A Texas Soldier's Family. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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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.”
“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