Gabriel's Honor

by Barbara Mccauley

  His sister was kicking him out of here, he realized with a start. She didn’t want him around while she talked to the woman. He ground his back teeth. Damn you, Cara. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to know what the hell was going on. Felt that he had some small right to at least a little information.

  But Cara’s expression was firm and definitely told him to get the hell out.

  He frowned at her. “Sure. I’ll, ah, just start in the kitchen. Check out the pipes and electricity.”

  “Thanks.”

  The single word was a dismissal. He glanced back at the woman—Melanie—felt her gaze follow him until he left the room.

  He threw himself completely into his inspection, forced himself to think about wiring and water pressure instead of the woman with the sad, haunted look in her pale gray eyes.

  Forty-five minutes later, Gabe leaned against the peeling white paint of a front porch column of the old house, gnawing impatiently on the end of an “It’s a Boy” cigar. Six months ago, Wayne Thompson, the proud papa, had handed them out to every male over eighteen in Bloomfield County. Gabe had put the cigar in the glove box of his truck and nearly forgotten about it, but needing something to occupy his mind and hands for the past few minutes, he’d rooted around inside his truck until he’d found the stogie, then lit it up.

  He decided that smoking a handful of stinkweed would hold more appeal than Wayne’s six-month-old cigar.

  Spitting a piece of stale, harsh tobacco from the tip of his tongue, he stared at the front door. Cara had been in there with the woman and her son for almost an hour now, and though he’d heard their soft murmurs as he’d passed through the house, they’d all but forgotten his existence.

  Hey, sis, remember me? The one who called you? I’m waitin’ out here.

  Frowning, he flicked an ash over the porch railing and watched it float silently into the darkness and disappear. It hadn’t taken him long to do a preliminary inspection and work up a rough estimate. The house had been built to last, but had been neglected for several years. From what he could see on the surface alone, the repairs were going to be extensive, and there was no telling what he’d find once he started opening things up. With a crew of three men and himself, Gabe expected to be working here several weeks to bring the house to code and make it salable.

  He glanced back at the front door. What the hell were they doing in there?

  Soft, yellow light spilled from the living room window, and he edged his way across the porch. Just a peek, he told himself, to make sure Cara was handling the situation all right.

  He tossed the cigar into the paper cup he’d brought out on the porch with him, heard the sizzle of the burning tip as it hit the remnants of his coffee.

  Backing against the wall by the front door, he casually turned his head—

  When the front door opened he jumped, then straightened quickly. One brow arched, Cara stood in the doorway, staring at him through the screen door. The woman, Melanie, stood beside her.

  He leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he glanced over at them with what he hoped was a bored expression.

  “Melanie and Kevin will be spending the night here.” The screen door screeched when Cara pushed it open and stepped out. “They’re going to need some heat.”

  And? Gabe looked at his sister, waited for the tiniest morsel of information about Melanie and her son. Based on the expression on Cara’s face, he obviously wasn’t going to even get a tidbit.

  He sighed, reached for the flashlight he’d set on the porch steps. “The pilot was shut off on the basement furnace. I’ll go fire it up.”

  “That’s not necessary.” Melanie followed Cara out onto the porch. “We’ll be fine. I have a blanket in my car.”

  Gabe’s hand tightened around the flashlight. Had she and her son been sleeping in her car? And if so, why? Dammit, why wouldn’t anyone tell him anything?

  “It’s no trouble,” he said more tightly than he’d intended.

  Cara placed her hand on Melanie’s arm. “You’ll be fine with Gabe,” she said quietly. “I’d stay, but I have to be at the airport in an hour to pick up my husband, Ian, from a ten o’clock flight due in from New Jersey. We’ll be coming back over here tomorrow morning after the board meeting. I’d like you to meet him.”

  Melanie shook her head. “I’ll be leaving early.”

  Cara sighed. “You have my card. Call me anytime. And my offer still stands. You and Kevin can stay here as long as you need to.”

  Melanie smiled weakly. “Thank you, but my friend is expecting us tomorrow. We’ll be fine there.”

  Cara squeezed the woman’s arm. “You promise to call and let me know you’re both all right?”

  “I will,” Melanie said softly. “You’ve been so kind. Thank you again.”

  Cara hesitated, then slipped an arm around Melanie’s slender shoulders and hugged her. The woman’s eyes widened in surprise, then closed tightly as she hugged her back.

  Gabe shifted uncomfortably, praying that neither woman would start with the waterworks. Damn, but he hated that. He’d rather walk barefoot through broken glass than deal with crying women.

  He let out the breath he’d been holding when Cara and Melanie parted with dry eyes. Cara turned to him. “You have that report for me?”

  “It’s on your front seat.” He gestured toward her silver van. “Do you want me to wait until after the board meeting, or get started right away?”

  “Right away.” She glanced up at the old house. “The meeting is just a formality. We have to do whatever needs to be done for resale.”

  He nodded, and she leaned toward him and gave him a hug. “Go easy with her,” Cara whispered, and brushed his cheek with her lips. “And stop frowning.”

  What did his sister think he was going to do? he thought in annoyance as he watched her walk to her van. Lock the woman in the basement? Yell at her?

  And just because he wasn’t walking around with a stupid grin on his face didn’t mean he was frowning, either.

  Waving, Cara pulled away with a crunch of tires on the gravel. He watched until the van’s taillights disappeared and then he turned to Melanie, waited for her to speak. Folding her arms tightly in front of her, her gaze dropped to the worn wooden planks under her boots.

  “Your sister is a wonderful person,” she said quietly.

  “She’s a little bossy, but my brothers and I like her well enough.”

  Her gaze lifted to his. “Thank you for calling her.”

  Who are you, dammit? What kind of trouble are you in? All this politeness was killing him.

  He nodded, but said nothing. The cold night air closed around them. Close by, in a grove of maples, a mockingbird began to sing.

  Furrowing her brow, she took a step closer to him, her gaze leveled at his face. “Your cheek,” she said, her eyes narrowed with concern. “I’m so sorry.”

  He touched the ragged scratch under his left eye. It stung a little, but wasn’t all that deep. “You didn’t do that. I caught the edge of a screen upstairs when I was climbing into the window.”

  She shook her head, frowned. “You wouldn’t have had to climb in a window if I hadn’t locked the doors. I—I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you.”

  I don’t want an apology. Just tell me why you’re hiding in an empty house. What it is, or who, that you’re afraid of.

  He shrugged. “No trouble. It’s just a scratch. Trust me, I’ve had worse.”

  “I…I didn’t know if—” she paused, and her voice dropped to a whisper “—if I could trust you.”

  She still didn’t trust him, he thought with more than a touch of annoyance. He felt the tension radiate from her, and could all but see the wall she’d erected around herself.

  Why, dammit, why?

  Oh, hell. What did it matter to him? They’d crossed paths, but she’d be gone in the morning, she and her son. Whatever her problem was, it was no concern of his. She didn’t want his help,
so why should he give it more than a passing thought? After tonight, he’d never see her again.

  But did she have money? Gas in her car?

  Hell.

  Forget about it, Sinclair. Not your problem.

  With her dark clothes and hair, she nearly blended in with the night. He watched her shiver, saw her breaths come out in little puffs of white and realized she was cold.

  “I’ll fire up the furnace now.” He kept his voice even, controlled. “The house should warm up quickly. Is there anything else you need?”

  As he’d known she would, she shook her head, but then surprised him by extending her hand. “Thank you for everything.”

  He hesitated, then took her hand.

  And wished he hadn’t.

  Her hand was smooth against his, her fingers long and slender. Soft. In spite of the cold, her skin was warm, and the heat radiated up his arm, spread through his chest, then his body. She looked up at him, a mixture of confusion and amazement, then pulled her hand away and once again folded her arms tightly to her.

  “I’ve got to go check on Kevin,” she said, her voice a bit breathless. “Thank you again.”

  She turned and hurried back into the house. His eyes narrowed, then his fingers tightened around the flashlight in his hand until he heard the crack of plastic. He stood there for a long moment, waited until the overwhelming urge to follow her subsided.

  Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  He didn’t even know her last name.

  Cold fingers of pale dawn reached through the towering oak tree beside Mildred Witherspoon’s weather-beaten detached garage. Frost covered the ankle-deep, weed-infested back lawn, sparkling like a crystal blanket in the early-morning light. Behind the garage, row after neat row of ceiling-high corn stretched acre after acre to a neighboring farm, where the steep black roof of a red barn peeked out from the tips of the silky stalks. Somewhere in the distance, Melanie heard the mournful moo of a cow.

  Bucolic was the word that came to her mind as she stood at the back door and scanned the land. Like something she’d seen on a postcard or coffee table book of Midwest farms. She was a city girl, born and raised in Los Angeles, and what little traveling she had done, had never been to rural America. Phillip had always insisted on the exotic, the most elegant: Monte Carlo, New York, London, Washington D.C. Five-star hotels and expensive restaurants. Cows and cornstalks had not fit into her husband’s fast-paced, sophisticated life-style.

  And after that first, exciting year of their marriage, Melanie thought wistfully, she hadn’t fit very well, either.

  She stepped out onto the back porch, sucked in a lungful of cold, crisp air, felt the rush of blood through her veins as her heart pounded awake. Shivering under the blue sweater she wore, she hurried down the porch steps and across a path of broken concrete that led to the garage, heard the crunch of early fall leaves under her boots. How she wished that she could linger, soak up every sight and sound of this peaceful place before she moved on.

  But there was no time. She wanted to make Boston before dark, was certain that she would finally feel safe there with Raina. Raina was the only person Melanie could trust, the only real friend she’d ever had. They’d been best friends in high school, and after Melanie’s father had died, and her mother remarried, Melanie had been at Raina’s house more than she’d been at her own.

  But so much had changed since then. They’d both gone in different directions after high school. Raina had gone to Greece and modeled for a short time before marrying, then she’d divorced and started working as a clothing designer for a company in Italy. Melanie had married Phillip and had a baby. Raina had never even seen Kevin.

  Melanie smiled as she thought of her son. She’d left him bundled up and sleeping on the sofa in the living room. He hadn’t even stirred when she’d carried him down from one of the upstairs bedrooms where they’d slept last night. Well, where he’d slept, anyway. Even though she’d locked all the doors and windows, checked them twice, she’d still tossed and turned most of the night, listening to every creak and groan of the drafty old house.

  Listening for doors opening…footsteps.

  The icy chill slithering up her spine had nothing to do with the cold, she knew.

  Rubbing her arms, she pulled her car keys out of her front jeans’ pocket and opened the small entry door on the side of the garage. The overhead door was closed, and it was dark and cold inside. She scanned the shadows, holding her breath, then quickly releasing it when she was satisfied no one was hiding there.

  When will I have to stop looking over my shoulder? she wondered.

  Maybe never, she thought with a weary sigh. Or at least not until Louise was dead, and even though the woman was seventy-four, she was in the best of health. Physically, at least. Melanie knew that her mother-in-law would never stop looking for her and Kevin. She had the tenacity of a bulldog and, when threatened, the same vicious bite.

  She was also crazy, a slow deterioration of her mind since the loss of her husband to cancer three years earlier, then her only son two years later. But crazy people with as much money and connections as Louise Van Camp had were usually considered eccentric. Everyone looked the other way, especially when it benefited their pocketbooks.

  Shivering again, Melanie slid into the front seat of her car. It was a sturdy little Honda Accord, silver-blue, and had run like a dream across the country. She’d bought it from a private party in the classifieds, and she’d paid cash. She had the pink slip, but she hadn’t registered it yet. Which meant the only name on the car was still the previous owner. There would be no DMV record until she did register the car—which she had no intention of doing for a long time. And when she did, it wouldn’t be under the name of Melissa Van Camp.

  The only problem with the car had been that it wasn’t big enough to bring much more than the barest essentials. She’d left most of hers and Kevin’s belongings at Louise’s estate in Beverly Hills. But what had it mattered? Most of those things had been given to her by Louise or Phillip and meant nothing to her. They would start fresh in Boston, where Raina was temporarily working for an exclusive shop that specialized in custom evening wear. In three months, Raina would go back to Italy, and she’d been pleading with Melanie for her and Kevin to go with her.

  A new beginning, Melanie thought. It frightened her, but she could do it. For Kevin, she could do anything.

  The only thing that mattered, the only thing important to her, was her son. Kevin was her love, her life, and no one, no one, was going to take him away from her.

  Her teeth were chattering as she slid the key into the ignition and turned it to start the engine.

  It made a low, grinding sound, then nothing.

  Her heart pounding, she turned the key again, heard nothing but the sound of a click.

  “No!” she said aloud, pumping the gas pedal. “No, no, no!”

  Nothing.

  On a half-sob, she laid her head down on the steering wheel and gulped in deep breaths of cold air. She was torn between laughing hysterically and crying, then settled for anger. Jumping out of the car, she balled her hands into fists and slammed them down on the roof.

  “You miserable son of a bitch!”

  The expletive bounced off the garage walls like a pinball, then shot out the open side door.

  Gabe had parked his truck behind the garage and was climbing out of the cab, a cup of coffee in his hand, when Melanie’s castigation had his head turning. What in the world…?

  Another salvo of insults broke the still of the morning, and he headed for the garage.

  “You can’t do this to me.” He heard her voice rise with fury. “You can’t. Not now. I won’t let you.”

  Was she with someone? he wondered. Or arguing with someone on a cell phone? He walked to the open door, saw her fingers rake through that glorious, thick sable hair of hers while she paced beside a blue compact. California license plates, he noted.

  “I need you,” she said, her voice rough with des
peration. “Please, I need you.”

  His fingers tightened on the mug in his hand. So there was a man involved in whatever trouble she was in, he thought, and wondered what kind of man would abandon a woman and child. Not a man, he decided. A snake, maybe, or something lower, something that lived under a rock and left a trail of slime. Anger narrowed his eyes and stiffened his jaw. He didn’t know the guy, but he’d like five minutes alone with the jerk.

  It twisted his gut to hear this woman plead, but it also surprised him. Of all the things he’d seen in Melanie last night, it certainly hadn’t been defeat or acquiescence. Even when he’d had her cornered, she’d come out swinging. She hadn’t begged or pleaded. She’d stood up to him.

  Damn if he hadn’t admired that.

  “Now you listen to me,” she said, the anger back in her voice. “You will start, and you will run smooth as a top. Do you hear me?”

  Her hands settled on her narrow hips as she faced the Honda and Gabe realized that she was talking to the car, not a man.

  I’ll be damned, he thought, and struggled to keep his lips from twitching.

  “The next farm over hears you,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee as he leaned against the doorjamb. “How ’bout I go get some boxing gloves and you two duke it out?”

  On a gasp, she whirled, eyes wide and faced him. Her hand flew to her chest, and the breath she’d sucked in came shuddering out. “You scared me,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “Sorry.” He grinned at her. “I wasn’t sure if I was going to have to pull you off someone or referee.”

  Even in the dim light of the garage, Gabe could see the color rise on Melanie’s high cheeks. Her skin was porcelain smooth against her dark hair, her gray eyes tinged with blue, the same smoky blue as the sweater she wore. When his gaze drifted to her mouth, he realized that was dangerous territory and he quickly looked away.

  “What seems to be the problem?” He pushed away from the doorjamb.