Hope’s Child

by Helen R. Myers

  And she was beautiful even with a shiny, red nose and the hint of raccoon eyes. “Hope, promise me you won’t keep me having to play twenty guesses? If you need to be held, I’ll hold you. Taking a cold shower later is much easier than working up an ulcer because I don’t know what’s made you shut me out.”

  Her expression softened and she laid her hand against his cheek. “What did I do to deserve you?”

  “Don’t be too flattering, I do have my limits. Don’t ask me to watch when you get around to craving pickles and ice cream.”

  “Yuck. That doesn’t sound remotely appealing. Thank you,” she added quietly. After she noticed his gaze lowering to her mouth, she leaned close and touched her lips to his.

  “Again, please,” he said keeping his eyes closed.

  She did as he asked, this time lingering and gently brushing her lips back and forth against his. He liked the way their noses caressed, too, and wisps of her hair acted like fingertips stroking his face.

  “Better.” He had to swallow because even these sweet caresses were starting to raise his temperature and leave him parched. “I am, after all, the man who is going to endure watching you turn green from morning sickness and be asked for back rubs when you get geometrically imbalanced.”

  “Not necessarily, smarty. I’ve had a standing appointment for a few years with a massage therapist in town,” she said against his lips. “Like the yoga, it’s preventative care.”

  Before she could withdraw, he gave into the need to part her lips further and kissed her in a manner that caressed her the way he ached to explore the rest of her body. Her soft sounds of appreciation and yearning soon tempted him to lean her back against the bedspread and stretch out beside her.

  “You’re clicking, Chief.”

  Lyon realized he was being summoned. Buddy was giving his discreet indication requesting a check-in before he was forced to make a verbal request. With a sigh, Lyon pushed himself to his feet.

  “Guess you know where I’m headed,” he told Hope.

  “Will you be home for dinner? I’m thinking of calling over Molly after all. We could make something nice.”

  She really needed to rest, but if some quiet time with sweet-natured Molly did the trick, that was good, too. “Short of a Caribbean cruise liner missing its dock and carving its way all the way up here, you bet,” he replied.

  “See you then.”

  Chapter Five

  Hope didn’t get morning sickness. What she did was develop an extreme taste for all foods with a Southwestern flavor and had to consciously work at not indulging three times a day. By the Fourth of July she had worked through her Rolodex of her mother’s personal recipes, and the three other specialized cookbooks she owned. She was eyeing a recipe online when Molly entered the kitchen with a basket of roses from the front yard.

  “How does grilled snapper stuffed with jalapeños sound?” she asked her. “My mouth is already watering.”

  Molly hugged the colorful blooms to her thin chest. “Jalapeños make my hands burn,” she enunciated with care. Her expression reflected more than a little trepidation. “We can ask Tan to pick them. There are lots in the garden and they need to be picked, but he’s been busy with the horses.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I can go pick them. I was just wondering if it was just me and my crazy taste buds that thought the recipe sounded yummy.”

  She and Lyon were going to a town-and-church picnic in the city park and attendees were encouraged to donate to the buffet that would be open to the entire town. Lyon didn’t want to go—he was already at the town’s Liberty Parade and would be working tonight at the fireworks show. But while some people had taken their marriage announcement in stride—a few even relieved at what they saw as a better match—others had grown more negative than ever. Then, too, a client’s freezer had gone out on them and they had several large red snappers that needed to be used up quickly.

  “Let me put the roses in water,” Molly said placing the basket on the counter beside the sink. “Then I’ll go out with you and hold the hoe.”

  Bemused, Hope gave her a curious glance. “What for?”

  “Tan saw a spread adder go in the garden yesterday. I’ll watch and chase it away if it tries to come after you.”

  “I’m not afraid of a bluffing snake,” Hope said with a laugh. But the thought of those critters meandering in her thriving garden did give her some pause. “You’re sure he thought it was a non-venomous snake?”

  “Oh, yes. He brought out his book and he showed me a picture. I hope it’s gone. It looked like a cobra to me.” Molly’s expression grew vague and whimsical. “Tan is very smart. He reads all the time.”

  “And he’s a good husband and groundskeeper. He wouldn’t let a bad snake stay around here knowing you or I were going to be out there,” Hope assured her. She squeezed the young woman’s thin shoulder to bring her back from her mental wandering. If she didn’t, sometimes Molly could stay “gone” for minutes on end. “Okay, you see to the flowers and if you don’t mind, wash the fish again that are soaking in the two big bowls in the refrigerator. I’ll handle the pepper harvesting.”

  “Then I put the fish back in the refrigerator, right?”

  “No, leave them soaking in the sink. We’ll start the rest of the preparations as soon as I come back inside.” The simplest tasks were sometimes a problem for Molly, but no one was more thorough and dependable when she got routines memorized.

  Once outside, she saw Tan cleaning the hooves of Desiree, her gray pregnant mare. She let herself into the barn through a wooden gate and exited on the south side where he was bent over his task. “Good morning,” she said. “I appreciate you getting that done today, Tan. But I hope you’ll take it easy the rest of the day. It’s a holiday.”

  Tan grinned at her, his eyes becoming little more than slits in his bronzed face. “Miss D follow me around all yesterday and paw ground. No more delay.”

  “I think she’s training you as well as you’re training her. Molly told me that you saw a spread adder in the garden. I just wanted you to know that if I yell, ‘snake,’ it’s one of the more venomous varieties.”

  The slender, middle-aged man, who was her own height, shook his head. “No snake. I know you be coming out, so I look good. Find two fat tomato worm. Good fish bait. Molly and I catch dinner for later.”

  Luckily his wife loved fish. “Thank you, Tan. You spoil me. Are you and Molly going to come watch the fireworks tonight?”

  He shook his head, then pointed. “Drive truck to middle of pasture and make picnic on back. Best view.”

  “How romantic. I’ll envy you the privacy. I’m going to keep the chief company, since he wants to help his people monitor things. See you later.”

  She picked about a quart of peppers and returned to the kitchen where Molly was humming to herself and twisting a dish towel almost into a knot. Hope set her basket on the center workstation and peeled off her gloves.

  “What’s the problem, Molly?”

  “I did wrong. I should let the machine answer the phone, but I wanted to help. You’re busy and I was finished with the flowers and giving the fish a bath.”

  Oh, no, Hope thought. “Did the caller confuse you?”

  “I asked the lady to not speak so fast. She got mad and called me the name.”

  Not a name, but the name. Hope immediately eased the towel from her hands and gave her a hug. She knew exactly what word the caller had used—idiot. Molly had heard it a great deal from her previous boyfriend even before the accident. Doctors had concluded it was the one thing she retained from that episode, although she had no memory of the man.

  “I’m sorry, Molly, dear. That was rude of her. Can you remember who the caller was?”

  “An M like me.” Having no towel to twist, she began rubbing her wedding band like a worry stone. “I can’t remember because it’s not a real name. It’s just a word.”

  Hope was getting as good as Tan at grasping what the young woman meant. She a
sked, “Was it Mercy?”

  “That’s the word!”

  Why on earth had Mercy called here? Their last meeting in town, days after Hope and Lyon had made it public that they were married, had been stilted at best. Mercy acted as though she’d committed an offense against the entire Nichols family tree. Hope had clung to civility and lessons learned at her mother’s skirt hem not to remind Mercy that until weeks ago, she had been the wife of a man who did little more than make excuses for why he couldn’t find and keep gainful employment. While she’d taken in sewing and cleaned other people’s houses, the senior-most Nichols strolled from store to coffee shop opining as to all that was wrong with this country. Only last year had Will succeeded in getting his deadbeat uncle a job with the city, but all that Clyde was qualified to do was burn gas driving around in a city truck. When the city was really shorthanded, he was the one holding the Slow sign at road repair locations. He couldn’t even handle a Stop sign without causing a traffic jam. Most offensive was hearing through the grapevine that Clyde suspected the delay in getting the autopsy report on Will had been because Lyon was coercing the medical examiner to “doctor” the report in order to get attention off of himself. Hope fervently wished the Nichols to forget that they were once almost in-laws. What happened that Mercy should deign to phone here?

  “Why don’t you bring Tan something cool to drink?” she suggested to Molly. “He’s almost finished making Desiree comfortable and even though it’s still early, that sun has been baking him.”

  “He likes the lemonade you taught me to make. Can I take him some?”

  “That’s a great idea.”

  As soon as Molly shut the back door, carefully taking her husband the icy glass of lemonade, Hope hurried to her office and looked up the Nichols’ number in the county phone book. Then she dialed it on the wireless phone. It rang twice before she received a recording that the number was no longer in service. The new number was the ranch one, which she dialed from her phone’s directory, mentally reminding herself to remove it as soon as she finished with the call.

  As she waited for the ringing to start, she thought how it hadn’t taken the Nichols long at all to move in.

  “Nichols residence.”

  “This is Hope,” she said to Mercy. “I understand you called.”

  “How nice of you to call back so promptly,” Mercy replied, her voice polite, but holding an unmistakable superior tone. “I wasn’t sure you would get my message.”

  The woman was starting to get on her nerves. “You’ve probably forgotten my telling you about my helper Molly,” Hope began, determined to keep her voice normal. “She was badly injured trying to escape a bad relationship. She had a difficult recovery and required much rehabilitation, but she is certainly capable of taking messages when given the chance.”

  After an awkward silence, Mercy said, “Now that you mention it, I do remember. I’ve had a great deal on my mind.”

  Disappointed that she wouldn’t take ownership of her poor conduct, Hope replied, “Then don’t let me keep you. What was it that you needed?”

  “Well, as you can imagine, it’s been nonstop stressful here since we probated William’s estate. Since William was a bachelor and the place hadn’t been given a proper cleaning in who knows how long, you can imagine the condition of the house.”

  Hope lifted her gaze to the ceiling and reached for more patience. Will had three sisters—one being the wife of one of his ranch hands—come by every week to clean and polish a different area of the house. In contrast, his uncle and aunt had lived in the same one-bedroom cottage in the oldest part of town since their marriage. And while the place was kept neat enough compared to some, during heavy rains a river flowed under the house that had no foundation and was precariously balanced on blocks. Hope remembered Will laughingly report that the floors were tilting more with each season and that one day the refrigerator was likely to end up on the back porch with the washing machine and probably finish turning that structure into a soggy pile of splinters and drowned termites.

  “I don’t know the name of the people who cleaned there regularly, Mercy,” Hope told her. “I do know they were related to someone else who worked there. Ask Will’s foreman. He’ll know, but if you need me to refer someone, I can.”

  “First I need to inventory things properly. I can’t allow strangers in here. But will your people have references that I can check out? I will require references.”

  Oh, my, Hope thought, she was certainly taking the Lady of the Manor role seriously. In fact, she suspected Mercy had known about the girls all along and had fired them the instant they came to the front door.

  “I’m not sure,” Hope replied. “You’ll just have to ask them when the time comes. Is there anything else?”

  “Since I have you on the phone, there is one small matter I wanted to clear up with you. Now that we have the court matters behind us, Clyde insists I get the Nichols family jewels.”

  Hope pressed her fingers to her lips. Did Mercy have any idea how the underlying excitement in her voice exposed her barely containable pleasure at the changes in their small lives?

  “That sounds entirely legal and justified to me,” she replied.

  “You do? Well, thank you, Hope. Do you also understand that means if there’s anything else found—I mean at the accident site or in the totaled truck at the salvage yard—it’s to be returned here?”

  What was obvious to Hope was that this entire conversation had been all a ploy to get to this subject. “Mercy, the authorities had my directives from the beginning for that to be the case, and if by chance someone forgot, I would have it redirected to you. Now I really must go and check on my oven. Take care and enjoy.”

  After disconnecting, she found herself feeling sorry for the woman. Her rudeness to Molly would not be forgotten, but Mercy undoubtedly thought money and property would open doors to a better society for her. She was about to find out it was far more complicated than that.

  Once Molly returned smiling and happy again, she and Hope got the snappers stuffed and in the oven. They were just washing up when they heard the sound of the garage door opening. Lyon was home.

  “Something smells mighty good,” he said entering the kitchen.

  As always when their gazes locked, Hope felt the world had righted itself somehow and a sense of peace and well-being seeped into her body. He looked hot and a bit tired, but his dark eyes sparkled as he gave her a discreet wink.

  “Hot fish!” Molly declared wide-eyed for their achievement. “Not just hot from the oven. Hope picked every pepper in the garden—and all by herself. She cut them up, too, and never had to wash her hands once until the end. I couldn’t do that.”

  Hope watched Lyon listen attentively and offer a comical grimace. “Me, either. I’d make a mistake and touch my eyes and the next thing I’d have my head under a faucet trying to cool off.”

  “Me, too,” Molly echoed.

  She looked pleased that she had something in common with a man who, until recently, she would never dare make eye contact with. Molly had believed the chief of police was way too important to speak to someone like her and Hope’s own incomparable position in her world had risen to headier altitudes when she told Molly that she and Lyon were marrying.

  “How was the parade?” Hope asked as he came up beside her and slipped his hand under her ponytail to caress her nape. That nominal touch sent a warm stream of pleasure down her spine.

  “We had a stroller-motorcycle incident, but not much else.”

  “Goodness! I’d say that’s enough. Was anyone hurt?”

  “The bike. The stroller was empty except for a tote bag and canvas cooler full of baby bottles and water. The weight of that provided enough momentum to roll the buggy down a driveway ramp fast enough to knock over the bike and break a taillight. Otherwise, everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.”

  “That’s a relief. You look ready for something cold to drink,” Hope said.

  “I brought
Tan some of the fresh lemonade we made this morning,” Molly said proudly. “Would you like me to pour you a glass?”

  “Thanks, Molly, that would be great. But it sounds like Tan’s the one who’s been really working.”

  “Too hard,” Hope said in agreement. “He didn’t just clean Desiree’s hooves, he got all the girls fixed up. After you finish with that, Molly, I want you to head home and make sure he stays out of the sun until it cools off.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Once Molly poured the drink and set the glass on the kitchen bar in front of Lyon, who’d sat down on the first stool at the end of the counter, she began untying her apron. “Are you sure you don’t need for me to wait with you until the fish are done?”

  Hope shook her head. “No, since we bought throw-away pans, there isn’t going to be anything to wash other than what you already did. Go and spoil Tan a little.”

  “I’ll try,” Molly replied, although she looked doubtful. “But he’ll just spoil me more.” She left the house shaking her head as though trying to resolve one of the world’s most complex puzzles.

  Hope pressed her hand to her heart. “Is that not the dearest thing you’ve ever heard? They so remind me of that O. Henry Christmas story, The Gift of the Magi, always putting each other first.”

  “Sounds like someone else I know,” he murmured.

  “What did you say?” Hope missed the first part of what he’d said and glanced back at him.

  “I asked ‘and how’s Mommy and Biscuit?’” he added, nodding to the slight bump of her belly. It didn’t show in her usual street clothes, but she was wearing a more fitted T-shirt this morning.

  Hope got a kick out of his interpretation of the “bun in the oven” cliché. “Fine, though I did restrain myself to eating only one spoonful of the jalapeño stuffing, so the cooking smells are driving me crazy.”

  “You’ll be like a rabid terrier before the picnic begins.”

  “That’s better than being short stuffing for all of the fish. As you can see, I was forced to use both ovens.” She caught him stifling a yawn and was immediately concerned. “You didn’t sleep well last night, did you?”