A Texas Soldier's Family. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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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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