A Texas Soldier's Family

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  “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.

  “Fir
st 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 w
ith the gabled roof. He unlocked the door and swung it open. Like him, Hope could only stare.

  Chapter Three

  The interior of the ranch house had not been updated in decades, was devoid of all furniture and was scrupulously clean. In deference to the closed window blinds, Garrett hit switches as he moved through the four wood-paneled downstairs rooms. Sighing, he noted, “Well, at least all the lights work.”

  “Does the air conditioning work?” she asked, their footsteps echoing on the scarred pine floors. It was much hotter inside the domicile than outside. And the outside was at least ninety degrees, even as the sun was setting.

  “No clue.” Garrett headed upstairs. There were only two bedrooms. One bath. No beds. Or even a chair for Hope to sit in while she nursed.

  They headed back downstairs, Max still fussing. Worse, she could feel her breasts beginning to leak in response. “When was the last time you were here?” Glad she’d thought to put soft cotton nursing pads inside her bra, she opened up the diaper bag she’d slung over her arm and pulled out a blanket.

  Garrett stepped out onto the back porch, where a porch swing looked out over the property. “Ah—never.”

  Deciding her son had waited long enough, Hope sat down on the swing and situated Max in her arms. Waving at Garrett to turn around, which he obediently did, she unbuttoned her blouse and unsnapped the front of her nursing bra. Max found her nipple and latched on hungrily. “I was under the impression this was family property.” She shifted her son more comfortably in her arms and draped the blanket over him. As he fed, they both relaxed. “That your mother grew up on the Circle H.”

  “She did.” Hands in his pockets, Garrett continued looking over the property, which was quite beautiful in a wild, untamed way. Overgrown shrubbery, dotted with blossoms, filled the air with a lush, floral scent.

  He studied the sun disappearing slowly beneath the horizon in a streaky burst of yellow and red. “But she and my dad sold the place after my grandfather Henderson’s death, when she was twenty-three. They used the proceeds to start Dad’s hedge fund and stake their life in Dallas.”