“Can we talk like this if we cross paths in town?”
“As long as you resist offering to shake my hand,” she quipped.
The mug was halted midway to his mouth. “Now when did I ever do that?”
“I’m teasing. At any rate, you’ve always been welcoming and make people feel like there’s no one else you’d rather speak with.”
“We’re not talking about people,” he replied with some weariness, “we’re talking about—maybe I should get you an engagement ring.”
“No! Oh, no,” she said less anxiously. “Please don’t go through that expense. What I would really like is a wedding band, not too wide, maybe with some delicate scrolling, nothing with stones, nothing square or rectangular so that there are edges. I don’t want to constantly worry that a gem has come loose and been lost, or to keep getting hung on my clothes or scratching furniture.”
Lyon frowned. “You’re not saying that to protect my wallet or pride, are you? I may not have Will’s bankroll, Hope, but that hardly makes me destitute.”
“I’m not comparing. Besides, I told you Will wasn’t as financially flush as he led everyone to believe. He was real estate rich, but cash poor. That ring he gave me was all for show. If it’s ever found, it needs to go to Clyde and Mercy. They may need it to cover back taxes or who knows what else.”
“That’s extremely decent of you.”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
“Well, I can tell you from what I’ve seen of relationships that have gone south, not every woman would share your perspective.” Eyeing her hands as she toyed with her hair again, he relented. “A band it is. We could stop somewhere and look at some when we go for the license. I’d like one myself.”
“Would you?” Hope couldn’t hide her surprise and delight. “Why Lyon—thank you!”
Suddenly he looked less tired and far more pleased with himself. “I did check my schedule…what do you think about next Thursday?”
“That will work, provided we don’t leave until afternoon. I have a consultation in the morning that could take a while. An elderly woman who was recently widowed. She knows nothing about her finances because her husband had always managed everything.”
“Well, she’s in good hands now,” Lyon said.
“Would you mind us going down to Rockwall for the license? It’s far enough away that we shouldn’t run into anyone from here, and they have a nice historic courthouse. Lake Ray Hubbard makes for a scenic background, too.” Just north of downtown Dallas in the last several years the area had mushroomed into its own not-so-little enclave of shops and restaurants, while elegant homes and condominiums lined the lake. “I know this is a marriage of convenience,” she said wistfully, “but that doesn’t mean we can’t make the day enjoyable, even special.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her lips. “We’ll make it whatever you want it to be.”
Heaven help her, Hope thought. Practically everything he was saying was rocketing her imagination into forbidden territory.
“This is all falling into place almost too easily,” Hope murmured. “Lyon, I can’t tell you how grateful I am for how agreeable you’re being.” To her surprise he not only dropped his gaze, his expression seemed guilty.
“You may take that back when I tell you that your father called me today,” he said.
“Oh.” Was that the real reason he couldn’t sleep? Once again she wrestled with disappointment and guilt. Guilt won. Harrells were turning his world upside down and inside out. “I expected his first line of attack would be me and that my phone would be ringing off the wall,” she said while wondering what Ellis had up his sleeve. “But it never did.”
“He said he tried to reach you several times.”
She shook her head slowly and went to the kitchen phone. Lifting the remote, she clicked the green icon, heard the dial tone and clicked on the red. Returning the remote to its cradle, she asked, “What did he have to say?”
“Nothing you haven’t already heard or can’t imagine. After warning me to stay away from you, he came right out and declared he was coming after my badge.”
“At least now you believe me that he’s serious.”
“I believed you all along, Hope. I simply didn’t want you worrying about me when you had enough going on.”
“But can you see that my support of you will help thwart his plans and this proves he thinks so, too?”
“Maybe.”
Hope accepted that.
“One thing,” he continued, “and this isn’t a negotiable issue. When you tell your father about us, I want to be there.”
“But that will only encourage him to be all the more unpleasant. That’s so unfair to you.”
“How so if I’m half the man you make me out to be? We may not share a bed, Hope, but we’ll be sharing vows. The responsibility that comes with them began when I agreed to this.”
She had long thought him a principled and honorable man, but her respect and feelings deepened tenfold with that pronouncement. Coming at the end of a week of emotional upheaval and psychological turmoil, her throat tightened, her eyes burned with unshed tears. She wished she could articulate what she was feeling. Carrying the child of a man she had stayed with longer than she’d loved him left her with a sense of dues to pay and wrongs to be righted. But she ached for how things could have been if she’d made different choices sooner. All she could do was try to get it right from now on.
“All right,” she replied. “We’ll face him together.”
Chapter Three
As planned, on the following Thursday, Lyon and Hope drove down to Rockwall, the county seat of Rockwall County, which claimed the distinction of being the smallest county in Texas. It turned out that it was closer to three in the afternoon before they could get away.
With the sun nudging temperatures into the eighties and the medians along the north corridor of Interstate 30 changing from a flood of Indian paintbrush and crimson clover to summer wildflowers like black-eyed Susans and butterfly weeds, it was a perfect afternoon to be on the road. Hope had suggested they use her Mercedes for the trip and was glad when Lyon hesitated only briefly. Using his patrol car was a non-option, and their pickup trucks might still be considered the real Cadillacs by Texans, but neither would provide the right tone for this trip.
After a few years of seeing Lyon always in his uniform, Hope couldn’t help but admire him in his camel blazer, white dress shirt, and jeans. His black dress boots were polished to a military shine. She was relieved for him that his burns healed as fast as he’d assured her they would and that the doctors had let him remove the bandages on his left arm. He admitted his arm remained a bit stiff and the new skin felt a little tight, but it looked as though in time the scarring would be minimal. Yesterday’s trip to his barber had eradicated most of the damage to his hair.
“You look like a very tough marine about to be deployed,” she told him.
“I look scalped,” he muttered.
Coming from him that was almost amusing, except that it made her think of how much worse things could have gotten. Grateful, Hope lifted her face to the warming sun. With the moon roof slightly open, her hair, feathered around her face, tickling her now and again, and she smiled feeling better than she had for some time.
She had chosen to wear a powder blue sheath topped with a matching bolero jacket trimmed with coffee brown lace. The lace collar stood up like gowns from the Elizabethan period and ruffled at her wrists. The earrings she brushed against as she smoothed her hair were turquoise in a squash-blossom design—another inheritance from her mother. She’d worn them and the delicate matching cross necklace hoping to feel her spirit—and she did.
“Where did you go just now to put that lovely, serene smile on your face?” Lyon asked.
“I was just thinking of my mother—and thank you.”
“Would Miss Rebecca have approved of what her only child was doing?”
Hope considered the question for a few secon
ds. “She would have worried, maybe, but understood. At any rate, what could she say considering who she married?”
“Good point.”
“Then again, if she was still here, this wouldn’t be necessary. She would have taken her riding crop to my father.”
“And banished him from the bedroom.”
“Exactly,” she laughed.
After passing a USPS truck towing two trailers, Lyon continued. “Did you warn Tan and Molly that it might be dark before we get back?”
“Yes, Chief, and they have my cell phone number.” At his sidelong look, she added, “It’s all right, Lyon. I’ve been out after dark before.”
“But you’ve never been pregnant before.”
That was becoming his favorite mantra. Their engagement had tripped a protective switch in him, not that she really minded. She was also seeing how much more attentive Tan was growing since learning she was expecting. Suddenly, she couldn’t get near the horses without him shadowing her, and now he insisted on unloading feed bags by himself. Molly was almost as bad; Hope could no longer carry anything heavier than a laundry basket. Climbing the kitchen ladder to dust the tops of cabinets and refrigerator was an invitation to hear Molly hum off key—a quirk she’d developed to help her cope when she became stressed.
“I have a feeling you’re all going to get pretty annoying by the time I’m in maternity clothes,” she told Lyon.
“Doesn’t hurt for you to be the one being spoiled for a change. You do that plenty enough for others.”
“Ah-ha…so being bird-dogged and shadowed is a gift.”
It was a relief to see him relaxed and enjoying the drive, as much as she was. The last several days had tested his resilience and commitment to the job.
On Monday, a “name withheld” Letter to the Editor had appeared in their weekly newspaper accusing Lyon of having something other than coffee in his mug at the grill the night of the accident. By Tuesday, rumor had it that seventy-five more people had signed the petition to terminate Lyon’s contract with the city. Outraged, George Bauman, the grill’s owner and bartender, had stormed into the newspaper’s office and called Ted Pettigrew, owner and editor-in-chief of the Cedar Grove Chronicle, an enabler and idiot for allowing such libelous garbage to be printed and pulled his standing ad. But Ted remained unapologetic. He loved conflict wherever he could find it or stir it up, and gleefully informed George that he had two more letters critical of Lyon waiting for next week’s issue.
Perhaps the most disturbing and disappointing occurrence was that one of Lyon’s youngest officers, Chris Sealy, told him that his wife wanted him to quit and move to another town and police department because she “worried for his safety under Chief Teague.” The embarrassed young officer acknowledged that his wife’s cousin was Rochelle and that she thought she owed Rochelle her support. Nothing was set in stone yet, but it appeared Lyon would be looking for a new police officer before long.
That wasn’t to say there weren’t pleasant surprises to emerge like intermittent sunshine between storm clouds. Hope was learning that Lyon liked to call at least twice a day to see what she was up to—three times if he couldn’t meet her for lunch or when a planned dinner together wouldn’t work out. And so far they had only shared one dinner due to him trying to work ahead so that he could take a few extra days off to move once they were married.
As for her father, Hope had declined two of his dinner invitations. She’d cited her workload as her excuse. On a hunch, though, she’d driven past the ranch on the night of the first invitation and, sure enough, spotted Clyde and Mercy’s aging Lincoln Towncar in the driveway. That made turning down the second invitation easier.
Before they reached Greenville, Hope winced and slipped out of the designer heels that matched the lace on her dress. “The Internet tells me that this embryo is the size of a pin head, but I’ve already gained two pounds and I think it’s all in my feet! With my luck, I’ll be wearing an NBA size by the time I deliver.”
“What are you doing wearing shoes not broken in yet?”
“These aren’t new, cowboy. I’m not so foolish and fashion crazy as to wear new shoes when I know I’ll be on my feet for hours…but they are a half-inch higher than what I usually wear.”
“No, not fashion crazy at all,” Lyon drawled.
“Yes, you guys hate that we try to look our best for you.”
“Can’t stand it,” he said agreeably. “By the way, what do you call that nail polish?”
“Iced Mocha.” She wiggled her toes delighted that he’d noticed.
“That was my first guess, too.” By now Lyon was almost sporting dimples. “What size shoe are you, a six?”
“Lucky guess.”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks they do.”
Leaning her head back against the seat, Hope studied him openly. “Lyon, why haven’t you ever married?” It was a question she’d wondered about often, all the way back to when Will had suggested she play matchmaker for his buddy. But she’d never been satisfied with any of the potential partners Will had suggested.
When Lyon didn’t answer, she waved away the question. “Forget that. I shouldn’t have gotten that personal.”
“We’re about to live under the same roof. Something tells me we’ll be hard-pressed to avoid getting more personal. Only…can I give you a rain check?”
“Sure, I’ll be around,” she quipped. But it wasn’t all right and Hope immediately started speculating. Was he pining over someone? In a town their size, it was fairly easy to remember whom he’d dated and the ones who hadn’t moved away appeared to be happily married. Had someone left Cedar Grove that she had forgotten about?
“Don’t burn valuable brain cells.”
Caught in the act, Hope stiffened to keep from squirming. “I’m not. I was about to ask how things went in court the other day? You never did say.” Instead they had talked about the challenge of finding packing boxes and the most opportune time to transport them to an apartment when you weren’t ready to tell anyone you were moving, or seem to confirm that an employment switch was looming.
“It turned out that I wasn’t needed after all. I sat in the hall for two hours—the second lunch we missed—and then the guy accepted the plea bargain. He’s already down in Huntsville. I’d rather talk about what you’d like to do after we get the license and rings. Dinner overlooking the lake might be nice. In fact I took a chance and made reservations at the Hilton.”
Hope gasped with surprise and delight. Although there were some fun places with good food opening around the huge Bass Pro shop on the east side of the Interstate, the Hilton provided more elegant, gourmet dining. “Mistra’s?”
“I booked us for six o’clock. I hope that I left enough time to shop for the rings.”
Hope couldn’t believe he’d done this—actually wanted somewhere more formal. “I love that place. Have you been there before?”
“No, but I found it online. It seemed to suit you more than anything else I saw.”
That was high flattery coming from a man who didn’t seem to say anything that he didn’t mean. “When I have a meeting with anyone in or around the city, I try to book it there. Not only does it split the driving distance, but the ambiance eases the tedium of talking numbers and growth patterns. It reminds me of Greece and the Mediterranean—open and airy, sun-bleached whites and cerulean blues. In fact that’s where it gets its name.”
“I wondered—or if it was named after the owner or chef?”
“No, for centuries, Mistra was a fortified city with quite a reputation for culture and philosophy.”
“Have you been to Greece?” Lyon asked.
“Years ago, but not to the island, and I was quite young, so much of the art and history was wasted on me, but it’s where I learned to love goat cheese—and probably cost my mother months off her life while diving from the cliffs. I really appreciate this, Lyon.”
The courthouse was busy, but they waited their turn to fill out t
he application and then sat dutifully before the clerk and finished the paperwork. In less than forty minutes they were back outside, but that left them with the minimum time for ring shopping before their dinner reservations.
The first jewelry store had a beautiful selection, but despite Lyon’s coaxing, Hope held to her request for something simpler. The next store had a pair of bands they both liked and the inventory was such that they walked out with the small bag containing the symbols of their future.
At the hotel, they left the Mercedes with the valet and proceeded to the restaurant. As soon as the maître d’ spotted her, his expression of cool reserve warmed to a wide smile. “Ms. Harrell! What a pleasure. I didn’t realize you’d be a guest this evening.”
“Thank you, Ivo. It’s always good to see you.”
“I would have thought we wouldn’t be having the pleasure of your company for some time. My deepest sympathies for your loss.”
Hope felt Lyon shift closer behind her and his hand go immediately to her waist. She appreciated that since she had completely overlooked that anyone here would have seen the obituaries, which was foolish of her. “I appreciate that so much,” she replied. She stepped aside to gesture to Lyon. “This is Chief of Police Teague from my town. Lyon, Ivo Martini.”
“Ah! Chief Teague, yes, we have the reservation. An honor, sir.” With a bow he quickly stopped the hostess who was assigning a table and with a discreet few words did some hasty rearranging of her seating chart. “Please follow me,” he said with menus in hand, then led them to the circular part of the restaurant where floor-to-ceiling windows looked out onto the pool and beyond it the lake.
“The best seats. You’re already spoiling us, Ivo.” Hope eased onto the chair that he held out for her.
“We will all do our best.” He opened her leather menu and handed it to her and then did the same for Lyon. “We’re featuring wines from South Africa this week.”
“Thank you, but I can’t this visit,” she told him. “I’ll just have water, thank you.”
Hope’s Child Page 5
