A Texas Soldier's Family Read online

  He could see that. And it was easy to understand why. She had a great kid.

  Hope stroked a hand through her honey-gold hair. “My bosses, however, were not anywhere near as ecstatic.”

  Hope went back to put a soft cotton sheet over the crib mattress. She bent over, tucking in the elastic edges, while he stood by, watching, knowing she had no idea just how beautiful she was, never mind what she could do to a man, just by being, breathing...

  She straightened, her green eyes serious, as she looked up at him. “My superiors worried, even though I had already arranged for a nanny from a topflight agency to assist me, that a baby would interfere with my ability to manage crises.”

  Her teeth raked her plump lower lip, reminding him just how passionately she kissed. “Plus, they were upset about the rumors started by some of my rivals that hinted I’d leaked confidential information to Lyle Loddington, prior to our affair. It wasn’t true. I never disclosed even a smidgen of confidential information about anything to him. But you know how people think, where there’s love, there is pillow talk...”

  Pillow talk with her would have to be amazing. Not to mention everything that came before it.

  With effort, he forced his mind back to the conversation. “So your employer fired you?”

  “I was asked to resign.”

  It was easy to see that still stung. He got angry on her behalf. “You could have fought it.”

  He followed her back outside to the rear of her SUV. Together, they carried what was left of their luggage inside. “Yes,” she agreed, “but if I had I would have done even more damage to my reputation in the process.” He shut the door quietly behind them. “So I decided to use what I had learned and start my own firm—which would allow me to control the timing and length of my maternity leave—and go back to work when Max was six months old.”

  “Which would have been three months from now.”

  “Right. And I’m happy with that decision, even though I was persuaded to return to work a little earlier than I had planned. I like the way my life is shaping up, Garrett.”

  Able to see she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that, he took her hand. “I’m sorry you had such a tough time.” Crazy as it sounded, he wished he had been there to support and protect her. To help her though whatever upheaval she’d had to face. It’s not something anyone should have to go through alone.

  Her expression grew stony with resolve. “It was my fault. I was reckless. But I’m not going to be reckless again.”

  Chapter Four

  “You’re not planning to go back to work now, are you?” Garrett asked, a short while later. He opened up the fridge that had been stocked by the bunkhouse caretaker in advance of their arrival, brought out a big stack of deli meats and cheeses and laid them out on the concrete kitchen countertop, next to an assortment of bakery goods.

  Hope set her laptop and phone down on the breakfast bar just long enough to grab a small bunch of green grapes and pour herself a tall glass of milk.

  “No choice.” Ignoring his look of concern, she settled on a tall stool opposite him. Ten thirty at night or not, she had business to conduct. And she needed to do it while her son was sound asleep. “I have to check the message boards for the news outlets reporting on the scandal, to see how the news thus far is being received.”

  Garrett spread both sides of a multigrain roll with spicy brown mustard, then layered on lettuce, tomato, ham, turkey and cheddar cheese. “There’s nothing you can do about the way people think.”

  “Au contraire, Captain Lockhart.”

  He grinned.

  Too late, she realized that flip remark had been a mistake.

  He thought she was flirting with him again. And she definitely. Was. Not.

  Hope turned her attention back to the task at hand. Her mood flatlined.

  “That bad?”

  Hope grimaced. “Worse than I expected and I expected it to be...bad.”

  “Hit me with the highlights,” he said, twisting the cap off a beer.

  Clearing her throat, she read, “‘Those Lockharts should all be put in jail—’”

  “We have not done anything illegal.”

  But someone might have, Hope knew. “‘The whole foundation should be shut down...’” she continued.

  Flicking a glance her way, Garrett crossed his arms over his chest. Fresh out of the shower, in a pair of gray running shorts and T-shirt stamped Army, he looked relaxed. And sexy as hell. “An overreaction.”

  Hitching in a quavering breath, Hope turned back to the article and recited, “‘Why do the rich always feel the need to steal from the poor?’”

  A ghost of a smile crossed his mouth. “I’m detecting a theme.”

  “This is serious.”

  Ever alert, he shrugged. “It’s just people spouting off on the internet.”

  “Someone in the family needs to respond.”

  He ripped open a bag of chips and offered it to her. “And I’m the logical choice?”

  She waved them off and ate a grape instead. “You are the eldest son, the patriarch, since your father passed.”

  He carried his plate around the counter and set it in front of a stool. “And I will make a public statement.” He dropped down beside her, swiveled so he was facing her. “Once we have all the facts.”

  Their knees were almost touching but it would have been a sign of weakness on her part to move back. “You know why some politicians or businesses in trouble survive and others don’t?”

  His eyes on her, he took another sip of beer.

  “Because they know every time an allegation is made, no matter how outlandish, a response must be given.”

  “Nothing makes a person look guiltier than constantly proclaiming they aren’t.”

  “So I take it that’s a no?”

  “That’s a no,” he said, and devoured his sandwich.

  With a sigh, she went back to her computer, logged on to the message boards for the news story with the most harmful coverage, and began to type.

  Finished, he edged closer. “What are you doing?”

  “Responding.”

  He stood behind her, so he could look over her shoulder. “Under your own name?”

  Oh, my, he smelled good. Like soap and shampoo and man. “Under a fictitious screen name I set up. One of many.”

  “Isn’t that...?”

  She cut him off before he could say dishonest. “The way things are done today, and yes, it is.”

  He watched her fingers fly across the keyboard, then read aloud, “‘What ever happened to being innocent until proven guilty? The Lockhart family has magnanimously supported over one hundred metroplex charities over the last thirty-five years. I say give them a chance to find out what has happened, before we all pass judgment.’”

  Garrett returned to his stool. “Nice.”

  Seconds later, another Internet post appeared.

  Hope shifted her laptop screen, so he could see. He read again, “‘I agree with #1HotDallasMama. We should wait and see...’”

  Several more posts appeared. Two out of three were positive.

  Resisting the urge to do a touchdown dance, Hope turned to Garrett. “See?”

  He polished off his chips, one at a time. “So that worked. Until someone puts up another negative rant, then other message-boarders are apt to agree with their posts.”

  Hope sighed her exasperation. “The point is to get another view out there. Repeatedly, if necessary, until the facts come in, and we can respond accordingly.”

  “Another press conference?”

  “Or interview and statement.”

  She was not surprised to find he wasn’t looking forward to any of it.

  Telling herself that it didn’t m
atter what Garrett Lockhart thought of her methods or her job, she carried her dishes to the sink. Turned, only to find Garrett was right beside her, doing the same thing. She looked up. He looked down. She had the strong sensation he was tempted to kiss her again. And she might have let him, had Max not let out a fierce cry. Thank heaven, Hope thought, pivoting quickly to attend to her maternal duties, her son had more sense than she appeared to right now.

  * * *

  “WHERE DO YOU want all these files?” Garrett asked his mother when she arrived at the bunkhouse late the following morning, Paul Smythe’s daughter, Adelaide Smythe, in tow. A certified public accountant and forensic auditor, as well as an old family friend, the young woman had agreed to help them sort through the records and try to piece together what had happened.

  Appearing tired but determined, Lucille pointed to the big plank table in the main room. “Just put them all there, thanks,” she said.

  Garrett set the boxes down, then returned to Adelaide’s minivan to bring in the rest.

  “When are you due?” Hope asked the visibly pregnant Adelaide.

  “Four and a half months. I know—” Adelaide ran a hand over her rounded belly “—it looks like I’m a little further along, but it’s because I’m having twins.”

  “Who’s the lucky daddy?” Garrett asked, wondering how his brother Wyatt was going to take the news. The two had dated seriously in high school, but been extraordinarily contentious toward each other ever since they broke up at the end of their senior year. Why, exactly, no one knew. Just that there was still a lot of emotion simmering there.

  “Donor number 19867.” A beaming Adelaide explained, “I conceived the new-fashioned way.”

  Garrett wasn’t surprised Adelaide had opted for pregnancy via sperm bank; she always had been very independent.

  Hope sorted the multihued folders according to the names on the files. “Speaking of fathers...any luck getting ahold of your dad?”

  Adelaide set up two laptop computers and a portable printer. “We’re still trying, but he’s apparently not on his annual fly fishing and camping trip in the wilds of Montana with the guys.”

  “Then where is he?” Garrett asked with a frown.

  Adelaide glanced at Lucille, who seemed both understanding and sympathetic. Reluctantly, she admitted, “He’s probably on vacation with this lady exec he’s been secretly dating.”

  Hope tilted her head, her long, honey-hued hair falling over her shoulders. “Why secretly?”

  Garrett itched to drag his hands through her lustrous mane, draw her close...

  Adelaide sighed loudly. “Because I didn’t like Mirabelle the first time I met her. I thought she was a gold digger, and I made the mistake of telling my dad that.” She grimaced, recollecting. “Anyway, the whole thing got so ugly, we agreed not to talk about it ever again. So if my dad is on vacation with Mirabelle, as Lucille and I both suspect, he’s probably not looking at his phone much at all.”

  Garrett could understand that. There were times when he wanted to get away from it all and enjoy the company of a woman, too. Like now...

  “But he can never be disconnected from the world for too long, so we expect to hear from him soon.” Adelaide plugged in power cords.

  “Any idea what happened regarding the missing or misappropriated funds yet?” Garrett asked.

  Again, Adelaide shook her head. “All we’ve managed to do thus far is gather all the records in one place. Which isn’t as easy as it sounds, because there were some at the foundation office, some at Lucille’s, some at Dad’s house.” She surveyed the stacks upon stacks of files. “We’ll put it all together, but the actual audit is going to take a while.”

  “How long?” Hope asked.

  “A couple of days.”

  She looked unhappy about that. “What can we do to help speed things along?”

  His mother consulted the lengthy handwritten to-do list in her leather notebook. “You and Garrett could go into town. Talk with the director of the nonprofit the foundation is funding there.” Lucille wrote out the information, handed it over. “If the foundation has indeed let down Bess Monroe and the wounded warriors she is trying to help, it’s going to take both of you to fix things.”

  * * *

  “THIS CAN’T BE RIGHT.” Hope paused in front of the door to Monroe’s Western Wear clothing store, Lucille’s notes in hand. Yet the street address matched, as did the last names.

  Garrett, who had decided to carry Max in lieu of getting the stroller out of the SUV, said, “Let’s go in and see.”

  A young man behind the counter approached. “Can I help you?” he asked.

  Briefly, they explained the problem. “I’m Nick Monroe. Bess’s brother,” the genial dark-haired man explained. “Bess is using our family store as the nonprofit’s address because she doesn’t yet have the funds for a facility.”

  “We’d like to talk to her.”

  “She’s just about to get off shift at the hospital where she works.” Nick Monroe paused. “Although I’m not sure how happy she is going to be to see you-all. She’s not too happy with the Lockhart Foundation these days.”

  An understatement, as it turned out.

  Although her shift had officially ended by the time they arrived at the rehab department, Bess Monroe was still deep in conversation with a little girl in a back brace and the girl’s mother. The rest of the well-equipped physical therapy clinic was filled with all ages and injuries, including a couple of people who appeared to be former military.

  Learning they were there to see her, Bess Monroe wrapped up her conversation and came toward them. She smiled tenderly at Max, who was wide awake, leaning happily against Garrett’s wide chest, then turned back to Garrett and Hope with a frown. Directing them to an office with her name on the door, Bess shut the door behind them. Still holding Max, Garrett handled the introductions.

  The registered nurse moved to the other side of her desk, but remained standing. “I told myself that if and when anyone from the Lockhart Foundation ever contacted me again, I would be cordial to them. No use burning any bridges when there is such desperate need, right? But...”

  “I’m guessing your charity did not receive all of their funds, either,” Hope prodded gently.

  “Try any!” Bess exploded.

  “None?” Garrett looked shocked.

  Hope intervened. “The family really is trying to understand what’s happened here, so they can make amends. It would be really helpful to us if you could share your experience.”

  Bess sat down and waited for them to take seats, too. “About a year ago, I drove to Dallas to meet with Lucille Lockhart at the foundation office. I explained the problem local veterans and their families were having, trying to get the support they needed, once they left active duty.”

  “Tank and Darcy Dunlop explained this to us.”

  Lucille nodded. “They’re a great couple, and a perfect example. Although there are all kinds of problems that our nonprofit, West Texas Warrior Assistance, hopes to address.”

  “Like...?” Hope said, glad her hands were free so she could type notes into her phone.

  “You want my wish list?”

  Garrett nodded, holding a gurgling Max close.

  “Temporary housing, close to the hospital. Support groups for warriors and every member of their family. Job counseling and placement. A separate rehab for those recovering from injuries incurred in battle, so they can still feel part of a team effort and urge each other on.” Bess pulled a file out of her desk and handed it over. “A medical director familiar with combat injuries to coordinate care for the warriors and run the place. I could go on. And, in fact, I have. It’s all in the pitch I gave your mother.”

  Trying not to notice how cute Max looked, snuggled against Garrett’s strong shoulder, Hope prompted,
“So when you initially met with Lucille...?”

  “She was really enthusiastic about our mission and she agreed to help us, with a one-time donation of a half a million dollars, to be paid out in monthly installments over the course of a year. All I had to do was formally demonstrate the need and present a business plan, which I did, and a letter of intent to donate would be forthcoming. Along with the first check to get us started.”

  Bess reached into her desk. “Here’s the letter I received from the foundation, but there was no check with it. And, as you can see, the amount promised to us in writing was five thousand dollars, instead of five hundred thousand.”

  Hope expected Garrett to hand Max over to her. Instead, he shifted her son to one arm, held the document with the other. When he had finished perusing it, he provided it to Hope.

  She, too, noted all was in order, then gave the letter back to Beth for safekeeping. “I assume you called the foundation to tell them of the error?”

  Bess’s expression was grim. “I was told by your mother’s assistant, Sharla, that I would have to speak to Paul Smythe, the CFO about that. I did and he apologized profusely for the mistake, and promised that he would investigate and I would have a new letter of intent to donate and a check within the next few weeks.”

  Hope shared Garrett’s obvious concern.

  Bess threw up her hands in frustration. “I did not receive either one, and my subsequent calls went unreturned.”

  Noting Max appeared to be reaching for Hope, Garrett finally handed her son over. “When was the last time you contacted the foundation?” he asked in a low, rough tone that sent shivers of awareness sliding down Hope’s spine.

  “Several months ago. Anyway.” Bess stood, signaling their time had come to an end. “If you’re worried I’m going to complain to the media, you needn’t. I don’t want what we’re trying to do here to be any part of the bad publicity. I just want what was promised to us. That’s all.”

  * * *

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU reassure her you’d make things right?” Hope asked Garrett when they had left the hospital. She settled Max in his safety seat, then climbed into the passenger seat, once again letting Garrett drive since he knew the area better.