Doing It Over (Most Likely To #1)(70)

“What I don’t understand is why. Why now? What does he have to gain by taking Hope away from me? He doesn’t want her.”

“I have to agree with Mel on this, Dad. The man’s about as sincere as a devil offering three wishes.”

“He keeps saying things like I finally found you, and now that I found you. I was never hiding. He always knew where I was, or could have gotten ahold of my friends here if he didn’t have my address.”

William jotted down a few notes on his legal pad of paper. “He’s going to try and say you hid Hope from him. That he couldn’t pay you because he didn’t know where you were. That’s simple to see coming.”

She thought as much.

“Why? I keep asking myself why?”

William put his pen down and started to tuck the notebook into his briefcase. “I don’t know. I have enough to get started on. I’ll have my people track down the alleged marriage certificate, if we can prove it fraudulent, or forged, we might be able to negate all of this. I’ve also got a team working on Nathan Stone the Third, the Second, and the First. We might find something motivating this whole movement. You need to be patient.”

They all stood, and Wyatt shook his father’s hand. “Thanks again, Dad.”

William sighed, “Yeah, yeah . . . so.” He lifted his chin. “You gonna tell me how you managed that shiner?”

Melanie hardly noticed the healing bruise over Wyatt’s eye.

Wyatt huffed a laugh. “A fist.”

William closed his eyes. “Son!”

“Not Nathan’s. It was in the bar.”

“Oh, ho, ho . . . it just gets better.”

“No one was arrested,” Wyatt explained.

William snapped shut his briefcase and grasped the handle. “Well that’s a good thing. I don’t rescue sons from bar fights.”

They were all laughing.

“Thanks again, William.” Melanie gave him a brief hug.

He smiled. “Damsels in distress call, I’ll come runnin’. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I like your dad,” she said as they watched him walk out of the cafeteria.

“He’s ruthless in the courtroom.”

“Yet he raised such a kind and considerate son.”

Wyatt nudged her with his arm. “You haven’t met my sister or mother.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE




The day they drove Hope home, Nathan struck back.

“You must be Hope.”

Melanie was holding her daughter’s hand as she walked up the steps to the inn. Behind her, Wyatt was removing an armful of get well gifts from his truck that Hope had accumulated over the past week.

Miss Gina stood behind the woman who greeted Hope before acknowledging Melanie. She had slicked back brown hair that was pulled into a tight bun and a pinched face that looked anything but inviting. The woman had to be in her sixties, with plenty of wrinkles that would do better with a little Botox.

Melanie hesitated on the top step and glanced at Miss Gina.

With hesitation, Miss Gina introduced the scowl-faced woman. “This is Ms. Pensky with Child Protective Services.”

Damn you, Nathan!

“I’m here to assess the living arrangement for your daughter, Mrs. Stone.”

Melanie cringed and offered a tight smile. “I go by Ms. Bartlett.” Arguing the fact she wasn’t a Mrs. and explaining she was still a Miss was useless when Nathan was spewing to the world that she was his wife.

Ms. Pensky attempted to win a staring contest before snapping her gaze to Hope. The forced smile had Hope stepping behind Melanie and gripping her hand tighter. Why CPS would hire a woman who looked like the witch from The Wizard of Oz before the green makeup was beyond her.

“I’d like to ask you a few questions, Hope.”

Melanie was getting tired of playing nice. “Can we get into the house first?”

Ms. Pensky stepped aside and let them pass.

Wyatt jogged in behind them, eyeing the stranger. “Who is she?” he whispered in Melanie’s ear as he walked past her.

“Child Protective Services. Damn Nathan,” she gritted out in a voice only he could hear.

“Stall her. I’ll call my dad.”

Even through her building anger, Wyatt’s instant support made her wonder how she’d lived without him.

Wyatt set a bouquet of flowers on the hall table and a bag on the floor before going back outside.

Melanie all but ignored the stranger in the room while she gently helped her daughter out of her sweater. “She looks mean,” Hope whispered in her ear.

Amen to that, honey.

“I guess we’ll find out, huh?”

“Do I have to talk to her?”

Good question . . . Melanie didn’t really know her rights. Chances were, Wild Bill Gibson did and she’d find out soon enough.

“Should we get comfortable in the sitting room?” Ms. Pensky interrupted their private conversation.

Play nice, play nice, play nice.

Her internal chant wasn’t working. “It’s a long drive from Eugene, Ms. Pensky. Hope needs to use the bathroom.”

The woman wasn’t convinced.

“Mommy, I—”

“I know, sweetie, let me help you.” Melanie didn’t let Hope finish her sentence before taking her by the hand to the downstairs bathroom.