Gabe edged out of the way, clutching his beer as every female in the room swooped on the mother-to-be like seagulls on a bag of chips.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Tess demanded.
“We just confirmed with the doctor today,” Sam said.
“Kind of early to be telling everybody, then,” Luke said.
Meg’s face was pink. “Not everybody. Just family.”
Not my family, Gabe thought.
He didn’t want to intrude on the Fletchers’ happy moment. But he didn’t know how the hell to extract himself without making the situation even more awkward.
“Of course you wanted to tell everybody,” Allison said.
Tess nodded. “You’ll want to move up the wedding date now.”
Meg’s mouth jarred open. “But everything’s planned. We reserved the venue.”
“For October,” Tess said.
“But I ordered my dress.”
“No offense, Aunt Meg,” Taylor said. “But I don’t think your dress is going to fit in seven months.”
“Not that you won’t look beautiful, anyway,” Allison said.
“But—”
Sam put his arm around Meg’s shoulders. “We’ll work it out. We haven’t had time to think ahead that far.”
“Seems to me you should have done your thinking before you got pregnant,” Tom said.
“Daddy. It’s not Sam’s fault.”
Tom snorted. “He’s the father, isn’t he?”
Meg rolled her eyes. “Of course he’s the father. I just meant . . . Well, I’m not the first member of this family to, um . . .”
“Get knocked up before you got married?” Josh supplied cheerfully.
Matt cuffed his son’s head lightly.
“Three for three.” Luke grinned and hugged his sister. “And here we all thought you were the smart one.”
“I think it’s wonderful news,” Mrs. Fletcher said firmly.
“I’m old enough to babysit,” Taylor said.
“Too bad your ugly face will scare the baby,” Josh said.
She grinned and stuck out her tongue.
“I would love to have you babysit,” Meg said. She shot her nephew a pointed look. “Both of you.”
Gabe took another pull on his beer. He counted at least four separate conversations bouncing back and forth between the Fletchers like beach balls at a rock concert, everybody in everybody’s business while the kids bickered amiably in a corner. It was nice, sort of, just a little . . . overwhelming. Somebody had let the dogs back in, and the cream-colored mutt had backed the old shepherd under the table and was trying to coax it to play. Gabe figured the stray locked up in his motel room would have fit right in.
He was less sure if he did.
“Get you a refill?” Sam asked.
“I’m good, thanks,” Gabe said. Mr. Fletcher was still watching like he was waiting for Gabe to drop and give him fifty pushups. “Is it always like this?” he asked Sam.
“Pretty much.” His gaze met Gabe’s with unexpected sympathy. “Of course, it’s not every day they find out their only daughter is pregnant.”
Gabe raised his bottle in salute. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
Meg escaped her sisters-in-law to join them, slipping her arm through Sam’s. “That’s it, we’re eloping.”
“Seen your name on a lot of signs since I got here,” Gabe said to Sam. “Grady Real Estate. That you?”
“My dad. I’m on the construction side.”
“What is it you do, Gabe?” Meg asked.
“He’s a Marine,” Mr. Fletcher said.
Gabe threw him a quick look. Once a Marine, always a Marine, was the saying. But he hadn’t expected the old man’s support. “Discharged,” he said. “Three years ago.”
“Before the drawdown, Gabe was the combat lifesaver on my squad,” Luke said.
“Is that like a corpsman?” Sam asked.
Gabe cleared his throat. “Not exactly. Navy corpsmen are the real medics. I mostly just tied guys up so they didn’t bleed out.”
He had fastened tourniquets on dozens of shredded limbs during his months in the sandbox.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Luke said. “In a firefight, the corpsman can’t get to everybody. I saw Gabe slice open a buddy’s throat once to keep him breathing.”
“Gross,” said Taylor.
“Cool,” Josh said.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Gabe said. “There wasn’t any other option.”
“You saved his life,” Luke said.
That’s what he did. What they all did. Gabe shrugged.
“I’m going to enlist,” Josh said.
Meg frowned. “Not this again.”
His stepmother, Allison, looked over from her conversation with Mrs. Fletcher. “After college,” she said.
“I’m tired of school,” Josh said. “I want to travel.”
“Joining the Foreign Legion,” Mrs. Fletcher muttered. Or something like that.
“Sorry?” Gabe said.
“Because his heart is broken,” Taylor said in a singsong voice. “His girlfriend moved to France.”
Color tinged Josh’s cheekbones. “That doesn’t . . . She doesn’t have anything to do with it. I’m almost eighteen. I want to see the world.”
“You need an education first,” Meg said.
Josh’s face turned stubborn. “I can get the training I need in the Marines.”
“It’s not the training that counts when you get out. It’s the certification,” Gabe said.
They all looked at him. Shit. Hadn’t he learned the hard way to keep his mouth shut?
But he wasn’t in jail any longer. He had the freedom now to speak his mind, to offer an opinion.
He cleared his throat. “You can have all the skills and experience you need. Like, to be an EMT. But if it’s not documented, if you don’t have that piece of paper, you can’t get a job.”
“The GI Bill will pay your tuition, though, won’t it?” Meg asked. “So you could get certified.”
“Yeah.” He’d thought about enrolling when he got out three years ago. Before he figured out that EMTs didn’t make nearly as much money as oil workers.
They were all still staring at him. It should have felt awkward. Intrusive. Hell, it did feel awkward.
But that was just the way the Fletchers were. Everybody in everybody’s business. Piling on. Weighing in. They were treating him like one of the family, almost.
“What are you doing now, Gabe?” Tess asked.
Their interest made him want to live up to their expectations. To be worthy of the way they saw him.
He looked at Luke’s wife, Kate.
And maybe to change the judgment in her eyes.
He held his beer tighter. “Actually, I’m looking for work,” he said to Sam. “You got anything?”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “I might. Why don’t you stop by the office tomorrow morning and we’ll talk.”
* * *
“I SHOULD SAY goodnight to Taylor,” Luke said a few hours later after they had returned to his cottage. “Sure you won’t stick around?”
Gabe shook his head. “Got to rest up. I’ve got a job interview in the morning.”
Luke grinned. “Let me know if you need a reference.”
He disappeared down the short hallway, the fluffy white cat trotting at his heels like a dog.
Kate stood. She was wearing her lawyer face again, distant and polite. “Thank you for coming,” she said to Gabe. “I’ll see you out.”
He let her escort him as far as the door, out of earshot of the hall, before he turned. “You don’t like me much.”
Something flickered behind the coolness of her expression. “I don’t know you.”
“But what you do know you don’t like.”
“Luke likes you. He’s a good man. His family are good people. They’ve all welcomed you here.” Her gaze met his. “Don’t disappoint them.”
Hell. He should have been offended. Maybe he was. But he liked her directness. He liked her for having Luke’s back.
“He means a lot to you,” Gabe said.
Her mouth softened. Her eyes never wavered. “Yes.”
“Then we have one thing in common,” Gabe said. Maybe more than one. They’re good people, she’d said. As if she didn’t quite count herself as one of them. As if she wasn’t quite as good. Or as trusting. “He means a lot to me, too.”
She exhaled, some of her tension escaping with her breath. “You’re not what I was expecting.”
“You’re not what I expected, either,” Gabe admitted frankly.
She smiled, and he saw what must have attracted Luke in the first place. “You don’t like lawyers?”
Gabe thought of the ambitious prosecutor who had delayed his trial for eight long months. The defense attorney who had billed him in quarter-hour increments until all his money was gone. “You know the problem with lawyer jokes?” he asked.
She arched her brows. “Lawyers don’t think they’re funny?”
He nodded. “And no one else thinks they’re jokes.”
She laughed. Thank God.
“Luke said you do a lot of work with abuse victims,” Gabe said.
This close to Lejeune, she must see a lot of veterans’ families crack under the stress of deployment. Or the painful readjustments when husbands and wives came home.
Not that he had any intention of comparing scars. Whatever Luke might think about Gabe’s tendency to shoot off his mouth now and ask questions later, Gabe wasn’t handing Kate that particular stick to beat him with. Everybody knew the children of abuse were more likely to grow up to be abusers themselves.
“Yes.” She hesitated. “Luke said you were at the bakery the other day.”
Gabe nodded, wondering at her apparent change of subject. Where was this going? “We had coffee.”
“You went back today.”
Jesus, gossip traveled quickly in this town. “That’s right.” A thought struck him. “Are you a friend of Jane’s?”
“I’m her lawyer.”
Hell. His stomach muscles tensed.
He cocked a look at her, trying to make light of this new information. “What, did she need a restraining order against her crazy-ass ex-boyfriend or something?”
Kate met his gaze coolly. “I really couldn’t say.”
“Her ex-husband,” Luke said, returning from putting his daughter to bed. “He gets out of prison next month.”
Boom. Jane was married. Had been married, Gabe corrected. To a scumbag con who probably knocked her around.
No wonder she looked at him like she’d seen a ghost.
“Is that a friendly warning?”
“Just a heads-up,” Luke said. “In case you were tempted to play hero again.”
Luke knew him well. Too well. Gabe had always been a sucker for a woman in distress, even on patrol when the woman in question could be a hostile, when his instinctive impulse to protect was not only foolish but might prove dangerous.
He shook his head. “I’ve learned my lesson. I need to get my own shit in order. I’m not looking to borrow somebody else’s problems.”
Especially not a big-eyed blonde in need of rescue.
“Just as well,” Luke said. “Jane’s been through a lot already. Her daddy is feeling protective.”
“And so are her friends,” Kate said.
Gabe laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Luke asked.
“Nothing,” Gabe said. Not one fucking thing. “I got a cop on my ass and a lawyer trying to give me advice. I might as well be back in jail.”
Seven
“WE PARKED THE construction trailer out back,” Sam Grady told Jane two days later. “You won’t even know we’re here.”
Ha. He had to be kidding. Jane drew in her breath, surveying the men assembled on the porch behind Sam.
She was grateful—of course she was—that he had found a crew to start work on her enclosed porch. She knew the older man, Jay Webber, who had a fondness for chocolate doughnuts, and young Tomás Lopez, Marta’s son.
But . . .
“Except for the banging,” Gabe, the third member of the crew, offered. “You might notice that. And when we start sawing a hole in the wall.”
She glared.
He grinned as if he had no idea how much she hated having her space invaded. Or maybe he just enjoyed getting her hot and bothered.
He held her gaze, his smile softening as if inviting her to share some private joke.
He had shaved, she noted inconsequentially, his bad-boy stubble scraped away to a mere whisper of texture along his jaw. His hair was clean and tied back. With all the angles of his face revealed, he looked harder but somehow younger, too. His mouth was well-cut and firm, his lips faintly chapped. Would they feel rough or smooth? Would his beard be hard or soft? Her fingertips tingled, her skin prickled all over with the urge to find out.
Her flush deepened. She curled her fingers into her palms. Oh no.
“No holes,” she said.
“Just in the siding,” Sam said. Trying, like the prince he was, to make everybody around him comfortable, to make her feel better. “We need to get down to the plywood to attach the frame to the house.”
“Where’s the door?” Gabe asked, not trying to make her feel better at all. The jerk.
“On the outside,” Jane said. “So customers can go around from the porch.” Why am I explaining myself to him? It’s my shop.
“Fine for them,” Gabe said. “How were you planning to get back and forth from the kitchen?”
“Through the front door.” The same way she always had.
“Waste of steps,” Gabe said.
Sam’s sharp eyes narrowed, as if he could see through walls to the restaurant. “I originally suggested combining the two dining spaces.”
Wait a minute. He was supposed to be on her side. “And I told you I can’t afford to lose any inside seating.”
“If you replaced that big middle window with a sliding door, you wouldn’t be giving up much,” Gabe said. “One table. Two, tops. Better traffic pattern for you, better view for your customers.”
The possibility shimmered before her. She could almost see it, the front of house opening to the enclosed porch, the porch opening to the garden, the sea shining in the distance. Perfect.
Her throat constricted. So did her heart.
She had already invested all she could afford in this expansion. Why tempt fate by grasping too hard, by reaching too far, by wanting too much?
“The plan is fine the way it is. I’m not going to spend another week and another two thousand dollars on a door.”
“I can get you the door at cost,” Sam said. “Add, say, one day to reframe the opening, and then drywall and paint on top of that.”
“Thanks, Sam.” She smiled at him. “That’s very generous. But I can’t afford to close the dining room while you knock a hole in the wall. And I can’t do food prep with construction dust everywhere.”
“Of course,” Sam said gracefully. “Your choice.”
Gabe cocked his head. “What time do you close?”
Wasn’t he listening? Why didn’t he simply accept her limitations, the way Sam did?
“We’re open seven A.M. until four P.M. Six P.M. in season.”
Gabe glanced at Sam. “I could put in some time after hours. Be a late night, but I could get you framed in and buttoned up by the time you open.”
Sam raised his brows. “Overtime?”
“No charge for labor.”
Jane’s breath went. He would do that for her? Why would he do that for her? “I don’t take—”
“Charity. Yeah, yeah, you said.” His hazel eyes glinted. “So pay me some other way.”
Her breathing hitched again as she imagined all the ways he might expect payment. “What did you have in mind?” Damn it, was that her voice, so breathless? So weak?
“Murphy.” War
ning in Sam’s voice.
“Muffins,” Gabe said, ignoring him.
Jane blinked. “What?”
He shrugged. “Pay me in muffins. Or chocolate chip cookies. Or dog food. Whatever you want.”
She searched his eyes, trying to see behind the slouch and the smirk. She wasn’t used to men offering to do nice things for her without expecting something in return. Was he serious?
Something moved in the yard behind him. The black-and-tan dog, scratching vigorously at a camouflage bandanna that someone had tied in place of a collar around its neck.
That Gabe had tied, she realized. He was taking care of the dog now. Was it possible this hard, lean former Marine was trying to take care of her, too?
The thought made her warm all over.
And wary. She wasn’t a dog. She didn’t need anybody taking care of her.
“You can do this in one evening?” she asked him. Buying time.
His lips tightened, almost as if she had offended him. She winced. Maybe she had. And then he grinned. “Unless you want me to stick around longer.”
Her cheeks flamed with relief and annoyance. At least, she assumed that sudden heat was annoyance.
“Gabe’s uncle was a contractor,” Sam intervened. “Gabe apprenticed with him in high school.”
So Sam trusted him. Well enough to hire him, at least.
“And you’re okay with this?” she asked Sam.
Sam looked amused. “It’s his time. It’s your bakery.”
Jane hesitated. She could see that damn door so clearly in her mind, how many steps it would save, how much better it would be.
“We’re pouring the footings today,” Sam said. “If you want time to think about it, I can pull the crew, put them on another project tomorrow. Course, I can’t promise when they’d be back.”
“You get me the door, I can put it in tonight,” Gabe said.
Jane’s heart beat faster. “Tonight?”
Gabe glanced at her. “So you can stay on schedule. We need the door in place so we can install the ledger board before we start framing.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. But Sam was nodding as if it all made sense. She trusted Sam.
She looked at Gabe, all lean, honed strength and attitude, and wished she could trust him, too.
Or maybe she wished she could trust herself.
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