Читать книгу A Texas Soldier's Family - Cathy Gillen Thacker - Страница 8
ОглавлениеNanny? Hope Winslow had a nanny, Garrett thought in shock. And a baby?
“Mary? What’s going on?” Hope asked in alarm. She dashed around to look inside the covered car seat on top of the combination stroller/buggy. Not surprisingly, Garrett’s mother—who longed for grandchildren of her very own—was right by Hope’s side.
All Garrett could see from where he stood was the bottom half of a pair of baby blue coveralls, two kicking bootie-clad feet and one tiny hand trying to catch a foot.
Hope’s smile was enough to light up the entire world. She bent down to kiss the little hand. Garrett thought, but couldn’t be sure, that he heard a happy gurgle in return.
Apparently, all was well. With the infant, anyway, he acknowledged, as his mom stepped back to his side.
Hope put her arm around the young woman. “Has something happened?”
The nanny burst into tears. “It’s my mum! She collapsed this morning. They say it’s her heart. I’ve got to go back to England.”
Ignoring the inconvenience for her and her child, Hope asked briskly, “Do you have a flight?”
Mary pulled a boarding pass out of her bag. “It leaves in an hour and a half.”
Hope sobered. “Then you better get going, if you want to be sure and get through international flight security.”
Mary handed over the diaper bag she had looped over one shoulder. “Max’s just been fed and burped, and I changed his nappy. Unfortunately, I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”
Hope nodded. “Take all the time you need...”
“Thank you for understanding!” Mary hugged Hope, gave the cooing baby in the carriage an affectionate pat, then rushed off to catch her flight.
Meanwhile, the reporters were still trying to talk their way past the security guards. Eyeing them, Hope said, “We better get out of here.”
Garrett’s mom pointed toward the last section of glass doors off the baggage claim. “There’s my driver now.”
* * *
GARRETT HELD THE door while Hope and his mother charged into the Dallas afternoon heat.
His mom entered the limo first and slid across the seat. Hope disengaged the car seat from the stroller and gently set it inside. She followed, more concerned with getting her baby settled and secured than the flash of leg she showed as her skirt rode up her thighs.
Ignoring the immediate hardening of his body, Garrett got in after them. Trying not to let what he had just seen in any way mitigate his initial impression of Hope, he sprawled across the middle of the opposite seat while the two women doted on the baby secured safely between them. “You are such a darling!” Lucille cooed to the baby facing her. “And so alert!” His mother beamed as the infant kicked a blue bootie-clad foot and waved a plump little hand. “How old is he?”
“Twelve weeks on Wednesday,” Hope announced proudly.
Which meant she was just coming off maternity leave. Suddenly curious, although he had never actually considered himself a baby person, Garrett asked, “Does the baby have a name?”
Hope’s chin lifted. The warmth faded from her eyes. “Max.”
Garrett waited for the rest. “Max or Maxwell...?”
Her gaze grew even more wary. “Just Max.”
She still hadn’t said her son’s last name. Nor did she seem about to do so, which made him wonder why.
His mother gave him the kind of look that ordered him to stop fishing around for Hope Winslow’s marital status.
Was that what he had been doing? Maybe. But who could blame him? He was going to have to know a lot more about Hope Winslow, before he could trust her to handle this crisis for his family.
Satisfied her baby was set for now, Hope turned her glance away from his, pulled her phone out of her bag and quickly checked her messages. “Everything is set up for the press conference,” she told his mom.
Not liking the way she seemed ready to cut him out, Garrett asked, “If there’s going to be a press conference, why were there reporters at the baggage claim?”
Lucille sighed. “There probably wouldn’t have been if I hadn’t decided to come and greet you, last minute. The press followed me to the airport.”
Hope glanced his way, sunlight streaming in through the window and shimmering in her gilded hair. “They were probably hoping you would be in uniform. Or that you’d say something unfortunate like ‘I am not a crook.’ Which—by the way—did not even work for Richard Nixon.”
He mimicked her droll expression. “You’re seriously comparing me to a disgraced politician?”
Hope shrugged in mock innocence.
Lucille looked from Garrett to Hope and back again.
“This is no time to be flirting.”
“We’re not!” Hope and Garrett said in unison.
Lucille lifted a dissenting brow. “Exactly what I said before I started dating your father.”
Garrett felt a flash of grief.
His mom was able to talk freely about his dad, recalling everything about their life together with affection. Not him. Some two and a half years after his dad’s passing, thoughts of his late father still left him choked up. Maybe because so much had been left unresolved between them.
Would finally dealing with his inheritance give him the closure he needed?
Hope gave him a long, steady look laced with compassion, then dropped her head and rummaged through her bag. “Let’s concentrate on the press conference.” She produced the talking points again.
Garrett had been forced into sugarcoating the truth once. He wasn’t doing it again. Refusing so much as a cursory glance, he handed Hope her computer tablet back. “Why are you so intent on cleverly orchestrating every word?”
She checked the near constant alerts on her phone as the limo stopped in front of the downtown Dallas high-rise that housed the foundation and numerous elite businesses. With a beleaguered sigh, she predicted, “You’ll see.”
And he did, as soon as he walked into the elegant ninth floor suite that housed the Lockhart Foundation. A reception area, with a desk and comfortable seating, opened up onto a marble-floored hall that led to four other offices and a boardroom where, he soon discovered, three of his other siblings were waiting.
A collection of laptop computers was spread out on the table. Running on them were clips from every local news station, showing his arrival at the airport, looking grim while declaring his family innocent of all charges, and menacing when his mother turned away from the press and buried her head in his shirt. They even had shots of Max’s nanny bursting into tears while approaching Hope, though they didn’t say what that was all about.
The longest and most dramatically edited rendition ended with Hope ushering his mother into the limo while looking like a force to be reckoned with. Footage of her baby had been cut. Garrett was happy about that, at least. Her child had no place in this unfolding drama. But there was a shot of him climbing in after the women, just before the door closed, that had him glowering.
The reporter turned back to the camera. “Renowned scandal manager, Hope Winslow, best known for her handling of the crisis involving the American ambassador’s son in Great Britain last year, has been retained by the Lockhart family to manage the situation. Which can only mean they are expecting more fireworks to ensue. So stay tuned...”
Looking as stubborn and ornery as the bulls he raised—despite a suit and tie—Garrett’s brother, Chance, slapped him on the back and quipped, “Nice job handling the press.”
Wyatt also stood, no trace of the horse rancher evident in his sophisticated attire, and gave him a brief hug. Then, grinning wickedly, he agreed, “Articulate, as usual, brother.”
His only sister, Sage, in a pretty tailored dress and heels that was very different from her usual cowgirl/chef garb, embraced him warmly. “I don’t blame you,” she consoled him. “You were caught completely off guard.”
Garrett hugged Sage, who’d seemed a little lonesome lately when they talked, and glanced around. Only one Lockhart was missing from their immediate family. His Special Forces brother.
“Zane’s out with his unit,” Sage informed him.
Which meant no one knew where he was or when he would return.
“In the meantime, we need you to put this on.” Hope handed him a garment bag. Inside was a suit and tie, reminiscent of his prep school days.
Thanking heaven they hadn’t expected him to wear his army uniform for this sideshow, Garrett rezipped the bag.
“And please...” She took him aside, a delicate hand curving around his arm, and looked him in the eye. “This time, when we assemble before the press, stick to the plan. Say nothing. Just stand in the background, along with the rest of your siblings, and look extremely supportive of your mother.”
That, Garrett figured, he could do. At least for now.
When he emerged from the men’s room, still tying his tie, there was a team there, doing hair and makeup.
“Don’t even think about it,” he growled when they tried to put powder on him. His brothers were equally resistant.
Hope stood nearby, her baby in her arms, sizing him up.
He wondered if she was that observant when she made love. And why the notion that she might be was so sexy.
But there was no more time to think about it, because Hope was giving his mother one last pep talk, and then it was show time. After handing her baby off to Sharla, his mother’s executive assistant, Hope and the family took the elevator down to another floor and filed into the meeting room reserved for the occasion, where two dozen members of the press were already assembled.
His mother stepped up to the microphone. “Thank you all for coming. Like you, we have been shocked and alarmed to hear allegations that not all of the funds from the Lockhart Foundation have been sent as promised to the local organizations we assist. We haven’t yet been able to verify what has actually happened but we are looking into the matter.”
“You seem skeptical that any payments were missed,” a reporter looking for a more salacious story observed.
From the front row, where she was seated, Garrett could see Hope shaking her head, wordlessly warning his mother not to answer.
But Lucille could not remain silent when her integrity was in question. “I admit I don’t see how it could have happened, when I signed all those checks myself.”
At that, it was all Garrett could do not to groan. His mother had just announced she was personally liable for whatever had happened.
“And yet there are now—at last count,” the chief investigative reporter from the Dallas Sun News said, “sixteen charities claiming they’ve been shorted. It’s pretty suspicious that all those groups would be claiming the same thing, don’t you think?”
Sixteen, Garrett thought, stunned. Just a few hours ago, when Hope had shown him the talking points on her tablet, it had been three.
Hope got up gracefully to her feet and moved across the row to the aisle.
“Why isn’t the Lockhart Foundation’s chief financial officer, Paul Smythe, answering any of our questions?” another correspondent asked.
“He’s out of town on a personal matter,” Lucille said calmly. “When he returns, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“And if you don’t?” another journalist pressed, as Hope glided onto the stage. “Are you prepared to fire Mr. Smythe and/or anyone else involved in what increasingly looks like a severe misappropriation—if not downright embezzlement—of funds?”
His mom faltered.
Hope took the microphone. “Now, Tom, you know as well as I do that’s premature, given that nothing has been confirmed yet...”
With grudging admiration, Garrett watched Hope field a few more questions and then pleasantly end the conference with the promise of another update just as soon as they had information to share.
“So what’s next?” he asked when the family had reassembled in the foundation quarters.
Hope lifted Max into her arms, cuddling him close, then looked at Lucille. “We move on to Step 2 of our scandal-management plan.”
* * *
“DID YOU VOLUNTEER to drive us out to Laramie County? Or were you drafted?” Hope demanded two hours later, when Garrett Lockhart landed on the doorstep of her comfortable suburban Dallas home.
She already knew he wasn’t gung ho about the plan to have his mother stay at the Circle H, the family’s ranch in rural west Texas, to get her out of the limelight until they could figure out what was going on with the foundation.
Garrett shrugged. Clad in a blue shirt, jeans and boots, with the hint of an evening beard rimming his jaw, he looked sexy and totally at ease. “Does it matter?”
Yes, oddly enough, it did matter whether he was helping because he wanted to or because he had been forced to do so. “Just curious.”
He flashed a half smile. “Combination of the two.”
It was like pulling mud out of a pit. “Care to explain?” Hope directed him and his duffel bag to the driveway, where a ton of gear sat, ready to be loaded into the back of her sporty red SUV.
He fit his bag into the left side, where she pointed. “Given how we feel about each other, a three-plus hour journey locked in the same vehicle is bound to be a little awkward.”
No kidding. Hope set a pack-n-play on top of his bag. “Then why bother?”
He lifted her suitcase and set it next to his. “I don’t have a vehicle of my own to drive right now, and I won’t until I get to Laramie County and can borrow a pickup from one of my brothers. Going with you will save me the hassle of renting a car here.”
“You could have ridden with your mother and her chauffeur.”
Arms folded in front of him, he lounged to one side. “Not going to happen.”
She slid him a glance, wishing he didn’t look so big and strong and immovable. “Why not?”
His gaze roved her knee-length khaki shorts and red notch-collared blouse before returning to her face. “Because I don’t want to spend the entire journey dodging questions I don’t want to answer.”
His lazy quip brought heat to her cheeks. “Hint, hint?”
“If the shoe fits...”
Boy, he was maddening.
Worse, she didn’t know why she was letting him get under her skin. She dealt with difficult people all the time.
Maybe they weren’t six feet five inches tall and handsome as all get-out, and military-grade sexy, but...still...
Aware he was watching her, gauging her reactions as carefully as she was checking out his, she lifted her chin. “What were the other reasons?”
This time he grinned. Big time. “It’ll save me from leading the search party later.”
Knowing a thinly veiled insult when she heard one, Hope scowled. “What search party?”
“The one that’s sent out to find you and your baby in the wilds of Laramie County when you get lost after dark.”
Hope inhaled deeply. Breathed out slowly. Gave him one of her trademark watch it looks. “I think I can read a map, Captain.”
“No doubt, sweetheart,” he said in a droll tone. “But unless you can telepathically figure out which road is which when you come to an unmarked intersection in the Middle of Nowhere, West Texas...you might want to rethink that.”
Being lost with a baby who needed to be fed and diapered every few hours was not her ideal scenario, either. “Fine.” She gave him a warning glance. “But you’re driving so I can work.”
He took the keys. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. My only question is—” Garrett eyed the pile of luggage and baby gear still sitting in her driveway “—can you and/or your significant other load the car?”
There he went with the questions about her private life again. Although, why it would matter to him she had no idea. But to save both of them a great big headache, she figured she might as well be blunt.
“First of all, there is no significant other,” she retorted, and thought—but couldn’t be sure—that she saw a flash of something in his blue eyes as she continued expertly packing the cargo compartment with the rest of her gear. “Second, it’s not that much stuff.” She went into the house and returned, toting a sound-asleep Max—who was already belted into his safety seat—to the roomy SUV. Garrett watched her lock Max’s carrier into its base in the center of the rear seat.
“If you say so.”
Clearly, he still had something on his mind.
Hope straightened. “What is it?”
“I’m all for getting my mother out of the public eye. But are you sure this is going to work? Property records are public. The press could still figure out where she’s gone.”
Hope appreciated his concern for his family’s welfare. “They could.”
“But...?”
“It’s unlikely a Dallas news crew will travel three hours out to Laramie, and then back, just to hear a no comment from someone other than your mother. When they could easily interview someone from a nonprofit right here in the metroplex who has a lot to say about how they and the people they serve have been wronged.”
“You’re the scandal manager.” Garrett settled behind the wheel, his large, muscular frame filling up the interior of her car. Frowning, he fit the key into the ignition. “But can’t you pressure the news organizations to present both sides of the story?”
“Yes, and for the record, I already have.” Hope climbed into the passenger seat and closed the garage via remote. “But the Dallas papers and TV stations can still keep the story going—and ostensibly show your side, too—although not necessarily in a positive light.”
His brow furrowed at her careful tone. “How, if my mother isn’t available for any more interviews?”
Nor was anyone else in the family, Hope knew, since his only sister, Sage, was already en route back to Seattle, to handle a catering gig the next day. Chance and Wyatt were headed back to their West Texas ranches, to care for their herds. And Garrett had certainly made it clear he didn’t intend to cooperate with the press. She exhaled. “The media can show old news footage of your mother and father when they announced the formation of the Lockhart Foundation.”
Garrett’s shoulders tensed. “That was a black-tie gala.”
“Right. And would likely be salaciously depicted, at least by some outlets, as the Haves versus the Have Nots.”
Garrett slid a pair of sunglasses on over his eyes. “So, in other words, we’re damned if we stay and have reporters chasing after us with every new accusation. And damned if we leave town and avoid their inquiries, too.”
“Not for long, if I do my job, which I certainly plan to do.”
To Hope’s relief, for the first time since they’d met, he seemed willing to let her take charge of the volatile situation. At least temporarily. So, while Garrett drove, she worked on her laptop computer and her infant son slept.
It was only when they entered rural Laramie County, near dusk, that the trip took an eventful turn.
“Do you see that?” Hope pointed to a disabled pickup truck ahead. The hood was up on the battered vehicle. A young couple stood beside the smoking engine, apparently as unhappy with each other as they were with their transportation.
Worse, the young man—with a muscular upper body and military haircut—was on crutches, his left leg obscured by pressure bandages and a complicated brace.
Garrett drove up beside them. “Need a helping hand?”
“I’m Darcy Dunlop,” the young woman said, her thin face lighting up with relief. “And yes!”
“We’ve got it.” Her grim-faced companion shook his head.
“Tank!” Darcy said, wringing her hands in distress.
“We’ll just wait for the tow truck.”
“But the mechanic said we didn’t have to be here! As long as we leave the truck unlocked, he can take it back to the garage in town on his own.”
Tank’s jaw set, even more stubbornly.
Garrett stuck out his hand, introducing himself. “Army Medical Corps...”
The other man’s expression relaxed slightly. “Infantry. Until this.” He pointed to his injured leg. “Not sure what I’m going to do next...”
They talked a little about the fellow soldier who had saved Tank’s life, and the IED fragments that had made a mess of his limb. How his parents—who lived locally—had taken them in during the year it was going to take to recover and get his strength back.
“That’s rough,” Garrett said in commiseration.
Darcy’s lower lip trembled. “What’s worse is how far we have to go so Tank can get treatment. We either drive back and forth to the closest military hospital—which is a couple hours from here—or Tank gets his care in Laramie. And the rehab there, well, I mean everybody’s nice, but they have no experience with what’s happened to Tank.”
Garrett understood—as did Hope—that there were some things only fellow soldiers, who had served in a war zone, could comprehend. The camaraderie was as essential to healing as medical care. Garrett gave Tank a look of respect. “How about we give you a lift home.”
Darcy gave her husband a pleading look.
Shoulders slumping in relief, the former soldier consented. “Thanks.”
Knowing Tank would have more room for his leg brace in the front, Hope climbed in back to sit with Max, who was beginning to wake up. Darcy took the other side. The two women chatted while Tank gave directions to his parents’ home, a few miles north.
When they arrived, Garrett scribbled a number on the back of a business card and handed it to the other man. “I’ll be around for the next few days, taking care of some family business, so if you need anything...”
Tank shook his hand. “Appreciate it.”
Hope could see the meeting had affected Garrett. It had affected her, too.
“I don’t understand how the military can boot someone out, just because they got injured,” she fumed, as they drove away.
Garrett paused to study the unmarked intersection of country roads. No street names were showing up on her GPS screen, Hope noted. Which meant she might, indeed, have gotten lost trying to find her way to the ranch.
“It was probably his choice to get a medical discharge rather than stay in,” Garrett pointed out, pausing to glance at a set of directions he had in his pocket, before turning south again.
“Why would Tank do that when he clearly loved being part of the armed service?”
“Because doing so would have meant taking a desk job, once he had recuperated, and my guess is Tank didn’t see himself being happy that way. He probably wanted to be with his buddies—who were all still in Infantry—or out of the service completely,” he said, as they reached the entrance to the Circle H Ranch.
Hope wasn’t sure what she had expected, since Lucille had promised they would all be quite comfortable there, and have as much privacy as they needed. Maybe something as luxurious as Lucille’s Dallas mansion. But the turnoff was marked by a mailbox, and a wrought-iron sign that had definitely seen better days. The gravel lane leading up to the ranch house was bordered by a fence that was falling down in places. The barn and stables looked just as dilapidated.
Garrett cut the engine.
Handsome face taut with concern, he got out and opened the door for her. “Mom and her driver were supposed to be here ahead of us.”
Obviously, that had not happened. Max, who’d been remarkably quiet and content, let out an impatient cry.
“I know, baby,” Hope soothed, patting her son on the back. “You’re hungry. Probably wet, too.” She lifted him out of the car seat and moved to stand beside Garrett. “But we’re going to take care of all that.”
Garrett led her up onto the porch of the rambling two-story ranch house with the gabled roof. He unlocked the door and swung it open. Like him, Hope could only stare.
