A Texas Soldier's Family. Cathy Thacker Gillen

      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