A Texas Soldier's Family. Cathy Thacker Gillen

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.’