Hope’s Child

by Helen R. Myers

  Hope opened her eyes. She was pregnant. She was the only one with whom it was safe to have unprotected sex. That would have made it all the more intense an experience. And yet he was gone. Why had he returned to his own bed?

  Saddened, Hope buried her face in his pillow and soothed herself by stroking her only companion left in the room. Poor baby. Now she remembered. For an instant as Lyon began to climax that first time, he’d opened his eyes and she’d seen his total awareness that the baby she was carrying wasn’t his. There had been a flash of pain in his dark eyes, and then he’d hidden it again and was all concern, all generosity.

  Because despite everything, he wants you.

  Wants being the problem. It was wonderful, of course; but it wasn’t enough. Dear Lord, she had been a naive fool to think it could be, just as she’d believed helping to keep Lyon in Cedar Grove would be adequate penance for her stupid mistake with Will. Owning Lyon’s gratitude was a reward for sure. But she wanted more. She wanted his love.

  Oh, where was he?

  Brooding about his whereabouts wouldn’t help her to go back to sleep, but that didn’t stop her from wondering. Belatedly, Hope realized the light in the room was coming from another part of the house. And wasn’t that talking she’d heard just now?

  She slid off the bed and, on her way to investigate, grabbed an ivory cashmere throw off of the chaise lounge at the foot of the bed. Wrapping it around her shoulders, she continued out of the room, her bare feet almost silent on the wooden floor.

  There in the lavender-blue glow of a plant’s growing light, she found him standing naked, looking like some Sci-Fi movie’s mouth-watering alien-who-fell-to-earth. With all that was going on, she’d forgotten to plug in the light, but he apparently had done it needing the added illumination to help operate the phone now held to his ear. Hope stood transfixed, admiring his broad shoulders, firm buttocks, and powerful long legs.

  “Not at all, you did the right thing,” he said to whoever it was that was on the other side of the connection. “Right, take it. You know where the keys are. Don’t worry about it. Try to get some rest and I’ll see you later.”

  Closing his cell phone, Lyon turned and saw her. His expression turned regretful. “I tried to be quiet.”

  “You were,” she said coming to him. “I woke because I missed you.” Parting her wrap like a butterfly spreading her wings, she then closed it around them both.

  “Did you?” he murmured his tone as pleased as his expression.

  With his erection pressing all the way up against her diaphragm, she managed a breathy, “Oh, yes.”

  Smiling ruefully, Lyon lifted one strong shoulder in a resigned shrug. “You’d think it would have developed some discipline in the last several hours. But then it’s your fault for coming out here looking more incredible than anything I could dream.”

  Instead of an inadequate “thank you,” Hope touched her lips to his chest and felt his strong-beating heart. “Did something happen at the station?”

  “Cooper Jones had a spinout on one of the back roads trying to avoid a feral hog and her litter.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “He’s in better shape than the sow and three of the eight in her litter. But his SUV is scrap metal. I told him to take the patrol car that Chris used to drive.”

  Hope winced at the thought of the ugly scene. Those horrible creatures were nature’s marauders, tearing up the land—when they weren’t ravaging family pets or causing traffic hazards like what apparently had happened to Lyon’s detective. Glancing at the microwave and stove clock, she frowned. “What’s he doing working at almost eleven at night?”

  “He’s not. It happened at dusk. He was doing some follow-up work on an old case after hours. The exciting life of divorced cops,” Lyon added with a sardonic twist to his lips. “It took him until now to get a wrecker out there and then to get his forensic bags out of the SUV and back to the station.”

  Hope couldn’t help but think of repercussions, her protective instincts toward Lyon kicking in. “The expense of a new vehicle won’t endear you to the city council.”

  “It’ll be cheaper than a huge hospital bill if he’d been severely injured.”

  “Don’t expect our fair-and-balanced local press to think that way. By the time Pettigrew finishes describing the accident, it will somehow reflect on you. You know it will.”

  Lyon stroked his free hand down her back to soothe her, but it became a sexual caress as he lingered over her bottom. “I never realized you were such a mommy. You can’t worry over every little thing, especially as it relates to me and my job. Not when you have so much on your own plate.”

  How like a man—invincible and self-reliant prior to a tidal wave or hangnail. “Women come out of the womb multi-tasking. You never ate!” she declared immediately, proving it as she realized that she’d passed out from exhaustion and she never did make him that scrumptious birthday dinner.

  “I ate. I feasted,” he amended. “Breast of angel, leg of vixen…”

  “If you say butt of Bambi, I promise somehow or other you’ll hurt for a week.”

  Laughing, Lyon swept her up into his arms. “You do have a delectable tush. But the truth is that I ate a chunk of my birthday cake while waiting for Cooper to sign some forms for the wrecker driver. Sorry for the caveman table manners, but the cake is terrific. Did Molly help you?”

  “Stop changing the subject, and put me down. I can have your steak in the broiler and be scrambling some eggs to go with them in nothing flat.” But before she finished with that suggestion, they were back in her bedroom and Lyon was laying her on the bed. He trapped her there with his body. As good as that felt, Hope still protested. “Lyon, this wasn’t the birthday I planned for you.”

  “Have you had the night I wanted for you?”

  Despite the darkness, there was enough light that she could see his face grow somber. She laid her hand against his cheek. “You need to ask that?”

  Lyon took that hand and planted a kiss in her palm. “I’d like to be sure before I dare ask to spend the night.”

  Was she that hard to read? “If I hadn’t wakened, for all I know you’d still be here.”

  “That was the plan. Follow the strategy of a throw-away pup who lays low hoping that he won’t be noticed and kicked out into the cold.”

  The comparison of a desperate, lonely pup to his superman self was laughable, but Hope couldn’t bring herself to tease him. Come daylight, reality would burn off this sweet magic that protected their false marriage quickly enough. Where was the harm in lingering in this fantasy world for a little while longer—or as long as he was willing?

  “Stay, Lyon,” she said quiet but serious. “It feels good and right with you here.” Glancing over his shoulder she added less confidently, “That closet on the left in the bath suite is empty, too. You could put your things in there so they would be closer.”

  It wasn’t poetic or close to what she wanted to say, but at least she felt him relax beside her.

  “Would you also let me spoon you while we sleep?”

  We. The word filled her with something as poignant as when he’d slipped his ring on her finger. “I might. I don’t know,” she replied giving him the honesty the moment called for. “Is that actually comfortable? I’ve never been spooned before.”

  She sensed a dozen questions spawn, and then percolate inside him. Although his eyes grew troubled and a frown formed decisively cutting a lightning bolt line between his dark eyebrows, he voiced none of them, for which she was grateful. But slowly, with breathtaking tenderness, he eased his arm around her waist, then slid his body flush against her back. When he gently slid his left leg between hers, the rest of his anatomy voided any pretense that the night would be an ode to sleep and the recuperative powers of rest.

  His breath was warm on her nape, his lips were hot against her skin when his teeth lightly scored her shoulder. The scent of chocolate had Hope licking her lips in anticipation.


  “It’s not only comfortable,” he told her. “In some locations it’s vital to survival.”

  He made her feel so protected and wanted that she closed her eyes to cherish this simple moment of sheer bliss. “I can see how this might make up for a shortage of fur pelts in cold climates,” Hope said, dutiful student she was willing to be.

  But when he slowly, carefully slid himself into her receptive body, Hope closed her eyes at this primal, yet natural way of tethering female to male. Nothing man could invent could compare with such a complete sense of well-being.

  “Lyon…” she sighed.

  “Yes, my dream?”

  It was the last thing she remembered saying to him. The next thing she knew her clock was beeping her awake, and Lyon was already showered and making her coffee in the kitchen. What did or didn’t happen remained a mystery to her, but his mysterious smile kept her blushing for days afterward.

  When the promise of fall came in September, Hope’s pregnancy advanced to where questions were impossible to avoid. Even so, she was carrying the child so high and totally in front that from the back she didn’t look pregnant at all. The first time she ran into someone she hadn’t seen in a while, the startled look on his face when she turned around to acknowledge his presence was priceless. It happened at a Dallas charity event and the gentleman in question just happened to be one of the men her father tried to match her up with right before Will had proposed to her.

  “Hope.” The tall, dashingly attired man kissed her on both cheeks in the European fashion that people in his circles emulated with enthusiasm. “I didn’t realize congratulations were in order. I saw nothing in the news and Ellis didn’t tell me.”

  “I’m not surprised. How are you, Reed?”

  “Fine. Crushed to find you more of a vision than ever, but I’ll muddle on, dawdling tortoise that I am.”

  Reed Ames was no dawdling anything. A real estate tycoon still in-between wives number three and four, he was old enough to be her father, but a gentleman in the way Golden Era film stars were heralded for their deportment. His photograph was regularly on newspaper society pages everywhere. Suspecting that this time would be no different, Hope reminded herself to warn Lyon in case that photo included her and not the dazzling blonde who had arrived on his arm an adornment like some men wore diamond cufflinks and expensive watches.

  “When is the baby due?” Reed asked.

  “Late winter or early spring,” she replied resorting to her most vague answer.

  “Who’s the lucky father and—” Reed’s eyebrows arched as he examined her left hand “—mister?”

  Focusing on the unspoken “husband,” Hope replied honestly, “A lovely man. You don’t know him, but don’t speed if you come driving through our neck of the woods anytime soon.”

  “It took a uniform to win your hand? I’m going to buy myself a yachtsman’s jacket tomorrow.”

  Not everyone was as gracious. A week later at Cedar Grove’s Day to Give Back event where residents were encouraged to take the initiative to clean up yards that had become an eyesore in town, paint someone’s house that either couldn’t manage or couldn’t afford to do it themselves, see to repairs where needed, or fill in for those who were shorthanded in help, Hope was helping register animals at the pet-dipping vaccination tent at the city park. Two women who could certainly afford to take their toy poodle and Maltese to a groomer came up to register their pets for a free bath and flea-tick dipping. It was impossible for Hope to miss their smirks and blatant stares at her stomach as she worked in her increasingly snug red T-shirt. But she kept her smile intact as she signed in the eight animals in line before them.

  “Aren’t you the one who was engaged to Will Nichols?” they demanded when it was their turn to register.

  “What can I help you with, ladies?” she asked.

  “It is her,” the other insisted. “My…look at you. Are you having a boy or girl? You know Rochelle is pregnant, too, only she’s definitely bigger than you are. You must be carrying a girl because she’s carrying a boy.”

  Hope kept her eyes down to prevent them from seeing her shock. “Can I have your dog’s tag number for ID and your name and phone number, please?” she asked in her most business-like voice.

  “How long a wait will it be?” the owner of the Maltese asked.

  “As you can see, we have a great number of dogs in need. Some of them are seriously contaminated with fleas and ticks,” she added in a stage whisper.

  The owner of the poodle stared distastefully at the large tubs of treated water. “They do change that for each bathing and dipping, don’t they?”

  “Well, they do the best they can,” Hope replied seeing a way of ending this humiliating experience. “I’d be sure to spray my clothes when I got home to rid myself of any infestation, and then wash them with bleach.” She was going a bit overboard, but the ploy worked. The women quickly abandoned the line and their agenda on behalf of Rochelle.

  Hope didn’t feel guilty for scaring off the troublemakers, and assured the disapproving woman taking the donations beside her that she would make up the lost revenue herself. The wife of a Baptist church deacon, the older volunteer had heard enough to judge Hope guilty of something, if only bad taste in her connections, and wanted no contamination by association. She didn’t speak to Hope again for the rest of the day.

  As for the suggestion that Rochelle was pregnant and that the baby was Will’s, Hope felt strangely apathetic. Will was fast becoming a sad mistake in her life and any results of those days were more the Nichols’ business than hers.

  It was a relief to be relieved by another worker and Hope continued around the park encouraged by the cooler but pretty weather. The cheers and applause from the big tent drew her attention. That was the wine and art auction, the proceeds being split between the town’s library, food bank, and animal shelter.

  A local DJ was acting as emcee and was luring more onlookers than there were tables and chairs, already claimed by Cedar Grove’s most affluent. Despite her somewhat haggard condition after the long hours outside of the pet tent, Hope joined the outer rim of observers and was scanning the crowd when her eyes locked with Summer’s. The ever-colorful forty-something divorcée was resplendent in the season’s latest fashions. Hope bet that outfit would be returned to the rack at her store by morning and the sales tag reattached bearing the full price amount. Next to her, Hope’s father was no shy mouse, irreverently dressed in white although it was weeks past Labor Day. A matching Western hat, pearl gray ostrich-leather cowboy boots and an obnoxiously large cigar completed his ensemble. When Summer pointed her out to Ellis, her father’s gaze chilled as he focused on her stylishly form-fitting T-shirt. Without so much as a nod in acknowledgment, he turned away. Openly thrilled with his visible censure, Summer gave her a saccharin sweet smile followed by a “whatever” shrug and turned back to the auctioneer, too. Hope was used to her father’s ways, but his letting Summer give the illusion to others around their table that she had tried to get Hope an invitation to join them was more than Hope could stomach. The final straw in the offensive day came as she found Summer bidding against her for a landscape painting by a local talent. The price had gone up to where she knew Summer would never risk her own money confirming her suspicion that this would be a gift from Ellis to his paramour. Summer failed in her plan, but it cost Hope twice what she felt was a fair price for the painting.

  She was putting her purchase into the trunk of her car when Lyon pulled up behind her. He shifted into park and stepped out to inspect the painting.

  “Nice,” he said after a too-brief kiss hello. Except for a few waves and wistful glances from across the park, this was the closest they’d been to each other all day except when they’d dressed and he’d whistled at her scooped-neck top that showed off her improved cleavage as it did her pregnancy’s progress. Then he’d buried his face against her and swore evening could not come soon enough.

  “So this is what you were telling me tha
t you wanted for the mantle for Thanksgiving,” he said studying the painting. “This cropping of trees looks familiar to me. The artist is a nature-lover for sure. The wild turkeys can be that plentiful, but you have to be patient and wait for them to get over their skittishness.”

  She should have been pleased with his approval; instead, Hope found herself stinging after all from all that had happened today. “Ellis gave Summer permission to bid against me. My own father.”

  Lyon took a philosophical perspective. “That sounds like one of his tactics. Then he still makes things look like he helped charity. Forget it, sweetheart. You know he enjoys stirring things up for his own entertainment. And if he sees that he can get under your usual reserve with a woman who uses brighter eye shadow than most transvestites, he’ll do it again.”

  True, but Hope wasn’t in the mood to be reasonable right now. “And,” she sniped back, “Rochelle Sims is pregnant.” Her annoyance with him was irrational as it was unfair. He would have to be a mind reader to know the real reason she was upset, but that didn’t stop her.

  She felt Lyon’s gaze on her profile and knew he was waiting for more—particularly an apology. Hope hated conflict and went out of her way to avoid moments like this. She also knew that he was wondering when the day would come that she could stop thinking of Will and how much of a fool he’d made of her. It wouldn’t be today. If he were alive, she would have unlocked her .12 gauge shotgun from her safe, driven over to the Nichols ranch, and emptied every shell into his dually.

  “Is this where I’m supposed to ask who sired the poor thing? Because, frankly, Hope, I don’t really see the point at this stage even if it is Will’s.”

  So wrong an answer.

  “The point is that what was once just a bad-joke rumor looks now to be the ugly truth. Do you think I want my child to know he has an illegitimate brother or sister virtually his own age?”