Hannah’s mouth gaped when Boone marched right past the blonde as if she weren’t there. His jaw had gone hard as steel, his stare was flinty. The hand at Hannah’s back exerted firm pressure to propel her forward.
“Boone?” the blonde called. “Boone!”
He ignored her completely, gave his name to the man behind the reception desk, and reached into his pocket for his wallet.
Hannah took a step away from him and leaned her side against the desk, so she viewed the blonde’s approach. The woman wasn’t giving up, and Hannah didn’t know how to feel about that. The tall, willowy woman dressed in a floral print sundress and heeled sandals attracted attention, especially when her voice rose as she said, “Boone, please. Don’t be this way.”
The blonde reached out and touched his shoulder. Boone visibly flinched, and Hannah decided how she felt, after all. The Mama Bear in her came out. “Okay. You need to come with me now.”
She took the blonde by the arm and dragged her away. The woman attempted to plant her feet and resist, but Hannah wasn’t having any of it. “Stop it. You’re making a scene. He’s obviously not going to talk to you now, so you need to step back and reassess.”
“Who are you?” the blonde demanded, pain flashing across her eyes.
“His friend.” Hannah continued to propel the woman away from Boone, searching for shelter from prying eyes. Spying a ladies’ room, she headed that way.
“I’m his friend too, and I have to talk to him. I’ve been trying to talk to him for the longest time now.”
Hannah tried to ignore the break in the blonde’s voice as she opened the restroom door and guided the woman inside. She couldn’t ignore the tears that flooded her brown eyes. Gentling her voice, she asked, “What’s your name?”
“Ashleigh. I’m Ashleigh Hart.”
Ahh. Ashleigh. Hannah remembered the name, and the story Boone had told to go with it. She was his late wife’s best friend, the woman who had introduced them, and the woman whose marriage troubles were worthy of being told in an afternoon soap opera. “He’s mentioned you to me.”
Hope filled her expression and her voice. “He has? What did he say?”
“He told me you were his wife’s friend.”
“I was his friend too.” Now the tears spilled down her cheek. “I need to talk to him. I need to explain. He never let me explain.”
Explain what? Hannah was curious, but not interested enough to ask. “Well, it’s evident that he’s not going to let you explain right now either. Listen, Ashleigh. Boone has a lot on his plate right now. I think you’d be a lot better off if you wait for another time.”
“There won’t be another time. This is the first time he’s come home, and he probably won’t ever come back again. I only need five minutes. Three! I need to tell him why I did what I did and ask for his forgiveness. This is my only chance.”
“I’m telling you, now is not a good time. Do you know where he lives now?”
She nodded. “A little town in Colorado.”
“If it’s so important to you that you talk to him, go there to do it.”
“I can’t. He told me that if I showed up in Colorado or at the ranch, he’d tell my father that I … that I…” She buried her face in her hands.
Caused his wife to overdose? “You can’t say it?”
“He told you?” Ashleigh appeared crushed at the thought.
“Not the whole story,” Hannah offered, confident of that fact. “I think—” She broke off when the door to the restroom opened and a woman wearing a hotel uniform walked inside. Her gaze scanned the two women, then she met Hannah’s gaze. “Ms. Dupree?”
Surprised, Hannah said, “Yes?”
“A gentleman asked me to give this to you.” She handed over a hotel portfolio with a key and the room number written on the outside.
“Thank you.” Okay, then. She figured it was safe to assume that he wouldn’t be waiting outside the restroom door. Good. Hannah glanced up from the folder. “Ashleigh, you’re not going to be able to talk to him now, but we will be in town for a few days. I’ll talk to him, okay? I’ll see what I can do to help.”
Ashleigh let out a little moan and steepled her fingers over her face. Hannah was relieved to see her nod in acquiescence, and even more relieved to exit the ladies’ room. Her role as a travel nanny didn’t include therapy for broken friendships.
She found her way to the elevators and rode up to the fifteenth floor. At the door to room 1514, she hesitated. Was this her room or his? She knocked. “Boone?”
After waiting a moment without receiving a reply, she slipped the key in the slot and opened the door. “Oh.”
It was a large corner suite with a view of downtown to the north and west. Two bedrooms, she judged, and then—noting the spiral staircase—reconsidered. Maybe three. It was a lovely space that felt decidedly empty. “Boone?”
He wasn’t here.
Hannah sighed and went in search of her bedroom. She found her suitcase on a luggage rack in the first room she checked. A note lay on her bed where it wouldn’t be missed. Boone’s bold scrawl had penned: “Needed a swim. Come join me at the pool. Tenth floor.”
Hannah was hot. A dip in a pool sounded good. She changed into her swimsuit and the cover-up she’d brought, then made her way to the pool deck, where she found Boone swimming freestyle in the lap pool. With steady and powerful arm strokes and controlled kicks, he displayed the form of a competitive swimmer. Bet he’d been on the swim team in high school or college. He had the build for it, with those broad shoulders and long legs. A natural athlete, she supposed. He was undoubtedly candy for the eyes.
“Would you like to order anything from the bar, ma’am? It’s happy hour. Frozen cocktails are half price. I recommend our margaritas and peach Bellinis.”
Tearing her gaze away from Boone, she smiled up at the waiter and considered it. A day like this deserved an umbrella drink, didn’t it? “That sounds good. I’ll have a Bellini, please.”
“Good choice. Ours are excellent. Would you like me to serve you here or at the swim-up bar?”
“The bar is good.” She needed to cool off. Not only was the temperature over one hundred degrees, watching a shirtless Boone McBride cut through the water only made her hotter.
The water felt divine, and once she had her drink, Hannah found a perch where she could keep cool while watching the show.
Boone had revealed a different side of himself today, where Ashleigh was concerned. The gallant gentleman who had interacted with her and his mother and sisters and family and friends had disappeared in a heartbeat. Or more precisely, at the sound of his name. The man had gone cold as ice in an instant.
Now he used exercise to work out his frustrations.
Hannah was glad to see him deal with it that way. Someone else she’d known would have used his fists.
No. She wouldn’t think about Andrew. Just because Boone was wrapped up in a battle with old ghosts didn’t mean she had to follow suit. This was his party. She was simply a bystander, maybe a facilitator if she decided she wanted to mediate between him and his ex-friend. She would not allow herself to be dragged back to a place she’d fought so hard to escape.
Hannah firmly shut that mental door and returned her attention to the Texan swimming laps. He really was delicious to look at, and she couldn’t help but notice the other females around the pool watching him too.
She’d finished half of her drink by the time he ended his swim. With little visible effort, he lifted himself from the pool. Hannah had to smile when she recognized the pattern on his red, white, and blue swim trunks—Texas’s Lone Star flag. When he grabbed a fluffy white towel off a lounge chair and dried first his face, then his broad shoulders, and then his lean torso, Hannah’s mouth went dry as the summer heat. The hollow ache of sexual desire had her shifting uncomfortably. She sucked in a healthy sip of the frozen peach cocktail, hoping to cool off.
Across the pool deck, Boone began scanning the crowd, looking for her, she assumed. She lifted her hand and waved. He saw her and smiled that familiar, cocky cowboy grin.
Good. It looked like the exercise restored Boone’s good mood.
Oblivious to the hungry stares of the women all around the pool, he sauntered toward her. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.”
He sat on the pool deck beside her and dangled his legs into the water. “You ordered a girly drink.”
“Happy hour. Will you join me?”
“Well, hmm.” He eyed her glass as he considered it. “I’d better stick to beer. If I start on the hard stuff now, I might not have the will to quit. I don’t want to be lit the first time I see my son.”
“What kind of beer? I’ll get it for you. I get a kick out of the swim-up bar.” He named a brand, and she handed him her drink, then swam toward the bartender. Returning a few moments later, she traded the plastic pint for her hurricane-shaped glass.
They clinked glasses, and he observed, “It’s not black.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your swimming suit. It’s turquoise. You look great in it, by the way. I’m just surprised it’s not black.”
Hannah glanced down at herself. The suit was a strapless one-piece from her previous life, the one item of clothing she hadn’t replaced with something less colorful. Honestly, she didn’t know why she’d been toting it around in her bag for the past three years. This was the first time since she left New England that she’d had a reason to wear a swimsuit. Undoubtedly, had she gone shopping for one in the last three years, she would have chosen black.
She didn’t want to journey down that mental path, so she deflected and redirected the conversation back to him. “So, Mr. McBride. What next? I don’t think we rushed out of your house this morning to lounge poolside this afternoon.”
“True. I got distracted. I was already on edge. Didn’t expect to get ambushed.” He sipped his beer, then added, “Thanks for coming to the rescue.”
“I’m here to help.” Hannah studied Boone. The exercise hadn’t rid him of the strain around his eyes or the grim set of his mouth. It was a different look for him, and she didn’t like it. “You want to talk about her?”
“Nope. Let’s talk about dinner. I told Sarah Winston this morning that I’d get back to her about where we’d meet for dinner. What sounds good to you—barbecue, Tex-Mex or Italian?”
Hannah started to tell him it was his choice. Still, she had been in that place mentally where the need to make one simple decision tripped the switch into overload, and everything shut down. And as she’d told him, she was here to help. “Barbecue.”
“Excellent. I’ll call Sarah and nail down the arrangements.” He rose and sauntered over to the towel hut, where he spoke to the attendant, who then handed Boone his wallet and phone. While he was occupied with his call, Hannah climbed from the pool and walked over to the lounge chair where she’d left her towel, cover-up, and shoes. After drying herself and dressing, she found his warm stare watching her as he spoke into his phone.
Once again, sexual awareness sizzled through her. Whoa. Guess her libido had decided to reawaken with a roar. Luckily, she didn’t need to worry about the consequences of the state overmuch. Experience had taught her that nothing interfered with romance like a baby. As of tomorrow, Boone McBride wouldn’t have time or energy for anything more than taking care of his new son.
Pretending she hadn’t noticed the heated look he sent her, she looked around for a shady spot to wait for him to finish his call. She’d no sooner sat down than the peace of the summer afternoon was shattered by a trio of squealing girls who burst onto the pool deck carrying inflatable toys, a harried woman on their heels. Hannah shut her eyes as a memory of Zoe and Sophia running toward the lake for the first swim of the season floated through her mind.
Lost in memories, she didn’t note Boone’s approach until he spoke. “You okay? That’s a sad smile you’re wearing.”
“I’m fine. The laughter of little girls takes me back.” Then she shook off the bittersweet memories and asked, “So what’s the game plan?”
“Are you ready to get out of the sun?”
“Yes. Definitely. It’s nice while you’re in the water, but the heat is stifling.”
“In that case, I suggest we head up to the suite. My friend has agreed to meet us at my favorite local barbecue joint at five thirty. It’s a ten-minute drive from here. Does that give you time to get ready?”
“Sure.”
Upstairs, they parted with a smile and retreated to their separate bedrooms and baths. Hannah eyed the luxury toiletries the hotel supplied, unscrewed the cap of the shampoo, and sniffed. “Mmm.” Almost as nice as the custom products Boone supplied to the cabin.
After her shower, dressed in the white spa robe the hotel provided, Hannah dried and styled her hair, taking a little more time with it than usual. She was glad she’d brought along the makeup that Celeste Blessing had talked her into purchasing the day she’d bought her dresses for Jackson McBride’s wedding. A week ago, her skin care products were limited to the lotion she picked up at the drugstore. She hadn’t owned makeup of any kind. As Boone’s travel nanny, she wanted to make a good impression on the social worker they would be meeting for dinner shortly.
With her hair and makeup completed, she dressed in her favorite black slacks and the top she’d worn to the rehearsal party. She gave her image one last critical scan in the bathroom mirror, then picked up her handbag and exited her bedroom. Boone stood at the north-facing window gazing down at the city below. He wore jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved white sports shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway to his elbows.
He didn’t turn around when he heard her come in, but he did speak. “Being back here is surreal for me. I look the other direction, and I can see the rooftop of my old house across the river. I look in this direction, and I see the courthouse and the office space occupied by my former law firm. I spent thousands of hours in those buildings, hours that I should have spent at home. I didn’t know what was happening until it was too late. My inability to create that right balance between work and family life was one of my biggest failures. Mary died. Then I overcorrected.”
Hannah didn’t know how to respond, so she simply waited. After a long moment of silence, he asked, “What time is it?”
She glanced at her phone. “Ten minutes to five.”
“Half an hour,” he murmured. He shoved his hands into his pockets and added, “I’ve been running from that overcorrection for five years now. My folks think I left Texas because of Mary. Shoot, even Jackson and Tucker think that’s it. That’s not it. I left because of Rachel Davis, and because I was haunted by pink gel ink.”
Pink gel ink?
“I think I need to tell you about Rachel before I meet up with Sarah Winston, before I meet Trace. I need to get this off my chest. Will you listen to my story, Hannah?”
“I will.” She walked over the sofa, kicked off her sandals, and sat with her legs tucked beneath her.
His voice tight and husky with regret, he said, “It was shortly before the first anniversary of Mary’s death that Rachel’s case first came to my attention. Hannah, she was the bravest little girl I’ve ever met in my life. I won’t go into all the details. You don’t need them running around in your head, believe me. Suffice to say someone abused her horribly, and Rachel was admitted to the hospital.”
“Oh, that poor child.”
Boone continued to face the window, but he removed one hand from his pocket, lifted it, and began rubbing the back of his neck. “The people at CPS expected that I’d eventually end up on the case, so I got called in before she was discharged. I’d witnessed a lot of ugly things in my career, but seeing that pale, hollow-eyed girl lying in that hospital bed got me in a way no other case had.
“When she’d healed enough physically to be discharged, she still wasn’t talking. Her doctors didn’t want to lock her up on the psych floor, and since she had a couple of fractures, I pulled a couple of strings and got her transferred to orthopedics. We wanted to give her some time. As it happened, I was doing rehab on a shoulder injury at that time, so I spent a lot of time there myself. I started visiting her. I didn’t question her. Just sat and talked about my family, primarily. Then one evening, I came in, and she wasn’t in her bed. I found her exiting the physical therapy office with a notebook and a pen. I asked her what she was doing. She shrugged and returned to her room and ignored me for the next half hour while she watched reruns of Bewitched.”
He lapsed into silence, and at length, Hannah decided he needed encouragement to continue. She said, “I always wished I could twitch my nose like Samantha. I just don’t have the muscles for it.”
He glanced over his shoulder and met her gaze with a crooked, sad smile. Gently, she asked, “Did she write you a message?”
He turned back to the window, and his shoulders visibly slumped. “Yep. A detailed account of the abuse. It took every bit of control I possessed not to start bawling like a baby when I read it. If she hadn’t been sitting there watching, I couldn’t have held back.”
“What did you do?”
“Ah, leave it to the pretty lady to cut right to the heart of the issue.” He turned away from the window and strode across the room to the bar. He half filled a glass with tap water and tossed it back like whiskey. The glass hit the black granite countertop with clink when he set it down hard. “I promised Rachel I would get her justice. I sat beside her hospital bed and swore it. I gave her my solemn word—and then I broke it. I failed her.”
The bleakness in his expression caused her heart to twist. Hannah felt compelled to go to him to offer him a comforting touch, but his body language shouted, Stay away. So she tried to offer him comfort with words. “I haven’t known you very long, but I am confident that I know you very well. If you failed her, it was due to circumstances beyond your control.”
“Nope. See, there you’re wrong. I was in complete control of my work life. What was spinning away from me was my personal life, and I allowed it to interfere. That overcorrection I mentioned. I was distracted and made a stupid, rookie mistake, which ultimately allowed Rachel’s abuser to get off on a technicality.” Boone dragged his hands down his face, closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. “I will never forget the look of betrayal in Rachel’s eyes when I told her the news.”
“Was it a family member?”
“Yep. Age-old story. Her stepfather.”
Hannah didn’t believe Boone would have moved to Colorado without finding another way to make the stepfather pay for his sins, so she asked, “What happened to him?”
“He’s dead,” Boone snapped, his tone flat and angry.
Hannah’s eyes went wide. “Did you…?”
“No. Unfortunately. Less than a week after his case was dismissed, the sonofabitch died in his sleep. Drug overdose. Rachel didn’t get justice.”
And neither did you.
Hannah recognized that she was still missing some pieces here. What had happened to Rachel Davis? What, if anything, did Ashleigh have to do with the situation? Why had he wanted to tell her this before having dinner with the social worker?
Hannah remembered that Ashleigh’s husband had been the one who had facilitated the adoption attempt that ultimately led to Boone’s wife’s suicide. He’d also said it was a story worthy of a soap opera.
Rachel Davis. Ashleigh. The late Mary. The baby. Maybe even the social worker, Sarah. Somehow they were tied together, and that piece of the story, she believed, was what Boone found difficult to tell. She glanced at the clock. They still had twenty minutes before they needed to leave.
Maybe he needed a push to get it out. “What does all of this have to do with Trace?”
“Once again, you cut to the meat of it, don’t you? Trace is—well, it’s highly probable that Trace is Rachel’s son.” Boone told Hannah about the note addressed to him and written in pink gel ink that was left with the baby at the fire station. “I’ve seen a picture of the note. I recognize Rachel’s handwriting. Nobody’s sure about whether or not the baby is her child or if she acted on behalf of the infant’s mother.”
Hannah thought about the revelation a moment, then shook her head. “What’s the piece I’m missing? Why would Rachel give you a baby?”
“Beats me. If it’s actually going to happen, that is. It’s possible this is her way to make me pay for letting my personal issues get in the way of professional ones. I let her down. I’m forging ahead as though that’s not the case because I really can’t afford to do otherwise. That said, I have serious reservations.”
“Because those personal issues prevented you from doing your best in her case.”
“Yes. Well, I allowed it. Unnecessarily.”
“What were they? The personal issues?”
“O-o-oh,” he groaned. “That is the soap opera part of the story. I don’t think we have the time for it. I’ve told you about Rachel, and that’s what I really wanted you to know tonight before we meet with Sarah.”
Leave it to a man to dangle tantalizing information like that and then slam the door shut.
“Okay.” Hannah unfolded from the sofa, stood, and slipped on her sandals. “Shall we go?”
He gave her a long look, and his lips stretched in a slow smile. “You are a good sport, Hannah Dupree.”
She nodded. “Doesn’t mean I’m not curious. You should expect me to nag you for more info at some future point.”
“Fair enough.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and ordered an Uber. They exited the suite and headed for the elevator. Upon reaching the lobby, Boone made a scan of the area before moving forward. Within a few moments, they climbed into their ride and made small talk during the short drive to the restaurant.
Hannah inhaled the mouthwatering aroma of smoking meat the minute she opened the car door. She realized she was seriously hungry. She hoped their dinner companion would arrive on time. “There’s Sarah,” Boone said, moments after entering the restaurant. He waved and headed for the round table in the corner where a middle-aged, dark-haired woman wearing a purple polo shirt and a welcoming smile sat with a glass of iced tea in front of her.
She rose as Boone approached. He kissed her cheek, introduced Hannah, then suggested they order before diving into their meeting. “Lunch was a long time ago, and I’m hungry as a horse.”
With Sarah’s and Hannah’s okays, he ordered for the table. Brisket and ribs and chicken and something called bacon burnt ends. Slaw and mac-and-cheese and corn and beans and onion rings. And rolls.
“Just how many people do you intend to feed?” Hannah teased when he finally sent the waiter on his way.
“Don’t make fun of me. This is one of my favorite restaurants in the world, and I’ve missed it. Besides, we’ll have great leftovers.”
They spoke about the weather until the food arrived. Once Hannah got a taste of the brisket, she couldn’t help but moan aloud. Boone gave her a knowing look. “See, I told you so.”
It wasn’t until both Sarah and Hannah had set down their forks, and after Boone had plowed his way through two plates of food and placed an order for banana pudding for dessert, that he was ready to get down to business. “Any updates on the little fellow? We are still set for a meeting this evening?”
Sarah’s gaze flickered away for a moment, and Hannah’s stomach sank. Boone saw it too, because Hannah saw that he subtly stiffened. “Sarah?”
“Everything is on course,” she assured him. “You will meet the baby today. There are just a couple of details I need to go over.”
Warily, Boone asked, “Details?”
Sarah wiped her mouth with a napkin and stood. “Excuse me, please. Before we get into this any farther, I’m going to make a quick visit the ladies’ room.”
While Sarah was gone, Boone signaled the waiter for the check. He asked Hannah how she’d liked her meal. That question devolved into a debate about the superiority of Texas-style barbecue in comparison with what she’d sampled in Nashville during a recent visit. He’d just coaxed Hannah into trying the pudding when Sarah returned and took her seat. Without preamble, she said, “You and I have known each other for a long time, Boone. We worked together very well as colleagues, and I have long considered you a friend. You were a champion for children here in Tarrant County. I knew I could always count on you to put the children first.”
Boone traced the rim of his water glass with his fingertip. “Cut to the chase, Sarah. What’s wrong? Is it Thompson? Has he decided to eff this up for me?”
“No. David Thompson isn’t involved with this adoption in any way. Waggoner, Thompson, and Cole isn’t handling any of the paperwork. I told you that.”
“Well, the firm is involved somehow. Ashleigh knew I was coming into town today. She ambushed me at the hotel.” To Hannah, he explained, “It’s her father’s law firm.
“Did you tell her, Sarah? How is she involved in this? Wait, did she track down Rachel Davis and convince her that I’m a head case? She has a history of that, you know. I guess I should have anticipated—”
Sarah interrupted. “No, Boone. Ashleigh isn’t part of this. I don’t know how she found out about your visit. It wasn’t from me.”
He dragged his hand across his mouth. “I think Ashleigh has—”
Sarah slapped the table. “Boone. Hush. Let me talk! The sooner I’m able to say what I’ve promised to say, the sooner you’ll get to meet the baby.”
“Promised? Promised who?”
She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Hardheaded Texan. Like I was saying, you’ve always put the children first. Tonight, I need you to remember that I’ve always put the kids first too. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes. That’s why we clicked. We were always on the same page. Had the same sign on our desks.”
“THE MOST VULNERABLE DESERVE OUR BEST EFFORTS,” she quoted. “You gave the sign to me for Christmas one year.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten.”
“I have never forgotten. I will always put the children’s best interests first, even if that means bending a rule a time or two. You were the one who taught me about rule-bending, remember? I can quote you exactly: Don’t be afraid to bend or twist or massage a rule, Sarah. Trust your judgment.”
“I am not liking the direction this is going.”
“Well, you should like it, because, in my judgment, becoming your child is in the best interests of this baby. So I massaged the rules a bit.”
“I want this adoption,” Boone said with a warning in his voice. “But if it’s not legal, we are stopping it here and now.”
“No worries. Everything is legal. Where I’ve done some bending is with the broader picture.”
“Okay. Fine. I get the warning. Cut to the chase, Sarah. What is it that you want to say?”
She held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay.” She stood. “Come with me, Boone. It’s time you met this child.”
He shoved to his feet, reached for his wallet, and began tossing bills onto the table. “Let’s do it. Where do we go?”
“They’re on the patio.”
Boone froze with a twenty-dollar bill in his hand. “Here? He’s here? Now?”
Sarah reached out and touched his arm. “Boone. There is one important thing for you to keep in mind. Think before you react. Everything is riding on it. More than you know.”
“But he’s here.”
Sarah encouraged him with a smile. “The foster parents are Jared and Katie Devlin. They’re waiting for you on the patio with the baby.”
The twenty slipped from his fingers and floated to the table. “Now? Right now?”
“Right now.”
He grabbed for Hannah’s hand and held it in a grip so hard, she winced. Sarah led them toward a door Hannah had not previously noticed. They stepped onto a patio where large fans and misting machines worked to offset the heat of the evening. Boone didn’t appear to notice the heat. He focused on the infant seat placed atop a table next to a burbling fountain. A man and a woman were seated on either side of the carrier.
His viselike grip on Hannah’s hand tightened even more.
He took three steps toward the table before he abruptly stopped. His head jerked to one side and then moved slowly to the other as he scanned the patio. He muttered, “What the heck?”
“What’s wrong?” Hannah whispered.
“Trace is wearing a hair bow.”
Abruptly, Hannah understood. The pink blanket. Pink bow. Pink dress and booties.
Either the foster parents were attempting to make a political point, or Boone McBride’s little boy was actually a girl.