father would be enraged at her use of the family name for another one of her business schemes, but it was her name, too. He wasn’t the only one with claim to it.

Gleaming ovens, a ceramic stove top with a huge stainless steel hood hovering above it, vast counter space and everything tiled in brilliant white. A double refrigerator loomed next to the owner, Roger Varga, who stood near the door, arms crossed over his chest as she poked through cupboards and into corners.

“What happened to the business that used to be here?” Isabel asked, glancing over her shoulder.

Roger stroked his fingers over a graying mustache. “Times are tough. They weren’t able to make the money they thought they could.”

She nodded, hiding the worry that built up inside her. That was her fear, too, that her chocolate business wouldn’t take off and she’d be left with another failed business on her hands. Of course, her father could always bail her out—he always had in the past—but this time, it was a matter of pride. This time, she wanted to make it on her own.

“I think the lease is a little high,” she said, angling her steps back over to where he stood. “It doesn’t do you any good to lease the place out for three months, then have it stand empty for another eight if I go under, does it?”

He paused, seemed to be considering her words. “What did you have in mind?”

“Half of the asking price.”

“I can’t do that.” He shook his head. “I’d rather have it stand empty. But I could go down to this—” He jotted a number on the corner of the lease papers.

Isabel considered for a moment. The number was fair, but she had a feeling she could get him lower. She shot him a smile, and only after she pulled the smile-brilliantly-at-your-rival routine, did she remember that she no longer had that card in her deck. She wasn’t going to dazzle him, and she sucked in a deep breath, covering her momentary discomfort by looking down. Could she even negotiate without her go-to feminine wiles?

Do I have a choice?

“How about this—” She jotted another number below his. “And I’ll make you something amazing for your next anniversary with your wife.”

“How amazing?” A smile twitched at the corners of his lips.

“Trust me. I know what impresses a woman. It will be chocolate, and it will melt her heart. Just be sure to tell everyone who made it.”

He laughed and shook his head and scratched the new number into the lease. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Baxter, but you have yourself a deal. Care to sign now?”

“Not yet,” she said with a shake of her head. “I just need to have my lawyer look over the fine print, and then I’ll drop it by your office.”

“Fair enough.” He shook her hand, and they walked together through the echoing shop and out the front door. The bell tinkled overhead, and Isabel glanced up at it. This was it—she could feel it in her bones—her shop. She’d mentioned this chocolate shop idea to her father before the accident and he’d liked the idea—in New York, at least. He’d suggested that it might keep her entertained until she got married and started having babies. That had been insulting, but he’d paid for her trips to France for chocolate-making classes. It had been a victory, of sorts. His one repeated warning had been, “But you don’t seem to have the sixth sense, Izzy. Entrepreneurs need to have that tingle that tells them where the money is, and you haven’t really got that...”

Was he right? Was this a dumb idea, or was her instinct better than either of them imagined? Well, this wasn’t his business. He bought and sold land with Baxter Land Holdings, but she wanted something different—Baxter’s Chocolates. Truffles, bars, nuggets and cream-centered confections. She’d perfected the art in her own kitchen—polishing up her skills on those vacations to Paris. Her friends thought she’d gone to France to shop, and she had done a fair bit of that, too, but her main reason had been for the private chocolatier classes she took from the best in the world. And after all that personal research and now her trust fund money, the time was ripe.

“Thanks so much,” Isabel said, shaking Roger’s hand firmly. “I’ll be in touch.”

This side street was quiet this time of day. A block away, Main Street was bedecked with hanging planters of fragrant hydrangeas, but Nicholson Avenue was bare. It ran from Main with some businesses on either side of the street—a little bistro across from the closed bakery—and then melted into a residential area of tiny houses from the fifties. Isabel sucked in a breath of fresh air and smiled to herself. This felt right. It was coming together, and after all the changes to her family, after her accident, she needed this.

“Is that you, Isabel?”

Isabel blinked and turned to see Britney teetering across the street toward her, one hand on her belly, the other outstretched to stop a pickup truck as she made a great show of pretending to run across the road, taking tiny steps and laughing at herself. Isabel smiled wanly. Had she ever acted like that? She wasn’t sure she’d like the honest answer.

Roger gave a final wave and headed off in the other direction, leaving Isabel alone on the sidewalk, waiting for Britney to make it across. When Britney stepped up onto the curb, she laughed and shook her head.

“I just can’t run like I used to! My goodness. Babies are heavier than you think.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked around, wide-eyed. “Oh, my...are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“That depends,” Isabel replied drily. “What do you think I’m up to?”

“Something...” She waved her hands in the air as if she were drying a manicure. “I don’t know—something expensive.”

Isabel shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters,” she replied. “That’s why we have Jimmy.”

Isabel raised a brow. “You mean James Hunter?”

“I call him Jimmy. It just suits him. He’s such a teddy bear.”

Isabel knew that Britney’s gushing shouldn’t bother her, but on some level it did. “Jimmy” wasn’t a teddy bear, he was a lawyer, and she had the feeling that he’d rather have respect than diminutive nicknames. Or was that just her right now?

“So what are you up to?” Isabel asked, changing the subject.

“Oh, just out for some brunch. Eating for two!” She hunched her shoulders and gave a girlish giggle, rubbing a hand over her belly. “I’m just starving these days. Do you want to go find something to nibble?”

“No thanks.” She attempted to infuse some warmth into her tone, but she had a feeling she failed when she saw Britney’s face. “I’m not hungry.”