The Ballerina's Stand. Angel Smits
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