by Lois Richer
Gabe stared at him. “I don’t think I know what you mean.” He managed to squeak the words out, studying the older man’s relaxed posture. “You mean you’re condoning my mistakes?”
“I mean you walk up those stairs to his room, where the boy is probably sniffing his head off, and you tell him that you’re sorry you yelled, that you still love him and that he needs to ask permission to touch your stuff.”
A sudden picture floated through Gabe’s mind. He’d been, what, six? His father had blown his top when a cup, one of his mother’s special ones, slipped from his hand and smashed on the floor. He hadn’t meant to drop it. He just wanted to touch it, remind himself of her. Now, years later, he could understand that his father had resented the shattering of her belongings in the same way he’d hated losing the woman he loved so desperately. But at the time, at six years old, Gabe had only understood that he was a clumsy, stupid nuisance.
“I should have known better.” He swallowed the strong black coffee without thinking, then winced as the bitterness burned down his throat.
“Do you think you might be expecting too much of yourself? You’re not perfect. Apologize and move on.” Mac drank the thick black stuff as if it were water. “I’ve gotta get moving. I’m going fishing.”
Gabe watched him amble across the room, the heel of his hand massaging his thigh as he went. “Can it be that easy?” he wondered aloud.
“What?” Blair breezed in through the patio door and poured herself a glass of lemonade from the fridge. “Oh, that’s good! I never did say thank-you for the housekeeper. I don’t know how we’d manage this place if you hadn’t hired her to keep things going.” She wiped a hand across her forehead, took another swallow, then flopped on a chair. “Can what be that easy?” she repeated.
Gabe studied her upswept hair, the damp tendrils curling against her neck, her dusty white shirt and worn jeans. She glowed with good health. Did she ever make mistakes?
“Gabe?”
Slowly, he related the incident in his workroom. “I guess I forget he’s only five—almost six,” he amended with a halfhearted smile.
“And he should know better.” She pushed her glass away, plunked her elbows on the table and leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hands. “He wants a father, Gabe. Not an angel.”
“I don’t think we have to worry there.” Gabe pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the dirt off her nose. “You’re supposed to leave the garden outside.”
She grinned. “Dirt’s good for the skin. Some people even use mud packs.” Her hand closed around his. “He won’t hate you, Gabriel. He’ll think it through and understand if you explain.”
Gabe let her hold onto his hand. It felt good, reassuring. “I’m so lousy at this!” He glared out the window at the burgeoning blooms that seemed to tumble everywhere, out of old pots, a one-handled wheelbarrow, a rusty watering can. “I sounded exactly like my old man.”
“He was a father, too,” she reminded Gabe softly.
Gabe’s head jerked around as he stared at her.
“You can’t keep on hating him, Gabe. It’ll only eat you alive. You’re you. You have your own chance to deal with your child the way you believe is right. Daniel knows you don’t hate him. Talk to him. You’ll see.”
“Will you come?” He held her hand a little tighter, knowing somehow that if Blair was there, everything would be all right.
“I don’t think so.” She eased her fingers away from his, but one hand lifted to brush his hair off his forehead. “You and Daniel need time together on your own. You’re walking on eggshells around him. Therefore he’s not sure what to expect. Just be yourself, Gabe. Relax. He’s only five.”
“That’s what scares me,” he muttered, knotting his hands together.
Blair leaned over and brushed a kiss against his cheek. “Be strong, big guy,” she teased, her voice brimming with something he thought was gentle mockery. Then she got up, bunched her hair under a ratty old sun hat and grinned. “Back to the petunias.” She giggled. “I ordered way too many.”
“Maybe you should put hives around the yard. With all those flowers, the bees would really work.” He was only joking, but Blair didn’t know it. Her forehead furrowed as she considered his idea.
“It might work,” she muttered to herself, pushing the door open. “And I’ve got those hives repaired now. I could…” She left talking to herself.
“Daddy?”
Gabe twisted in his seat. Daniel stood in the doorway, tearstains on his cheeks, his feet shuffling nervously.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wreck your microphone thing.” A big shiny tear slid down his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
Gabe’s heart ached for the uncertainty in those eyes. He’d done that—him, the guy who should know better. “Come here, Daniel.”
Daniel took one faltering step forward, but that was enough for Gabe. He scooped him up in his arms and set him on his knee, one arm around his shoulders.
“First of all, it’s called a microprocessor. Can you say that?” He waited until Daniel had faithfully repeated the word. “And secondly, you don’t have to apologize. I should be doing that. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I never wanted to do that. I’m very sorry for it.”
“That’s okay.” Daniel patted his cheek, his eyes bright once more. “I yell when I get mad sometimes. It makes me feel better.”
“Well, it doesn’t make me feel better. I just feel sad.”
He hadn’t meant to say it, but with that silky soft hair beneath his chin and the cuddly little body settled on his knee, Gabe was beyond controlling his words. “I don’t ever want to scare you or hurt you, Daniel. But I’m not very good at being a daddy and sometimes I might. Will you remind me if I do it again?”
Daniel cocked his head, his eyes searching Gabe’s. “I guess.” One hand reached up to touch the furrow between his father’s eyebrows. “Are you mad now, Daddy? Do you want me to kiss it better?”
All of the angst, the tension, the frustration slipped away as Gabe stared into his son’s earnest face. He nodded, his throat too choked to speak. When the pudgy arms slid upward to circle his neck, when the soft little mouth brushed over his cheek, Gabe wanted to cry.
Thank You for this wonderful gift. I don’t deserve it. This special little boy is far more than I ever dreamed of. Please, don’t let me mess up.
“Is it all better now?” Daniel’s worried voice broke into his thoughts.
Gabe slid his arms around that wriggling little body and hugged for all he was worth. “Thank you, Daniel,” he whispered, as he breathed in the half-dust, half-soap scent of his very own child. “Thank you very much.”
“Welcome.” Daniel hugged him, then giggled. “Your chin scratches me. Can we go help Mommy now? I love planting flowers.”
“Sure we can. Then maybe she’d like to go down to the creek and cool off.” Gabe let the boy drag him to his feet and lead him to the door. “What do you think?”
“She likes the pool better.” Daniel scurried down the path. His voice echoed on the warm spring breeze. “An’ I like ice cream. Chocolate ice cream, with marshmallows and nuts.”
“Everything okay now?” Mac sat on the patio, whittling something out of a piece of willow. “Got it all straightened out?”
Gabe nodded, unwilling to speak for fear Mac would hear the emotion that still gripped him.
“Thought so. Kids don’t hold grudges, Gabe. It’s adults that do that. That’s why we have the heart attacks and ulcers. The kids have shed all that and moved on. We hang on and let the bitterness fester so bad it affects everything we do. Lesson there somewhere, don’t you think?” Mac winked at him, then went on carving and whittling, whistling an old western tune as he worked.
Thus ignored, Gabe set off down the flagstone path to the gazebo Blair was intent on surrounding with flowers.
Was that what he’d done—let his anger and frustration about the past affect his whole life? Was that why things had looked s
o bleak after his father had swindled that money? It wasn’t because he needed it, Gabe admitted wryly. He could give away three times that much and still fare quite well.
It was the loss of trust that bugged him. His own father had manipulated him into feeling guilty because he’d wanted an ordinary father-son relationship.
Why was that so wrong?
Because you’re never going to have it. Face up to the facts, boy. You’re not the kind of son he expected or wanted. Now move on.
Gabe wanted to forget it all, he really did. But the hole inside yawned deeper than ever, reminding him that he had no father now. He’d cut him out of his life just like he’d cut out everyone who tried to use him. He was Gabriel Sloan. He didn’t need anybody.
Up ahead he could see Blair, face glowing with joy as she perched on her hands and knees, digging in the dirt. She didn’t have to do it. He’d told her he could hire someone. But she’d insisted. And there beside her, his hands copying his mother’s movement, kneeled Gabe’s son.
What would happen if he lost them both? Why did even the thought of it fill him with terror?
Chapter Eight
Blair packed the crate with candles and carefully set it on the floor. Automatically her hands reached for another box and she began assembling an order.
Time flew so fast these days. It was hard to believe she’d been married two weeks, that Gabe’s castle had been finished well before the deadline and they’d all moved in together.
So little had changed in her life, and yet everything was different. For one thing, she had too much work.
“Can I help?” Gabe stood in the doorway of her workroom, tall and uncompromising.
“If you want. I’m filling orders.” She shrugged, unnerved by his sudden appearance. “Aren’t you busy with something?”
He and Albert had been closeted for days, building some gizmo that remained top secret to everyone but them. She had to give Gabe credit, however. The moment Daniel came home from school, he put everything on hold to spend time with him.
“Not right now. We’ve hit a jam.” He took the list she handed him and began selecting items. “Do you have a lot to ship?”
“Quite a few items. Then I’ve got to get moving on the Christmas stock. That’s my biggest season, and everything has to be at the stores by the first of October.”
He nodded. “I know. In L.A. last year they hadn’t even taken Halloween stuff off the shelves before the Christmas decorations started showing up.” He studied her for a minute, as if he was considering his next words. “You look tired.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thank you, Gabe. That’s nice to hear.”
“I meant it more as a question than a complaint,” he said mildly. “You’re doing too much. Can’t you ease off a bit, let someone else do some of these jobs you’ve taken on?”
Blair felt a little burn start deep inside. “There isn’t anyone else. Do you think I’d be doing that fund-raising if someone else had volunteered? Besides, I like to be busy.”
He shook his head in patent disbelief. “This goes way beyond busy, Blair, and you know it. You used to do this before.”
“Before what?” She recounted her order and realized she’d put in too many flared red candles. When Gabe didn’t say anything, she stopped what she was doing and looked up. “Before what?” she repeated, annoyed that he was interrupting.
“In L.A., when you were running from one thing to the other. Maybe that’s why I never knew much about your family. You were always dashing from one place to the next.”
“You weren’t exactly sitting still yourself,” she reminded him bluntly. “I’m not the one who canceled out every other night because I had to work.”
He nodded. “I know. I did a lot of things wrong in those days. But we’re talking about you. Who are you racing for now, Blair?”
She sighed, raked a hand through her mussed-up hair and spared a moment to glare at him. “Nobody. Myself. I don’t know what you’re saying.” She threw up her hands in disgust. “There are things to be done, Gabe. I do them. No big deal.”
He stared at her for a moment, then walked over, reached out and lifted her hand and, without really trying, slid her rings off her finger and then back on.
“You’re losing weight, Blair. You never relax. You’re tense all the time. When Willie’s up half the night with her nerves, so are you. When the neighbors need a sitter, you rush over. When the school calls about drivers for the field trip, you volunteer, even though it isn’t your son’s class.” He wouldn’t let her hand go. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, for goodness sake!” She yanked her hand away and flounced to the coffeepot. “I like to be busy.”
“This is frenetic.” His voice held a hint of steel as he lifted the pot out of her hands. “You drink way too much of that stuff.” He tossed it down the sink and switched off the machine. “Come on.”
Blair was too surprised to stop him until he’d urged her out of her shop and into the yard. “Come where?” she spluttered when she finally found her voice.
“I don’t know. For a walk.” His hand held hers, not loosening a fraction when she tried to tug away. “It’s your day off, Blair. Time to get out of the mad rush and enjoy life.”
She marched beside him, her temper rising. “This is rich, coming from the workaholic of the century!”
He ignored her sniping and led her around the side of the house. “I found a wonderful path behind here. There’s the loveliest little spot on the top of the hill that overlooks our valley.”
Blair sighed. “Gabe, I’ve lived here for years. I know all the sights.”
He stopped and stared at her. “Do you? Really?”
She didn’t know how to respond to that so she stayed silent. After a moment he resumed walking, tugging her along like a recalcitrant child. Only then did she notice the backpack swinging from his other hand.
“What’s in that?”
He glanced over his shoulder, followed her stare to the pack and grinned. “Lunch, al fresco. Sloan style.”
“All right, I’m coming. You don’t have to drag me, you know.” She pulled her hand away and forced herself to walk on, even though his pace made her lungs burn. Why was she so tired?
“Where’s your energy now, Blair?”
She looked up. Gabriel stood atop a rolling hill, his hair whipping in the wind, his handsome face perfectly lit by the sun. While she watched he flopped on the ground, stretched out on his back and gazed into the blue sky.
Blair forced herself the last few torturous steps, then collapsed beside him, barely noticing the hardness of the ground as she gasped for breath.
“Remember when we used to go for walks?”
His voice seemed far away, and Blair turned her head to check. Gabe’s eyes were closed, his hands crossed behind his head. He looked perfectly content.
“I wondered why you always headed for the beach. I used to think it was the water, but it wasn’t, was it? It was the wind.” His eyes opened, their clear green startling her with their intensity. “You felt free with it blowing away all the worries.”
She shifted so he couldn’t see her face.
“You don’t have to hide. Willie told me a little.”
Blair jerked around. “A little what?”
“A little of your past. That you’ve always been the responsible one, always protected those you love. It must have been hard to leave them here while you went to school.”
“Yes, it was.” She wished he’d get off the subject.
“Why didn’t you tell me more about them? All I ever knew were their names. ‘Grandpa and my great-aunt,’ you called them. I can’t remember one time when you really talked about them.” His hand tilted her chin so she had to look at him. “Why was that, Blair?” He lay on his side, arm tilted so it supported his head.
“I don’t know. I guess it just never came up.”
“It should have.” His fingers played with her hair, twirling the ringlets, then lettin
g them fall against her cheek. “Were you ashamed of them?”
“No!” She jerked upward. “How could I possibly be ashamed of the people who took me in and raised me with nothing but love? No.” She shook her head adamantly.
“Then why?” He seemed to ponder the idea for only a moment before his fingers closed around hers where they lay on the grass, fiddling with a stem.
At his touch, Blair froze.
“It was me, wasn’t it? You were ashamed of me. You knew they wouldn’t approve of me in your life.”
The words pinged softly into her brain, tearing open the truth. “It wasn’t shame.” He had to know that, to understand. “I loved you then.”
“But?” Gabe was sitting beside her. His hand wrapped around hers and squeezed in encouragement. “It’s all right, Blair. You can tell the truth.”
“I wasn’t sure of you. I wasn’t sure you knew who I really was.” She blurted a stream of hurt. “All you ever saw was this person in glamorous clothes, pretending she fit in with the in crowd. You didn’t know the real me, not even when you saw me at school. You thought my degree was just a hobby, didn’t you? Something for me to do in the meantime?”
He considered it. “No,” he said as he stared out over the valley. “I don’t think I ever thought that. You were too good at what you did.” His head reared up, his eyes bored into hers. “But you’re right, I didn’t know you. Not the real you. I thought you liked the fancy clothes, the parties, the glitz. I didn’t realize that they meant nothing. I guess I’m only beginning to understand that material things have never really mattered to you.”
“I do like the castle, Gabe. You did a wonderful job. I appreciate all the little things you incorporated to make it comfortable for Willie and Mac and Albert.” She let the truth ring through her voice. “Not to mention Daniel.”
He nodded, his face serious. “That’s exactly what I mean. For yourself, you couldn’t care less. It’s your family you’re concerned about. I’m just beginning to understand how much they mean to you.”
