by Debra Webb
She didn’t need him. Hope swallowed her emotions and kept her voice calm. “I have someone who takes care of those jobs. I have nothing for you.” And that’s when she saw the canceled stamps above her name on the package. It wasn’t a gift he’d brought to try and buy his way back into her life. “You picked up my mail?”
“Just this.” This time, she took the parcel when he held it out to her. “It wouldn’t fit through the mail slot and was sitting outside your door. Didn’t want someone to take it.” Unfortunately, someone had taken it.
She studied the box for a moment, idly noting the lack of a return address, wondering at the plain brown wrapping when everything she ordered for her store came through a professional delivery service. Whatever was inside didn’t weigh much, but the contents seemed to shift each time she turned the box. She hoped it hadn’t come from her brother, who was currently stationed in the Middle East, because she suspected that whatever was inside had broken. “You do know it’s a federal offense to take someone’s mail? I have every right to call the police.”
That made his silver brows bristle. “I’m your father. I was doing you a favor.”
Hope shook her head. “It’s not worth what you’re asking me for. There’s a reason I don’t answer the phone when you call. And it’s not because I want to see you in person, instead. You’re not a part of my life anymore. Not legally, and certainly not emotionally.”
“That’s a lie, girl. I know how that heart of yours works. I know you want to be a part of something.” He stepped closer and Hope flinched. His eyes sparkled with satisfaction. He probably knew he’d finally pushed the right button to get around her resolve. His gaze darted to the bare fingers on her left hand. “I know you ain’t got a man in your life.”
“And you think being a family with you and—” she gestured to the car at the curb “—Nelda is some kind of consolation prize? No, thanks.”
Ending the late-night conversation, Hope turned away. But five strong fingers clamped down like a vise on her arm. She instantly tugged at his grip, but he jerked her shoulder back into his chest and whispered beside her ear, “We’re family. I paid my debt for what I did. How many ways can I say I’m sorry?”
Her pulse throbbed beneath the scars at her wrist and neck and suddenly she was ten again. Suddenly she felt weak. Trapped. Afraid. “Hank, I—”
“Hank!” A car horn honked at the same time a siren whooped through one warning cycle. Flashing lights reflected in Hope’s glasses and bounced off the windows of her shop as a black-and-white pickup truck screeched to a stop in the parking lot entrance behind them.
Hank Lockhart released his daughter’s arm and shushed the brassy-haired woman who’d sounded the alarm. Hope clutched the package in her hand and rubbed at the bruised skin above her elbow.
She, too, backed off a step when she heard the fierce barking coming from the cage in the backseat of the truck. She held her breath as a wheaten-haired cop in a black uniform and KCPD ball cap jumped out of the hastily parked truck and circled around the front. She recognized the blue eyes and rugged features and felt an embarrassed awareness choke her throat. This was the cop KCPD had sent? Could her night get any worse?
Pike Taylor rested his hand on the gun at his waist as his broad shoulders came up behind her father and dwarfed him. “Is everything all right, Miss Lockhart?”
ISBN: 9781460318751
Copyright © 2013 by Debra Webb
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