by Sherry Lewis
When Emilee realized he was lagging behind, she stopped again. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he assured her quickly. “Where are you taking me?”
She named a store and added, “I saw a pair of jeans in there the other day that would be perfect. In fact, I want a pair to start college in the fall—if they’re still in style.”
“Sounds good to me.” He picked up his pace again. “Where are you planning to go to college?”
“Probably Denver University.”
Did he just imagine the flash of disappointment he saw on her face? No, there it was again. “Isn’t that where you want to go?”
“Not really. The University of Utah has a better nursing school, and that’s really what I want to study. But Mom wants me to stay here.”
Gabe took in the dejected slump of her shoulders. “Does she know how you feel?”
She shrugged.
“Why don’t you tell her? I’ve been around you enough to know she wants you to be happy.”
“It wouldn’t do any good.”
“Sure it would.” He could say that without hesitation. “Admittedly, I don’t know your mom real well yet, but I’m sure she wants you to get the best education you can. And I’ll bet she has no idea how disappointed you are.” He tucked his hands into his pockets to avoid the urge to give her a fatherly hug. “She’s as concerned about your happiness as you are about hers.”
Emilee smiled slowly.
“And speaking of that,” he said with a playful scowl, “we need to talk.”
“About what?”
“About the scheme you and Christa have up your sleeves. You’ve got your mom worried.”
Emilee’s smile faded. “I know.”
“Don’t you think it’s time to tell her why you faked that sprained ankle?”
“No.” Emilee took Jason’s hand as if she needed moral support.
“Well, I do,” Gabe said sternly. “She’s convinced something’s troubling you, and worried sick because you aren’t willing to talk to her about it.”
“There is something troubling me,” Emilee said over her shoulder as she wound through a couple of benches and some potted plants. “I don’t want her to be lonely anymore.”
“I know, but—”
She wheeled around to face him. “I’m not going to tell her, Gabe. Not yet. And you promised you wouldn’t tell her, either—remember?”
How could he forget?
“Besides, it’s not as if we’re doing something bad.”
He thought about Jesse’s assurance that it would all come out in the wash. Maybe he was overreacting, but he sure hated keeping his mouth shut while he watched Sharon worry. “Just promise me you’ll tell her eventually.”
“Of course we’ll tell her.” Emilee tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes at him. “Just not yet. Now, do you want to see those jeans or not?”
“I want to see them.”
“Good. They’re really cool. I just know your daughter will love ’em.”
Clapping one hand to Jason’s shoulder, he nodded for Emilee to lead on. And he pushed aside the flicker of apprehension that Emilee’s promise hadn’t quite taken away. As long as the girls planned to tell Sharon the truth, he could relax and concentrate on fixing things between himself and Tracy. And he couldn’t do that with Sharon on his mind all the time.
The best thing he could do for everyone concerned was to put her completely out of his mind. He just wished it wasn’t so hard to do.
GABE TRIED WITHOUT success to follow the conversation taking place across his parents’ cavernous living room. He had hoped to start a discussion about his father’s retirement, but was reluctant to spoil the jovial mood his family shared tonight or ruin his niece’s birthday dinner.
He linked his hands behind his head and pushed back in his mother’s recliner. Rosalie laughed at something Jack said, his father’s deep chuckle blended with his mother’s. Three of Rosalie and Jack’s kids huddled together in front of the TV, sharing control panels for a video game. For the first time in memory, the picture of domestic bliss raised a flicker of longing. He refused to let Sharon’s image form and thought of his daughter instead. Tracy belonged here, too. She was as much a part of the family as the rest of them. Maybe he’d call her when he got home.
Rosalie glanced at him and frowned when she saw the look on his face. While Jack launched into a new story, she crossed the room and perched on the arm of his chair. “What are you sulking about tonight, big brother?”
“I’m not sulking,” he said with a slight smile. “I’m thinking.”
“About what? Problems with your latest girlfriend?”
Sharon’s smile danced in front of him. He blinked it away. He didn’t want her to guess how close she’d come to the truth. He squared his shoulders and raised an eyebrow. “There isn’t any latest girlfriend.”
“What?” Rosalie rocked backward so far, he thought she’d fall off her perch. “You’re kidding, right?”
He looked at her.
“You’re serious?”
“Is that such a shock?”
“To be honest, yes.”
He pushed aside a flicker of mild resentment. He might not like the reputation, but he’d earned it.
Rosalie motioned toward the small knot of people on the other side of the room—Jack parked in the middle of the couch, his mother beside him, his father tinkering with something on the floor. “Why don’t you come over and join the rest of us instead of sitting over here by yourself.”
“I’m really tired tonight. And I don’t want to spoil the mood.”
She sobered instantly. “Dad’s still working you like a plow horse?”
He immediately regretted tossing out the description a few weeks earlier during an argument over dinner, but he wouldn’t lie. “You know Dad,” he said, lowering his voice. “He’ll never change.”
“Is he still forgetting things?”
Gabe hesitated for only a moment. If he sugar-coated the truth now, she’d never believe him when he tried to discuss it with her later. “He’s getting worse.”
Her dark eyes clouded. “That’s just so hard to believe about Dad. He’s always been so on top of things.”
“He still has his moments,” Gabe assured her. “But it’s starting to affect the business. We’re going to have to talk to Mom, sis.”
“We can’t do that. You know how it will upset her.”
“It’ll upset her a lot more if they lose everything they own.”
Rosalie studied him with guarded eyes. “You don’t really think that could happen, do you?”
“It might. It probably will, unless we do something.”
“Oh, Gabe.” Her shoulders slumped and she looked exactly as she had at eight years old when they’d had to put their dog to sleep. She’d been allowed to cry. Gabe had been expected to keep his feelings hidden, just as he forced himself to do now. Malone men didn’t cry—about anything.
“How can we tell him he has to leave the business,” Rosalie whispered. “Look at him.”
Another burst of laughter from across the room only added to his guilt. “I look at him every day, sis. I’m the one who has to deal with his lapses in memory and the dissatisfied customers and appointments scheduled on top of each other.”
“I just can’t stand the thought of hurting him.”
“I don’t like it any more than you do,” he assured her. “But it’s getting out of hand.”
Her deep brown eyes flicked over his face, silently begging him to say it was all a joke. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Dead serious.”
She glanced away, swallowed convulsively, then pulled herself together. “I still think we ought to wait.”
“For what?” His voice came out too loud. He softened it again. “For the business to collapse?”
“No, of course not. But maybe he’ll step down on his own.”
“He’s not going to ste
p down, sis.”
She turned a challenging stare on him. “How do you know?”
“Because he has no idea how bad he is.”
“How do I know he’s as bad as you say?”
To his dismay, his mother caught that last bit. “What are you two arguing about?”
Rosalie darted a warning glance at him. “Nothing, Mom. Gabe’s just trying to tell me he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and I don’t believe him.”
Always the clown, Jack rocked back in his seat. “What? Are you kidding? What happened? Have you dated every single woman in Denver already?”
Very funny. Normally, Gabe would laugh at Jack’s comments. Not tonight. “I don’t happen to be dating anyone at the moment. It’s no big deal.”
“But it is a big deal,” Jack argued.
Gabe’s mother put a warning hand on Jack’s arm. “Don’t tease him.”
“I’m not teasing him,” Jack protested. “I’m interested in what’s going on, that’s all.”
The conversation with Rosalie had left Gabe on edge. “I wish you’d tell me why you find my personal life so fascinating.”
“Because you have one,” Jack said with a laugh. “The most interesting thing that ever happens to me is when one of the kids gets sick.”
“At least you’re allowed to know when they get sick. I wish I could know even that much about Tracy.”
“Gabriel,” his mother warned softly, “that’s enough.”
He glanced at the kids. “Sorry,” he muttered, “but he doesn’t know what he has.”
“Ignore Gabe,” his dad advised, getting to his feet and adjusting his belt over his waist. “He’s just feeling overworked. But like I keep telling him, you’ve got to put in if you want to take out.”
Gabe bit back the reply that rose to his lips, but he wondered just how long his dad expected him to keep making deposits before he could take his first withdrawal.
“And speaking of the business,” Harold said. “I forgot to tell you this earlier, but I’m moving you off the Lawrence job.”
“You’re what?” Gabe shot to his feet. “Why are you doing that?”
“Because I have another job lined up for you. Derry can finish the Lawrence contract.”
“No.” Gabe searched frantically for a reason his dad would accept for his refusal. “I’m right in the middle of it—”
“It’s nothing Derry can’t handle. I need you on the other job.”
“Give Derry the other job.”
His dad scowled at him. “I’ve already told him to take over on the Lawrence project. He’ll start Monday.”
Gabe struggled to pull himself together. But he’d reached the end of his rope. “I’d rather stay on the Lawrence project myself. I know where I am with it. I’d like to finish it.”
“Nonsense.” Harold lowered himself onto the couch with a groan. “You’ll go where you’re needed.”
Twenty years of bouncing from job to job at his father’s command rose up together and frayed the slim hold he had on his temper. He might as well be seventeen years old again, for all the respect his father showed him. “Maybe you should find someone else for both projects,” he said, his voice ominously low. “I quit.”
He snatched his coat from the arm of the chair and headed for the door.
His mother followed him, her eyes dark with concern. “Gabriel. Come back and talk with your father. Work out this misunderstanding between you. He needs you. Harold, talk to him.”
His father grunted a refusal.
Gabe turned to face her, angry with himself for hurting her but unwilling to humble himself yet again. “He doesn’t need me, Mom. He never has. He doesn’t need anyone but himself.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
HUMMING SOFTLY, Sharon cracked half a dozen eggs into a bowl, added milk and a dash of paprika, and stirred the whole thing with a fork. She loved Saturday mornings. She loved fixing the girls a leisurely breakfast instead of tossing toast at them as they raced out the door for school. Savoring her morning coffee instead of gulping it as she drove through rush-hour traffic to work. Waking slowly and watching the sun light the room instead of dressing in the dark.
This morning, with Gabe about to arrive any minute, the world seemed especially fine. Even with an overnight snowstorm, the late January sunlight and the steady drip of melting icicles held the promise of spring. And Sharon felt like a kid on Christ mas morning.
Another last-minute meeting had forced her to leave a message with his father on Wednesday, telling him not to come until today. And now, the thought of seeing him again after a week made her nervous. But she’d made the decision to move forward, and she couldn’t wait to see him again.
For the first time in her life, quiet bothered her. She missed the crackling of his radio, the buzz of his saw, the pounding of his hammer. She missed the sound of his voice and the tread of his step on the stairs.
As she reached for her coffee, a plaintive yowl pulled her attention toward the bay window where Raoul batted his paws against the glass, trying to catch a falling icicle. Laughing softly, Sharon picked him up and scratched his belly.
“You don’t want to go outside, boy. There’s still snow on the ground. You don’t like wet feet, remember?”
Somewhere nearby, someone started a snowblower and shattered the peaceful morning. Sharon set Raoul on the floor and made a mental note to check with the repair shop about her snowblower. She rinsed her hands and forced herself to stop dreaming.
She whisked the eggs and called to the girls. “Emilee, Christa, breakfast will be ready in a minute.”
Almost immediately, Christa thundered down the stairs and bounced into the room. “Morning, Mom.” She pulled a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator and nodded toward the front of the house. “How’d you manage that?”
“Manage what? The snow? I didn’t ask for it.”
“No.” Christa grinned and shook her head as if Sharon had said something funny. “How’d you get Gabe to do our driveway and sidewalks?”
Sharon paused midwhisk. “Gabe?”
“Yeah. He’s out there with a snowblower.”
With difficulty, Sharon kept her gaze riveted on the pan and whisked the eggs again—casually. “Are you sure it’s him?”
“I’m pretty sure.” Christa poured juice into her glass and took a drink. “I can’t see his face, but his truck is parked in front of the house.”
Sharon forced herself not to race outside. “He must have picked up the snowblower from the repair shop. I guess I should find out how much I owe him.”
“I’m sure he’ll come inside when he’s through.”
Sharon didn’t think she could wait that long. “I think it would be more polite for me to go outside. Don’t you?”
Christa looked at her strangely. “I guess so.”
“Will you take over the eggs for me? I’ll be back in a minute.” She snatched her coat from the hook by the back door and slipped into it as she stepped into the garage. With her heart in her throat, she pushed the button to raise the automatic door and waited while it creaked slowly upward.
Sure enough, he’d already cleared the driveway and disappeared around the corner near the front door. Sharon crossed the garage and waited for him to come back.
The instant she saw him, her stomach flipped. And when he glanced up and noticed her for the first time, she felt like a schoolgirl with a crush. She didn’t entirely mind the feeling.
He cut the motor, and the sudden silence seemed out of place. “I stopped in to pick up a sander I’d left at Ray’s, and he mentioned you hadn’t picked up the snowblower yet. I figured you might need it today.” His voice, deep and rich, carried easily across the distance between them.
“Yes. Thank you. I was going to give him a call after breakfast.” Sharon took a careful step onto the driveway and lost herself in the pull of his eyes. “How much do I owe you?”
“I’ve got the invoice in the truck. It wasn’t much, really.” He shov
ed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and stepped around the snowblower toward her.
Her pulse stuttered as he moved closer. “I’ll give you a check, if that’s okay.”
“Sure. That’s fine.” His voice sounded normal. Obviously, he wasn’t overwhelmed by the sight of her.
She looked away and studied his handiwork. “It’s nice of you to bring it back, but you really didn’t need to clear away the snow, too.”
He moved a few steps closer. Close enough to bring back the memory of his kiss. “It’s no big deal,” he said with a shrug. “When I was a kid, my mother used to send me out to shovel the neighbors’ walks. I guess old habits die hard.” Well, that certainly made her feel special. Just like the elderly couple down the street. “I hate to keep you from your work. The girls and I can finish this.”
“It’ll only take me a few more minutes,” he said. “Besides, it’s the least I can do after that hangover remedy you gave me the other day.”
Satisfaction rushed over her. At least he hadn’t completely forgotten. “You needed it.”
“I certainly did.” He looked away quickly. “How did your meeting go on Wednesday?”
Was he purposely changing the subject? “Fine. Long. I’m sorry I had to cancel our appointment. I know you’re busy with other projects—”
“No matter. It’s been a crazy week, anyway.” He looked down and let a few seconds lapse. “Actually I wanted to bring the snowblower so I could tell you I’m not with the company any longer. My dad’ll be sending one of the other crew members to finish your basement.”
“Oh.” Her stomach knotted, and she could have sworn a shadow dropped over the sun. She searched his face for a clue about his feelings, but she couldn’t read his expression.
She lifted her chin and forced a shaky smile. “That’s fine. Will he be coming today?”
Still gazing out over the snowy yard, Gabe shook his head. “I don’t know what my dad’s told him to do.”
She struggled to keep the disappointment from her voice. “What about you? What will you do now?”
