The silence stretched between them, awkward now. She continued to look him up and down, asking finally, “Are you always this black and white in your thinking, Captain Lockhart?”
His turn to shrug. He finished what was left of his coffee. “About some things, yeah.” He set the cup down with a thud. The flight attendant appeared with a refill.
When they were alone again, Hope continued curiously, “Is that why you chose the military as a career?”
It was part of it. The rest was more personal. “Both my grandfathers served our country.” His dad had passed on the opportunity. He and one of his four siblings had not.
“And...?” she prodded.
He exhaled, not above admitting that honor was everything to him. “There’s not a lot of room for error—or gray areas—in the military. It’s either right or it’s wrong.” Simple. Basic. Necessary. Unlike the way he’d grown up.
She stared at him. “And you think what I do is wrong.”
“I wouldn’t have put it that way,” Garrett said.
A delicate pale brow arched. “But you think it, don’t you?”
Wishing she hadn’t put him on the spot, he returned her sharp, assessing gaze. “You’re right. I do.”
“Well, that’s too bad, Captain.” Hope Winslow took a deep breath that lifted her opulent breasts. “Because your mother, Lucille Lockhart, has hired me to represent your entire family, as well as the Lockhart Foundation.”
He took a moment to let the blonde’s announcement sink in. Feeling as if he had just taken a sucker punch to the gut, he grumbled, “So the way you kept checking me out before we boarded, the fact that we’re both seated in first class on this flight, side by side, was no accident.”
“Lucille said you’d be difficult. I needed to talk with you before we landed and I wanted to get started early. And to that end...”
She finished her milk, put her tray away, retrieved her carryall from beneath the seat and took out a computer tablet. She brought up a screen titled Talking Points for Lockhart Foundation Crisis and set it in front of him. “I want you to memorize these.”
One hand on the cup, lest it spill, he stared at her. “You have got to be kidding me.”
The hell of it was, she wasn’t. “There’s a press conference later today,” she informed him crisply, suddenly all business. “We need you to be ready.”
This was like a replay of his past, only in a more formal venue. He hadn’t played those games then, and he certainly wasn’t getting sucked into them now. “No.”
Hope leaned closer, her green eyes narrowing. “You have to be there.” Her tone said the request was nonnegotiable.
His mood had been grim when he got on the plane. It was fire and brimstone now. No wonder his mother hadn’t wanted to be specific when she’d sent out that vague but somewhat hysterical SOS and let him know he was needed in Dallas ASAP.
He worked his jaw back and forth. “Why? I don’t have anything to do with the family charity.”
“You’re on the board of directors.”
Which basically did nothing but meet a couple times a year and green light—by voice vote—everything the CEO and CFO requested. “So are my mother and all my siblings.”
“All of whom have been asked to participate and follow the plan.” Hope paused, even more purposefully. “Your mother needs you to stand beside her.”
Garrett imagined that was so. Lucille had been vulnerable since his dad’s death. Knowing how much his parents had loved each other, that they’d been together for over forty years, he imagined the loss his mom felt was even more palpable than his own.
But there were limits as to what he would do. In this situation or any other. “And I will,” he promised tautly. “Just not like a puppet on a string. And certainly not in any scripted way in front of any microphones.”
* * *
ONE LOOK AT the dark expression on Garrett’s face told Hope there was no convincing him otherwise. Not while they were on the plane, anyway.
So she remained quiet during the descent. Thinking.
Strategizing.
By the time the aircraft landed in Dallas, she knew what she had to do.
She waited for him to catch up after they’d left the Jetway and walked out into the terminal, dragging her overnight bag behind her. “Your mother is sending a limo for us.”
He slung his duffel over one brawny shoulder. “Thanks. I’ll find my own way home.” He turned in the direction of the rental cars.
Hope rushed to catch up, her long strides no match for his. “She’s expecting us at the foundation office downtown.”
“Okay.”
Desperate to keep Garrett Lockhart from getting away from her entirely, she caught his arm, steering him off to the side, out of the way of other travelers. “Okay, you’ll be there?” she asked, as amazed at the strength and heat in the powerful biceps as by the building awareness inside of her. She had to curtail this desire. She could not risk another romantic interlude like the last. Could not!
One second she’d been holding on to him. Now he had dropped his duffel and was holding on to her. Hands curved lightly around her upper arms, oblivious to the curious stares of onlookers, he backed her up against a pillar, his tall, powerful physique caging hers. The muscles in his jaw bunched. “Get this through that pretty little head of yours. You are not in charge of me.”
Like heck she wasn’t! This was her job, gosh darn it. Refusing to be intimidated by this handsome bear of a man she lifted her chin. Valiantly tried again. “This crisis...”
He stared her down. “What crisis?”
He had a right to know what they were dealing with, but best they not delve into the exact details here, with people passing by right and left. She swallowed in the face of all that raw testosterone, the feel of his hands cupping her shoulders, the wish that... Never mind what she wished! “I’d prefer...”
He didn’t wait to hear the rest. Pivoting, he picked up his olive-green duffel, slung it back over his shoulder and headed for the doors out of Terminal B.
She raced after him, her trim skirt and high heels no match for his long, masterful strides. She would have lost him entirely had it not been for the contingent waiting on the other side.
No sooner had he cleared the glass doors than a group with press badges rushed toward him, trailing his sixty-eight-year-old mother.
As usual, the willowy brunette socialite was garbed in a sophisticated sheath and cardigan, her trademark pearls around her neck. Despite the many conversations they’d had this morning, Lucille Lockhart also looked more frazzled than she had the last time Hope had seen her. Not a good sign.
“Garrett, darling!” Lucille cried, rushing forward to envelope her much taller son in a fierce familial hug, the kind returning military always got from their loved ones.
Just that quickly, microphones were shoved into his face. “Captain Garrett! What do you think about the broken promises to area nonprofits?” a brash redhead demanded while cameras whirred and lightbulbs went off.
“Were you in on the decision not to pay them what was promised?” another reporter shouted.
“Does your family want the beneficiary charities to fail in their missions? Or did they take the money from the foundation, slated for the area nonprofits, and use it for personal gain?”
Lucille clung to Garrett all the harder, her face buried in his chest. With a big, protective arm laced around his mother’s shoulders, Garrett blinked at the flashbulbs going off and held back the approaching hoard with one hand.
“Don’t answer,” Hope commanded.
* * *
LIKE HE HAD an effing clue what to say. He had no idea what in tarnation the press was referring to.
Out of the corner of his eye, Garrett saw another woman approaching. She was pu
shing a convertible stroller with a hooded car seat snapped into the top. Dimly aware this was no place for an infant, Garrett turned back to the crowd. His mother looked up at him. “Listen to Hope,” Lucille Lockhart hissed.
Like hell he would.
More likely than not, it was Hope Winslow’s “management” of the crisis that was turning it into even more of a media circus. Certainly, she’d whipped his mother into a frenzy with her dramatics.
“Of course we didn’t take money out of the foundation for our own personal use,” he said flatly, watching as Hope signaled vigorously to an airport security guard for help. “Nor do we want to see any area charities fail.” That was ridiculous. Especially when his family was set to give away millions to those in need.
“But it appears money did not end up in the right hands,” another chimed in. “At least not this past year.”
“Say the foundation is looking into it,” Hope whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.
Ignoring her, he turned back to the reporters and reiterated even more firmly, “No one in my family is a thief.”
“So they are just what, then? Irresponsible?” another TV reporter shouted. “Heartless?”
An even more asinine charge. Garrett lifted a staying hand. “That’s all I have to say on the matter.”
More flashbulbs went off. A contingent of airport security stepped in. They surrounded the reporters, while on the fringes the young woman with the baby resumed her resolute approach. As she neared, Garrett could see it looked as though the young woman had been crying. “Hope! Thank heavens we found you!” the young lady said in a British accent.
Now what? Garrett wondered, exhaling angrily. Was this seemingly heartfelt diversion yet another part of the scandal manager’s master plan? Bracing for the answer, he swung back to Hope, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Who’s this?”
Abruptly, Hope looked as tense and on guard as he felt. “Mary Whiting, my nanny,” she said.
Chapter Two
Nanny? 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 th
at 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.
A Texas Soldier's Family Page 2
