Hope’s Child Page 4

  He was actually going to do this, Hope thought. “My father has gray eyes and had dark blond hair before he turned gray.”

  Lyon cleared his throat. “People won’t be thinking of your father, Hope.”

  “Maybe not. Or maybe by then you’ll have found the love of your life and need your freedom back.”

  After staring at her for several seconds, he abruptly glanced at his watch that he was temporarily wearing backwards on his right wrist, and muttered an expletive under his breath. “I have to get back to the station. As good as this food is I can’t handle more right now. Is that offer for a doggy bag still on?”

  Although disappointed, Hope immediately went into action. “Absolutely. It won’t take me a second to prepare things for you.” But she wondered what had just happened. Of course he needed to get back, yet seconds ago he seemed willing to stay longer. Was it because of what she said? That understanding needed to be voiced. She didn’t want him to think he couldn’t be honest with her if he did meet someone. But if it happened…

  As Lyon eased into his raincoat, she filled two plastic storage containers with aromatic food, then placed both in a brown bag. She couldn’t deny that she was starting to get a queasy stomach—and not because of the baby.

  Admit it. You don’t want to think of him falling in love with anyone but you.

  “These aren’t throw-aways.” She folded the top down on the bag. “Don’t even worry about washing them. Just drop them back in the sack. Bring them anytime.”

  “Contrary to what you’re suggesting,” he replied drolly as he accepted the bag. “I’m not adverse to dishwashing detergent and water. In fact, I happen to be a decent housekeeper.”

  He proceeded to the door to the garage. Only when he realized that she wasn’t following, did he turn around. Hope didn’t have a clue as to what expression was on her face, but with a deep sigh, he retraced his steps until stopping before her.

  “Forgive me,” he began. “I’m admittedly tired, a little cranky and feeling way out of my comfort zone. Humor me and let me do at least one thing conventionally.” Awkwardly shifting the bag into his bandaged left hand, he placed three fingers under her chin and tilted her face upwards. “Marry me?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Lyon didn’t realize it hadn’t stopped raining until he was a mile down the road. Uttering a self-deprecating oath, he turned on the wipers just in time to hit the brakes. He managed to miss hitting a mud-caked calf looking for dryer ground. As he and the young bovine with the guileless brown eyes studied each other, he burst into a brief but incredulous laugh. So this is what getting married was already doing to him.

  Married.

  He had begun to believe it would never happen. It certainly wasn’t happening as he’d expected. Miraculously though, the woman was the right one.

  Hope’s face when he kissed the corner of her mouth would be imbedded in his memory forever. Hope in Hope’s eyes was a mesmerizing thing. There was no denying that he’d wanted a different kiss, but he needed to be patient. He would be. Look what it had done for him so far.

  Mind back on the job, he directed himself as he eased around the indecisive calf. The need to return to the station was real enough, but he’d had to get the devil out of there because of Hope’s generous commitment to null and void their contract if “he met the love of his life.” That had stung more than he could deal with in her presence because he didn’t want to believe she could do it. If matters were reversed, there was no way in hell he could step back politely and say, “Okay, bye.”

  Back at the station he was greeted by the dispatcher, Buddy Yantis, who was the only one there at the moment. The rest of the department was either taking lunch, or returning home until their night shift began, except for their one full-time detective, Cooper Jones, who was in court today. Despite the mild temperatures, Buddy was sweating and mopping his high forehead and balding head with a Dairy Queen napkin taken from around his Blizzard cup that one of the other officers must’ve dropped off. Usually calm and collected, that told Lyon that they had problems.

  “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “Mr. Harrell.” Buddy’s hands shook as he held up three pink phone messages. “He expects you to call.”

  “I’m sure he does.” Lyon took the slips of paper and nodded toward the door. “Take ninety minutes and go see your wife and baby.”

  “I’m okay, Chief. I can wait until I’m relieved.”

  Buddy was a war vet. He’d been serving in Iraq when a roadside bomb killed the three other soldiers in his armored vehicle and delivered a concussion so severe to Buddy that he was given a medical discharge. Several other police departments had rejected his application for employment, but Lyon had seen the desperation of a husband and father trying to rebuild his life and offered him the dispatcher’s position on a trial basis. The last five months had been going well, until today.

  “Yes, you could,” Lyon replied calmly. “But you don’t have to. I’ll be fine until some of the others return. Don’t let me see you back here until—” he checked his watch “—two o’clock. Understood?”

  Buddy’s bloodshot, green eyes grew bright with relief and gratitude. “Thank you, sir.” He was out of the building faster than hurrying to a muster call.

  Detouring to the break room, Lyon grabbed a pen from the lunch table and wrote his name on the bag. Then he put his food from Hope into the full-size refrigerator. All the while he was thinking about Ellis and what the insensitive tyrant might have said to leave Buddy a step away from a mandatory visit to his VA psychiatrist. No wonder Hope’s phone hadn’t rung while he’d been at her house. Ellis had been having too much fun intimidating the least deserving person in his department.

  Once in his office, Lyon took his time to check the rest of his messages. Then he downloaded his computer’s Inbox. He sent notes of thanks to liaisons with the state police and county offices, and only then dialed Ellis’ phone number.

  “Harrell residence,” a clipped voice announced.

  “Chief Teague,” Lyon replied. “I’m returning Mr. Harrell’s call.”

  “I’ll see if he’s in, sir.”

  Lyon heard raucous laughter and male voices in the background. The party Hope had mentioned must be in full swing, he thought.

  “Took your damned time,” Ellis snapped instead of a greeting. “Did that idiot tell you that I called multiple times?”

  “I have all of Officer Yantis’ message slips in front of me, Mr. Harrell,” Lyon replied mentally gritting his teeth. “And for the record, Buddy Yantis is a decorated war veteran. I’d appreciate you give him the same respect that he undoubtedly gave you. Now what seems to be your problem?”

  “Where’s my daughter?”

  “At home.”

  “You drove her?”

  “I did.”

  “I called there several times. I got no answer.”

  “Maybe she took her doctor’s advice and pulled the plugs to get some rest.” Lyon could only hope that she did, but maybe her old man was bluffing. The phone hadn’t rung while he was at Hope’s.

  After a weighty silence, Ellis said, “Let’s cut through the sweet talk. I don’t know what you’re up to, but stay away from her.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. She’s not herself right now and I won’t have you taking advantage.”

  “Anything else?” Lyon asked keeping his tone flat.

  “Yes. I want your badge. The more you annoy me, the sooner I’ll get it.”

  “I had no idea you’ve filed for mayor,” Lyon drawled.

  Ellis slammed down the phone.

  “By all means,” Lyon murmured. Replacing the receiver in the phone’s cradle, Lyon crushed the pink slips and dropped them into the trash can behind his chair. “Give it your best shot.”

  Not only did Hope lie down after Lyon left, totally exhausted and relieved, she slept until a mockingbird outside her bedroom window started its repertoire
of impersonations at three in the morning. With almost fourteen hours of sleep to help her recuperate she soon made her way to the kitchen where she started a pot of coffee. She knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to bed now that her mind had cranked into gear. Besides, there was plenty to do. She was checking the water in almost a dozen bouquets and that many potted plants scattered around the house—delivered since word got out about Will’s passing—when the ringing phone startled her. Hope spilled a bit of water setting down the copper can and returned to dry off the antique oak chest with the remote to her ear. “Yes?”

  “So you are awake. I saw the lights on and wondered if something was wrong, or you just didn’t want to sleep in the dark?”

  Hope immediately went to the breakfast nook bay window and angled to see the street. There she saw headlights at the front gate. Her heart did a little skitter at the thought that Lyon was this concerned about her. “Hang on, I’m letting you in.” Dashing to the garage, she also pressed the third door’s button to open that for him, as well.

  When Lyon untangled his long limbs from the car, Hope saw that he looked bleary-eyed and his hair was more than singed, it was rumpled from either tossing and turning instead of sleeping, or else raking his hand through it too often. Blood-shot eyes aside, his low-hooded caressing gaze made her feel a little underdressed in her white sports bra and shorts. She had been intending to work out to a yoga video right after she finished watering.

  “You look like you need eyedrops as much as coffee,” she said as she stepped back to let him enter.

  “Too much paperwork to catch up on.” Reaching the kitchen he sniffed the air and moaned. “Feel free to administer that through an IV.”

  “It will be ready in two minutes,” Hope said closing up after him. “Don’t tell me that you haven’t even been to bed yet?” While he didn’t have a pronounced beard, it was obvious that he had shaved recently.

  “I tried, but I gave up wrestling with the bed sheets.”

  “Oh, dear. And am I the cause of your unrest?”

  “No, my other fiancée.” Although his gaze was admiring, and he brushed a tender kiss on her cheek, he raised his eyebrows at her attire. “Please tell me that you weren’t planning to head outside to jog?”

  “Heavens, no. Yoga. I try to get in at least fifteen minutes most mornings and thirty on weekends. It’s a wonderful stress reliever.”

  “That explains those fluid limbs and how you move like a dancer. You definitely look more rested than when I left you.” He pulled out the same barstool and sat down.

  “I wish I could return the compliment. Are you hungry? I can make you a skillet breakfast.”

  “Just coffee, thanks. I indulged myself with the rest of your lunch while watching the ten o’clock news. The bag with the containers is on the passenger seat. Don’t let me forget to give it to you.”

  “Okay.” Hope got another mug and set it before him on the placemat. It was a man’s mug—big with a handle designed for man-sized hands, and no flowers, unlike her delicate sunflower one. When she poured the coffee and the aromatic brew wafted up to his nostrils, he closed his eyes and inhaled with appreciation.

  “Lyon, I’m sorry that I’m giving you such a headache,” Hope said filling her own mug. “Is this where you tell me that you’ve changed your mind?”

  When he didn’t answer right away, it was impossible for Hope to even think of tasting her own stabilizing but hot brew. Her heart tanked. After that sweet kiss, she’d assumed—well, hoped—that he would immediately reassure her.

  “What I need,” he said finally meeting her pensive gaze, “are some clarifications.”

  “About…?”

  “How you expect this arrangement to work? I mean technically we’ll be entering into a marriage of convenience, only you have to admit it’s going to be anything but convenient.”

  She understood. At least she thought she did. He was referring to this complicating his love life, even though he’d told her that presently there was no special someone. That didn’t necessarily mean that he was celibate. But how could she give him her blessing to do what he needed to do when the mere thought nearly made the coffee she’d just swallowed rise back up her throat?

  “Hope, what I’m asking is, you are wanting us to live together, right?”

  “Well, we’ll be living and working in the same town, so unlike some bi-coastal couples, I can’t see a way around it,” she replied curling the end of her ponytail around her right index finger. “It’s not going to appear all that convincing if you stay in that apartment while I’m over here.” She knew that he lived in the two-story string of rentals three properties behind the police and volunteer fire stations.

  Although he narrowed his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitched. “I was trying to be a gentleman and wait for you to invite me.”

  She hadn’t actually done that, had she? They’d parted with so much yet to discuss, no wonder he couldn’t get any rest. “You’d be doing me another huge favor and bringing me great peace of mind if you’d agree to live here, Lyon,” she recited. Then she worried. “It’s not too far from the station, is it? You’re welcome to share my office. We might have to rearrange things if you have a lot of equipment.”

  “The distance isn’t a problem and the only office stuff I have is a laptop and a four-drawer file cabinet. I tend to do my work at the kitchen bar, so you don’t have to worry about being cramped at your desk. On the other hand if your guestroom is already furnished, I’ll probably need to put my other stuff in storage.”

  Hope marveled at how he’d handled their sleeping arrangements so matter-of-factly. But in the next instant, she felt dejected that he hadn’t needed clarification on that. Had she been way off on her hunch that he was sexually attracted to her?

  “The room is furnished,” she said determined to sound as normal as he did, “but there’s no need for you to waste money on a storage unit. As you’ve probably noticed, there’s plenty of room in the garage.”

  “You’re sure? The money isn’t an issue, but the amount of wildlife that often inhabits those places could considerably shorten the lifespan of my things.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Lyon took another sip of coffee. “All right then, how about your cleaning lady? Can she be trusted not to spread stories around town about us?”

  Startled, Hope asked, “How did you know about Molly?”

  “I met her in town one day when a couple of punks were taunting her as she tried to get into her pickup truck over by the farm and ranch supply store. They parked too close and she couldn’t open her door. They wouldn’t move. After I had a few words with them, I made sure she was okay. That’s when I learned who she was and where she worked.”

  “Molly never said anything about that.”

  “She probably didn’t want to upset you,” Lyon replied. “She seems a sweet lady.”

  “Oh, she is. And as you probably surmised, she’s not exactly like most people.”

  “Was she born that way or did an accident injure her mental state?”

  Once again Hope was touched by the considerate way he posed his question. “When she was younger and living in Mississippi, she had an abusive boyfriend. That’s how her husband Tan met her. He said the guy kicked her out of his moving car on a bridge. She not only hit the pavement, but fractured her skull on the iron bridge beams.”

  “Tan?”

  Gesturing behind her toward the back acres, Hope replied, “Tan Lee. He works for me, too. He witnessed the crime and testified in court on her behalf. In fact, he’d seen her earlier in the day at a farmer’s market. You might say that he fell in love on sight. When he saw what a jerk her boyfriend was, he was worried for her safety and followed them. I understand that he visited her in the hospital every day until her release.”

  “I think I’ve seen him a few times. Asian? Mid to late thirties?”

  “Vietnamese. And, yes, he’s about twelve years her senior, but that seems to have worked for
them.” She gestured toward the back again. “You haven’t seen all of the property, but I put a camper by the pond in the northwest corner. I hope to build them a cottage by next year. Molly helps me with the housework and gardening. Tan is living his dream to be a cowboy on a Texas ranch—small though it is. He’s doing beautifully with the horses when he’s not costing me a small fortune in diesel fuel on the tractor. It appears that the one thing he likes more than animals is all things mechanical.”

  “Hope’s Shelter for the Abused and Chronic Dreamers,” Lyon murmured.

  She gave a philosophical nod and shrug. “Guilty. At least you’re kinder than my father about it. But they really have helped me more than whatever I’ve managed to do for them. To answer your question, though, both Tan and Molly rarely go to town except to run an occasional errand when I can’t do something myself, and you’ll find them too protective of me to gossip. Truth be told, Tan struggled to hide his dislike for Will. Having them here would have been the only good thing about having to move. I would have been able to keep this place and trust them to maintain things.”

  Lyon grimaced. “No telling how leery they’ll be of me invading the place so out of the blue.”

  “They already know you saved my life,” Hope said eager to assure him. “They’re going to think you’re as wonderful as I do.”

  The look she received for that had Hope all but weak-kneed. To keep from making a fool of herself, she spun away to grab the coffeepot and topped off both of their mugs.

  “Are you telling them about the baby?” Lyon asked.

  “It’s the wise thing to do. Anything could happen—I could fall or have an accident…or something could go wrong early in the pregnancy. They need to know to get me help if I’m in no condition to do it myself.”

  “And to find me immediately.”

  Hope returned the pot to the machine and wrapped her arms around herself. His concern touched her deeply and his brushed-suede voice caressed her in places it was safer not to think about. “Thank you, Lyon.”