Finding Hope Read Online Free PDF Page A

coffee in his cup, watching the spinning liquid in apparent fascination. “Do you suppose you could call me Charles?” he asked absently.
    She ran her middle finger around the rim of her own cup and considered that. The man was not going to win any prizes for his sparkling personality, but she liked him. “Tell you what,” she offered, “I’ll call you Charlie.”
    He nearly choked on his coffee. “Charlie?”
    She nodded firmly. “Sure. Didn’t they call you that when you were a boy?”
    â€œNo, they called me Trey.”
    Hope wrinkled her nose. “You mean like the playing card? The one that comes after the ace and the deuce?”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œSo what are you,” she asked provocatively, “the off-spring of riverboat gamblers?”
    His mouth twitched. “Not exactly.” He swallowed the last of his coffee. “I’m Charles Winston Hartman III,” he said. “My grandfather is called Charles and my father goes by Winston. I suppose they called me Trey to avoid confusion.”
    Hope tossed her head. “They might have considered that little snag before they gave you a name that was already in use by two men,” she opined. “I take it you don’t come from a long line of original thinkers?”
    One side of his mouth turned up, an almost-smile. “Actually, we’re all doctors.”
    â€œWhat? Not all three of you?”
    â€œI’m afraid so,” he said. “Dr. Charles Winston Hartman, in triplicate. It’s awful, isn’t it?”
    She laughed, but the latest edition of Dr. Charles Winston Hartman barely cracked a smile. Goodness, but the man was strung tight.
    Hope twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Well, I think Charlie is a good name for you,” she said boldly. “It makes you seem more—” She broke off.
    â€œMore what?”
    â€œN-nothing.” She stumbled over her words. “I’m sorry.” She really ought to bite her impertinent tongue, she thought distractedly. When would she learn to think first?
    His eyes nailed her. “I can take it. More what?”
    He wasn’t going to like this. She nibbled her bottom lip for a moment before she answered. “More…approachable?”
    He cocked an eyebrow at her.
    â€œWell, you pretend not to care,” Hope said defensively, “but you really are a Charlie at heart. I can tell.”
    That obviously annoyed him. “You’re trying to tell me that a…Charlie…is a nice guy?”
    Hope almost laughed at the way his upper lip curledin distaste as he pronounced the nickname. She sipped her coffee, watching him over her cup. His gruff demeanor didn’t fool her for a second. He was a Charlie, all right.
    â€œI’m not a nice guy, Hope.” His tone was quietly menacing. He snapped the lid on the square tin and stood up. “But thank you for the cookies.”
    Hope wondered why the man was so determined to hide his kind heart. She had seen it and she had an inexplicable need to tell him so. She watched him take four long strides away from her before she put down her cup and called, “Charlie?”
    He turned.
    She elevated her eyebrows and tried to look innocent.
    He stared for a moment, answering her broad smile with a scowl. She expected him to turn on his heel, but he surprised her by coming back to the table. Cradling the cookie tin in one arm, he put his free hand on the table and leaned forwards, looking straight into her eyes. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
    â€œWhy?” The thoughtless question leaped out of her mouth before she could stop it. Deeply ashamed, she lowered her eyes, intending to avoid his unnerving gaze by staring into her coffee cup. But he was there, too—his face was clearly reflected in the dark liquid.
    His answer was delayed by several heartbeats. “Because,” he said finally, “you interest