CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Hope had said he was always trying to please people, and always offering to help. This was one time he should have kept his mouth shut. Walt Heath had asked him to help put in a new sink in his bathroom, and he’d agreed. Newman was handy, but there were others who were more so. But he’d heard Walt talking, and next thing he knew he was committed.
Still, it was good to get out of his father’s reach for a while. The man had called him continuously, telling him how he’d messed up his life.
“Asshole, what about my life?” Newman said, walking up the Heaths’ drive.
It was strange how now that this adoption business had come out of the dark, he wasn’t so bothered about his father’s treatment of him. Sure, he’d always wanted his respect, and maybe for his father to be proud of him, but as that had never happened, he knew it never would, and now he didn’t actually care so much. Because in the middle of the night when sleep was eluding him, he’d come to the conclusion that his father’s problems were actually his, not Newman’s. It had taken years to reach that kind of peace about his lack of a relationship with the man who’d raised him, but finally he was good with that. Taking out his phone as it started buzzing, Newman checked the caller ID.
“Sheriff.”
“Last night someone stole more gear from the Wildlife people.”
“Shit!”
“My words were stronger. That Ms. Linear went at me for a solid hour about lenses, cameras, and tripods. I know more about that shit now than I want to.”
“Save’s paying for that night class you were going to take.”
“Not funny.”
“Sorry.” Newman looked at the neat row of Lizzie Heath’s gerberas. “I know what a bitch that woman is.”
“It’s Hope she’s after, Newman. She’s talking about calling her daddy, who in turn is friendly with the governor.”
“Christ, Cub. They have to have proof, and there is none.”
“I know that, but this has gone beyond a simple burglary, bud. No bored kids or passing tourists would stick around to do this again and again. It’s targeted, and vindictive. Whoever did this knew how to cripple the Wildlife crew and just what to take, to hit them where it hurts.”
“And Ms. Linear is baying for Hope’s blood?”
“With bared fangs.”
“My gut feeling is that limp dick Jay Herald has something to do with this.”
“It’s possible, but he’s saying it couldn’t be Hope, because while he knows she has personal problems, he doesn’t believe her capable of doing something like this to Wildlife.”
“He’s a snake, Cub. You need to watch him.”
“I know it, and I’ll need to talk to Hope too.
“Keep me updated,” Newman said before he finished the call.
The Heaths had a nice house in Buster’s street, not far from the Lawrence house, but he saw nothing as he reached the front door. This would upset Hope, and Newman hated that he couldn’t shield her from that.
He knocked on the door, and no one answered, which was odd because someone was home. He’d seen Lizzie’s car parked in the garage.
“Hello?” He turned the handle and poked his head inside. No one replied, but he heard music. Something classical was in the air, and while it wasn’t his thing, it had a nice, haunting sound to it.
“Hello?”
Still no answer. He took off his shoes, because Lizzie ran a tidy ship and shoes inside were not allowed. He’d learned that young, when she’d torn a strip off him for coming to get a cookie with his sneakers on.
Following the music, Newman headed to the dance room the Heaths had set up. They’d dragged him in there a few times in his youth, and while he could dance when necessary, it wasn’t his calling.
The words he had been about to use to greet a Heath fell from his lips as he found Hope in there. Alone, she wore short shorts in some stretchy material, a sports bra that left her midriff bare, and her hair was in a messy knot on her head. She was exquisite.
Moving to one side so she wouldn’t see him unless she turned fully, he watched undetected. The woman he knew Hope to be often stiffened up when in company. She was sometimes awkward and unsure of herself. This Hope could not be more different.
Who knew that the woman who wore black shitkickers on a daily basis could move with such grace? She arched forward, and his eyes followed the curve of her spine down her body to her ankles.
Damn, she’s fine.
Newman pushed aside what he’d learned from Cubby, and lost himself in the wonder of watching Hope dance. The last time they’d seen each other, three days ago, he’d asked her to marry him in what he now conceded was not a very romantic way. In his defense, he’d been off-balance at the time, after what they’d just shared.
She looked a mile away from that angry woman now. Each elegant curve of her fingers, or point of a bare toe had his admiration climbing. Admiration, and something else that sat heavy in his chest. This woman carried his child; the feeling should have terrified him, and yet he didn’t feel scared. Instead he felt humbled.
As the music climbed to the finish, she arched backward, so far that she saw him, and fell.
“Hell! Hope, are you okay?”
She waved his hands away, but he simply picked her up and settled her back on her feet.
“I’m sorry if I scared you, you just seemed so happy dancing, I didn’t want to stop you.”
She lowered her eyes, embarrassed.
“You looked beautiful, and I especially like the fact that your clothes match.” It had been the perfect thing to say, as her spine went stiff, all uncertainty leaving her eyes.
“You’re so shallow.”
“It’s not shallow to want to look good, Hope.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You did that on purpose.”
“What?” He tried to look innocent, not an expression he’d ever pulled off with any success.
“Insulting me.” She took a step back as he advanced. “What are you doing?”
“You’re hot. You know that, right?’
“Neanderthal.”
Her eyes flared with heat that he was sure she saw in his as he stopped inches before her.
“Watching you dance was almost mystical, Hope. I’ve never seen that side of you before.” He cupped one cheek.
“What side?”
Knowing this subject was a minefield of wrong turns that he would likely take, Newman kissed her. It was soft and sweet, and he wanted to take it deeper but he was in the house of two elderly people who had once changed his diapers.
“The dancing side.”
She wrinkled her nose, and he even found that a turn-on.
“That made no sense.”
“Has anything about us, or this,” he rested a hand on her stomach, “made sense to you yet?”
She studied him.
“No, and you are way too good with words. I bet they’ve got you out of plenty of sticky situations using just the right combination.”
“It’s how I earn my living, sweet cheeks.”
“I reckon one of your birth parents was a politician.”
He smiled, because hearing her openly discuss and acknowledge that he was adopted felt good.
“I was thinking royalty. You know there’s something regal about me.”
She snorted, and poked him in the stomach. “I don’t think so, buddy.”
“I’m sorry if I upset you in the trails that day, Hope, with my proposal. I was a bit off-balance because I’d just gone a few rounds with my father, and this is not a situation I have a handbook for.”
She tilted her head to the side.
“Okay, so how about we work out the rules slowly, and together?”
Newman nodded, because there was a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball. She’d actually alluded to wanting to explore the future, and for now that was enough for him. Peace had once again been restored between them, and it felt good, even if he knew it was temporary. Taking a deep breath, he then let it out slowly, and began to tell her what he’d learned from Cubby.