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The Ballerina's Stand
Angel Smits


Love reaches far beyond wordsWhen she was growing up, a deaf child in foster care, dancing gave Lauren Ramsey a sense of belonging. Now she's a prima ballerina with her own dance studio; everything's finally going right. And then lawyer Jason Hawkins turns up and drops a bombshell: Lauren's unknown father has left her a fortune. Well, Jason can take that money and shove it. Except…he can't. Once he sees Lauren dancing, he can't stay away…







Love reaches far beyond words

When she was growing up, a deaf child in foster care, dancing gave Lauren Ramsey a sense of belonging. Now she’s a prima ballerina with her own dance studio; everything’s finally going right. And then lawyer Jason Hawkins turns up and drops a bombshell: Lauren’s unknown father has left her a fortune. Well, Jason can take that money and shove it. Except...he can’t. Once he sees Lauren dancing, he can’t stay away...


Lauren had never liked surprises.

Even good ones, she thought, though there were few to reference.

Jason drove toward Glendale. Not too far from home, but not a part of town she was familiar with. The sights intrigued her, and she felt a sense of anticipation.

Finally, Jason pulled into a large parking lot filled with pickup trucks. The neon sign on the roof of the bar shone bright orange, casting a glow over everything.

Lauren had never been to any place like this, and her anticipation threatened to morph into anxiety. Jason squeezed her hand and gave her another of those smiles.

“Come on,” he said, climbing out and coming around to her side of the car. As they walked across the parking lot, he took her hand again, and she let him. It seemed...right.

His hand was strong, warm and callused, and any uncertainties she’d had fled. She let herself smile back at him and relaxed for the first time that night.


Dear Reader (#ulink_2c304fe8-ad43-522f-97cb-6b818d464328),

As a kid, I was always fascinated with people whose lives were different from mine. I read any biography I could get my hands on. Helen Keller and Annie Sullivan were two people I always admired.

A couple years ago, I was given the opportunity to take sign language classes at work and, through that class, I met someone who left a lasting impression. The instructor for those classes made me think and work hard to learn this new language. She taught us more than the signs, she also showed us a whole new fascinating culture.

As always in new situations, my brain came up with ideas for characters, and a story that scared me enough to make me question my ability as a writer and my sanity. I wanted to show this new culture I’d come to respect and like. This story touched my heart, but proved to be the hardest one I’ve ever taken on.

I hope you’ll enjoy getting more acquainted with the third brother in the Hawkins family, Jason, and the woman who steals his heart, Lauren Ramsey. I also hope to share a respect and understanding of the challenges the hearing-impaired face. Any inaccuracies are purely things I still have to learn in this lifelong journey.

Angel Smits




The Ballerina’s Stand

Angel Smits







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ANGEL SMITS lives in Colorado with her husband, daughter and puppy. Winning the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart® Award was the highlight of her writing career, until her first Harlequin book hit the shelves. Her social work background inspires her characters while improv writing allows her to torture them. It’s a rough job, but someone’s got to do it.


This book is dedicated to some very amazing people. My critique partners, Pam McCutcheon, Karen Fox and Jodi Anderson, who slogged through this with me. And my husband, Ron, who had to listen to me all the way through. But mostly to Lauraan, who showed me what a strong person can do in this world. Thank you all.


Contents

COVER (#u9ace27d9-5272-5ed1-a507-b2c271e10b14)

BACK COVER TEXT (#u1f0b9515-c65a-5e91-bcc0-6ac0e75aada9)

INTRODUCTION (#u6475cd3a-090e-5fc9-a287-616218aaf74b)

Dear Reader (#u82c42387-a0de-5318-ad84-394cb79cac45)

TITLE PAGE (#u0a7a4a1b-48d4-54ae-8eb9-33585c15ec82)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#uf2eecc0e-ba7e-51bd-8723-9cafa2bf9225)

DEDICATION (#ua50eafb4-64f5-5449-b2c6-64ac813a29cc)

CHAPTER ONE (#u400a7a96-09f5-5f0d-8510-66d802db9982)

CHAPTER TWO (#u6f19048a-5099-5410-9c83-c35bc3d07a6d)

CHAPTER THREE (#u8ecb1711-237a-56d5-a826-6c7f1216ba51)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u4f94fe9d-4d39-5501-9b76-57158ef76456)

CHAPTER FIVE (#ue07b8002-54ce-52d7-b92f-27dfac96c268)

CHAPTER SIX (#u7b608f06-3ceb-504b-80c9-9d066a412dfd)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

EXTRACT (#litres_trial_promo)

COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_1ee86056-e8a7-56fc-85ba-36078406b903)

APPARENTLY, MOST OF Jason Hawkins’s siblings had been bitten by the love bug. Standing here in the basement of the church, listening to a local country band, a warm beer in hand, Jason simply watched and shook his head.

His younger brother, DJ, looked as handsome and happy as ever in a black tuxedo. Tammie, the newest addition to the Hawkins clan, glowed in her lacy confection of a wedding dress as DJ spun her around the dance floor.

Those two didn’t even seem to notice there was anyone else in the room—except their son, Tyler, who, at the age of nine, took his duty as best man very seriously. He’d banged a spoon on the drinking glasses so many times, to get his parents to kiss, that Jason was getting a headache.

Wyatt and Emily, Jason’s older brother and his fiancée, were busy gathering all the silverware to get it to the church ladies in the kitchen and out of Tyler’s reach.

Jason considered helping, but they were having entirely too much fun doing it together.

One of his younger sisters, Mandy, sat nearby, her little one, Lucas, asleep in her arms. She was smiling and swaying to the song’s beat as if she wished she were out on the dance floor.

Not like she hadn’t been out there plenty. Lane, Mandy’s boyfriend, and Lucas’s father, had done his due diligence. Now the poor guy was running to get drinks for them at the bar. Mandy and Lane hadn’t announced anything official about their relationship yet, but the entire time Jason had been back home, Mandy had stayed at Lane’s place. The man didn’t look one bit put out about it, either.

Jason figured he’d have yet another wedding to attend soon. He just wasn’t sure whose first. Wyatt’s or Mandy’s?

“I don’t see you taking anyone out for a spin, brother dear.” His youngest sister, Tara, sidled up to him.

He gave her his best outraged glare. “I danced with Addie, and you.”

“Obligatory dances with your sisters don’t count.” They both watched Addie glide by on the arm of one of the ranch hands. Paulo, if he remembered correctly. Jason couldn’t keep all the guys straight. He only came back to the ranch a couple times a year and the staff always changed. Chet the ranch foreman, and his wife, Juanita the cook, were the only constants. They, too, were out on the dance floor.

Jason grinned. He’d always enjoyed Tara the most of his siblings. Logical and straightforward, she was the most like him. If he could say anyone in this family was like him.

Otherwise, if it weren’t for the physical family resemblance, he’d think he was adopted. Wyatt was a rancher. DJ a soldier, although medically retired now, who worked with Wyatt on the ranch. Addie taught school. And Mandy was a stay-at-home mom, working in the ranch office part-time and helping Lane with the Hot Shot fire crew he worked on. All hands-on, active, people.

Jason looked at Tara, who was nursing a beer of her own. Even she liked to get her hands dirty, working with food as a chef. “What about you, sis? Anyone on your horizon?”

“No! And don’t jinx it. I’m too busy. I have a restaurant to open, remember, oh mighty lawyer-from-hell with all the paperwork?”

He laughed. She’d grumbled at all the contracts, signatures and forms he’d had her fill out. But she’d be much better off in the long run—and protected. He’d made sure of that.

Even she fit in better here than he did. She wanted to settle in Texas. Near enough to the ranch and family, but far enough away to have her independence.

He understood that last point—it’s why he’d moved to California. He glanced around at the simple church basement, contrasting it with his usual surroundings—his office and his Los Angeles apartment.

Contemporary was more his style. Chrome and clean. Linear.

Addie flopped down in the chair next to him. “Okay, Tara, your turn.” She panted, giving her sister a pointed look.

“I’m not dancing with Paulo again,” Tara said as softly as she could and still be heard. “The man’s not light on his feet, or mine.”

“Well, I’m not, either. Jason, it’s your brotherly duty to protect us from cowboys with big clumsy feet, right?”

“How did I get involved in this?” He looked from sister to sister. “I’m sure as hell not dancing with him.” Their laughter, while warm and welcome, didn’t let him off the hook, and he knew it.

He was the last unclaimed male over eighteen in this family. He glanced at his watch. Didn’t he have a flight to catch?

Damn. Not for twenty-four more hours.

Three of those hours later, the wedding reception finally wound down. Jason made sure he was nowhere around for the bouquet toss by heading to the ranch house for shelter. He had no intention of being anyone’s target when they caught the thing, nor for the garter throw. Let a ranch hand or some local hang the piece of silk from the rearview mirror of their truck.

“So, this is where you snuck off to.” Tara’s voice came through the screen door before she opened it and stepped into Wyatt’s big homey kitchen.

“With you right behind me,” he told his little—amend that—younger sister.

“You making coffee?” She pointedly glanced at the familiar green canisters behind him that had come from Mom’s house. “’Cause there’s a whole plate of Addie’s cookies that need a cup of warmth to wash them down.”

“Thinking about it.” He looked at the heaping plate, amazed there were still some left.

“Well, quit thinking and get it done.”

He laughed and set to work. Tara sat in the big captain’s chair at the head of the table, the soft blue fabric of her bridesmaid’s dress rustled loudly. Her high heels thunked to the floor.

“You realize this is just the first one, don’t you?” He sat in the next seat.

“Yes. Lord. Are we going to survive six of these?”

“Hey, at least one of them will be yours.” He grinned at her.

She groaned as she crossed her arms on the tabletop and rested her head on her forearms. “Not any time soon, I hope.”

The coffeemaker gave off a last gasping sputter. Jason rose to get them each a cup.

They’d just taken a sip of the rich brew when more footsteps sounded on the walk outside. “You’ll have to make another pot,” Tara predicted. “Should we hide the cookies?” She took a big bite of the one in her hand.

Jason laughed, snagging one more for himself as the rest of the family came through the screen door. Addie made the best cookies and the comfort they gave wasn’t something any of them would give up.

Wyatt entered the kitchen and made his way to the stairs, a sound-asleep Tyler draped over his shoulder. The boy would be staying here while DJ and Tammie went to South Padre Island for their honeymoon. Addie and Emily settled around the table with the rest of them.

Jason served the last of the pot and made the second. The decibel level in the room rose, though that didn’t seem to faze baby Lucas. He was sacked out in a swing in the middle of everything.

Jason leaned against the counter, watching and listening to the big rambunctious family. It felt good to be home. Wyatt soon joined him as they both sipped their coffee.

“You’re really going to go through this insanity yourself?” Jason asked Wyatt. The engagement ring on Emily’s hand still sparkled with the newness of gold and diamond.

“In time,” was all Wyatt said. It had taken him forever to propose, so Jason figured the wedding would take just as long. Jason was fine with that.

A knock at the door surprised them all, and Wyatt went to answer. A cowboy, not one of Wyatt’s men, stood there. “Come on in, John.” Wyatt pushed the screen farther open and the tall, lanky man stepped inside. He hastily yanked the Stetson off his head and nodded toward the room’s inhabitants.

“What can I do for you?” Wyatt lifted a cup, silently offering the man some coffee.

“No. I’m good. Gotta get up early and that’ll keep me awake. I’m here to see the lawyer.”

The room grew quiet, and every head turned to look at Jason. He frowned. He wasn’t here to work. Besides, what would a cowpoke need with a corporate attorney? “Uh, that’s me.” He pushed away from the counter.

“Good. Good.” The man twisted his hat in his hands. “Can we talk in private?”

Jason looked around, and Wyatt shrugged. Jason followed the man out into the yard. The big lights were still on, bathing everything in a white glow. Night sounds and a soft breeze broke the prairie quiet.

“What can I help you with? John, right?” Jason knew the man was seeking help—he’d seen that desperate look in too many clients’ eyes.

“It’s not me, sir.” The man twisted his hat around again. “My boss sent me.”

“Who’s your boss?”

“Pal Haymaker.”

Jason cursed. Jason didn’t want anything to do with Haymaker, a man who’d tried to run Wyatt out of business and had nearly killed Lane and Mandy with his stupidity.

“I’m not interested in working for him.” Jason didn’t even try to keep the contempt out of his voice.

“Please, sir.” The man stepped forward. “He’s not doing so good.” The man looked up at the sky as if hoping to see an answer written in the heavens. “I know he ain’t been good to you and yours. But he asked me to tell you it’s not about your family.” The cowboy swallowed and Jason saw the man’s Adam’s apple bob. “He said he don’t trust no one but you with this.”

Jason cringed. He hated when a potential case piqued his interest this way. It made it hard to keep his distance and objectivity and turn it down.

“You have any idea what it’s about?”

The cowboy shook his head. “He asked me to have you come see him tomorrow mornin’. If you can.”

Jason sighed. What could it hurt? “I can be there around nine?”

The cowboy grinned. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much.” Relief rolled off the man’s broad shoulders.

Jason watched the cowboy amble away and climb into a battered pickup. A cloud of smoke rose up behind the vehicle as it left the yard.

What would Haymaker have done to the guy if Jason hadn’t agreed? He didn’t want to know.

“What the hell was that about?” Wyatt spoke from the now-open screen door.

Jason slowly walked back to the house. “Apparently, Pal Haymaker has a legal matter he only trusts me to handle.”

“He’s up to something.”

“Yeah. But I’m curious enough. I think I’ll go see him.”

“You’re not going by yourself.”

“Why not? I meet with clients on my own all the time.”

“I don’t trust Pal and you know why. You might need a witness.”

Wyatt did have a point. “Well, you can’t go—he’d probably shoot you on sight. And same goes for Lane, especially since their last go-round after the fire. And DJ’s not exactly available.”

Wyatt laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah. Take Chet with you. He and Pal go way back. He’s the only one of us the old man won’t try to blast into the next county.”

Jason nodded. “I can do that.”

“John give you any idea what it’s about?”

“No.” Jason stared at the empty driveway, a frown on his brow. He was usually good at reading people, and that cowboy hadn’t just been doing his boss’s bidding. He’d been scared.

“I thought Pal was half-dead.”

“Yeah, well, until he’s actually six feet under, don’t count that bastard out. He’s still powerful around here.”

The silence settled around them, comfortably. Jason had always respected Wyatt. Only in the last few years had Jason gotten the chance to get to know his older brother better. Man to man.

Wyatt had stepped into the role of parent when their dad died. Wyatt had been fifteen, while Jason had been eleven. Those roles still permeated their relationship.

“How’re things going out there in LA?” Wyatt tried to sound casual. Jason almost laughed. Wyatt couldn’t fathom the idea of living in a city. Jason loved the pace, the pseudo privacy, the beauty of the big, active city.

“You and Emily should visit. I’ll show you around.”

“That’d be nice.” Emily’s voice came out of the darkness, as she stepped outside to lean against Wyatt. His arm went around her almost as a reflex. They were as comfortable as any long-married couple.

And then it hit him. “Wait.” Jason stared at them. “Wyatt, you rat.” Jason punched his brother in the arm, just like when they were kids. “You two aren’t going through this insanity. It’s already a done deal.”

Wyatt laughed and Emily blushed, her cheeks shadowed in the dim night light.

Jason was surprised at the hitch of some unusual emotion ripping through him as the two shared a look. “When?”

“A couple weeks ago,” Emily whispered, not taking her gaze from Wyatt’s. “My boss performed the ceremony one afternoon. Convenient working for a county judge.” She shrugged and smiled.

Jason glanced over at his brother who looked totally smitten.

“Congratulations. But, why?”

Wyatt looked down at Emily. “It seemed like the right thing to do. We didn’t want to interfere with DJ and Tammie’s day. They needed the big to-do. We just needed—” Wyatt paused and his smile softened. Jason felt himself smile, too, pleased that this woman made his brother happy.

“Each other,” Emily finished for him on a whisper, gazing up, just as besotted, at her new husband.

“I—uh—think I’ll turn in.” Jason headed into the house, fairly certain neither of them heard him leave.

Inside, Tara and Addie cleaned up the few dishes, their dresses rustling in tune as they moved, while Mandy fed the baby and Lane sat nearby. It was comfortable, safe. Home.

The day was winding down. Jason wouldn’t tell anyone that Wyatt and Emily had eloped—that was their news. Though he was tempted to tell Tara she would need to buy one fewer bridesmaid’s dress. She’d be relieved.

After saying his goodnights, he went upstairs to the guest room, his mind full of coffee and curiosity. What the hell was Pal Haymaker up to? And how would it affect the people downstairs? His family.

Jason didn’t live here in Texas. He wasn’t a provider like Wyatt, nor a soldier like DJ had been, but he had his own way of protecting the people he cared about. He’d studied the law and every one of his siblings had benefited from his advice at some point—Wyatt with the business of the ranch, Tara with her restaurant idea and Mandy with her son’s future.

Jason knew he’d do just about anything, even work for an asshole like Pal Haymaker, if it kept those people downstairs, nearly all the people he loved, happy and safe.

* * *

ACCORDING TO WYATT, Pal had been banned from the big house. Pal Jr. had paid the bail money and hired a high-profile attorney, but wasn’t speaking to his father after he’d nearly burned up the entire county. As for Trey Haymaker, Pal’s grandson and DJ’s friend, he had disappeared. If anyone knew where he was, they weren’t telling. Jason didn’t blame him.

The old man had done a number on everyone.

The original hundred-year-old ranch house was still impressive, though. It dwarfed even Wyatt’s place, and the trees had easily been around for an additional century. An older woman answered the door, nodding but not smiling as she let Jason in. He followed her as she slowly walked down the long hallway, her serviceable shoes squeaking against the polished wood floors.

She stopped at the wide entry of a room, waving him in before turning back and returning the way she’d come. Squeak. Squeak.

“Someone should buy that woman some decent shoes.” Pal’s voice came from the corner of the big room.

The old man sat there in a leather recliner, his scrawny legs lifted up, a newspaper spread over his lap. Clear green tubing from an oxygen tank beside the recliner snaked around the chair, finally wrapping around Pal’s weathered face. He aimed a remote at the giant TV screen and turned it off.

“You wanted to see me?” Jason didn’t hesitate.

“Have a seat.” Pal leaned forward and lowered the footrest. “I ain’t gonna get a crick in my neck for this, and I sure as hell can’t get up.”

Jason nodded and took the chair facing the man. He hadn’t brought his briefcase, or anything to write on. He didn’t intend to take this job. Curiosity had brought him here today—that, and the need to make sure this jerk was no longer a threat to his family.

“What did you want to talk about?” Jason leaned back, forcing himself to look casual, uncaring.

“I got business out in your neck of the woods.” Pal slowly folded the newspaper. “I’m heading out there on Monday.”

“I thought you were under house arrest.”

The old man laughed—laughter that dissolved into a fit of coughing. “My attorney’s taking care of that.” He looked Jason in the eye. “I’ll be dead long before they can lock me up. So, what’s the point?”

He probably had a point, if the blue tinge to his skin was any indication. As a corporate attorney, Jason mainly worked on business deals, but oddly enough a lot of business deals resulted from deathbed promises.

“What kind of business are we discussing?”

“My demise. I’m adjusting parts of my will—”

“I’m not helping you screw your family more than you already have.” Jason began to rise. He’d had enough of this man.

“Now sit your ass down, young man.” Pal spat out. “I ain’t gonna take anything away from either of my boys.” Another coughing fit made Pal pause. “I’m talking about someone else.” Oddly, Pal’s eyes and voice grew faded and distant. “Somethin’ I gotta make right ’fore I go.”

Pal Haymaker had a smidgen of conscience? Not possible. “What are you talking about?”

The old man leaned back, spearing Jason with a glare. “I’ll let you know when I get to LA.”

“That’s not much answer, old man.” Jason sat on the edge of the chair, preparing to leave. He had a plane to catch.

“Not supposed to be.” Pal leaned closer. “There’s too many ears in this house.”

Was Pal paranoid, or was there a grain of truth in what he was hinting at? He wouldn’t put it past Pal Jr. to place a spy in his father’s house.

“Here’s the deal.” Jason stood. “You get to town, get in touch with my assistant.” He pulled a white utilitarian card out of his wallet, flicking it with a decisive snap onto the side table. “If you time it right, I’ll meet with you.” He headed to the door. “You’ve done enough damage to this world, so make this good.”

He didn’t wait for Pal to dismiss him. Walking out into the hot Texas morning, Jason took a deep breath, the fresh country air clearing his head of the stink of rotten old man.

“You learn anything?” Chet leaned against the truck’s fender.

“No. He’s as tight-lipped as usual. But Wyatt’s right. He’s up to something.” They climbed into the sun-heated cab of the truck. “He’s heading to LA next week. Wants to discuss the details then.”

“How’s he gonna do that? He can barely move.” Chet drove toward Wyatt’s place.

“I don’t know.”

“Wyatt won’t like it that you’re meeting him again.”

“I don’t recall being accountable to my brother, not since I turned eighteen.” Jason met Chet’s gaze, holding it until the older man looked away.

“It’s your skin.”

They turned into the yard of the ranch, which was a hive of activity. All the siblings were leaving today. Everyone was packing up their things, filling vehicles. Tara was taking Jason to the airport, so he hastily grabbed his bags and slung them in the back of her car.

“What did Pal want?” Wyatt asked, coming around the front of Addie’s truck.

“He wasn’t specific, unfortunately.”

“So you’re not going to work for him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Haven’t decided yet. He said he’s coming out to LA. We’ll talk then.”

“You cannot work for that man!” Addie’s voice carried over the car’s roof.

“Like hell,” Wyatt barked in the same instant.

Jason’s hackles rose. “Addie, Wyatt, back off.” He slammed the trunk. “I’m not a child. He’ll come to the office, I’ll deal with him there. End of story.”

“I don’t trust him.”

Jason laughed. “If you knew most of my clients, you wouldn’t trust them, either.” He thought of the business partners who inhabited the corner offices and the upper floors. Wasn’t much trust there, either. They were as cold-blooded as Pal. He turned to face his older brother, purposefully changing the subject. “It’s been a good visit. You tell the others your news?”

Wyatt shook his head. “Emily doesn’t want to say anything yet. She’s—”

“No problem.” Jason smiled. “But you’d better tell them all at once. Word gets around in this family like wildfire.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt looked over at Emily, a smile tugging on his lips. Jason knew that look, that silent communication from when they’d been kids. “Hey, everyone.”

Emily obviously knew her new husband, too. Her eyebrows lifted as she shrugged and smiled, walking toward Wyatt. “You want to? Now?” she whispered.

“Yeah.” He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against his side. “We have news.” A gasp waved around the group gathered between the cars.

“We got married!” Emily practically burst with the words. Jason laughed. Neither one of them had really wanted to keep this secret. And he was relieved to find the attention focused elsewhere. Now he didn’t have to explain his business with Pal.

This was a much better way to end this visit.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_d69725eb-126e-515f-98f3-f43f6fb76b91)

GROWING UP IN TEXAS, Jason’s experience with dancing involved square dances, country bars and prom—oh, and those not-to-be-forgotten weddings. Since moving to LA, his horizons hadn’t broadened much. Hours behind his desk, busting his ass to make partner, kept him busy.

Seated now in a private box at Glendale’s Alex Theatre, watching the Los Angeles Ballet with Pal Haymaker, he felt strange. Jason glanced sideways at the old man. How the hell had they gotten here?

After he’d seen Pal that morning following DJ’s wedding, Jason would have laid money down that the old guy wouldn’t be able to make the trip. But that had been several days ago, and here he was. Cleaned up, in a custom-tailored suit, Pal looked every bit as out of place as Jason felt.

The lights dimmed, and the old guy pushed to the edge of his seat. The oxygen tubing rubbing against the arm of the wheelchair was loud in the silence that fell as the curtain rose. No one else seemed to notice, so Jason breathed a sigh of relief.

The music began, and a line of ballerinas came on the stage. Jason leaned back in his seat, hoping to find something to enjoy about the event.

“There she is!” Haymaker said loudly and Jason cringed. The music, thankfully, mostly covered his voice.

“Who?” Jason asked.

“My daughter.”

“Who?” It was a reaction more than a question. Jason stared at the man he’d known most of his life, a man who’d been Texas’s biggest pain in the ass for years. He had a son, well into his fifties, and a grandson who’d run around with Jason’s older brothers back in high school. Other than Mrs. Haymaker, there hadn’t been any other women in that equation, unless you counted housekeepers.

“You didn’t think I had it in me.” Pal chuckled and dissolved into a fit of coughing. The nurse appeared out of the shadows with a cup of water and a little white pill. The old man waved her away and turned his rapt attention back to the performance.

“See her there?” He pointed toward the left side of the stage, his arm trembling. “The redhead, like her mama. Second from the end.” More coughing. He took the pill.

Jason looked. All the women were dressed identically in white toe shoes, tights and leotards. White gauzy tutus circled each slim waistline. A white band of fabric scraped their hair away from their faces, and the only color difference between them was the thick coil of hair at the nape of their necks. He saw a strawberry blonde. He’d never recognize her, or any of the other matching ballerinas, if they passed on the street.

“Next act,” the old man wheezed. “Solo.”

“Are you sure you’re up to this?”

The old man didn’t look good, but the glare Jason received was as strong as ever. Haymaker sat back, watching, waiting. For the woman he believed was his daughter.

As Pal struggled to breathe, Jason struggled with the ramifications. Pal had two heirs as far as anyone knew. His physical condition was quickly declining. The prognosis, according to the doctors, was not good.

The reason Jason was here with Pal tonight had apparently just appeared. On Monday, when Pal had shown up at Jason’s office, he’d demanded Jason’s attendance here tonight. Jason had agreed just to get the old man out of the office before he keeled over.

Pal wasn’t one to leave anything undone. A carryover from all those years on the Texas prairie, building the Double Diamond Ranch into one of the biggest operations in the country. Out on the range, unfinished work could mean life or death.

Pal quieted and, for a minute, Jason thought he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t though. His eyes were as alert as ever, drinking in every instant the young woman was on stage.

Just as he’d said, in the second act, she came out into the spotlight alone. This time, she wore a black leotard, tights and toe shoes. No tutu, just a wispy, diaphanous skirt that formed to her hips. Her hair, though, was what caught Jason’s gaze. Long light copper curls hung down to around her hips, swaying with every move.

Jason couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight. He knew that if he saw her on the street, he’d definitely recognize her, and probably stop and stare. She was stunning. The dance beautiful—flawless as far as he could tell.

Time stopped. Haymaker faded into the distance. Nothing existed except her beauty and perfection. Music wafted around him, slipping inside somehow. He felt his heart echo its rhythm. Beating. Stopping. Pounding.

The emotions of the story came to life. Anger and pain ripped across the stage and tumbled into an anguished heap in the center of the floor. A single light remained. She didn’t move. He barely breathed.

Arms, a multitude of bare arms, reached out of the darkness and lifted her limp body. Her limbs dangled lifelessly as the darkness swallowed her whole.

Jason’s eyes stung, and he shook his head to clear his mind of the image and emotions. He looked over at the old man. Tears trickled down his pale cheeks.

The audience shot to their feet. Jason could see the old man wanted to, his legs trembling as he tried to scoot forward. Jason reached out and put a hand on the bony shoulder. “I’ll do it for us both.”

Jason stood and applauded hard and strong. She deserved the acclaim.

The rest of the performance flew by, but there were no more signs of her, and Jason felt disappointed. The old man settled back, nearly dozing off, as if he knew the show he’d come for was over.

With the lights on and the curtains down, Jason rose to his feet once again.

“Call the driver,” Haymaker barked to the nurse.

Jason frowned. “Aren’t you going to go see her?”

Haymaker spun the chair around with surprising speed. “Hell, no. She doesn’t know I exist.” The anger was more mask than real. “I didn’t just invite you here for a show.”

Jason had known that, but he’d learned years ago not to question a client until they were good and ready.

“Then I’m charging for my time.”

Pal grinned. “I expect you to. Here.” He pulled out an envelope from his jacket pocket. “Take care of this. Make sure it’s all California legal. Dallas will courier the rest of the file when the time is right.”

There was no address, nothing written on the outside of the envelope. Jason turned it over and found it unsealed. He pulled out the pages. There were only a few. One handwritten. The scrawl was messy. It was Haymaker’s own hand. There was a birth certificate, with no father listed, and a detailed report from a private investigator. And a neatly folded copy of a will.

Haymaker had been shrewd, as usual. He’d made sure every T was crossed and every I dotted. Jason skimmed the report, then the letter and will. The old man was changing everything. The “boys” as he referred to Pal Jr. and Trey, got to keep the ranch, but every investment vehicle, and every other blasted thing Pal owned was to be put on the auction block the instant he died, the money divided three—not two—ways.

Except for a property in Northern California that, according to a separate report, had sat vacant for over twenty years. That was to be hers. And hers alone.

“Back in Texas, you said you weren’t going to screw the boys.”

Pal laughed, or what served as a laugh. “I don’t owe you or anyone an explanation, but I’ll tell you something, boy. My kin don’t have a clue what the hell I have. So dividing it up this way is more than they expect.” He looked away. “More than they deserve,” he whispered.

By the time Jason looked up again, the nurse had wheeled the old man down the ramp to the exit. Jason knew a limousine would be waiting just on the other side of that door. He wanted to run down that ramp and catch the old man, to demand an answer to the question of “Are you crazy?”

But he knew Haymaker. There was nothing crazy about the old man. Nothing.

Jason glanced back at the empty stage. That girl down there had been beautiful, pure. Clueless. She had no idea she was about to become a very rich young woman.

And damn it. He did not want to be the one to tell her. Not like this.

Later that night, at midnight exactly, Jason stood in the hospital room’s doorway. The call from the nurse who’d gone to the ballet with them had surprised Jason. He’d thought Pal was on his way back to Texas already.

“Get in here,” the eldest Haymaker barked when he saw Jason.

With a fortifying breath, Jason stepped into the room. In between gasps for air from the oxygen mask, Pal tried to look intimidating. But he was just a sick, broken old man now.

Pal struggled to sit up straighter. It was a waste of time. He only started coughing and had to outwait his own body. Jason fought the urge to remind the man that paybacks were a bitch. Law school and two years in private practice had taught him well how to hold his tongue.

“You check it?” Pal demanded.

“Business can wait.”

“Like hell it can.”

“Before we get to this.” Jason waved the papers Pal had given him earlier—that he’d barely had time to glance at much less read thoroughly. “Tell me what you really have in mind for her.”

There was no way Jason was going to put this young woman at risk. Heck, just being Pal’s child put her in danger. Pal Jr. and Trey would want to kill her. If Pal even intended to tell them the truth.

“That’s none of your damned business,” he bit out between gasps.

“Like hell it isn’t. You hired me. You made it my business.” Jason turned to leave. “Guess we’re finished here.”

A wheeze of hard-won breath filled the air. “You’re nothing like your brother.” Another breath. “He’s a good, fair man.”

“Yeah, we’re nothing alike.” Jason wasn’t talking about Wyatt, and he knew the old man caught his meaning. “I have very little respect for you, and you have even less for me. That’s part of why you had me do this job instead of your attorney in Dallas.”

Cough. “Just get on with it.” Pal waved at the papers. “She’s safe.”

Jason stood there for a long minute, the papers tight in his hand. “I’ll hold you to that. Everything has to protect her. Not you.”

Oddly, the old man relaxed. His eyes grew distant, almost sad. That wasn’t possible—Pal Haymaker didn’t have emotions.

“I know you hate me, boy,” he whispered. “But thirty years ago, I was a different man.” He paused, trying to catch his breath. “You might have even liked me.” He cleared his throat. “But that man died—” Breath. “With Lauren’s mother.”

Lauren. The name held strength, and the pretty ballerina came to mind. It fit her.

Jason watched as the old man’s gaze turned to the window. Emotions flitted across his weathered face. And something inside Jason shifted. He cursed. He didn’t want to care about this man. Or his daughter.

* * *

GLOOMY, CLOUDY DAYS like today were perfect for staying home. Last night’s performance had been the last of the run and Lauren needed the break.

A book, the soft aroma of candles—the day was set. She settled on the yoga mat, tuning her body before letting it loose for the day.

Her electronic bracelet that was programmed to her phone, the doorbell and a couple other devices, flashed as she settled into her first position. Damn. She looked at the bright light. The doorbell. Who the heck was here? She wasn’t expecting anyone. It flashed again. They didn’t seem to be going away.

Jumping up, Lauren padded to the front door and peered through the sidelight. She stared at the unfamiliar man on her doorstep. His hair was damp, looking dark yet blond. His expensive suit was getting ruined by the rain and the wing tips on his feet were buried in a puddle.

He didn’t look like a serial killer...but who knew? She stared at him for a long moment, then pulled open the door as far as the chain allowed. Odds were, he wouldn’t be able to communicate with her, but she’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

Slowly, she signed “Hello.” Keep it simple. His frown told her way too much. Why was she disappointed? The usual loneliness she felt suddenly seemed more pronounced. She saw his lips moving, and while she was proficient at reading lips, he wasn’t looking directly at her, his head turning as if to recheck the address. And she wasn’t familiar enough with his patterns to read him from the side.

She cringed. Very few times did she need, or desire, to speak, but this was one. As a child, her older foster brother, Kenny, had told her often enough that she sounded like a “moron” when she talked. She’d refused to learn to speak after that, and now it was her normal.

“I’m sorry.” She made the sign she knew he wouldn’t understand. “I’m deaf,” she continued, making the sign out of habit.

The man pulled a business card from his jacket pocket, just as the rain intensified. She took the card, and with the next gust of wind, she let him come in out of the downpour. Granted, it was just the vestibule, but still, he was a stranger stepping into her home.

Fear made her stomach clench, but she didn’t have a choice. The white utilitarian card had clout. He was from the law firm of Joseph and Brown. Big names here. What did he want with her? Was someone in trouble?

Times like this, she hated her deafness. She knew he wouldn’t understand her, and it was doubtful he’d take the time to help her understand him.

He nodded and again his lips moved. She wished he knew sign.

Lauren waved toward the couch, hoping he’d take off his soaked coat. When he pulled it off and left it on the coat tree in the hall she sighed in relief.

While her home wasn’t fancy, it was hers, each piece of furniture hard-won and loved. He sat carefully on the edge of the couch and gently settled a soaked briefcase on the floor beside her coffee table.

She hoped whatever he was here for was important enough to destroy such an expensive case. He unzipped a compartment and pulled out a pen and legal pad.

Taking her own seat across from him, Lauren smiled the smile her foster mother had diligently taught her. The one that was acceptably mellow to hearing people, the one that gave the impression she was “normal.” She hated it, but knew it worked.

She wanted to get this over with. She waited patiently as he wrote. Shorter messages were always better. Straight and to the point.

I’m Jason Hawkins, he’d written. She glanced again at the business card, noting his name in the lower corner this time. She looked up at him. He looked like a Jason. Then he smiled at her. Oh God, he felt sorry for her. Her stomach churned around the earlier clench.

She looked back at Jason, frowning, wishing he were different.

He handed her the notepad where she wrote her single question. “Why are you here?”

He nodded, smiling like he’d uncovered the answer to some great puzzle. That gave her a drop of hope. At least he hadn’t dismissed her. He seemed willing to try.

The man’s handwriting was atrocious. She sighed again. He would be here for ages. Finally, he finished and turned the page to her. He’d written direct sentences. Easy and quick.

She looked back at the page. Then at him, confused. Estate? Her father’s estate. She didn’t even know she had a father...well, she’d known someone had to be her father, but that was it.

Again, Jason reached into the sodden briefcase and this time he pulled out an envelope. He opened it and extended a copy of a last will and testament toward her. She frowned and shook her head. What was she supposed to do with this?

He stood and came to stand over her. The damp scent of his cologne, light and warm, wrapped around her. Despite the fact that he was practically soaking wet from the rain, warmth flowed off him. He flipped the document’s pages until he reached the third page, and pointed to a paragraph in the middle.

She stared at the printed words. Then looked up at him. Then back at the page. This wasn’t possible. No.

Now? She shot to her feet. Now? I have a father? Her fingers flew. She knew the attorney didn’t understand—confusion blanketed his face. She should stop and breathe. Stop waving and crumpling the pages he’d given her. But she couldn’t stop herself. The twenty-three years since losing her mother was too much hurt to fight.

A father. Money. A house. All the things she’d dreamed of since the day her mother died. The day the social worker had shown up and packed her tiny pink princess suitcase and taken her to that first foster home. Five years old and alone. Without anyone to love her.

Where was he then? She signed the question, knowing this man couldn’t answer her.

Why would a total stranger leave her anything? Especially when they’d stayed out of her life apparently on purpose.

Jason hadn’t moved. He stood so close. Their eyes met and neither of them looked away. She dropped the papers to the coffee table.

She let her fingers form the words and concepts trapped in her mind. If only he understood. If only—

“I don’t want it,” she signed. Then, when Jason shook his head, she wrote it on the page, the pen gouging the paper. He continued to frown.

“What? Why?” She could read that response.

“Don’t need it.” The very idea scared her, angered her. “Give it to someone else.” Her fingers flew quickly, and his brow remained furrowed. After a long minute, he grabbed the notepad and dug in his briefcase again. He handed her the paper and another business card after he’d scribbled some more.

“Come to my office,” he’d written. “I’ll get an interpreter to help.”

He looked expectant.

Her hopes died. He was just doing his job, so why had she even hoped he’d try to understand her himself? Slowly, she nodded, took the card, and led him to the door. She grabbed his coat and handed it to him. He waved and forced a smile as he stepped back out into the pouring rain.

With the door finally closed behind him, Lauren slammed the dead bolt, knowing she had no intention of going to any office or ever seeing him again.

She was happy in her little world. She didn’t need him or anyone else—especially a hearing person—reminding her of what was missing in that world.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_110be5de-3dd5-563e-8b82-30a7e587a870)

LAUREN MOUNTED THE wide stone stairs, her steps quick and lively. Determined. Not because that’s how she felt, but because Maxine was watching, she was sure of it, judging her posture, her form, and the tilt of her head. Lauren didn’t want to disappoint her mentor. Or hear the inevitable lecture.

The wide double doors opened and Maxine’s longtime butler, Hudson, stood there, a smile on his weathered face. The old man didn’t know much sign, but over the years he’d learned to make the correct gestures for hello, goodbye and a few simple niceties. Today he greeted Lauren with a warm smile and led the way to the studio.

Maxine was already there, her slim, perfectly upright frame poised at the barre. At seventy-two years old, Maxine Nightingale, once a world-renowned ballerina, looked young and lithe. Only the lines on her face gave any hint of her true age.

Mirrors surrounded them while polished wood floors reflected almost as clearly. Maxine’s lips and hands moved to speak. “There you are,” she signed. “Time to work.”

Her smile told Lauren they were listening to Maxine’s favorite. Lauren smiled in response. She knew the expectations, the moves, without having to think twice. Maxine didn’t have to instruct her or gesture the routine the way she used to in class all those years ago.

Lauren left her things by the door and joined Maxine at the barre. Like images in the mirror, they moved together. Going through all the steps, matching poses, all the way through the entire first movement of the song. By the midpoint, Maxine was dancing with her eyes closed, getting lost in the sound while Lauren let herself relax and settle deep into the rhythm and her own thoughts. It felt wonderful. So freeing.

Finally, Maxine bowed, and the soft thump of the music vibrating the air stopped. Lauren took a deep breath and walked over to the small table in the corner by the narrow floor-to-ceiling windows. The sweet-scented towel made quick work of the sweat from her face and shoulders.

Hudson came in then as if on cue. No doubt he’d heard this same music for the past fifty years as Maxine’s employee. He carried a tray of afternoon tea. The porcelain pot and matching cups were old, brought here from Germany by one of Maxine’s husbands. Lauren wasn’t sure which one. The scent of the tea and the sweet cakes wafted in the air as Hudson walked to the table.

Maxine reached over and gave Lauren a long hug. Her fingers moved quickly, and Lauren smiled. “I’ve missed you, too,” she signed back.

They each settled in their seats, just as they always did, as if months hadn’t passed since Lauren had last been here. Hudson poured; then with a wave of her hand, Maxine dismissed him. He vanished, without a word or a sign.

Lauren sat back, waiting for the inquisition regarding her absence. Maxine wasn’t one to beat around any bushes, but they both busied themselves with preparing their drinks. Finally, Maxine looked up, a frown on her brow.

Her aged hands were as graceful in sign as her body was on the stage. Her perfectly groomed nails and be-ringed fingers flashed in the room’s ambient light. It also helped that Lauren had been reading Maxine’s face and lips since childhood.

“So, where have you been?”

Lauren took a sip of tea and pretended to focus on settling the cup back in the fragile saucer, not meeting Maxine’s eyes, not giving her a chance to read her. “Working.” She focused on selecting a cake. “Working with D-y-l-a-n.” She avoided Maxine’s glare.

“That boy will be your downfall.”

“No.” They’d had a similar conversation many times before. Dylan was part of the reason Lauren had come here today. “He’s good. One of the best.” She waited a beat, then forced herself to catch her teacher’s eye. “You took me on, didn’t give up on me.” The intensity of Lauren pointing her finger at Maxine then back at herself wasn’t lost on the older woman.

Maxine fought the smile. Finally, she nodded. “You think he’s that good?”

Lauren nodded. “I do.” Neither of them moved for several long minutes. No fingers moving or flashing. Lips doing nothing beyond sipping the cooling tea. Finally, Maxine reached over and curled her fingers around Lauren’s hand to get her attention. Their eyes met.

“All right. Let me see this prodigy of yours.”

Lauren stared. Maxine was willing to give Dylan a chance? Maxine couldn’t work with Dylan the way she had with her. Fifteen years ago, Maxine had been well past her prime as a performing ballerina, but she’d been one of the best teachers in the world. Lauren had been the troubled deaf girl Maxine had taken in as a foster child, a poor replacement for the son she’d lost to death the year before.

Even now, Lauren felt the weight of that role. She’d been angry, lost, and this regal woman had demanded so much. Had found the talent buried inside Lauren’s silent world.

Did Dylan really have that same spark? Lauren thought she saw it, but Maxine had a sharper eye. An eye and knowledge that came from much more time on this earth, and experience.

“Really?” she signed.

Maxine nodded. “You’ve got me curious.”

Lauren knew not to let the opportunity pass. “When?”

“Next week. Tuesday. I’ll come to your studio.”

Maxine’s composure returned and the predictability of it took Lauren back. It was comforting, and she realized how much she’d missed Maxine. She’d been so edgy lately, and Maxine’s controlled manner eased that edginess.

She admitted to herself that that was truly why she’d come here today. She’d needed reassurance. And Maxine did exactly that.

Jason Hawkins, the lawyer, with his papers and startling announcements, had turned her world upside down. The security Maxine had always given her wrapped comfortingly around her now. In her mind’s eye, she saw Jason as he’d left her place. Plunging into the pouring rain, he’d seemed unconcerned that he was soon soaked to the bone as he climbed into the dark car parked across the street.

“What’s going on?” Maxine asked, only with her lips and a frown this time.

Maxine knew her better than anyone else. Too well, perhaps. She’d spent endless hours coaxing the shy foster girl out of her self-imposed shell. That same intensity and focus, which characterized Maxine overall, paid off in that there was no hiding anything from the woman’s eagle eye.

Lauren glanced at her satchel propped beside the door. The papers Jason had given her were inside, badly wrinkled and creased from all the times she’d pulled them out and read them.

She wanted to share the information with someone, needed to discuss it. Needed to—

Maxine’s hand settled on Lauren’s forearm and Lauren looked up. “What’s the matter?” Maxine prompted. The concern in her foster mother’s eyes was so deep. Lauren started to tell her.

But she held back.

While Maxine could help her, she would take over. Was Lauren ready for that?

“Is it the show?”

Lauren nodded, taking the reprieve Maxine inadvertently offered.

Maxine smiled and leaned back in her chair. Pulling her hand away, she signed as she spoke. “You’ll do magnificent, like always. Last year was a huge success.”

Lauren nodded, though still anxious about how this year would go. The annual fundraiser brought in the biggest chunk of the studio’s budget, after tuition. “There’s so much to do.”

Maxine tilted her head, an eyebrow lifted. “You don’t have to do this—”

Lauren was already shaking her head. They’d had this conversation a dozen times since Lauren had opened the studio. “I know,” Lauren signed. Looking around at the sumptuous surroundings of Maxine’s home, Lauren knew what Maxine meant.

Maxine had been on the stage as a child prodigy of ballet by five years old. Her toes had graced every great stage in the world. She’d earned more money than she could ever begin to spend.

She had offered to fund the studio for Lauren. An offer that tempted Lauren frequently, especially when the bills came. She made good money, just not enough to support a business and herself.

But if she accepted Maxine’s offer, her mentor would make a change here, a change there. She’d buy something new just because she felt it was necessary, something Lauren might not want. Lauren would lose control.

“Thanks, but I like doing the show.” And she did. Last year it had raised enough money for them to order half the new costumes and replace the stage curtains. “I want to do a good job.”

“The offer is always there.”

“I know and I appreciate it.”

The stillness stretched out. Maxine sat looking at her. “You’re not telling me everything.” She crossed her arms and met Lauren’s gaze with the piercing glare Lauren knew well.

Getting slowly to her feet, Lauren walked over to her bag and pulled out the papers, giving in to her need to share this with someone. Handing them to Maxine, she watched her eyes widen. “Your father?”

Lauren nodded, still not used to the idea.

“In Texas?” Lauren nodded. “Why now?” Lauren shrugged and the motion caught Maxine’s attention.

“Oh, honey.” She stood, setting the papers down on the table.

As if sensing Lauren’s mood, Maxine stood and took two steps to reach her. She pulled Lauren to her feet, and enveloped her in the motherly hug Lauren had fought against for so long, but which she now savored.

Finally, Lauren pulled away. “Why didn’t he find me when he was alive?” she signed slowly, not really wanting to admit her thoughts.

“You may never know.” Maxine tapped the papers with her finger. “But he owes you. This is what you deserve.”

Lauren wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t even sure what this was.

“I don’t want it!” She shook her head to emphasize her point. Maxine frowned but wisely didn’t say anything more. One third of an estate could be anything—or nothing. No sense getting her hopes up for nothing.

An hour later, Lauren headed home. Coming out of Maxine’s house, she paused at the top of the hill, waiting for the cab to wind its way up the long driveway, and looked out over the city.

Maxine’s parents had built this place, back when LA was a much smaller city, when the town hadn’t yet reached these hills. The other homes around were smaller, newer, not nearly as interesting as this place. Lauren remembered when social services had first brought her here. She’d been so scared. This was so far beyond anything she’d experienced. While she’d never thought of it as home, she was comfortable here.

She’d always been safe here.

The headlights of the cab cut through the growing night. She’d learned long ago to carry business cards with her home address on them. If she wasn’t going to drive, it wasn’t fair to expect a total stranger to know sign language. The man smiled at her and as she handed him the card, she signed hello, knowing he’d realize she was deaf. He glanced at the card and nodded.

They drove down the hill, the lights of the house blazing in her wake, the lights of the city reaching out and flashing over them as they moved.

He stopped at her door and she paid him. Her little condo was dark. She hadn’t left any lights on, not expecting to stay so long at Maxine’s. She laughed. Who was she kidding? There was no such thing as a short visit with Maxine.

Still, when she entered the small foyer and flipped the light switch, she smiled. This was hers. Her place. Her home. She’d worked so hard to afford it.

Putting her bag down, she saw the corner of the envelope. Had she done the right thing in telling Maxine? The doubts still lingered—about everything.

She stared at the envelope, suddenly curious about the two people who were listed to split the estate with her. She hastily pulled the pages out again. Palace Haymaker Jr., Palace A. Haymaker III—or Trey, as he was called. Why hadn’t it dawned on her before? A brother. A nephew.

Racing into the other room, she booted up her computer, wondering, hoping. Her fingers froze on the keys. Was this right? For so long she’d kept to herself. As a child, she couldn’t communicate with others, so they’d never asked questions. And neither had she. But...she’d never wanted to know so badly before.

She opened the browser. And typed in Palace Haymaker. Her finger hovered over the enter button for a long time. Then with a deep breath, she stabbed it, and watched the little hourglass spin.

Several notations filled the screen. An obituary? She swallowed. She wasn’t ready for that yet. She scrolled down. The Cattle Baron’s Ball in Dallas? Oh. Wow. She clicked the link and watched as pages of images flashed on the screen. Cowboy hats and big hair characterized them all.

Hungrily, her eyes scanned the page, skimming the captions. None of the faces, none of the names familiar. And then she saw it. Pal Haymaker and his son, Pal Jr. enjoy the music and drink.

The two men looked so much alike. Two big men, gray Stetsons on their heads. Neither of them smiled, looking at the photographer as if they were doing him a favor. Her father. Her brother. She stared, hoping to find some resemblance to herself. The hats made it difficult to see what color their hair was, and she assumed the cut was short. She remembered her mother having bright copper hair, the same color Lauren’d had as a child. The color that had faded as she’d grown up.

Maybe in the eyes? Leaning closer to the screen, she couldn’t tell what color they were. Her frustration grew. She needed something to prove this was real.

She typed Trey Haymaker into the search box. Another smattering of pictures appeared. Another reference to the Dallas ball. This time, a young man’s face stared back at her, smiling under a too-long mop of bright blond hair. She gasped. He looked too much like the face she saw in the mirror each day.

His eyes shone bright, blue and light. He looked like the opposite of the other, austere faces. He looked happy.

Maybe...maybe...this was real.

She swallowed, and before she could stop herself, she saved both images to the hard drive.

They were the only pictures she had of anyone related to her by blood. Her only family photos.

She turned off the computer, not wanting to look anymore. A faded image filled her mind as she climbed the stairs to her room. Her mother’s picture, the only one she’d had, captured in a cheap fake-brass frame, had vanished in one of the many moves between foster homes.

Her mother’s image had faded in Lauren’s mind with time. The wispy memories were vague now. She wished the internet could find her mother, but Rachel Ramsey had vanished long before there was an internet to capture pictures, words, lives.

She’d made it halfway up the stairs when her phone vibrated in her pocket. Who was calling so late? Her heart hammered in her chest as she pulled up the screen.

Dylan Bishop. His words appeared and she froze. I’m in jail. Help me. An address she recognized as the courthouse flashed on a second message.

Her heart sank and she turned back around, hurrying down the stairs. What had happened? Her mind filled with images of the boy, in a cell, no one understanding his sign, no one bothering to realize he was deaf. She took a deep breath and texted for a cab.

Please, please hurry. She had to purposefully stop her fingers from moving in the flow of the words.

The bright yellow cab pulled up, and she hastily ran to greet it, leaving her quiet home and newfound images behind. She had no time for herself. Dylan and his sister, Tina, needed her. That was more important.

* * *

JASON STARED AT the computer screen. For once, he understood what all of his clients meant when they referred to legal gobbledygook. The pages on the screen looked like that to him right now.

His concentration was off. It had been for days, ever since visiting Lauren Ramsey. Foolishly, he’d believed that Haymaker had given him full disclosure. Standing there in the rain, he’d felt like an idiot as she’d tried to explain her situation using sign language.

Vague memories of having to learn the finger alphabet in something like fourth grade nagged at him. Fat lot of good that had done him. He couldn’t remember a damned thing.

In anticipation of her coming in to the office, he’d found a sign language interpreting service. Their number was on a sticky note on the frame of his monitor. He’d also gotten online and downloaded a copy of that long-forgotten alphabet.

He’d tried to make his fingers remember even simple letters. He had the skill level of a three-year-old, and for a lawyer who thought he had a fairly quick mind, who prided himself on his communication skills, that was very...daunting.

But she hadn’t come in, called or emailed. Nothing. He’d wrestled with the decision of whether to contact her again. He wouldn’t normally, but then he didn’t normally go to people’s homes, either. He’d done that at Pal’s request.

He stared at the folder on his desk. He’d give it to his assistant, Susan. Have her send a follow-up note to Lauren and call the Dallas firm for the rest of the info. Decision made, he forced himself to turn back to the computer and the briefs he needed to finish.

“I don’t understand you.” He heard Susan’s voice come from outside his office. “I still don’t understand you,” she said a bit louder this time. Her response was the closest thing he’d ever heard to a frustrated growl from her. What the heck?

He stepped to the office door and leaned out. Shocked, he stared at Lauren who stood in front of Susan’s desk, a tall, African American kid standing behind her. The boy’s anger practically singed the room, but he just stood there. Glaring.

Jason watched, enthralled once again as Lauren’s fingers and hands flew. He didn’t understand any of it. She was too agitated, too fast for his meager skills.

Susan’s voice broke through the haze of his mind as she practically yelled “I don’t understand you.” He had to save her and Lauren from this mess.

“Susan, it’s okay.” He put a hand on Susan’s shoulder and smiled at her. It wasn’t her fault. She just didn’t know sign language and didn’t have the skills to automatically recognize a hearing-impaired person. He hadn’t the first time he’d met Lauren, either. The yelling wasn’t appropriate, though.

“But, Mr. Hawkins, she doesn’t have an appointment,” Susan argued.

Jason looked over at Lauren and held up his hand, hoping she’d understand his makeshift sign for wait a minute. He didn’t want her to leave.

“I know,” he soothed Susan. “But I don’t have any appointments this afternoon. I’ll take this. Why don’t you head over to the coffee shop next door? I’ll buy.” He handed her a couple of bills and hustled her out of the office. She frowned, looking at the kid and Lauren as if she needed to protect Jason.

Once Susan was gone, he turned back to Lauren and the boy. He didn’t want Susan there for several reasons, the least of which was her yelling. He was reluctant to step out of his comfort zone and show anyone at the firm that he was trying to figure out sign language.

Facing Lauren, he very slowly forced his fingers to form the letters of her name. He didn’t know any full words, and his mind scrambled wondering how to communicate with her. He pointed at himself and formed the letters o-f-f-i-c-e. He didn’t know the sign for follow me, but he used the polite bow and wave toward his door.

He met her gaze and saw her eyes widen. Her face was so incredibly expressive. Surprise and pleasure bloomed over her features. He was so damned pleased with himself, he had to shake himself out of it. She made a sign in response that could have been anything from thank you to go to hell, for all he knew. She turned to the boy and pointed him toward the office. Jason breathed a deep sigh of relief.

Her fingers said so many things Jason couldn’t understand, and Jason quickly realized the boy was deaf as well.

Lauren frowned and grimaced, then changed her features so quickly. He saw now that her features were a part of the signing. Like a bell going off in his mind, some things became very clear. What he was seeing now weren’t her emotions. Her body language was a part of her signing—her communication. She was talking with everything she had to the boy. She extended her arm and pointed again to the office. The frown she gave the boy reflected her displeasure with him.

Jason kept staring at her, fascinated. His heart picked up pace. Maybe he could learn how to do this.

He wasn’t stupid enough to think it would be easy, or quick. He had to get through this meeting, and he couldn’t conduct it all spelling out each word. Billing by the hour, he’d be the most expensive lawyer in history. He’d also drive himself nuts.

He knew from his initial call to the interpreter that they needed a minimum of an hour’s notice. So what the heck was he going to do? He started hunting for a legal pad.

The computer he’d been so frustrated with earlier seemed to glow as it sat there. He smiled. Then, hurrying behind the desk, he waved Lauren and the boy into the two chairs facing him.

Jason didn’t have to know sign to read this kid. He did not want to sit or even be here, but for some reason, Lauren had dragged him down here.

Jason cleared the screen and pulled up a blank word processing document. He turned the monitor toward them and typed his first question. Hello, Lauren. What can I do for you today? God, it sounded so formal, but he wasn’t good on the fly. He was better if he could analyze every word a zillion times.

Lauren looked at the boy and after he nodded, she reached for the keyboard. She typed, This is Dylan. He needs a lawyer or he’s going back to jail. Can you help us?

Whoa. That came out of left field. Jason took the keyboard back. Hello, Dylan. Nice to meet you. I don’t think I can help. I’m not that kind of lawyer.

She read and frowned. We don’t know any other lawyers. Please?

The look on her face, thick with pleading was his downfall.

I can try. That’s all I can promise. Tell me what happened. Maybe if he got the info, he could point them in the right direction.

Did he really want to get involved? When Jason looked at Lauren, the worry on her face answered him. There was no turning back.

She didn’t take the keyboard this time, but pushed it toward the boy and crossed her arms. Waiting. Glaring. The boy glared back. Lauren uncrossed her arms and started to sign. Jason caught only a letter here and there. But he read her emotions.

Anger. Pain. Worry.

The boy was nearly as stubborn. He didn’t move. Until she slowly shook her head and spelled a word. Jason stared, concentrating on her fingers, catching only a few letters.

But whatever she’d said, it got through to the boy. His face fell and he reached for the keyboard. Reluctantly he started typing.

Jason leaned back in his chair, waiting, watching both the boy and Lauren.

There was no self-satisfied smirk on her face, but the look in her eyes was a whole different matter. She was good. She’d played the kid—and him—well.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_2a2d9fa1-fde1-5820-9f48-d64910075a92)

THE BOY KEPT typing and Jason sat back and let him. Even if Dylan was spewing anger, it would give Jason a sense of the situation.

It also gave Jason the opportunity to take a minute to study Lauren.

Now that he’d gotten over that initial shock of not being able to communicate with her, Jason was even more impressed and intrigued by her.

He didn’t stare openly at her—he did it out of the corner of his eye. The ballerina he’d seen on that stage wasn’t here today. And though the woman before him was equally as beautiful, she wasn’t as intimidating and awe-inspiring. More human. Approachable.

Lauren had her hair pulled back into a high, flowing ponytail. The style accentuated her smooth features and the long curve of her neck. She was sitting back as well, waiting and watching the boy.

Finally, Dylan leaned back, pushing the monitor just enough to turn it toward Lauren, not Jason—sending quite the attitudinal message.

When Lauren went to turn the monitor toward Jason, he shook his head and stood, walking around the desk to stand behind her so they could read it together.

The boy had typed more than Jason had expected. Several paragraphs filled the screen. After moving the mouse over to where she could reach it and indicating she should take control, Jason started to read.

There was no opening. All the sentences were direct. Short. He’d followed someone named Tina. Jason pointed at the name and frowned. He wished he knew the sign to ask a question.

“Who?” he asked in reflex.

Lauren, who had been looking at him, moved her lips into a very pretty near pucker, a silent imitation of the actual word. She drew the shape of a question mark in the air with a long slender finger.

“My sister,” Dylan said in very halted speech. His words surprised Jason. He’d assumed he didn’t speak either, like Lauren. He wondered why he hadn’t spoken earlier. Jason noticed Dylan’s hands moved in unison with his words, as if the two were tied together.

Fascinated, Jason tore his gaze back to the screen. Lauren turned as well. The autocorrect had made several words not make sense. Jason leaned closer, hoping to decipher them without having to ask.

Something sweet and soft wafted around him. The scent of Lauren’s shampoo or perfume. He liked it. Liked it a lot. He had to shake his head in order to clear it and concentrate on the information.

Tina had snuck out of the house, despite their foster parents’ warnings that they’d consider moving her if she did that again. Dylan had followed her, hoping to get her back home before they found out.

Unfortunately, she didn’t want to go back, and was hoping to get kicked out. Dylan wasn’t sure they’d end up together if that happened. She’d said she didn’t care and that had made him angry. He’d grabbed her and tried to drag her home.

Unfortunately, a tall male dragging a kicking and screaming young girl down the street was a bit obvious. The cops had hauled them both in, not sure what was happening.

Jason pointed at Tina’s name again. “How old is Tina?” he asked Lauren, who watched his lips closely, as he spoke. She nodded, but didn’t immediately look away. And when she did, her gaze met his, holding for an instant. An instant that shot heat through him. He swallowed and tried to focus on the boy.

“Two years younger than me. Thirteen,” Dylan answered in sign and speech.

Lauren’s hands moved quickly, making the boy laugh. “Lauren says, going on thirty.”

“Ah.” Jason got the gist. A young, probably just blossoming, pretty girl if she had the same smooth features as her brother, wanting to taste freedom. Wanting out of a foster home.

Jason had read the whole report and still had several questions. He reached for the keyboard, and typed. “Where are your parents?” He hated asking, but it was part of the whole equation.

“Mom’s dead.” The boy’s eyes shone for an instant, but he quickly recovered as if he’d learned to shut it off fast. “Dad’s got another five years. Armed robbery.”

Lovely. Jason wondered which had happened first. Another whiff of perfume made him glance over at Lauren. What she was thinking? He was usually good at reading people, but she was tough. Partially because there was a bit of playacting in her signing, an emphasis for the words’ sake. Right now, she was frowning. And since her hands weren’t moving, he was pretty sure that was her true displeasure.

“How do you know Lauren?” he typed.

“She’s my teacher.”

“Teacher?” After pulling back, he looked back and forth from Dylan to Lauren. “Ballet?”

Dylan nodded, and his face, which was much easier to read, glowed with defensiveness. Jason understood that. The kid had probably had to defend himself many times, to many people.

“Is he any good?” He pointed at Lauren after the words appeared on the screen. “Like you?”

She fought the smile, but not before he saw it. She nodded and signed something. Dylan grinned. “She says I’m better.”

Whether that was true or not, Jason couldn’t miss the fondness in her eyes and the pride she let shine on the boy.

Lauren signed as Dylan nodded. “She wants to know if you’re a patron of ballet. Have you seen her perform?”

“Once.” Jason’s gaze met hers and the wonder of that night returned. Time stretched out.

Needing a bit of distance from Lauren and the feeling she stirred, Jason paced around his desk and went to the windows to stare out at the hustle and bustle of the city far below. What the hell must it be like to live in foster care in LA?

He’d lost his father when he was young, but he’d had his mother, and older siblings who were definitely stand-in parents.

He couldn’t imagine being practically alone in the world as a kid. In the reflection in the window, he saw Lauren and Dylan signing back and forth. For a second he felt excluded, which made him wince. He wondered how many times they’d felt like that on a day-to-day basis.

“Okay.” He faced Lauren so she could read his words. Watching closely, he hoped he could tell if she understood. “I don’t do criminal law.” When she frowned, he lifted a hand. “I have colleagues here who do. Let me do some research.” He pulled out a card and grabbed a pen. He wrote on the back. Bring your foster parents with you. Come back and I’ll help. He added his signature so they’d know it was legit.

He handed the card to the boy, which brought a smile to his young face. He nodded and made a gesture cupping his hand from his jaw to his chest. “Thank you,” he said in accompaniment.

Then Jason faced Lauren. She was making the same gesture and smiling at Dylan. She signed quickly and Dylan answered, then faced Jason again. “She thinks my foster parents will be glad.”

Jason lifted his hand and, for one last question, he used his rough finger spelling. “Tina?” He made the question mark in the air as he’d seen Lauren do earlier.

The boy’s face fell. “She’s mad at me. But she came home. Should she come?”

Jason slowly nodded, a look of what he hoped was resoluteness on his face. Lauren signed. “We’ll try,” Dylan said.

That’s all he could ask. As they stood and turned to leave, Jason took a step and reached out to touch Lauren’s arm. She looked back with a questioning frown. Jason tapped her file on the desk and held it up. “We need to discuss your inheritance.”

She stared at the file. She put her hands together, then moved one forward in front of the other an inch or two.

“She says later,” Dylan explained.

Lauren’s hands moved quickly again, and Jason’s frustration returned.

“What?” Jason asked.

Dylan’s movements in sign were fluid, perfectly in sync with his words. “She says if you keep me out of jail, she’ll consider it.”

That was it? Even he could read the message in her body language—she wasn’t asking him. She was telling.

Reluctantly, Jason nodded and tried to imitate her gesture for later, then slowly created O-K. He must have been close, because she smiled and the boy laughed.

Jason walked with them to the elevator, feeling strange not speaking the normal, polite conversation his mother had beat into his thick skull, but they seemed comfortable.

The metal doors whooshed open to reveal a startled Susan, a cup of coffee in one hand and cardboard cup holder with three paper cups nestled tightly in the other. “Oh.” She stared at them.

“For us?” Dylan asked, his eyes bright.

“Hot chocolate for you, young man,” Susan said, not bothering to notice they couldn’t hear her. She pulled one cup out, skillfully not spilling anything, and handed it to the boy. She turned to Lauren with a frightened look on her face, as if she knew she’d screwed up earlier, but didn’t know how to not do it again. With a tentative smile, she offered the coffees.

Not to be outdone, Lauren peered at the cups and chose one, making that same scooping gesture Jason now knew meant “thank you.” She took a sip of the sweet drink, and Jason found his gaze glued to her slim throat as she swallowed.

Susan cleared her throat.

“Uh, yes. Thanks, Susan,” Jason said.

Lauren and Dylan stepped into the elevator and waved as the doors closed. Jason fought the urge to jump in behind them.

He didn’t say a word, simply grabbed the last coffee and headed back to his desk. He did not want to know what Susan was thinking.

“New client?” She sipped her own drink as she stood in the doorway.

“Uh, sort of. She’s not new. The boy is.”

“Uh, what kind of business does he own?”

Jason looked up at her, not appreciating the speculation sparking in the woman’s eyes. “It’s a different type of case.”

“Really?”

He wasn’t explaining himself, certainly not until he understood what the hell he’d gotten himself into. “Check out sign language classes for me, would you?”

She actually looked surprised. He glared at her, not liking what was most likely going through her head, though it was probably fairly accurate.

“And sign us both up.” Jason sat down at his desk and rearranged the computer setup, trying and failing to put his world back to the way it had been before Lauren Ramsey had walked in.

* * *

THE ELEVATOR’S MOVEMENT was smooth, and, before Lauren knew it, they were down on the main floor in the shiny marble and chrome lobby. Dozens of people passed, coming and going. The revolving door never stopped.

Outside, the day was warm, the sky clear. She sipped her coffee, walking with Dylan toward the bus stop.

There was something different about that man, Jason Hawkins. Lauren couldn’t quite put her finger on it, and the fact that she couldn’t peg it, bothered her.

Growing up as she had, in foster care, in rough neighborhoods early on, she’d had to learn to read people. Even once she’d gone to live with Maxine, she’d maintained and honed that skill.

The rich were no less predatory than the poor. They just looked prettier doing it.

But Jason Hawkins wasn’t like anyone she’d ever met before.

His office was high-end, chrome and glass, with polish written all over it. But back on the credenza, she’d spied a photo frame of over a half dozen people, all smiling, looking like family. His family.

Between the frame and his law school diploma had sat a belt buckle. One of those big, shiny Western ones.

She’d wondered if it was his, or someone else’s. And what was it for? It had caught her eye, and her curiosity.

She’d had the “joy” of meeting an endless stream of lawyers, judges and social workers in her childhood. Maybe as a kid she’d had a skewed view. But the few lawyers she’d come across as an adult hadn’t changed her harsh impressions.

Until today.

Jason had paid attention to both her and Dylan. The fact that he’d figured out how to communicate effectively with them both surprised and pleased her. Everyone else used an interpreter or dismissed her.

He’d made her feel like she was just like everyone else.

She stopped, and Dylan, who’d been following her, nearly ran into her.

“What’s up?” he asked, trying to ask and balance his drink.

She shook her head, not really able to explain. She glanced back at the building they’d just left and frowned.

Dylan tapped her arm and pointed to the street. The bus was coming. They had to hurry the last block or wait another hour for the next one. Dylan broke into a run and while she didn’t join him, she did hasten her steps, as much to get away from her own confusing thoughts as to catch the bus.

* * *

AFTER LAUREN AND Dylan left, Jason stood at the windows behind his desk, staring at the street below. He shouldn’t be able to make out individuals from up here, but he saw Lauren clearly. Her copper-gold hair bounced in the sun as she hurried behind Dylan toward the bus stop.

Jason frowned. Why was she riding the bus? One of the world’s prima ballerinas who surely rode in limos and private jets on a regular basis, was catching the bus in downtown Los Angeles?

He watched until she disappeared inside the bus, and then continued to watch until the bus turned around the corner and vanished between the next street’s skyscrapers. Shaking his head, he turned back to his desk. He had work to do.

“I’m heading home, boss.” Susan spoke from the doorway and Jason looked up to see her standing there, her purse over her shoulder, jacket over her arm and a scowl on her face. He really wished she’d smile more.

“See you tomorrow.” He lifted a hand and pretended he was focusing on the screen.

“You can’t fool me,” she said. “You’re signed up for the sign language classes, by the way. They start on Thursday. 7:00 p.m. At the Y.” She spun around, and he listened as the even tone of her heels echoed through the empty office.

“You’ll be there, too, right?” he called after her.

“Yes,” was her begrudging reply. “I had both registrations put on your credit card.”

He heard the elevator’s ding and the whoosh of the doors. Maybe when she stepped off the elevator she’d be in a better mood, maybe when she got home, she wouldn’t be so grumpy.

The ringing of the phone a few minutes later startled him out of his thoughts. “Hello.”

“Hey, little brother.” Wyatt’s voice boomed through the line, as if he were in the next room instead of Texas.

“Hey, yourself. Is everything okay?”

“Why does something have to be wrong for me to call you?”

“Because that’s the only time you call.” Despite the ribbing, he knew Wyatt would be grinning on the other end of the line.

“Yeah, well. I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s dangerous.”

“Funny. I was thinking about your offer. Emily and I’ve been talking. We think we’ll take you up on it.”

“Offer?” He racked his brain. What offer? Oh, yeah. “To come visit?”

“Don’t sound so shocked.” Wyatt’s laughter sounded good, comforting. “And don’t worry, we aren’t going to crash at your place. This is technically our honeymoon, you know.”

Jason wasn’t touching that one. “Yeah? So when are you planning on coming?”

“In a couple of weeks. Emily’s got to clear her docket, and we’re moving the last herd upstream. After that, we should be able to manage.”

“How long you planning to stay?”

“Remember what Mom used to say?”

“No.” Wyatt, being the eldest child, had had more time with Mom, more chances to learn about her.

“When they start asking how long you’re staying, it’s time to leave.” Wyatt’s laugh came again. “Four, five days at most.”

Jason found himself nodding, looking forward to time with his brother and new sister-in-law—to picking Emily’s brain about family law and the situation with Pal’s will and Lauren.

None of his family had come out to LA to see him. Not in the two years he’d been here.

Partially because Jason had made plenty of trips home. When DJ was hurt, then again when he was planning to take off to find Tammie. More recently when his sister Mandy had baby Lucas, and again for DJ and Tammie’s wedding. He hadn’t really been away from them long enough to miss them—and vice versa.

So, why did LA feel so empty and lonely sometimes?

“Sounds great.” Jason smiled at his own reflection in the window. “Let me know when you finalize your plans.”

“Will do.”

The office seemed too silent after he hung up. As always, Jason had tons of work to do, but none of it appealed to him right now. Except for the research he still had to do. Opening the browser, he punched in names and pulled up facts and faces. Lauren’s publicity photo stared at him from an old news story about a dance studio opening.

Studio? He followed the link and leaned back in his chair as he scrolled through the beautiful, professional photos of her dance studio. The obviously posed photos of dancers sold the value of the place, touted her skill as a dancer and teacher. One face was predominant among the models. A tall, young man.

Dylan.

Jason smiled. Looked like he had a field trip ahead of him. He reminded himself this was research. Research for the case.

Just research.


CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_bcd89d3d-b097-55b1-a3fe-dc23072ce2fd)

MAXINE DIDN’T OFTEN come to Lauren’s studio. Lauren’s pride and joy was in a part of town her foster mother disapproved of. But Maxine knew why Lauren had built it here, in this once beautiful, iconic theatre that now sat on the fringes of one of the poorest neighborhoods in Los Angeles.

“It’s the only way to reach them,” she’d told Maxine. “Them” being kids like Dylan and Tina—kids on the streets with talent that might otherwise go undiscovered and lost.

Much like Lauren would have been had Maxine not taken her in.

After hitting the play button on the state-of-the-art sound system, Lauren returned to her position in front of center stage. Maxine stood right beside her as Lauren lifted her arms to signal the beginning. Dylan appeared in center stage, a bright light washing over him.

The last two weeks of relentless practice had been worth it. Dylan did every single move Lauren asked of him, perfectly. She couldn’t have been more proud. But the frown on Maxine’s face made her breath catch. Lauren always struggled to read her when they were in the studio.

At home, in public, even backstage before a performance, Maxine was an open book. But here, like this—nothing.

Lauren finally couldn’t stand it, her fingers flying to ask the question. “What do you think?”

Maxine paced, her eyes intense, her posture perfect. “Good,” she spoke, absently signing at the same time. “Very good.” She turned to Lauren so she didn’t have to sign and Lauren could read her lips. “Maybe too good.”

“No.” Lauren knew a dodge when she saw one. This whole audition, her hopes of getting Maxine to take on Dylan, was as much about Maxine as it was the boy.

Maxine was retired from the stage, and more recently from teaching. She spent her days alone, with only her butler as company. The garden had never looked better—Maxine’s other passion besides ballet.

At seventy-two Maxine was slowing down, and Lauren was worried.

Lauren wasn’t ready to lose even one drop of time with the only person who’d cared about her after her mother’s death. Maxine needed to stay active and involved.

Dylan was part of that plan. The fact that he could benefit from Maxine’s guidance was just as important. Done with the routine, he grabbed a towel from his gym bag and joined them, the towel hooked around his shoulders.

“How’d I do?” he asked Lauren.

She pointed to Maxine. “Ask her.”

He turned hopeful eyes to the older woman, and Lauren cringed when she saw his expression fall.

“You really want to dance ballet?” The older woman signed as she pinned Dylan with that laser-beam stare. That gave Lauren hope. Maxine was interested.

“Yes, ma’am, I do.” His earnest desire covered his features.

Maxine walked slowly around him, looking him up and down. Assessing. “You know how hard it is?” The drama of her sign only added to the question. Her well-manicured fingers pointed at him, pointed right in his face.

Dylan nodded.

“You realize the ribbings you’ll take? Boys your age don’t do ballet—they—” She paused a moment to get her elderly fingers to spell the word. “R-A-P.”

“That’s a stereotype. Ma’am.” Dylan jutted his chin up defiantly and Lauren held her breath. She kept her thoughts to herself. If Dylan and Maxine were going to work together, they had to iron out the particulars on their own. The shadow of a smile in Maxine’s eyes was a good sign.

“You like girls or boys?” she asked, pushing another taboo button. Lauren wanted to crawl under the wood floor.

Dylan didn’t flinch. “As friends, both.” His fingers were harsh as they hit together in the signs. “Not gay, if that’s your question. But so what if I was? It’s not your business.” His finger point to her was nearly as accusing as hers had been.

Maxine laughed, her smile broad. “Oh, yes. He’ll do.” She looked at Lauren. She returned to sign. “Well done, my dear.” She nodded at them both as she turned toward the chair in the corner.

Once she’d settled, she looked at Dylan again. “Get some rest.” The sign of her laying her head on her hands looked almost too soft with her intense stare. “We—” Her jewelry sparkled as her hand moved back and forth between them. “We are going to work hard. Starting tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Dylan looked surprised, but he held back the excitement.

Maxine nodded. “Be here.” She pointed at the floor. “Four.” She signed the number. “Right after school.”

Dylan glanced at Lauren, his brow furrowed in question. “Attorney?”

“At two.” She held up her fingers to match. “You’ll be done in time.”

“Four.” Dylan made the same gesture as Maxine had and smiled.

The older woman nodded, then waved him away. “Go. Change. Rest.”

Now it was Lauren’s turn to face the inquisition. She waved at Dylan just before he disappeared through the door.

Maxine barely let her sit down. “What attorney?”

There was no sense lying. Lauren had to tell her, and now. If she found out later, there would be hell to pay, and Dylan would be the one paying. “He has a sister—”

“Is she deaf?”

Lauren watched Maxine make the familiar sign, and for an instant, it flashed through her mind that it was an odd one. Deaf, and yet she pointed at her ear and then her mouth. “No.” Lauren shook her head. “She hears.” Her own gesture, a spiral from the lips seemed just as odd. Backward almost.

“She dance?”

Lauren shook her head. Tina had refused all offers of classes, though Dylan had said she’d been keen on it until she was about six, which would have been about the time their father had gone to prison.

“Attorney?” Maxine prompted.

She explained the situation to Maxine, and the older woman rolled her eyes. “Youth.” She shook her head as her hand bounced in the air at the height of a child’s head. “I don’t tolerate troublemakers.”

Lauren remembered learning that lesson the hard way. The one and only time she’d rebelled against Maxine’s authority had been her junior year in high school. And as punishment, Maxine had taken the lead in The Nutcracker away from her.

Maxine taught her that you don’t just work to earn something—you continue working to keep it. They both lived by that rule.

After a short pause, Maxine leaned forward and met Lauren’s gaze. “The police didn’t know he was deaf, did they?” Maxine knew all of Lauren’s fears.

Lauren slowly shook her head. The fear of being misunderstood and mistaken for insane, or drunk or high had haunted Lauren since childhood. She shuddered.

“Who is the attorney? Did you call Wakefield?” Maxine’s attorney was as much friend as lawyer, but he was retired now. To be honest, there’d only been one attorney who had come to mind when she’d needed one.

Jason Hawkins. She forced herself not to smile. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

“Ah.” Maxine’s eyebrow rose and she laid a hand on Lauren’s arm. “Someone else.” Keen interest shone on Maxine’s face.

Another eyebrow lifted. Lauren was surprised Maxine didn’t ask any more questions. Maxine surprised her even more by pulling her hand back and preparing to leave.

They were at the front door before Maxine said anything else. Hudson was at the curb, standing in the awful LA heat in that ugly black uniform. He’d already opened the back door of the Cadillac.

Maxine stopped and met Lauren’s gaze. She didn’t sign. “You know I love you as if you were my own.”

Lauren nodded.

“If you ever, ever need anything, you know you can always come to me.”

Lauren’s eyes misted. “I know.” She pointed at her heart, then her forehead, slowly, making the first part longer than the second, to emphasize the strong love that beat in her chest for this woman.

Did Maxine actually think she wouldn’t turn to her if she needed her? Her last, and best, foster mother had been there so many times, Lauren had lost count.

Maybe she should have called Wakefield... No. She’d have only been doing it to please Maxine, which would have given her the opportunity to interfere.

Jason was the best choice. She didn’t stop to analyze why she’d come to that conclusion.

On impulse, Lauren hugged Maxine hoping that somehow that told the woman how much she meant to her.

* * *

THE CLASSROOM IN the basement of The Y had to be fifty years old. Long tables were set up classroom style. Susan was already there, still wearing her business suit and pumps. He’d have to tell her that while this was technically on the clock, she could dress down.

Several other people were also present. An older man, two teens and a young woman who stared at her phone. A middle-aged woman was at the front of the class, pulling books and papers out of a satchel.

Old habits died hard, and Jason snagged a chair in the back. He’d just settled when the teacher turned around and counted heads. Then she turned to the old-fashioned chalk board and wrote Anne Sidel on it. She pulled out a notebook and faced them.

“That’s me,” she said, a slight accent to her words. He frowned, finally noticing the hearing aids nestled in her ears. “I’m your teacher for this class. Let’s take care of a little business before we get started.”

From the list in her hand, she read names, waiting for a raised hand instead of the spoken responses. He felt like he was back in fourth grade but abided by her rules. He lifted his hand and spoke. She nodded and check marked on the page.

“Okay, let’s discuss how I’ll conduct this class.” She walked around and sat against the front of her desk. “Tonight is free. We talk. I’ll answer your questions and we’ll go over a few things. After tonight, the class is silent. No speaking.”

She waited for that bit of information to sink in, looking around and meeting every eye with a solid stare. Everyone nodded to her unspoken query. “Questions?”

The girl with the phone tentatively lifted her hand. “No talking. At all?”

“Nope. None.”

“But what if we don’t understand?”

“Finger spell. You’ll have this week to practice.”

“But what if I have to leave unexpectedly?”

“Again, we’ll sign to each other.”

“What if there’s an emergency? Like there’s a fire or something?”

The teacher struggled not to laugh, and Jason realized he liked her.

“You can tell us that. But let me ask you—does the deaf person you’re learning to sign for have that luxury?” The girl stared. “This is the sign for fire.” Anne raised her hands, waving her fingers.

The girl mimicked her. “Oh!” She grinned. “I’m signing.”

Anne turned away briefly, hiding her smile. “I have information and a book for each of you. By next week, practice the alphabet. Here.” She passed the packets to each of them. Jason smiled. He already knew the alphabet. Well, part of it anyway. He just wasn’t very good at it. Yet.

They talked, asking questions, and Anne showed them each the formation of the letters. He could do this.

After class Susan caught up with him. The speculative glint in her eyes was not good. “So, now are you going to explain to me who that woman in the office was?”

He wasn’t escaping. “The Haymaker case? You filed it. That’s the daughter.”

“That’s the daughter?” She stared. “Why didn’t you give her the paperwork?”

He signed. “She doesn’t want it.” He headed toward the parking lot.

“She doesn’t have a choice, does she?”

That’s what Jason needed to figure out.

* * *

THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Lauren and Dylan were ushered into a conference room at Jason’s office by the young woman who’d sat at the front desk. Dylan was obviously excited about his training later that day with Maxine, but Lauren could see the fatigue around his eyes. Had he slept at all last night? Was it anticipation, or chasing after Tina, again?

She almost asked him as they were led into the chrome-and-glass conference room, but held back when she saw a woman was already there. The middle-aged woman smiled at them as she introduced herself in sign. Anne Sidel. She was an interpreter and would help with the meeting.

Part of Lauren was disappointed that yet another person would be there to hear Dylan’s story. But she also felt relieved that Jason considered it important enough to get it right. Even though Dylan could speak, his interpreting for her, and trying to get the details right, could be too much. And this was too important.

Jason came in just then, a smile for them both as he held the door for someone behind him. His secretary, Susan, who’d brought the coffee on their first visit, led Will and Rhonda Hancock inside. They were Dylan’s foster parents. Blue-collar and middle class, they were a harried couple. Lauren liked them, but hadn’t quite figured out where Tina and Dylan fit in their busy lives. Both adults worked full-time jobs, often more than forty hours a week.

Where did their own three kids even fit in?

Tina shuffled along behind them. Lauren frowned. The young girl with her tight ponytails and demure white sweater was not the budding young woman Dylan had described in his story. In fact, Lauren had never seen her look like this before.

Lauren looked over at Jason with a puzzled frown. What were they trying to pull? Why the masquerade?

Before she could say anything, another woman came in. Lauren stared. She was everything Lauren was not. Tall, curvy and a brunette.

She wore a fashionable, close-cut business suit that conveyed a whole lot more than business. With her long legs and a cap of thick sable hair, she was a commanding presence.

Jason greeted her warmly, holding her arm after they’d greeted each other with a business handshake. He guided her around to face them.

Chloe Devries introduced herself, speaking clearly, but not slowly or demeaningly. Anne provided the sign introduction.

Lauren had to look away to see the interpreter’s hands, but Chloe’s image was burned in her mind. Lauren was often around beautiful women in the ballet, but this one wasn’t just beautiful—she was smart, too. Lauren fought the sense of inadequacy trying to settle over her.

Chloe was a partner in the firm. Her name was actually stenciled in gold on the massive glass doors. Lauren remembered seeing it the first time they’d come here. She was going to help Jason with this case?

Chloe stepped toward Lauren, causing Lauren to have to tilt her head back. She didn’t often feel small. Petite yes, but this was different. The woman exuded intimidation.

“I’ve seen you perform. Magnificent. It’s such a joy to meet you.” Chloe smiled warmly as she shook Lauren’s hand and Lauren relaxed a little.

“Thank you,” she signed, hoping to diminish her celebrity status. This was about Dylan.

“Your work with underprivileged kids is almost as lovely.”

Lauren blushed, not wanting that part of her life to be so public. That wasn’t why she did it. It didn’t help that Jason tilted his head in question, curious now.

Anne interpreted, but Lauren chose to focus on Chloe’s face. She caught most of her words, and while she could tell the woman wasn’t being fully open, something she doubted Chloe ever was, she was glad to have Chloe on their side.

Lauren took her seat and everyone settled around the massive glass table. Chloe took control at one end. Lauren and Dylan sat across from the interpreter, and the Hancocks sat at the other end, Tina close at Rhonda’s elbow.

Jason settled next to Lauren. Though she’d caught a strong whiff of floral perfume when Chloe had walked in, Lauren was surprised when the subtle cologne Jason wore cut through it. Strong. Sharp.

Forcing herself to mentally step back, she focused instead on the rest of the room.

Both Jason and Chloe had legal pads in front of them. Lauren wished she’d thought to bring paper to make notes. It always helped her focus and remember questions she wanted to ask later. It also gave her the ability to communicate independently, if need be.

The question about Tina’s appearance came to mind and she signed to ask to borrow some paper and a pen. Jason quickly complied, tearing off a couple of sheets and sliding them and a pen across the table to her.

She reached for it, her hand brushing his. She froze as the sensation of his skin touching hers seeped over her nerves. Warm. Solid. Her gaze couldn’t move away any more than her hand could. His hands were big, and for an attorney, oddly scarred. Not damaged—just showing evidence of use beyond shuffling paperwork.

Looking up, she met his gaze, and for a long minute held it. His eyes were green, with flecks of brown scattered in the iris. A pretty combination, though she doubted he’d appreciate the compliment.

“Let’s get started.” The interpreter sat forward as Chloe’s lips moved.

Dylan was just as focused as Lauren on the interpreter. Lauren answered in sign, with Anne speaking her responses as Chloe asked for introductions. Anne explained how Lauren was Dylan’s ballet teacher, a good friend, and that he’d contacted her when he’d first gotten into trouble, knowing she’d understand the challenge of his deafness in the legal system.

Dylan spoke for himself, signing at the same time and confirming his wish to have Lauren present.

Body language was a part of sign language. Frowns for negative or intense words. Smiles for happy inviting words. Head tilts also had meaning. But with an interpreter, it was an artificial emotion.

Lauren found it too easy to lose the meaning of the speaker without the correct body language. She tried to glance at the others as they spoke, to read them, but then she missed words. Her frustration grew.

Dylan told his story, which thankfully she already knew. When he talked, he faced Lauren and signed to her so she could see his face and body as he spoke. The others could hear him.

When it was her turn, Tina made no attempt to sign at all, though she was fluent in ASL, having grown up with Dylan. Lauren could tell it disappointed Dylan, and she lifted a hand to ask her why she didn’t.

“I’m not deaf.” Tina lifted her chin.

Ah, there’s the girl we all know and love.

“I don’t have to,” she spat out the words.

“It makes it easier for Dylan,” Lauren signed and saw Anne’s lips move to repeat.

Tina shrugged and continued to talk without sign. Luckily, Lauren knew Tina, so reading her lips was easier. Dylan’s disappointment took up space in the room, and he chose to watch the interpreter instead of reading his sister’s lips.

Lauren put a hand on Dylan’s arm beneath the table. He nodded, nearly imperceptibly, thanking her before moving his arm away.

* * *

TINA WAS A BRAT. Jason watched the inhabitants of the room as she talked. He saw Lauren’s indecision as her gaze flitted from the interpreter, then to the girl and finally to Dylan. The foster parents kept sharing glances of approval, then a flash of fear at Tina’s defiance.

“I don’t know why Dylan came and got me that night.” Tina met Chloe’s gaze with a glare. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Chloe didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve already heard his story. Let’s try this again.” She pulled out a copy of the police report.

Jason watched her closely. This female shark in the beautiful suit homed in on the girl’s attitude. He admired Chloe’s skill, but she scared the crap out of him.

“Tell me where you were when Dylan showed up.”

“At the park.”

“Who were you with?”

“My friends.”

“Which friends?”

This was like pulling teeth. Jason wanted to push Tina on her behavior, but he held his tongue, waiting for Chloe’s next move. This was her case now, and she knew how to handle it.

“Just friends.”

“Can you give us their names?”

The girl just glared.

“Okay. No problem.” Chloe wrote on the notepad in front of her for a long minute. “We’ll just have the court locate them.” She met Tina’s stare. “I’d probably be prepared if I were you.”

“What for?”

“The backlash when your friends are picked up in a squad car at their homes. Their names are in this report. I’m simply confirming them. I’m not sure they’ll be thrilled at having you for a friend after this.”

Scare tactics worked great on kids. Jason remembered his mother being quite adept at wielding that particular tool. He almost laughed as Tina started naming names and Chloe checked them off the list. But she only gave the girls’ names.

“And the boys?” Chloe sat with pen poised over the list.

“Boys?” Rhonda Hancock gasped.

Tina swallowed. She reluctantly gave the boys’ names, too. They’d get a statement from each one of them. Hopefully they would confirm Dylan’s version of the truth.

Now that the battle was nearly over, Jason turned his attention to Lauren. She was tense, her shoulders tight.

He’d scooted over next to her after handing her the paper. This way he was directly across from Anne, hoping to learn more about reading sign, as well as see things from Lauren’s view.

It was nuts trying to focus on the woman’s hands and the person talking. At least he could hear the words. What the hell did Lauren do?

He tried and finally gave up. He’d need to learn a lot more sign. He’d missed half the conversation.

An hour later, they wound things up. Anne breathed a sigh as she flexed her fingers in an absent-minded exercise.

“Thank you,” he said to her and smiled.

“You’re welcome.” She continued to sign, though he couldn’t tell if it was to be polite to Dylan and Lauren, or habit. She and Lauren headed to the door, their hands engaged in what he assumed was the small talk that Jason normally exchanged as he escorted clients out. It was strange to watch, and not participate.

The room quickly cleared. The Hancocks ushered both Dylan and Tina out, as if they couldn’t leave fast enough. Jason’s radar went up. Something wasn’t right there, but he couldn’t tell if it was just their unhappiness with the trouble both kids were in, or if there was something deeper. He’d talk to Chloe about it later.

Or maybe he should ask Lauren now. Hastily, he moved to catch the women before they climbed into the elevator.

“Lauren.” He called her name as he slowly spelled it. Anne tapped her on the shoulder and pointed at him. Lauren turned around. Her hair swung against her shoulders, and the smile that brightened her face was stronger than anyone else’s. He didn’t understand, but let himself enjoy it.

“Can I ask you a few questions?”

Lauren nodded.

“Do you want me to stay?” Anne asked him, signing for Lauren.

“No.” Jason waved her offer away. “If Lauren will come to my office, we can use the computer. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

Lauren nodded, obviously remembering how they’d communicated before. Then she signed to Dylan, “Meet you at the studio.” The boy left with a thumbs-up sign.

“She says that’s fine. She doesn’t have to be back at the studio just yet.”

The elevator arrived, and Anne disappeared inside. Jason extended his hand to indicate Lauren precede him. She’d been to his office before, so he didn’t have to lead the way.

Once she sat down, Jason hesitated in the doorway. He always closed the office door for a meeting, but the room suddenly felt small, close...intimate. Slowly, he shut the door.

Shaking his head, Jason gathered his thoughts and settled beside her. He turned the monitor, pulled the keyboard forward then typed a simple question. How well do you know the Hancock family?

Lauren sat for a minute, a frown between her eyes. She began typing. They’ve been Dylan’s foster family for about six months. I didn’t know them before that.

He sat back and thought before typing. Do you think the kids are in a good place?

She didn’t immediately respond. He liked that she gave it some thought. I think so. She hesitated in between typing. They live very busy lives. Tina is a handful.

He laughed. “I got that,” he said aloud. Then went to type it.

She touched his arm and smiled. She typed, I read your lips.

“Can you do that?” He faced her. Of course, she could read lips. He should at least try to make it easier for her.

With her hand, she made the nodding gesture, then typed. Yes, if you face me, it’s easier. Once I get to know you and your speech patterns better, I’m pretty good at understanding.

He nodded. “I am still lousy at understanding you,” he admitted.

She smiled. Keep practicing. She typed it, then made the sign, rubbing her fist back and forth along the side of her index finger on her flattened hand.

Jason copied her gesture. “That means practice, right?”

She nodded, and for the first time, he realized he understood her. Without writing it down on paper or typing it or having someone else interpret. He understood her. It was a beginning.

Their eyes met. And held. So much was going on behind those pretty eyes, in her bright mind. Suddenly, he wanted to ask her a million questions and get to know the woman sitting beside him.

He turned back to the screen. Typing was still easier for them both. I got some strange vibes where Tina was concerned. Is she normally that reserved and quiet?

Lauren barely paused. No. She rummaged around in her purse for her phone, sliding her fingers quickly over the screen. Finally, she turned the bright blue phone to face him. The image of a young girl, her shirt open well past appropriate, wearing a very short skirt, with another group of kids, filled the screen.

He cursed. That’s what he was afraid of. “Can you send that picture to me?” If that was who Dylan had been dragging home, versus the prim and proper girl in the meeting, that could make a huge difference in his case.

Lauren nodded. He typed his phone number and heard his phone beep, indicating he’d received the text. He confirmed it and smiled at her. “Thank you.” He said it and made the gesture.

She smiled back, and once again their gazes locked. He couldn’t look away. She was amazing and beautiful and... A client. Of sorts.

Clearing his throat, he turned back to the screen. It was a safer, less intimate means of communication. If there’s something— Bad? Abusive? He settled for odd going on, would Dylan tell you?

She paused to think, slowly reaching over to type. Their fingers bumped.

I think so.

Could you let me know if he does?

She didn’t nod as quickly this time.

It could make a difference in his case.

Okay.

She was so close, her fingers still poised over the keys. The scent of her, soft and sweet, wrapped around him and he leaned closer, aching to be a part of her inner circle.

Hastily, Lauren shot to her feet. She fumbled to catch her purse, shoving the strap up on to her shoulder. She spelled g-o and pointed at the door. She walked quickly, pulling it open before he could even reach for it. She hurried to the elevator, waving vaguely, before stepping inside.

There was something in her eyes that confused him.

And concerned him.


CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_ee724dd5-2a85-5a81-8bf8-97bf6f180d3c)

LAUREN’S HEART POUNDED hard against her ribs. Sweat drenched her skin, and she leaned against the wall of the elevator. The cool metal felt blessedly good as the car descended. She had to catch her breath before she reached the lobby, had to get control of herself. She had to meet Dylan and Maxine in—she glanced at her watch—just over an hour.

She needed to get it together.

Jason was probably shaking his head, thinking she’d lost her mind. He’d been kind, and he was working so hard to understand her. The conversation they’d had was simple, mainly because it took too long to write anything complex.

The dawning comprehension in Jason’s eyes when he’d understood her sign, the broad smile that transformed his face, had triggered too many memories. Her heart had hitched as he’d met her gaze. She’d nearly gotten lost in the hazel brightness.

But ugly memories obliterated his image, reminding her of the pain that came with letting people in too close.

The last time she’d let herself believe that she was someone to be interested in...

Kenny had been in foster care with her. She’d thought of him as a friend, hoped for that anyway. She’d been about the same age as Tina was now. Kids didn’t need to talk as much as adults did. She’d hoped he was different, right up until he’d pushed her against the school yard fence.

She’d run then, too. Run for everything she was worth. Escaped his painful grip. She hadn’t heard any of the foul things he’d suggested they do, but she’d seen them form on his lips. The lips that had come too close to hers.

She’d run until she couldn’t run anymore. Blocks and blocks away from the school, in the opposite direction of her foster home. She didn’t stop until the sharp, painful stitch in her side made her. She hadn’t even known where she was. Darkness was falling, much like the afternoon shadows now. She shivered, remembering how she’d kept walking until she found an open grocery store. She’d gone inside and the manager had called the police.

One of the few pluses of being a kid in foster care was that she was in the system. She already had a file.

They’d taken her back to her foster home, and she’d tried to pretend nothing had happened, but Kenny’s behavior had turned awful. Teasing. Tormenting. Demeaning. “Sound like a dummy...you’re a moron who can’t talk right...”

Her caseworker finally picked up on the bullying and had her moved. Any place was better than that place.

Almost. That’s when she’d stopped trying to talk, refused speech therapy. Ultimately, she’d been placed with Maxine. But the damage was done and the half dozen in-betweens still hurt too much to think about.

Jason’s suspicions about the Hancocks couldn’t be correct, could they? If there was something wrong, Dylan would have said something, wouldn’t he? She was positive of it. She wouldn’t let another foster kid suffer, especially one who couldn’t necessarily speak up for himself. No one was going to go through what she had. No one.

This time, as she left Jason’s office, instead of waiting for the bus, she went over to the doorman and wrote a note asking him to help her get a taxi.

She couldn’t wait a half hour for the bus. Not when the memories lurked, waiting to pounce. She stood at the lobby’s glass wall, in the bright light, watching for the yellow cab the doorman’s note had told her was on its way.

* * *

JASON WANTED TO kick himself. What was it about Lauren that made him do things he wouldn’t normally do? Going to her house. Taking a criminal case. Feeling an attraction to a client—amend that, potential client. He thought at first that he’d understood why she’d moved away from him just now, but her reaction was too strong. She really was upset. And while he couldn’t be positive, he was pretty sure he’d seen fear in her eyes.

The idea that she had to be afraid of anything made his blood boil.

He was a Hawkins. He took pride in that. His younger brother, DJ, was a marine who’d been injured in Afghanistan. His older brother, Wyatt, had stepped up when Dad died, and still took care of them all, including DJ’s son when DJ was hurt. His three sisters were no slackers, either, and were probably even more protective than he and his brothers combined.

Jason was no different—he just chose other means to protect people. Legally. But right now, he wasn’t thinking very legal thoughts.




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