“Dream on, Alpha Man.”

His eyes crinkled mischievously at the corners. “Alpha Man?”

Had she really said that? She must be punchier than she thought.

“It was an insult. A friendly one.” Hope bit down on an oath. She was just making it worse.

He laughed, his husky baritone like music to her ears. Continued giving her the long, sexy onceover. “Sounded more like a compliment to me.”

He was twisting everything around, embarrassing her and putting her off her game. Indignant, she trod closer. “Of course you would think that.”

He held his ground, arms folded in front of him. Again, that long, steady appraisal. “Because I’m alpha?”

He definitely was not a beta man.

“Can we end this repartee?”

He gathered her in his arms. “With pleasure.”

“What are you doing?”

“What any alpha male would do in this situation.” Grinning, he lowered his face to hers.

A Texas Soldier’s Family
Cathy Gillen Thacker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CATHY GILLEN THACKER is married and a mother of three. She and her husband spent eighteen years in Texas and now reside in North Carolina. Her mysteries, romantic comedies and heartwarming family stories have made numerous appearances on bestseller lists, but her best reward, she says, is knowing one of her books made someone’s day a little brighter. A popular Mills & Boon author for many years, she loves telling passionate stories with happy endings and thinks nothing beats a good romance and a hot cup of tea! You can visit Cathy’s website, www.cathygillenthacker.com, for more information on her upcoming and previously published books, recipes and a list of her favorite things.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Welcome aboard!” The flight attendant smiled. “Going home to Texas...?”

“Not voluntarily,” Garrett Lockhart muttered under his breath as he made his way through the aircraft to his seat in the fourth row.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate spending time with his family, he acknowledged, stowing his bag in the bulkhead and stuffing his six-foot-five-inch body into the first-class seat next to the window. He did.

It’s just that he didn’t want them weighing in on what his next step should be. Or what he should do with his inheritance. The decision was hard enough. Should he sell out or stay and build a life in Laramie, as his late father had wanted?

Reenlist and take the considerable promotion being offered?

Or take a civilian post that would allow him to pursue his dreams?

He had twenty-nine days to decide.

And an unspecified but pressing family crisis to handle in the meantime.

And an expensive-looking blonde in a white power suit who’d been sizing him up from a distance, ever since he arrived at the gate...

He’d noticed her, too. Hard not to with that delicately gorgeous face, a mane of long, silky hair brushing against her shoulders, and a smoking-hot body that just wouldn’t quit.

Two years ago...before Leanne...he might have taken her up on her invitation...

But his failed engagement had taught him too well. He wasn’t interested in any woman hell-bent on climbing her way to the top.

He wanted a partner who understood what was important in life. Not a woman who couldn’t stop doing business even long enough to board a plane. She’d been talking on her cell phone nonstop and was still on it as she stepped into the cabin. With a thousand-watt smile aimed his way, oblivious to the three backpack-clad college boys queued up like dominoes behind her, she continued on down the aisle, checking her ticket for her seat assignment as she walked.

Phone to her ear, one hand trying to retract the telescoping handle of her suitcase while still managing the equally roomy carryall over her shoulder, she said, “...have to go...yes, yes. I’ll call you as soon as I land in Dallas. Not to worry.” She laughed softly, charmingly, while shooting him another glance and lifting her suitcase with one hand into the overhead compartment. “I always do...”

Annoyed, he turned his attention to the tarmac and was watching bags being loaded into the cargo hold when, in the aisle behind him, commotion suddenly erupted.

“If you-all will just wait until I can—ouch!” He heard the pretty blonde stumble toward him, yelping as her expensive leather carryall tumbled off her shoulder and crashed onto his lap. Her elbow landed hard against his skull, just above his ear, while a pair of sumptuous breasts burrowed into his face. Only the quick defensive movement of his right arm kept the lady exec’s head from smashing into the wall above the airplane window.

However, nothing could be done to stop the off-kilter weight of her from sprawling inelegantly across his thighs, while the trio of impatient college kids responsible for her abrupt exit from the aisle continued unapologetically toward the rear of the plane.

She lifted her head, regarding him with a stunned expression as their eyes met. Heat swept her pretty face. He inhaled a whiff of vanilla and—lavender, maybe? All he knew for sure, he thought, as he heard her moan softly in dismay and felt his own body harden in response, was that everything about this woman was incredibly sexy.

Too sexy...

Too tall...

Too everything...

“Ma’am?” he rasped, trying not to think what it would be like to have this sweet-smelling bundle of femininity beneath him in bed. Never mind just how long it had been...

With effort, he called on every ounce of military reserve he had, sucked in a breath and looked straight into her wide, emerald-green eyes. “Are you all right?”

* * *

THIS, HOPE WINSLOW thought with an embarrassed grimace, was not how her day was supposed to go. Seven months out of the workplace might have left her a little rusty. But completely without social skills or enough balance to stay on her feet no matter how hard she’d been shoved?

Furthermore, it wasn’t as if she had wanted to take that last call from the client. She’d had no choice. She needed the income and acclaim this job was going to bring in, and like it or not, high-paying clients required high-level hand-holding. Plus, she had a soft spot in her heart for this current one...and that made any of Lucille’s requests difficult to resist.

But her quarry—the guy she had accidentally fallen on—would likely not understand any of that.

Resolved to retain whatever small amount of dignity she had left, Hope forced another small—apologetic—smile, inhaled deeply, then put her left hand down on the armrest beneath the window and shoved herself upright. Only it wasn’t an armrest, she swiftly found out. There wasn’t one there. It was the rock-hard denim-clad upper thigh of the man who’d caught her in his arms.

Mortified, she plucked her fingers away before they encountered anything else untoward. Then she promptly lost her balance, fell again and had the point of her elbow land where her hand had been.

Her gallant seatmate let out an oomph and looked alarmed. With good reason, Hope thought.

Another inch to the left and...!

“Let me help you,” he drawled, his voice a smooth Texas-accented rumble. With one hand hooked around her waist and the other around her shoulders, he lifted her quickly and skillfully to her feet, then turned and lowered her so her bottom landed squarely in her own seat. That done, he handed her the leather carryall she’d inadvertently assaulted him with.

Hope knew she should say something. If only to make her later job easier.

And she would have, if the sea-blue eyes she’d been staring into hadn’t been so mesmerizing. She liked his hair, too. So dark and thick and...touchable...

The pictures she had seen of him and his siblings hadn’t done him justice. Or indicated just how big and broad shouldered he was. Enough to make her own five-eleven frame feel dainty...

And heaven knew that didn’t happen every day. Even in Texas.

“Ma’am?” he prodded again, less patiently.

Clearly he was expecting some response to ease the unabashed sexual tension that had sprung up between them, so she tore her eyes from the way his black knit polo shirt molded the sinewy contours of his chest and taut abs, and said the first thing that came into her mind. “Thank you for your assistance just now. And for your service. To our country, I mean.”

His dark brow furrowed. His lips—so firm and sensual—thinned. Shoulders flexing, he studied her with breathtaking intent, then asked, “How’d you know I was in the military?”

* * *

IT WAS A simple question, Garrett thought.

One that shouldn’t have required any dissembling.

But dissembling was precisely what his seatmate appeared to be doing as she discreetly tugged the skirt of her elegant, white business suit lower on her shapely thighs, then leaned forward to place her bag beneath the seat in front of her, as per preflight requirements.

“Um...your hair,” she said finally.

Oh, yeah. Military cut. Made sense.

“Well, that and the duffel in the overhead.” She glanced at the passengers seated across the aisle, a young mother and a child with a Dora the Explorer backpack. The rest of the luggage stored above them was pink. Whereas his, he knew, was army green.

Point made, she sat back and drew the safety restraint across her lap, once again drawing his attention where it definitely should not be. “So, how long have you been in the military?” she asked pleasantly.

He watched as she fit the metal buckle into the clasp, drew it taut. Was there any part of her not delectable? he wondered. Any inch of her he did not want? “Eight years.” And why was it suddenly so hard to get the words out?

She wet her lips. Suddenly sounding a little hoarse, too, she inquired, “And what do you do?”

“I’m a physician.”

She pursed her lips in a way that had him wondering what it would be like to kiss her. “Which must make you a...?”

Not just kiss her. Make love to her. Hot, wild, passionate love, he thought, drinking in the soft, womanly scent of her. “Captain,” he said.

She extended a hand. It was as velvety soft as it looked, her grip warm and firm. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Captain...?”

He let her go reluctantly, the awareness he’d felt when she’d landed in his lap returning, full force. “Lockhart. Garrett Lockhart.”

Her expression turned even more welcoming. She studied him intently. “I’m Hope Winslow.”

Okay, so maybe his first impression of her hadn’t been on point. Even if she wasn’t his type, there were worse ways to pass the time than sitting next to a charming, gorgeous woman. And she was gorgeous, Garrett reflected, feeling a little unsettled and a lot attracted as the plane backed away from the gate and the flight attendants went through the safety instructions.

Tall enough to fit nicely against him. With legs that were made for high heels and curves that just wouldn’t quit pushing against the taut fabric of her sleek summer suit. Honey-blond hair as straight and silky as spun gold brushed her shoulders and long bangs fell to frame her oval face. Her features were elegant, her bow-shaped lips soft, pink and full, her emerald eyes radiating wit and keen intelligence.

He doubted there was anything she set her mind to that she didn’t get. Her ringless left hand said she was single.

It was too bad he wasn’t in the market for a high-maintenance, high-powered career woman.

“So what do you do for a living?” he asked, after the flight attendant had come by to deliver bowls of warmed nuts and take their drink orders. Milk for her, coffee for him.

She picked out an almond. Then a pecan. “I’m in scandal management.”

Okay, he could see that.

She seemed like the type who could take a highly emotional, probably volatile situation and boil it down to something manageable. “I recently started my own firm.” She reached into a pocket of her carryall and plucked out a business card. Winslow Strategies. Crisis Management by the Very Best. It had her name featured prominently, printed in the same memorable green as her eyes, and a Dallas address.

He started to hand it back. She gestured for him to keep it, so he slipped it into the pocket of his shirt. “Business good?”

She gestured affably, looking reluctant to be too specific. “There’s always someone in trouble.”

I’ll bet. “But to have to hire someone to get yourself out of it?” He couldn’t keep the contempt from his voice.

“People hire lawyers all the time when they find themselves in a tight spot.”

Imagining that line worked on a lot of very wealthy people, he sipped his coffee. “Not the same thing.”

She turned slightly toward him, tilting her head. “It sort of is,” she said, her voice a little too tight. “Words can hurt. Or mislead. Or falsely indict. So can actions.” She paused to sip her milk and let her words sink in, then set her glass down on the tray. “It’s important when in the midst of a potentially life-altering, and especially life-damaging event, to have someone on your side who isn’t emotionally involved, calling the shots and orchestrating everything behind the scenes.”

Her exceptional calmness rankled; he couldn’t say why. “Creating a publicly acceptable narrative,” he reiterated.

She lifted a delicate hand, gesturing amiably. “I prefer to think of it as a compelling explanation that will allow others to empathize with you. And, if not exactly approve of or condone, at least understand.”

“And therefore let your client off the hook,” he said grimly, reflecting on another time. Another situation. And another woman whose actions he resented to this day. “Whether they deserve to be spared any accountability for what they’ve done or not.”

Taken aback, Hope Winslow squinted at him. “Are you speaking personally?”

Hell, yes, it had been personal! Being cheated on and then backed into a corner always was. Not that he regretted protecting the innocent bystanders in the situation. They’d done nothing to deserve having their names dragged through the mud.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes,” she said.

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 pushing 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 that 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.

“Zane’s out with his unit,” Sage informed him.

Which meant no one knew where he was or when he would return.

“In the meantime, we need you to put this on.” Hope handed him a garment bag. Inside was a suit and tie, reminiscent of his prep school days.

Thanking heaven they hadn’t expected him to wear his army uniform for this sideshow, Garrett rezipped the bag.

“And please...” She took him aside, a delicate hand curving around his arm, and looked him in the eye. “This time, when we assemble before the press, stick to the plan. Say nothing. Just stand in the background, along with the rest of your siblings, and look extremely supportive of your mother.”

That, Garrett figured, he could do. At least for now.

When he emerged from the men’s room, still tying his tie, there was a team there, doing hair and makeup.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled when they tried to put powder on him. His brothers were equally resistant.

Hope stood nearby, her baby in her arms, sizing him up.

He wondered if she was that observant when she made love. And why the notion that she might be was so sexy.

But there was no more time to think about it, because Hope was giving his mother one last pep talk, and then it was show time. After handing her baby off to Sharla, his mother’s executive assistant, Hope and the family took the elevator down to another floor and filed into the meeting room reserved for the occasion, where two dozen members of the press were already assembled.

His mother stepped up to the microphone. “Thank you all for coming. Like you, we have been shocked and alarmed to hear allegations that not all of the funds from the Lockhart Foundation have been sent as promised to the local organizations we assist. We haven’t yet been able to verify what has actually happened but we are looking into the matter.”

“You seem skeptical that any payments were missed,” a reporter looking for a more salacious story observed.

From the front row, where she was seated, Garrett could see Hope shaking her head, wordlessly warning his mother not to answer.

But Lucille could not remain silent when her integrity was in question. “I admit I don’t see how it could have happened, when I signed all those checks myself.”

At that, it was all Garrett could do not to groan. His mother had just announced she was personally liable for whatever had happened.

“And yet there are now—at last count,” the chief investigative reporter from the Dallas Sun News said, “sixteen charities claiming they’ve been shorted. It’s pretty suspicious that all those groups would be claiming the same thing, don’t you think?”

Sixteen, Garrett thought, stunned. Just a few hours ago, when Hope had shown him the talking points on her tablet, it had been three.

Hope got up gracefully to her feet and moved across the row to the aisle.

“Why isn’t the Lockhart Foundation’s chief financial officer, Paul Smythe, answering any of our questions?” another correspondent asked.

“He’s out of town on a personal matter,” Lucille said calmly. “When he returns, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

“And if you don’t?” another journalist pressed, as Hope glided onto the stage. “Are you prepared to fire Mr. Smythe and/or anyone else involved in what increasingly looks like a severe misappropriation—if not downright embezzlement—of funds?”

His mom faltered.

Hope took the microphone. “Now, Tom, you know as well as I do that’s premature, given that nothing has been confirmed yet...”

With grudging admiration, Garrett watched Hope field a few more questions and then pleasantly end the conference with the promise of another update just as soon as they had information to share.

“So what’s next?” he asked when the family had reassembled in the foundation quarters.

Hope lifted Max into her arms, cuddling him close, then looked at Lucille. “We move on to Step 2 of our scandal-management plan.”

* * *

“DID YOU VOLUNTEER to drive us out to Laramie County? Or were you drafted?” Hope demanded two hours later, when Garrett Lockhart landed on the doorstep of her comfortable suburban Dallas home.

She already knew he wasn’t gung ho about the plan to have his mother stay at the Circle H, the family’s ranch in rural west Texas, to get her out of the limelight until they could figure out what was going on with the foundation.

Garrett shrugged. Clad in a blue shirt, jeans and boots, with the hint of an evening beard rimming his jaw, he looked sexy and totally at ease. “Does it matter?”

Yes, oddly enough, it did matter whether he was helping because he wanted to or because he had been forced to do so. “Just curious.”

He flashed a half smile. “Combination of the two.”

It was like pulling mud out of a pit. “Care to explain?” Hope directed him and his duffel bag to the driveway, where a ton of gear sat, ready to be loaded into the back of her sporty red SUV.

He fit his bag into the left side, where she pointed. “Given how we feel about each other, a three-plus hour journey locked in the same vehicle is bound to be a little awkward.”

No kidding. Hope set a pack-n-play on top of his bag. “Then why bother?”

He lifted her suitcase and set it next to his. “I don’t have a vehicle of my own to drive right now, and I won’t until I get to Laramie County and can borrow a pickup from one of my brothers. Going with you will save me the hassle of renting a car here.”

“You could have ridden with your mother and her chauffeur.”

Arms folded in front of him, he lounged to one side. “Not going to happen.”

She slid him a glance, wishing he didn’t look so big and strong and immovable. “Why not?”

His gaze roved her knee-length khaki shorts and red notch-collared blouse before returning to her face. “Because I don’t want to spend the entire journey dodging questions I don’t want to answer.”

His lazy quip brought heat to her cheeks. “Hint, hint?”

“If the shoe fits...”

Boy, he was maddening.

Worse, she didn’t know why she was letting him get under her skin. She dealt with difficult people all the time.

Maybe they weren’t six feet five inches tall and handsome as all get-out, and military-grade sexy, but...still...

Aware he was watching her, gauging her reactions as carefully as she was checking out his, she lifted her chin. “What were the other reasons?”

This time he grinned. Big time. “It’ll save me from leading the search party later.”

Knowing a thinly veiled insult when she heard one, Hope scowled. “What search party?”

“The one that’s sent out to find you and your baby in the wilds of Laramie County when you get lost after dark.”

Hope inhaled deeply. Breathed out slowly. Gave him one of her trademark watch it looks. “I think I can read a map, Captain.”

“No doubt, sweetheart,” he said in a droll tone. “But unless you can telepathically figure out which road is which when you come to an unmarked intersection in the Middle of Nowhere, West Texas...you might want to rethink that.”

Being lost with a baby who needed to be fed and diapered every few hours was not her ideal scenario, either. “Fine.” She gave him a warning glance. “But you’re driving so I can work.”

He took the keys. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. My only question is—” Garrett eyed the pile of luggage and baby gear still sitting in her driveway “—can you and/or your significant other load the car?”

There he went with the questions about her private life again. Although, why it would matter to him she had no idea. But to save both of them a great big headache, she figured she might as well be blunt.

“First of all, there is no significant other,” she retorted, and thought—but couldn’t be sure—that she saw a flash of something in his blue eyes as she continued expertly packing the cargo compartment with the rest of her gear. “Second, it’s not that much stuff.” She went into the house and returned, toting a sound-asleep Max—who was already belted into his safety seat—to the roomy SUV. Garrett watched her lock Max’s carrier into its base in the center of the rear seat.

“If you say so.”

Clearly, he still had something on his mind.

Hope straightened. “What is it?”

“I’m all for getting my mother out of the public eye. But are you sure this is going to work? Property records are public. The press could still figure out where she’s gone.”

Hope appreciated his concern for his family’s welfare. “They could.”

“But...?”

“It’s unlikely a Dallas news crew will travel three hours out to Laramie, and then back, just to hear a no comment from someone other than your mother. When they could easily interview someone from a nonprofit right here in the metroplex who has a lot to say about how they and the people they serve have been wronged.”

“You’re the scandal manager.” Garrett settled behind the wheel, his large, muscular frame filling up the interior of her car. Frowning, he fit the key into the ignition. “But can’t you pressure the news organizations to present both sides of the story?”

“Yes, and for the record, I already have.” Hope climbed into the passenger seat and closed the garage via remote. “But the Dallas papers and TV stations can still keep the story going—and ostensibly show your side, too—although not necessarily in a positive light.”

His brow furrowed at her careful tone. “How, if my mother isn’t available for any more interviews?”

Nor was anyone else in the family, Hope knew, since his only sister, Sage, was already en route back to Seattle, to handle a catering gig the next day. Chance and Wyatt were headed back to their West Texas ranches, to care for their herds. And Garrett had certainly made it clear he didn’t intend to cooperate with the press. She exhaled. “The media can show old news footage of your mother and father when they announced the formation of the Lockhart Foundation.”

Garrett’s shoulders tensed. “That was a black-tie gala.”

“Right. And would likely be salaciously depicted, at least by some outlets, as the Haves versus the Have Nots.”

Garrett slid a pair of sunglasses on over his eyes. “So, in other words, we’re damned if we stay and have reporters chasing after us with every new accusation. And damned if we leave town and avoid their inquiries, too.”

“Not for long, if I do my job, which I certainly plan to do.”

To Hope’s relief, for the first time since they’d met, he seemed willing to let her take charge of the volatile situation. At least temporarily. So, while Garrett drove, she worked on her laptop computer and her infant son slept.

It was only when they entered rural Laramie County, near dusk, that the trip took an eventful turn.

“Do you see that?” Hope pointed to a disabled pickup truck ahead. The hood was up on the battered vehicle. A young couple stood beside the smoking engine, apparently as unhappy with each other as they were with their transportation.

Worse, the young man—with a muscular upper body and military haircut—was on crutches, his left leg obscured by pressure bandages and a complicated brace.

Garrett drove up beside them. “Need a helping hand?”

“I’m Darcy Dunlop,” the young woman said, her thin face lighting up with relief. “And yes!”

“We’ve got it.” Her grim-faced companion shook his head.

“Tank!” Darcy said, wringing her hands in distress.

“We’ll just wait for the tow truck.”

“But the mechanic said we didn’t have to be here! As long as we leave the truck unlocked, he can take it back to the garage in town on his own.”

Tank’s jaw set, even more stubbornly.

Garrett stuck out his hand, introducing himself. “Army Medical Corps...”

The other man’s expression relaxed slightly. “Infantry. Until this.” He pointed to his injured leg. “Not sure what I’m going to do next...”

They talked a little about the fellow soldier who had saved Tank’s life, and the IED fragments that had made a mess of his limb. How his parents—who lived locally—had taken them in during the year it was going to take to recover and get his strength back.

“That’s rough,” Garrett said in commiseration.

Darcy’s lower lip trembled. “What’s worse is how far we have to go so Tank can get treatment. We either drive back and forth to the closest military hospital—which is a couple hours from here—or Tank gets his care in Laramie. And the rehab there, well, I mean everybody’s nice, but they have no experience with what’s happened to Tank.”

Garrett understood—as did Hope—that there were some things only fellow soldiers, who had served in a war zone, could comprehend. The camaraderie was as essential to healing as medical care. Garrett gave Tank a look of respect. “How about we give you a lift home.”

Darcy gave her husband a pleading look.

Shoulders slumping in relief, the former soldier consented. “Thanks.”

Knowing Tank would have more room for his leg brace in the front, Hope climbed in back to sit with Max, who was beginning to wake up. Darcy took the other side. The two women chatted while Tank gave directions to his parents’ home, a few miles north.

When they arrived, Garrett scribbled a number on the back of a business card and handed it to the other man. “I’ll be around for the next few days, taking care of some family business, so if you need anything...”

Tank shook his hand. “Appreciate it.”

Hope could see the meeting had affected Garrett. It had affected her, too.

“I don’t understand how the military can boot someone out, just because they got injured,” she fumed, as they drove away.

Garrett paused to study the unmarked intersection of country roads. No street names were showing up on her GPS screen, Hope noted. Which meant she might, indeed, have gotten lost trying to find her way to the ranch.

“It was probably his choice to get a medical discharge rather than stay in,” Garrett pointed out, pausing to glance at a set of directions he had in his pocket, before turning south again.

“Why would Tank do that when he clearly loved being part of the armed service?”

“Because doing so would have meant taking a desk job, once he had recuperated, and my guess is Tank didn’t see himself being happy that way. He probably wanted to be with his buddies—who were all still in Infantry—or out of the service completely,” he said, as they reached the entrance to the Circle H Ranch.

Hope wasn’t sure what she had expected, since Lucille had promised they would all be quite comfortable there, and have as much privacy as they needed. Maybe something as luxurious as Lucille’s Dallas mansion. But the turnoff was marked by a mailbox, and a wrought-iron sign that had definitely seen better days. The gravel lane leading up to the ranch house was bordered by a fence that was falling down in places. The barn and stables looked just as dilapidated.

Garrett cut the engine.

Handsome face taut with concern, he got out and opened the door for her. “Mom and her driver were supposed to be here ahead of us.”

Obviously, that had not happened. Max, who’d been remarkably quiet and content, let out an impatient cry.

“I know, baby,” Hope soothed, patting her son on the back. “You’re hungry. Probably wet, too.” She lifted him out of the car seat and moved to stand beside Garrett. “But we’re going to take care of all that.”

Garrett led her up onto the porch of the rambling two-story ranch house with the gabled roof. He unlocked the door and swung it open. Like him, Hope could only stare.

Chapter Three

The interior of the ranch house had not been updated in decades, was devoid of all furniture and was scrupulously clean. In deference to the closed window blinds, Garrett hit switches as he moved through the four wood-paneled downstairs rooms. Sighing, he noted, “Well, at least all the lights work.”

“Does the air conditioning work?” she asked, their footsteps echoing on the scarred pine floors. It was much hotter inside the domicile than outside. And the outside was at least ninety degrees, even as the sun was setting.

“No clue.” Garrett headed upstairs. There were only two bedrooms. One bath. No beds. Or even a chair for Hope to sit in while she nursed.

They headed back downstairs, Max still fussing. Worse, she could feel her breasts beginning to leak in response. “When was the last time you were here?” Glad she’d thought to put soft cotton nursing pads inside her bra, she opened up the diaper bag she’d slung over her arm and pulled out a blanket.

Garrett stepped out onto the back porch, where a porch swing looked out over the property. “Ah—never.”

Deciding her son had waited long enough, Hope sat down on the swing and situated Max in her arms. Waving at Garrett to turn around, which he obediently did, she unbuttoned her blouse and unsnapped the front of her nursing bra. Max found her nipple and latched on hungrily. “I was under the impression this was family property.” She shifted her son more comfortably in her arms and draped the blanket over him. As he fed, they both relaxed. “That your mother grew up on the Circle H.”

“She did.” Hands in his pockets, Garrett continued looking over the property, which was quite beautiful in a wild, untamed way. Overgrown shrubbery, dotted with blossoms, filled the air with a lush, floral scent.

He studied the sun disappearing slowly beneath the horizon in a streaky burst of yellow and red. “But she and my dad sold the place after my grandfather Henderson’s death, when she was twenty-three. They used the proceeds to start Dad’s hedge fund and stake their life in Dallas.”

It was a move that had certainly paid off for Frank and Lucille Lockhart. They’d made millions. Hope turned her attention to the collection of buildings a distance away from the house. A couple of barns with adjacent corrals and a rambling one-story building with cedar siding and a tin roof. Maybe a bunkhouse? “When did the property come back into the family?”

Garrett reached down and plucked out a long weed sprouting through the bushes and tossed it aside. “My dad bought it for my mom as an anniversary gift the year he sold his company so he could retire. They were going to fix the ranch up as a retreat. He purchased property in Laramie County for all five of us kids, too. So we’d all have a tangible link to our parents’ history here.”

Hope shifted Max to her other breast, glad they had the light from the interior of the house illuminating the porch with a soft yellow glow now that it was beginning to get dark. It was just enough to allow her to see what she was doing and yet afford her some privacy, too.

“I gather your dad also grew up in West Texas?”

Garrett nodded, his handsome profile brooding yet calm as he surveyed the sagebrush, live oak trees and cedars dotting the landscape. “On the Wind River Ranch, here in Laramie County. My parents bought that back, too. My brother Wyatt started a horse farm there.”

Max nursed quickly—a sign of just how hungry he’d been. When he was done, Hope shifted her sated son upright so he could burp, and used her other hand to refasten her nursing bra. “So you all have ranches then.”

“No.” Garrett paced the length of the porch, both hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans. The action drew her attention to his masculine shoulders and spectacularly muscled flanks. Without warning, she recalled the feel of his rock-hard leg beneath her palm, the heat radiating from the apex of his thighs. Wondered what it would be like to be held against all that sheer male power and strength.

Then she pushed the disturbing notion away.

Oblivious to the lusty direction of her thoughts, he paced a little farther away. “My dad gifted me a house and a medical office building in town.” He chuckled when Max let out a surprisingly loud belch.

“It’s okay. I’m done,” Hope said.

Garrett turned to face her. Noting she had rebuttoned her blouse, he ambled toward her once again. “Sage received a small café in the historic downtown section of Laramie and the apartment above it.”

Hope spread the blanket out on the seat of the swing and laid Max down so she could change his diaper. “So you’d all eventually settle here?”

He moved even closer, gazing fondly down at her sleepy baby. The tenderness in his gaze was a surprise.

“That was their plan,” he admitted in a voice so gentle it made her mouth go dry.

She drew in a breath for calm. Which, to her consternation, did not help.

She still was wa-a-a-a-y too aware of him. Still far too curious about the man who was proving to be such an enigma—all Texas military gentleman one moment, all tough, edgy alpha male the next. Telling herself to dial it down a notch, Hope cocked her head. “What’s your plan?” she asked bluntly.

His gaze dipped to her lips, lingered. “To sell both properties and move on.”

“Your mom said your tour of duty was about up.”

“Twenty-nine days. I saved my time off for the end, so I’m on R & R through the rest of it.”

“And then...?”

“I either reenlist and become a staff physician at Walter Reed in Washington, DC...”

She could see him doing that. And probably loving it. “Or...?”

“Head up a residency program at a hospital in Seattle.”

“Where your sister Sage is living.”

He nodded.

She could imagine him teaching, too. Having all the young female residents fall hopelessly in love with him. “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“Still thinking about it.”

“But in either case you won’t be returning to Texas.” As his mother wanted.

His sharp, assessing gaze met hers. “No.”

“Not tied to the Lone Star State in any way?” Despite the fact he and his siblings had apparently all grown up in Texas.

He raised his brows. “Are you?”

Hope nodded, her heart tightening a little in her chest. “I’ve worked in enough places to realize Texas is my home. And where I want Max to grow up.”

Feeling oddly disappointed that it was a sentiment they obviously did not share, and at the same time determined to end the unexpected intimacy that had fallen between them, she finished diapering her son, then lifted Max into her arms. “Where are we going to bunk down tonight?” she asked, shooting Garrett an all-business look. “I assume your mom had some definitive plan when she suggested we come out here. Maybe a hotel in town, assuming there is one?”

Garrett reached for his cell phone. “I’ll give my mother a call, see if I can find out what her ETA is.”

Hope headed to the SUV to get Max settled in his infant seat, so they would be ready to lock up the house and go wherever they were headed next as soon as he got off the phone. To her relief, her little boy, exhausted from the chaotic activity of the day, was already fast asleep when Garrett came out of the house, informing her, “We’ve been directed to the bunkhouse.”

Why did she suddenly have the feeling that was not a good thing? Hope stood, her hands propped on her hips. “When will everyone else be here?”

His expression as matter-of-fact as his low tone, he answered, “Noon tomorrow.”

* * *

HOPE BLINKED. SHE could not have heard right! “Noon tomorrow?”

“My mother decided to stay in Dallas and handle some things there first.”

“Unlike me, you don’t seem all that surprised.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What are you accusing me of?”

She flushed. “Nothing.” She just knew that being alone with this sexy, virile man was not a good idea. “But,” she continued hastily, “under the circumstances, I think it would be better if Max and I went into town and stayed in a hotel.”

He choked off a laugh. “What? You’re worried I’m going to put the moves on you?”

Actually, she was worried she was going to lose all common sense and put the moves on him. But not about to reveal that, she crossed her arms in front of her and quipped wryly, “Dream on, Alpha Man.”

His eyes crinkled mischievously at the corners. “Alpha Man?”

Had she really said that? She must be punchier than she’d thought. Which was par for the course, considering she’d been lured back to work three months before she had planned and then, compounding matters, having to get up at the crack of dawn to take the six o’clock flight from Dallas to DC in order to be seated next to him on the return trip. Aware he was still waiting for an explanation, she lifted a hand. “It was an insult. A friendly one.” Hope bit down on an oath. She was just making it worse.

He laughed, his husky baritone like music to her ears, as he continued giving her a long, sexy once-over. “Sounded more like a compliment to me.”

He was twisting everything around, embarrassing her and putting her off her game. Indignant, she huffed, “Of course you would think that.”

He held his ground, arms folded in front of him, biceps bunched. Again, that long steady appraisal. “Because I’m alpha?”

He definitely was not a beta.

She threaded her hands through her hair, wishing she’d thought to put it in a tight, spinsterish bun before he’d picked her up. “Can we end this repartee?”

His mother was right. They had been flirting. They were flirting now. Heaven help them both.

He leaned in and gathered her into his arms. “With pleasure.”

The feel of him against her, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, sucked all the remaining air from her lungs.

“What are you doing?” she gasped, wishing he didn’t feel so very, very good.

Wishing he hadn’t just reminded her of all that had been missing from her life.

He threaded his hand through her hair, let it settle tenderly on the nape of her neck. “What any alpha male would do in this situation.” Grinning, he bent his head toward hers.

Hope tingled all over. Lower still, there was a kindling warmth. Cursing the forbidden excitement welling within her, she whispered, “Garrett...for pity’s sake...you can’t... I can’t...!”

He laughed again, even more wickedly. His lips hovered above hers, so close their breaths were meeting as sensually and irrevocably as the rest of them.

“Kiss you and see if you kiss me back?” he taunted softly, stroking the pad of his thumb along the curve of her lips—top, then bottom. “Oh, yes, Hope Winslow, I sure as hell can.”

Not only can, Hope thought, as an avalanche of excitement roared through her. Did.

His lips fit over hers, coaxingly at first, then with more and more insistence. She told herself to resist. Tried to resist. But her treacherous body refused to listen to her heart, which had been wounded, and her mind, which absolutely knew better.

She had been alone for so long.

Had needed to be touched, held, for months now.

She hadn’t expected to be cherished as if she were the most wonderful woman on Earth. But that was exactly what he was doing, as he stroked his hand through her hair and, with his other palm flattened against her spine, guided her closer until her breasts were pressed against the unyielding hardness of his chest. Lower still, she felt the heat in his thighs and the building desire. And knew her life had just begun to get hopelessly complicated...

* * *

GARRETT HADN’T COME out to the ranch thinking they would be alone for one single second. Hadn’t figured he would ever act on the need that had consumed him since the second her bottom landed square on his lap, the softness of her breasts pushing into his face.

Oh, he’d known he wanted her from the instant he had seen her checking him out in the DC airport. She was just so gorgeous, so haughty and unreachable in that all-business way of hers.

Seeing she had an infant whom she cared deeply for, knowing she was irrevocably wedded to life in Texas while he was not, had added yet another reason he should keep his hands off.

He might have managed it, too, if she hadn’t been working so hard to curtail the attraction she so obviously felt.

Because Hope was right about one thing. Her denial had brought out the alpha male in him. Made him want to pursue her like she had never been pursued before.

That pursuit, in turn, had kindled his own raging desire. And then she had kissed him back, her tongue entwined with his in a way that could bring him to his knees and one day, hopefully, land them both in bed.

Luckily for the two of them she came to her senses and pushed him away. Breathing raggedly, she stepped back, a gut-wrenching turmoil in her low tone he hadn’t expected. “I can’t do this.”

Pressing her hand to her kiss-swollen lips, she shook her head. “I can’t lose everything because of one reckless moment. Not again.”

* * *

SILENCE FELL BETWEEN THEM, as awful and wrenching as her voice. Mortified, Hope yanked open her car door and climbed behind the wheel.

Garrett walked to the passenger side and pulled himself in beside her. “When did that happen?”

Hope concentrated on starting the engine. Driving, the normalcy of it, would help. She looked behind her, then backed up until she reached the gravel road that led to the barns. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“And I shouldn’t have kissed you,” Garrett admitted gruffly, his big body filling up the passenger compartment the way no one else ever had. “But now that I did, and you kissed me back...”

He shrugged like a soldier on leave.

As if the fact that he had just returned from a war zone entitled him to something. Namely, a woman willing to have a fling.

She had found out the hard way, however, through her ill-advised liaison with Max’s daddy, that woman was not her.

“That shouldn’t have happened, either,” she said stiffly, as the SUV wound past the damaged wooden fence to the lone building a distance away from everything.

She didn’t have to guess what it was.

A sign next to the door of the cedar-sided, tin-roofed building said Circle H Ranch Bunkhouse.

A bright red welcome mat stood in front of the heavy wooden door. Pots of flowers, a couple of small tables and some rough-hewn Adirondack chairs decorated the front porch. Lamps, emitting a soft yellow glow on either side of the entry had been turned on.

If the inviting exterior was any indication of the inside of the domicile, then Lucille had been right, they would be comfortable here.

Hope cut the engine and got out of the car. Quietly, she opened the rear passenger door, unfastened Max’s safety seat from the base of the restraint and lifted him out. To her relief, her sweet little boy slept blissfully on.

Garrett grabbed the diaper bag and went on ahead, to find the key that had been left beneath the mat. “Is all this because you’re working for my mother?” He reached inside and switched the interior lights on.

“Believe it or not—” Hope squared her shoulders as she passed “—working for your mother doesn’t include making out with you.”

* * *

GARRETT WAS PRETTY sure Hope hadn’t meant to say that. Any more than she’d meant to do anything she had the last fifteen minutes or so. Nevertheless, he was pleased to see her letting down her guard. He wanted to get to know the real Hope Winslow, not the sophisticated facade she showed the world.

He watched as she set the carrier holding her sleeping infant down. “I won’t interfere with that. Well, no more than I would have, anyway.”

She smiled at him as if they hadn’t just brought each other’s bodies roaring back to life. “Good to know, Captain.”

Together, they took a quick tour of the newly renovated bunkhouse.

The central part of the structure included an open-concept kitchen with a breakfast bar that looked out onto the great room, complete with a TV and U-shaped sofa and a large plank table with a dozen chairs plus an arm chair on each end. On each side of it was a hallway that led to three bedrooms. All six bedrooms were outfitted identically, with a queen-sized bed, desk, dresser and private bath. His mom had been right, Garrett noted. They all could be very comfortable here.

Except for the awareness simmering between Hope and him...

“I don’t understand why you think it would matter if we did become...closer. I’m not the one employing you—my mother is.”

Hope sighed, apparently appreciating his use of the least offensive word he could think of. “It would still look bad.”

“And that concerns you, how things look?”

“Yes.” Stepping closer, she slid him a surprised glance. “Doesn’t it concern you?”

He exhaled his exasperation. “Not really. Something is either right or it’s wrong. What we just experienced felt very right.”

Hope turned away as if they hadn’t just shared an embrace that had rocked his world. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, as if to a four-year-old. “Scandal management is all about appearances.”

Ah, appearances. The bane of his youth.

He moved close enough to see the frustration glimmering in her eyes.

Her elegant features tinged an emotional pink, she said, “I just started my own firm. Your mother’s scandal is the first crisis I’m handling, solo. It has to go well.”

Of course business came first with her.

“Or?”

She sighed, completely vulnerable now as she met his gaze, seeming on the verge of tears. “Or my reputation really will be ruined.”

That was almost as hard to believe as the way he was suddenly feeling about her, as if she might just be worth sticking around for. He moved closer yet. Seeing it was a tear trembling just beneath her lower lash, he lifted a thumb, gently brushed it away. “Over one job?” And one very long, satisfying kiss that had led him to want so much more?

She swallowed, stepped back. The tenderness he felt for her doubled.

“I made a mistake when I was working for my previous employer.”

He couldn’t imagine it being as calamitous as she was making it out to be. It was all he could do not to take her back in his arms. “What happened?”

For a second he thought she wouldn’t answer, then she apparently thought better of it—maybe because she knew in this day and age almost anything could be researched on the internet.

Hope turned and walked back out to her SUV. She lifted out the pack-n-play, handed it off to him, then pulled out a box of diapers and a bag of baby necessities. “I got involved with a British journalist reporting on a scandal involving the American ambassador’s son. Nothing happened between us during the crisis. But there was a flirtation that later turned into a love affair.”

He grabbed her suitcase and headed up the steps alongside her. No wonder she’d reacted the way she had when his mother accused them of flirting. “I’m guessing it ended badly?”

Hope set her things down in the bedroom farthest from the living area. She opened up the pack-n-play, erecting it quickly. “I wanted marriage and a family. Lyle didn’t. So we broke up. A few weeks later, he was killed in a motorcycle accident while on vacation with another woman. A couple of weeks after that, I discovered I was pregnant with Max.”

Although he felt bad for all she’d been through, he realized he liked her better like this, showing her more vulnerable side.

“Sounds rough. But you were happy about the pregnancy?”

Hope smiled softly, glowing a little at the memory. “I was over the moon.”

He could see that. And it was easy to understand why. She had a great kid.

Hope stroked a hand through her honey-gold hair. “My bosses, however, were not anywhere near as ecstatic.”

Hope went back to put a soft cotton sheet over the crib mattress. She bent over, tucking in the elastic edges, while he stood by, watching, knowing she had no idea just how beautiful she was, never mind what she could do to a man, just by being, breathing...

She straightened, her green eyes serious, as she looked up at him. “My superiors worried, even though I had already arranged for a nanny from a topflight agency to assist me, that a baby would interfere with my ability to manage crises.”

Her teeth raked her plump lower lip, reminding him just how passionately she kissed. “Plus, they were upset about the rumors started by some of my rivals that hinted I’d leaked confidential information to Lyle Loddington, prior to our affair. It wasn’t true. I never disclosed even a smidgen of confidential information about anything to him. But you know how people think, where there’s love, there is pillow talk...”

Pillow talk with her would have to be amazing. Not to mention everything that came before it.

With effort, he forced his mind back to the conversation. “So your employer fired you?”

“I was asked to resign.”

It was easy to see that still stung. He got angry on her behalf. “You could have fought it.”

He followed her back outside to the rear of her SUV. Together, they carried what was left of their luggage inside. “Yes,” she agreed, “but if I had I would have done even more damage to my reputation in the process.” He shut the door quietly behind them. “So I decided to use what I had learned and start my own firm—which would allow me to control the timing and length of my maternity leave—and go back to work when Max was six months old.”

“Which would have been three months from now.”

“Right. And I’m happy with that decision, even though I was persuaded to return to work a little earlier than I had planned. I like the way my life is shaping up, Garrett.”

Able to see she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that, he took her hand. “I’m sorry you had such a tough time.” Crazy as it sounded, he wished he had been there to support and protect her. To help her though whatever upheaval she’d had to face. It’s not something anyone should have to go through alone.

Her expression grew stony with resolve. “It was my fault. I was reckless. But I’m not going to be reckless again.”

Chapter Four

“You’re not planning to go back to work now, are you?” Garrett asked, a short while later. He opened up the fridge that had been stocked by the bunkhouse caretaker in advance of their arrival, brought out a big stack of deli meats and cheeses and laid them out on the concrete kitchen countertop, next to an assortment of bakery goods.

Hope set her laptop and phone down on the breakfast bar just long enough to grab a small bunch of green grapes and pour herself a tall glass of milk.

“No choice.” Ignoring his look of concern, she settled on a tall stool opposite him. Ten thirty at night or not, she had business to conduct. And she needed to do it while her son was sound asleep. “I have to check the message boards for the news outlets reporting on the scandal, to see how the news thus far is being received.”

Garrett spread both sides of a multigrain roll with spicy brown mustard, then layered on lettuce, tomato, ham, turkey and cheddar cheese. “There’s nothing you can do about the way people think.”

“Au contraire, Captain Lockhart.”

He grinned.

Too late, she realized that flip remark had been a mistake.

He thought she was flirting with him again. And she definitely. Was. Not.

Hope turned her attention back to the task at hand. Her mood flatlined.

“That bad?”

Hope grimaced. “Worse than I expected and I expected it to be...bad.”

“Hit me with the highlights,” he said, twisting the cap off a beer.

Clearing her throat, she read, “‘Those Lockharts should all be put in jail—’”

“We have not done anything illegal.”

But someone might have, Hope knew. “‘The whole foundation should be shut down...’” she continued.

Flicking a glance her way, Garrett crossed his arms over his chest. Fresh out of the shower, in a pair of gray running shorts and T-shirt stamped Army, he looked relaxed. And sexy as hell. “An overreaction.”

Hitching in a quavering breath, Hope turned back to the article and recited, “‘Why do the rich always feel the need to steal from the poor?’”

A ghost of a smile crossed his mouth. “I’m detecting a theme.”

“This is serious.”

Ever alert, he shrugged. “It’s just people spouting off on the internet.”

“Someone in the family needs to respond.”

He ripped open a bag of chips and offered it to her. “And I’m the logical choice?”

She waved them off and ate a grape instead. “You are the eldest son, the patriarch, since your father passed.”

He carried his plate around the counter and set it in front of a stool. “And I will make a public statement.” He dropped down beside her, swiveled so he was facing her. “Once we have all the facts.”

Their knees were almost touching but it would have been a sign of weakness on her part to move back. “You know why some politicians or businesses in trouble survive and others don’t?”

His eyes on her, he took another sip of beer.

“Because they know every time an allegation is made, no matter how outlandish, a response must be given.”

“Nothing makes a person look guiltier than constantly proclaiming they aren’t.”

“So I take it that’s a no?”

“That’s a no,” he said, and devoured his sandwich.

With a sigh, she went back to her computer, logged on to the message boards for the news story with the most harmful coverage, and began to type.

Finished, he edged closer. “What are you doing?”

“Responding.”

He stood behind her, so he could look over her shoulder. “Under your own name?”

Oh, my, he smelled good. Like soap and shampoo and man. “Under a fictitious screen name I set up. One of many.”

“Isn’t that...?”

She cut him off before he could say dishonest. “The way things are done today, and yes, it is.”

He watched her fingers fly across the keyboard, then read aloud, “‘What ever happened to being innocent until proven guilty? The Lockhart family has magnanimously supported over one hundred metroplex charities over the last thirty-five years. I say give them a chance to find out what has happened, before we all pass judgment.’”

Garrett returned to his stool. “Nice.”

Seconds later, another Internet post appeared.

Hope shifted her laptop screen, so he could see. He read again, “‘I agree with #1HotDallasMama. We should wait and see...’”

Several more posts appeared. Two out of three were positive.

Resisting the urge to do a touchdown dance, Hope turned to Garrett. “See?”

He polished off his chips, one at a time. “So that worked. Until someone puts up another negative rant, then other message-boarders are apt to agree with their posts.”

Hope sighed her exasperation. “The point is to get another view out there. Repeatedly, if necessary, until the facts come in, and we can respond accordingly.”

“Another press conference?”

“Or interview and statement.”

She was not surprised to find he wasn’t looking forward to any of it.

Telling herself that it didn’t matter what Garrett Lockhart thought of her methods or her job, she carried her dishes to the sink. Turned, only to find Garrett was right beside her, doing the same thing. She looked up. He looked down. She had the strong sensation he was tempted to kiss her again. And she might have let him, had Max not let out a fierce cry. Thank heaven, Hope thought, pivoting quickly to attend to her maternal duties, her son had more sense than she appeared to right now.

* * *

“WHERE DO YOU want all these files?” Garrett asked his mother when she arrived at the bunkhouse late the following morning, Paul Smythe’s daughter, Adelaide Smythe, in tow. A certified public accountant and forensic auditor, as well as an old family friend, the young woman had agreed to help them sort through the records and try to piece together what had happened.

Appearing tired but determined, Lucille pointed to the big plank table in the main room. “Just put them all there, thanks,” she said.

Garrett set the boxes down, then returned to Adelaide’s minivan to bring in the rest.

“When are you due?” Hope asked the visibly pregnant Adelaide.

“Four and a half months. I know—” Adelaide ran a hand over her rounded belly “—it looks like I’m a little further along, but it’s because I’m having twins.”

“Who’s the lucky daddy?” Garrett asked, wondering how his brother Wyatt was going to take the news. The two had dated seriously in high school, but been extraordinarily contentious toward each other ever since they broke up at the end of their senior year. Why, exactly, no one knew. Just that there was still a lot of emotion simmering there.

“Donor number 19867.” A beaming Adelaide explained, “I conceived the new-fashioned way.”

Garrett wasn’t surprised Adelaide had opted for pregnancy via sperm bank; she always had been very independent.

Hope sorted the multihued folders according to the names on the files. “Speaking of fathers...any luck getting ahold of your dad?”

Adelaide set up two laptop computers and a portable printer. “We’re still trying, but he’s apparently not on his annual fly fishing and camping trip in the wilds of Montana with the guys.”

“Then where is he?” Garrett asked with a frown.

Adelaide glanced at Lucille, who seemed both understanding and sympathetic. Reluctantly, she admitted, “He’s probably on vacation with this lady exec he’s been secretly dating.”

Hope tilted her head, her long, honey-hued hair falling over her shoulders. “Why secretly?”

Garrett itched to drag his hands through her lustrous mane, draw her close...

Adelaide sighed loudly. “Because I didn’t like Mirabelle the first time I met her. I thought she was a gold digger, and I made the mistake of telling my dad that.” She grimaced, recollecting. “Anyway, the whole thing got so ugly, we agreed not to talk about it ever again. So if my dad is on vacation with Mirabelle, as Lucille and I both suspect, he’s probably not looking at his phone much at all.”

Garrett could understand that. There were times when he wanted to get away from it all and enjoy the company of a woman, too. Like now...

“But he can never be disconnected from the world for too long, so we expect to hear from him soon.” Adelaide plugged in power cords.

“Any idea what happened regarding the missing or misappropriated funds yet?” Garrett asked.

Again, Adelaide shook her head. “All we’ve managed to do thus far is gather all the records in one place. Which isn’t as easy as it sounds, because there were some at the foundation office, some at Lucille’s, some at Dad’s house.” She surveyed the stacks upon stacks of files. “We’ll put it all together, but the actual audit is going to take a while.”

“How long?” Hope asked.

“A couple of days.”

She looked unhappy about that. “What can we do to help speed things along?”

His mother consulted the lengthy handwritten to-do list in her leather notebook. “You and Garrett could go into town. Talk with the director of the nonprofit the foundation is funding there.” Lucille wrote out the information, handed it over. “If the foundation has indeed let down Bess Monroe and the wounded warriors she is trying to help, it’s going to take both of you to fix things.”

* * *

“THIS CAN’T BE RIGHT.” Hope paused in front of the door to Monroe’s Western Wear clothing store, Lucille’s notes in hand. Yet the street address matched, as did the last names.

Garrett, who had decided to carry Max in lieu of getting the stroller out of the SUV, said, “Let’s go in and see.”

A young man behind the counter approached. “Can I help you?” he asked.

Briefly, they explained the problem. “I’m Nick Monroe. Bess’s brother,” the genial dark-haired man explained. “Bess is using our family store as the nonprofit’s address because she doesn’t yet have the funds for a facility.”

“We’d like to talk to her.”

“She’s just about to get off shift at the hospital where she works.” Nick Monroe paused. “Although I’m not sure how happy she is going to be to see you-all. She’s not too happy with the Lockhart Foundation these days.”

An understatement, as it turned out.

Although her shift had officially ended by the time they arrived at the rehab department, Bess Monroe was still deep in conversation with a little girl in a back brace and the girl’s mother. The rest of the well-equipped physical therapy clinic was filled with all ages and injuries, including a couple of people who appeared to be former military.

Learning they were there to see her, Bess Monroe wrapped up her conversation and came toward them. She smiled tenderly at Max, who was wide awake, leaning happily against Garrett’s wide chest, then turned back to Garrett and Hope with a frown. Directing them to an office with her name on the door, Bess shut the door behind them. Still holding Max, Garrett handled the introductions.

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