“I really don’t think…” she began, then her voice faded as she realized all three of them were holding their breath. Charlie’s and Emma’s looks beseeched her.
“We won’t be scared, Mum,” Charlie said stoutly. “Promise.”
“Course not,” Emma added, then chewed on her lip. Freddie saw her daughter’s fingers edge out to grip Gabe’s strong thigh. His hand slid down to cover Emma’s smaller one.
“Charlie’s always wanted to,” Gabe said. “He said you promised he could when he found an adult willing to do it.” His clear blue eyes challenged her. “I’m adult,” he told her quite unnecessarily. “And I’m willing.”
Freddie swallowed. Her fingers knotted.
“If you’re worried, come along.”
“Come along? You mean, spend the night…” Again her voice faded, this time from breathlessness.
Gabe nodded. “Spend the night,” he affirmed. “With me.” He winked at her.
Heat crawled up Freddie’s neck and face.
“And us, too,” Emma put in, blissfully unaware of the adult subtext.
“She knows we’re going to be there,” Charlie said scornfully. “What do you say, Mum? Will you come?”
All three of the looked at her again, breath bated, eyes sparkling-the children’s with enthusiasm, Gabe’s with something…something else.
She shouldn’t.
But she had, in fact, told Charlie he could do it in the company of a willing adult. And now, heaven help her, he had one.
And Emma wanted to go, too. She could hardly expect Gabe McBride to deal with both of them. They were her children, after all.
It was only for one night. The abbey was huge. There was nothing to say they had to be, all of them, in one room.
“All right,” she said at last, to the sound of an incredible exhalation of pent-up apprehension. “Yes.”
If Earl could see them now, Gabe thought with a hint of a grin as he folded his arms behind his head and looked around the dimly lit master bedroom of Stanton Abbey.
There they were, all four of them, piled-amid sleeping bags, flashlights, empty cups of Horlicks and the remains of two packets of chocolate biscuits-in the ancient sumptuous bed that had held generations of lordly Stantons for the past umpteen hundred years.
Earl would have a fit.
Freddie had had a fit on his behalf.
“We can’t stay there!” she’d protested when Gabe had led them into the bedroom.
“You said this is where he appears.”
“I know, but-”
“So how can we see him if we’re not there?” And ignoring her protests, he’d herded them all in and begun to spread sleeping bags on the bed.
“We’re really going to stay here?” Charlie’s eyes had gone wide and round at the sight of the huge high bed with its heavy brocade curtains and canopy.
“All n-night?” Emma wanted to know. She’d looked nervously from Gabe to her mother, swallowing hard.
“Not-” Freddie began.
“-all night,” Gabe finished. “Only until we see the ghost. Unless-” he grinned at the children “-you fall asleep.”
They’d stared at him, astonished. As if! they seemed to say.
Now it was barely midnight, and both of them were already zonked.
Of course it had taken a lot of energy to jump at every creak and rattle, to shiver at the sound of an owl overhead, to gasp, “What was that?” at the drafts that blew in around the window frames and moved like a spiritual presence through the room.
No wonder they were tired.
As close as they’d come to seeing the Stanton Abbey ghost was a mouse that had scuttled from one side of the room to the other. Emma’s shrieks had scared the mouse almost as much as it had scared them.
After that, and after Freddie’s exhortations to settle down, they’d subsided into watchfulness. They’d watched for the ghost. Freddie had watched them.
Gabe had watched Freddie.
In the dim light he could barely make her out, but it didn’t stop him trying.
It had been a stroke of genius getting them all in here together so he had the leisure to look his fill. During the day he was gone. At meal times she was flitting about and the children were clamoring for his attention.
But tonight, once the chatter had died down and the children had settled, Gabe had had the opportunity at last to simply look at Freddie Crossman.
He’d have liked to do a lot more than look.
It didn’t seem to matter how much he berated himself for this obsession with a totally unsuitable woman-an English-woman! a widow! the mother of children!-he’d stopped telling himself she was too old for him, but everything else still applied-he couldn’t quell the attraction he felt.
It’s because there’s no one else, he told himself every day.
But in fact that wasn’t true.
Just yesterday he’d met two of Buckworthy’s beauties in the street outside the Gazette. Their grandmother had introduced herself-and them-to him.
“Aurora Ponsonby,” she told him, “an old friend of his lordship.”
It took a minute for Gabe to realize she was talking about Earl. Then he’d done his best to be polite and make small talk with them, though he’d have much preferred to be making mincemeat out of Percy because Percy had followed him out to deliver a long-winded spiel about something else that had never been done before.
He’d barely noticed the Ponsonby females. It hadn’t occurred to him until later that there was calculation in the introduction, that Aurora Ponsonby had been extolling her granddaughters’ virtues rather heavy-handedly. Did she consider him a catch, then?
Didn’t matter. He wasn’t interested in being caught.
But he was interested in Freddie.
He wondered how smart this had actually been, getting them on the bed together, when absolutely nothing could happen.
Well, maybe not absolutely nothing…
He flexed his shoulders against the headboard of the bed and eased himself closer to her.
“They’re asleep. We can go,” Freddie whispered.
“Hmm?”
“You said-”
“We’d wake them up when we go. We’re not going yet.”
“We can’t stay here all night!”
“Why not?”
“Because,” she began. Then abruptly stopped. She looked at him quickly in the dimness, then just as quickly, she looked away. “We have to go,” she muttered, but she sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him.
“Just a little longer.” He grinned faintly. “Who knows? The ghost might really show up.”
“You don’t believe that now any more than you did when you were ten.”
“Oh, I’m a lot different than I was when I was ten,” he told her, his voice rough with a desire his ten-year-old self had had no inkling of.
Freddie plucked at the sleeping bag that was tucked around her and Emma. Then she let out a soft sigh and settled back once more. He breathed a little easier.
“You’ve worked really hard on the abbey,” he said after a few minutes. Even though it still seemed like the dampest, coldest place on earth to him, the guided tour she had taken him on earlier in the evening taught him just how much upkeep was required and how well she’d done.
“I try,” she said. “I’m not sure I’m the best person for the job, but Lord Stanton insisted…”
“How long have you been doing it?”
“Since my husband died. Mark worked for the earl. He died in a storm bringing the yacht back from Calais, and for some reason his lordship felt responsible. He shouldn’t have,” she said earnestly. “It was Mark who was reckless. Mark who took the risk. No one asked him to!” She stopped abruptly, apparently aware that any further exclamations might wake the children.
“Do you…” He stopped, unsure how to ask, still, for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely, needing to. “Do you still miss him?” Now there was a stupid
question! She’d loved him, married him. Of course she missed him! “A lot, I mean?”
For a minute Gabe didn’t think she was going to answer, and he knew the question was as impertinent as it had been awkward. “I’m sorry. I had no right. I-”
“I miss him,” Freddie answered. “But it’s kind of a hollow feeling now. An emptiness. Not pain anymore. Sometimes, I just get angry. I think, ‘what a waste.’ He’s missing his children! He’s not going to see them grow up.” Her fingers knotted on the sleeping bag again.
And Gabe, before he could stop himself, reached out and wrapped his hand around hers. He thought she might pull away so he tightened his grip just a little.
But after a split second’s resistance, Freddie’s hand relaxed in his. Slowly Gabe let his breath out, rubbed his thumb against her knuckle. Curved his fingers around hers. Didn’t move. Just sat. Breathed.
Desired.
Wanted.
Freddie Crossman.
A lot.
A whole lot.
He ran his tongue over suddenly parched lips. He shifted, trying to get a little more room inside his jeans. His thumb moved to caress the side of her hand. Her skin was so soft. He knew she worked hard, but her fingers still seemed softer than any he’d ever touched. He brought them to his lips.
Freddie sucked in a sharp breath. Gabe felt a faint tremor in her hand. He sensed one running through her whole body. But she didn’t pull away as he pressed his mouth lightly against her fingers.
“G-Gabe?” There was only a hint of protest in her voice. It was breathless, and she sounded as hungry as he was.
“Mmm.” He didn’t move his mouth, just murmured against her hand, let his tongue slide out from between his lips and touched it to her fingers.
“Gabe!” Shock, but no less hunger.
“Fred.” Hell of a thing to be whispering! It almost made him laugh. His lips curved and he nibbled her fingers, then he eased himself around the sleeping Emma and took her mother into his arms.
She came willingly, all the time saying softly, “We can’t do this!”
“Sure we can.”
“The children-”
“Are out like lights, both of them.”
“We can’t- We’re not-” She stiffened.
“We won’t,” Gabe promised, soothing. “Just kissing, Fred. Just…touching.”
“P-promise?”
He promised-and meant it.
He didn’t need an audience for what he wanted to do with Freddie Crossman. He didn’t want their first time to be furtive and groping and quick. He wanted to take his time, to love her fully. And he was no callow boy. He might want her desperately, but he could wait.
In the meantime, though, he could heighten the pleasure for both of them. He could kiss and stroke and nibble and touch. So he did.
He moved slowly, taking his time, relishing the experience. And after a few moments of tension where Freddie barely seemed to breathe, finally, slowly, she began to relax in his embrace. Her lips touched his cheek, nuzzled his neck, sent a shiver of longing right down to his core.
Gabe bit his lip. You promised, he reminded himself. You’re tough. In control.
Oh, yeah.
“M-maybe this wasn’t such a great idea,” he whispered hoarsely, pulling back, edging away.
She blinked, looked at him, worried. “N-no?” She sounded crestfallen.
“I want-” But he couldn’t blurt out what he wanted. She knew. He bent his head and sucked in a harsh breath. “I want it to be right.”
He lifted his gaze to see if she understood. He wasn’t even sure he understood exactly what he meant by that. He just knew this wasn’t it.
She looked confused, then her expression cleared. A small smile touched her lips. “Oh, Gabe,” she whispered. And then she leaned toward him and touched her lips to his; her tongue touched his.
So much for control.
“Fred!” He jerked back, gasping.
“Huh? D’ja see ’im?” Charlie’s eyes blinked open.
Freddie yanked herself upright against the headboard. Gabe, aching, gritted his teeth and tried to answer. “Just heard a noise. Pounding sound.”
The blood in his veins. Throbbing. Pulsing. Beating him to death.
Charlie rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Stupid ghost,” he muttered. He scooted up the bed and laid his head in his mother’s lap. His eyes shut. He slept.
Over the children Gabe and Freddie looked at each other. She smiled a little wryly.
“Maybe we should just go home,” he said.
Freddie sang as she folded the laundry. She did clever little dance steps while she dusted the parlor. She hummed as she cooked dinner.
“Glad to see you’re smiling more,” Mrs. Peek had said just this morning when she’d stopped by.
“What?” Freddie hadn’t been aware of any such thing.
“Of course, that han’sum Gabe McBride’d make any woman smile.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Freddie lied.
But Mrs. Peek just smiled. She was in love with Gabe herself, and not just because he was “han’sum.” Because on Monday when she’d come by as Gabe was leaving for the office, he asked her to come work for him.
For the first time in her life, Mrs. Peek had been speechless. She’d stared at him with round, astonished eyes. “You want us to work for ’ee, Mr. McBride?”
“You bet I do. You understand this community a whole lot better than plummy Percy.” And he’d put her bicycle in the back of the Range Rover and the two of them had gone off to the Gazette together.
Later he told Freddie he reckoned Mrs. Peek was a woman to ride the river with.
“What?” Freddie looked at him, mystified.
“It’s what we say about a good hand. You can trust him with your life. Mrs. Peek’s like that. Besides, she’s a natural for the staff. She has a finger in every pie-and an ear in every house. She’s without a doubt the best news gatherer in the county. Stantons might as well pay her for doing what she’s going to do anyway.”
Best of all, Percy had had a fit about it.
It was the beginning of the end for Percy.
Mrs. Peek gathered news. Gabe wrote it.
“I’ll do the editorial this week,” he told Percy the day he hired Mrs. Peek.
“But we’ve never-”
“You bet we haven’t,” Gabe cut in, “but we’re starting to. Now.”
And when Percy had continued to bluster, Gabe had said, “You know how we settle these things in Montana?” He’d curled his fingers into fists.
Percy mumbled, shuffled, and, according to Gabe, “high-tailed it out of the office just like that. He didn’t seem to want to slug it out,” Gabe said. He was wearing a wide, satisfied grin.
Things continued to improve at the Gazette.
Gabe commandeered Beatrice. He made his own coffee, bought a box of tea bags for everyone else and told her she was now in charge of advertising.
“Me?” Beatrice stared at him.
“Why not you? You know everyone in Buckworthy.” He took her door to door in Buckworthy, introducing himself and Beatrice to each and every shopkeeper.
“They all know me,” Beatrice protested.
“That’s the point. They know you, not me. You’re going to help us connect. You’re going to help the Gazette figure out how to help them.”
So with Beatrice at his side, Gabe went around the entire village, shook every hand and sat down to discuss the Gazette. He asked each one how to make the paper best serve the town and the surrounding villages. It was the first time in memory anyone had asked. The shopkeepers talked to him. They talked to Beatrice. And, as always, they talked to Mrs. Peek.
“We need a lot more Mrs. Peeks,” he told Freddie. “One or two per village.”
“Try the Women’s Institute.” She could just imagine what they’d say when a booted, jeans-clad Montana cowboy showed up among those sedate, virtuous ladies. Gabe McBride would really give them something
to pray about.
She thought he wouldn’t go. But she learned very quickly not to underestimate Gabe McBride.
“Great idea,” he told her afterward. “It helped that they’d read my editorial in today’s paper. They seemed to know who I was.”
Freddie could have told him they’d known who he was the minute he set foot in the county. But she couldn’t have predicted his success-on his own terms.
“He’s a breath of fresh air,” Mrs. Peek said.
Freddie thought, a whirlwind more like.
Certainly he’d swept through her life and turned it upside down. He’d made her heart beat faster, her pulse race. He’d made her feel alive again.
She was exhilarated. And scared.
She shouldn’t be humming and dancing and singing, and she knew it.
There was no future for her and Gabe McBride.
He’d made no secret that he wasn’t stopping. He was going home to Montana in weeks, days even. He’d made no bones about being single and determined to stay that way.
She wondered about this Claire he’d mentioned, but a few circumspect questions convinced her that he wasn’t interested in Claire-or any other woman. He was playing the field.
And yet…
And yet the night they’d spent together in the bed at the abbey, he hadn’t pressed. Of course he wouldn’t. How could he with Emma and Charlie there. But he’d kissed. His eyes had promised. And he’d said, “I want it to be right.”
As if sometime it would be.
Freddie wanted it, too. Desperately. She wanted Gabe.
She was a fool.
She couldn’t help it.
Four
Percy didn’t give in easily.
Gabe didn’t care. And not only because he relished a good fight.
Once he figured out that the same determination that went into riding a bull and working cattle would help him with the Gazette, once he understood that he didn’t have to be Randall to succeed, life got a whole lot easier.
And if Percy wanted to draw himself up to his full five feet seven and say, “Over my dead body,” every day, well, that was fine with Gabe.
It would give him that much more time to stay with Freddie and the kids.
It amazed him how involved he’d become with Freddie and her family in a few short weeks. The sheep roping led to the cow roping. Nightly stories of life in the west led to him tracking down videos of movies about cowboys and about rodeo. Charlie and Emma had never seen a bull ride. So he called Randall and made him overnight them a video of the National Finals.
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