Hope’s Child

by Helen R. Myers

  “Congratulations, Chief and Mrs. Teague.”

  The cheery greeting reluctantly brought him back to earth and they were instructed to sign the license, then Bonnie and Connie added their signatures.

  “I so enjoyed this,” said Ed’s wife, Connie with merry eyes and a bubbly personality to match her every-which-way curls. “The way you two looked at each other and kissed was just like in one of my favorite romance novels.” She brought out a camera from her legal-brief-size purse. “I see you didn’t bring one to remember the day. Mind if I do that for you?”

  “We completely forgot,” Hope said, her cheeks still pink from Connie’s effusive descriptions.

  With Connie’s direction, several poses were snapped. Lyon hoped the one with him standing behind Hope and his arms around her came out best; he wanted to set it on his desk in the office.

  “It’ll take a few weeks, but you’ll receive the registered copy in the mail,” Ed finally told them.

  They didn’t pass anyone on their way to the car and once inside, they were both silent. Lyon ached to reach for Hope and kiss her again, ask for her reassurance that she wasn’t sorry, but all he managed was a gruff, “Too late now.”

  “Now it’s time for the hard part,” she amended.

  Lyon frowned. “You weren’t wanting to go straight over there and tell him, were you?”

  “We should, but…would you mind if we waited until tomorrow, or the day after? It seems so wrong to taint that ceremony.”

  “You won’t hear any arguments from me.” He would do whatever she asked to keep her looking as she was at her flowers and ring. It thrilled him to think that she was even fractionally as caught up in the moment as she appeared to be.

  They talked and laughed all the way home. Hope asked for more stories about how he knew Ed, and Lyon teased her about how Ed’s wife and sister-in-law tried to get her to throw her bouquet because Bonnie was presently single and wishing, but Hope couldn’t make herself let go of it.

  When they entered the house, they found another surprise—a one-layer cake with a bride and groom in the center. The frosting was cream cheese painstakingly spread, but the few crumbs around the plate suggested the cake was chocolate. What really had them chuckling was that Molly had used a black marking pen to try and color the bride’s blond hair black.

  “Now you know why I love her and Tan,” Hope said.

  “We should invite them over for some.”

  “They’d decline, but I’ll call in a minute to thank them for us and promise to bring them each a piece in the morning.” She gestured with her flowers. “Why don’t you change and get the grill started? I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  While Lyon wished it was a real wedding day and that he could follow her to the master bedroom where they could help each other undress in the amber glow of the late afternoon sunlight, then make love until they knew each other by touch in the dark, he knew there were blessings to count with things as they were. At least she was bound to him now; all he had to do was build on his patience and her trust. He knew she considered him a friend, hopefully her dearest friend. Such friendships had been known to evolve into deeper love.

  Only that wasn’t enough.

  There was great passion inside of Hope, and he wanted that, too. He’d seen it often enough to where it had fostered a gnawing hunger in him, saw it in those mysterious, exotic eyes, when she fought for others’ rights, and spoke of protecting his job. How did he direct it at himself?

  Show her.

  The thought had him staring into space as in his school days when he faced a blank page when he was expected to write a term paper. English was his first language, but that didn’t help the words move to paper. Adding to the challenge, he had always gotten along with women, but never had to woo one before. That wasn’t arrogance; he simply had never had a relationship that interested him beyond that of mutual gratification. Like a lazy mind, an under-exercised heart was showing its disadvantages.

  He knew one thing for certain—he didn’t only want to seduce Hope, he wanted what his parents had found. Whatever happened, he decided, pulling at his tie, it mustn’t be because he didn’t try hard enough.

  Chapter Four

  “Are you sure about this?” Hope asked Lyon as he shut off the engine to his police car.

  He’d picked her up ten minutes ago at the house for their ten o’clock meeting with her father, although Ellis didn’t know the appointment was for both of them. Lyon had raised his eyebrows at the idea that a daughter was kept to such formal conditions, and she’d had to explain that there was no such thing as just dropping by. Ellis had made that clear when she refused to move back into the house after her mother’s death. The protocol was fine with her, since it somewhat protected her from impromptu visits from him; however, she didn’t doubt for a moment that he would show up at her front door if he was determined to see her. It was sad testimony to think that was the second, and not third or fourth, reason why she’d put in the electronic gate system.

  “I told you,” Lyon replied. “You handling this alone is not an option.”

  It wasn’t that Hope wasn’t grateful; she simply yearned for what they’d had yesterday—the peaceful atmosphere, the companionship as they’d cooked together and filled in the gaps of what life was like when each was away in school or jobs prior to their current work. It was hardly a conventional evening considering that they were supposed to be on their honeymoon, but knowing how her father was apt to react in a few moments made her yearn to turn back the clock for a few more hours alone with Lyon.

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider leaving your gun in the car?” she asked.

  Lyon gave her a mild look. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Releasing their seat belts, they exited the car and walked together up the four stairs to the veranda of the two-story federal-style mansion that had been built less than two decades after the Alamo. The house was recognized by the state historical society and had been on the Cedar Grove tour of homes three times that Hope could remember. Two large concrete urns framed the front door bearing junipers trimmed into spiral topiaries. The structure could be a courthouse the way it looked now—well-tended, but extremely spare in adornment, and aloof, like the owner.

  The front door opened before Hope could ring the bell. A slender man in a black suit and red-and-black striped tie about the same age and coloring as her father nodded his head in a nominal bow and stepped aside to let them enter.

  “Miss Harrell, Chief Teague.”

  “Hello, Greenleaf,” Hope replied to her father’s longtime butler. “It’s nice to see you.”

  “You as well, miss. You’ll find him in the study.”

  That was as friendly as her father’s employee was apt to dare get and she wasn’t about to make things more difficult for him except for one question. “Is Mrs. Crandall okay? I haven’t seen her in town in a while.”

  “She broke a toe almost two weeks ago, Miss. I’m doing the shopping and errands that I can until she can wear regular shoes again.”

  “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Needless to say, her father hadn’t shared that bit of news. “Please tell her that I asked about her and send my sympathies,” she said. “And let me know if there is anything I can do for either of you.”

  “I will. Thank you, Miss Hope.”

  Greenleaf didn’t invite warm fuzzies and using her first name was the only sign that he recognized her sincerity and concern, but Hope could never fault his service or discipline, and she felt much the same about Mrs. Crandall, although she barely knew her. Hope had moved out when their long-time housekeeper Naomi Jobs retired and Mrs. C had joined the staff.

  As the butler stood back to let them cross the expansive foyer, Hope didn’t attempt to explain or reminisce about the decor with Lyon, even though this was his first time there; however, she did pause so Lyon could get a closer look at the full-size portrait of her mother on her wedding day on the wall beside the study doors.


  “She was beautiful,” he murmured. “Except for the more formal gown, that could be a portrait of you.”

  Despite her awareness that Greenleaf was watching, Hope touched his arm. “You always say the right thing.”

  “Your hand is cold,” he noted, covering it with his. He squeezed gently, his look reassuring.

  Hope started to reply when the double doors swung open. She pivoted neatly, her hair and flower-print skirt flaring. Adjusting her red leather purse strap on the shoulder of a short white jacket, she settled her expression into a polite smile.

  “Hello, Dad. How are you?”

  “What’s he doing here?” Ellis demanded, his gaze immediately narrowing on Lyon.

  Hope suspected he’d seen them drive up and walk up to the front door, since the floor to ceiling windows in the study faced the circular driveway. But since he hated being caught unawares and she had refused to tell him what this meeting was about, he was at a disadvantage. A price was in the process of being exacted.

  “We came to share a few things with you.”

  Not quite as tall as Lyon, or as toned, he remained an impressive physical specimen for a man turning sixty-two by Christmas. Even his lush head of hair still had some blonde in it. His tan sports jacket over crisp white shirt and pressed jeans might exude a casual first glance, but upon closer examination, they were undoubtedly tailored for him, and his black boots were sharkskin, not cowhide.

  “You know perfectly well you made me believe my appointment was with you and you alone,” Ellis replied, his baritone voice rough from shouting too many orders in corrals and meeting rooms than from scotch and cigars. “And you have ten minutes before I have to leave.”

  “Heading to the hospital?”

  “What the devil for?” he asked, doing a 180-degree turn and retreating back into his office. His demeanor was such that he was giving notice that he didn’t care if they followed or not.

  “To purge whatever is making you sound like a stopped-up septic tank.”

  He spun around and looked like he was about to grind her into his lunch, but abruptly burst into a single bark of laughter. “Whatever it is you want,” he said pointing at her, “that crack just cost you ten percent more than it would have.”

  “Then lucky for us that we’re not here to negotiate,” Hope replied. “How was your dinner party?”

  “Fine, no thanks to you. Summer Isadore graciously agreed to take your place.”

  Summer was a dozen years her senior and so hardly what Jack Nolan might be in the market for, but always receptive to an invitation from Ellis, so Hope doubted there was no hardship involved. She owned Summer’s Ladies, a boutique for women like her—affluent, discerning, and always on the prowl for greener pastures. As much as Hope tried to shop locally to support entrepreneurs, she wouldn’t be crossing that threshold, unless she saw smoke billowing in the display window and had forgotten how to dial 911.

  When Hope failed to take the bait, Ellis offered a cranky, “All right, so you won this round. I’ll admit to being curious. What’s up?”

  “Lyon and I simply wanted to inform you before we make a formal announcement. We’re married.”

  He looked from one of them to the other. “The hell you say.”

  Hope held out her left hand so he could see the ring. “And before you say something you’re going to regret, you’d better know that I’m going to have a baby.”

  “His?”

  “Careful,” Lyon warned him.

  Ellis turned away from them, his hands fisted at his side. “How dare you?” he finally rasped.

  It was impossible to tell if that was meant for her or Lyon, but as far as Hope was concerned it was the same thing. “If you’re accusing either one of us of something,” she began, “please remember that we’re both well over the age of consent and we hardly need the blessing of Vatican West. But if you’re singling me out, consider that I could say the same thing to you for making a private loan to Will behind my back.”

  That startled her father and his about face wasn’t smooth. “He told you?”

  “Right after I broke our engagement.”

  A muscle under her father’s right eye twitched. “Why did you do a fool thing like that?”

  “Why is my not so subtle accusation so easy for you to dismiss?” Hope shook her head. “Mother would never have dreamed to give you cause to doubt her.”

  “Apples and oranges. Your mother was barely twenty when I married her. Will was a man, not a boy.”

  “You aren’t going to claim age gives you the right to lie as well as cheat? Poor Mother,” she said almost to herself. “She had it rougher than I even guessed.”

  Ellis circled his massive oak desk and sat down heavily in a burgundy leather chair. “That’s not fair.”

  “Inconvenient truths, Father.”

  For several seconds Ellis looked out the nearest window, his jaw squared and his gray eyes hard. Hope once thought him as handsome as Robert Redford; however, while still in braids, she’d grasped that he had none of the actor-turned-director-turned renaissance man’s finessed qualities. He remained handsome in his element, much the way a free predator could be artistically and scientifically mesmerizing, yet dangerous in the wild. Hope harbored a healthy wariness of that man.

  When Ellis fixed Lyon with his gaze, he demanded, “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “To you, nothing. But you might give your daughter your blessing.”

  “I’ll take the H-brand to your cunning hide first.”

  “That would be fair if I thought you were concerned for her and her alone. But exactly how long do you think keeping your foot on her neck will work for you?”

  “Why you—”

  As Ellis pushed himself out of his chair, Hope stepped into his line of vision. “Lyon is the least manipulative man you’ll ever meet. The least like you. Is that why Will had your full support? He was more of a son to you, a chip off the old block, than I’m a daughter?”

  “You must be pregnant,” Ellis spat. “You’re getting emotional.”

  Lyon took careful hold of Hope’s elbow. “We’re done here, let’s go.”

  Hope stood her ground. “This was a courtesy visit, but hear this—meddle in my private life or continue to support any of that nonsense going on in town to remove Lyon, and be assured—Clyde and Mercy aren’t the only people who will know how Will was sweating to hide his business mistakes.” Part of that was an educated guess, but it proved fruitful.

  The arrogance of power was draining from her father’s face. “You’d ruin the reputation of the man you were supposed to marry?”

  “He was doing just fine on his own. But what is despicable is that you were willing to see me locked in a marriage that would break my heart. That I won’t forget or easily forgive.”

  She let Lyon direct her out of the room and the house, grateful that there was no further sign of Greenleaf, although she suspected he wasn’t far away. As for her and Lyon, they didn’t speak again until they were in the car and almost at the end of the driveway.

  “Remind me never to push you into a corner,” Lyon said as though reciting the time and temperature.

  Closing her eyes wasn’t enough. Moaning, Hope covered her face with her hands. “He’s right. I got emotional when I meant to stay so calm and focused. “

  “You were terrific.”

  “You have to say that, you’re stuck with me.”

  “No,” he drawled. “I don’t. A wedding vow doesn’t mean unconditional support, especially for a bad idea—though I’m not saying this was. But it does mean recognizing what this meeting cost you. I admire your strength. You’ve lived under that roof for almost two decades and have seen the bodies of his enemies and victims pile up in bankruptcy court and cemeteries. I admit that once upon a time, I thought you were a bit of a Girl Scout. I’d already changed my mind since then, but my respect for you grew the width and depth of another ocean today.”

  Hope
didn’t want the compliment to matter so much, but she was feeling ultra exposed having said so much in front of him. “Girl Scout, huh? I guess a hug is a hug.”

  “I can do better.”

  They were well out of sight of the estate and Lyon turned into a wooded driveway where he shifted into Park and released his seat belt. Then he slid back the seat and released Hope’s buckle and deftly lifted her onto his lap.

  “Lyon…” she gasped. She found herself eye to eye with him. “This is crazy.”

  “Humor me,” he replied. “It’s either this or I take you to the ER to make sure your blood pressure isn’t about to rupture a vein or hurt the baby.”

  With that he leaned her back over his arm and claimed her mouth with his, kissing her the way he’d been wanting for too long to remember. She was immediately responsive and pliant in his arms, her lips parting to his probing, her back arching as he coaxed her closer, as close as he could get her. She smelled like heaven, she felt like a dream, and her taste went to his head faster than any drink could. Craving much more, Lyon withdrew his tongue and slid his lips across her cheek to press against the side of her neck.

  “Now you may need to get me to the hospital,” she told him.

  He was immediately contrite. “Did I hurt you lifting you over this confounded clutter?”

  He was referring to the console where there was everything from more gadgets to communication gear. “No more than a bump or two. I was talking about that kiss.”

  “I’m breaking my own rule to not take advantage.”

  “You aren’t. But you did say this arrangement could be anything I wanted it to be. I liked the kiss, Lyon. I liked it a lot.”

  His chest rose and fell as he breathed deeply, and he brushed his thumb against her lower lip. “I hope you mean that because I need to do it again.”

  Their second kiss had her wrapping her arms around his neck. That crushed her breasts against his hard chest, and she could feel their hearts leap and pound anew as his tongue coaxed hers to kiss him back in that steamy, languid way, as if they had all the time in the world. Hope felt her body heat as though the air conditioner wasn’t running and it was triple-digit August instead of the middle of May. He made her wish they were home instead of here and that he would do more than run his hands up and down her back and torment her with only brushing the backs of his fingers over the outermost swell of her breast. She yearned to feel his skin touching hers, and his breath—