“It…it won’t start.”
“Pop the hood.” He stepped toward the front of the car, waited while she reached inside and pulled the hood release. “Now try to start it again.”
A small grind, then nothing.
She moved beside him, hands shoved into the back pockets of her jeans, obviously unaware that the stance emphasized the rise of full breasts under her sweater and also clearly revealed the fact that she was cold.
He ignored the quick twist in his gut and focused on the engine, checking the battery and cables. “Battery,” he said after a moment. “I could jump it, but this battery is toast, and it wouldn’t hold.”
She’d moved beside him to watch what he’d been doing, and his words made her eyes close on a heavy sigh. Her shoulders sagged as if she carried the weight of the world there. The top of her head lined up with his chin and he looked down at her, caught the faint scent of flowers again, subtle, but sweet. Unwillingly he drew the scent in, held it.
When she opened her eyes again, she turned and looked up at him. Her composure was back, the anger that had sparked her eyes when she’d been yelling was gone now, in its place, a weary acceptance. The faint smudge of circles under her eyes told him she hadn’t slept well. Strangely, and much to his annoyance, he hadn’t slept well, either.
He’d told himself last night, then all the way over here that he didn’t give a damn if she was still at the house when he got here this morning. He had work to do, and a woman and kid would just be in the way. He liked working alone, which was why he’d chosen renovating homes for Sinclair Construction instead of working in the office, which was Callan’s department, or new construction, which Lucian seemed to enjoy.
On a bigger job, like the Witherspoon house, Gabe would work often with a small crew, but usually he worked by himself. Came and went as he pleased, worked at his own pace, and rarely had to watch over anyone or ride herd. He’d done enough of that trying to keep the family together after his parents had died, and with a fifteen-year-old stubborn, independent sister to raise, he’d more than had his hands full.
He liked being alone now. He liked the quiet, the calm. No responsibilities but his own.
“Thank you,” Melanie said, pulling Gabe from his wandering mind. “I’ll handle it from here.”
“I can call the repair shop in town,” he offered. “Have them deliver a battery.”
Shaking her head, she forced a smile, and much to Gabe’s relief, folded her arms over her breasts. “Thanks, but I’d rather take care of this myself.”
She wanted to take care of everything herself, Gabe thought with annoyance. And while that was an admirable trait, it could also be carried just a little too far.
He closed the hood, offered her the cup of coffee in his hands. When she opened her mouth to say no, he shoved it at her. “You’re cold,” he said firmly. “This is hot. Drink it.”
She hesitated, then wrapped her hands around the mug and brought it to her mouth. Gabe felt an unwilling tug of desire when her lips touched the brim, and when she licked those lips a moment later and smiled at him, the tug turned sharp.
And that irritated him more than Melanie’s stubborn independence.
“Is it a husband?” he asked tightly, watched her smile fade.
“Excuse me?”
“Are you running away from a husband?” He had to know, dammit. He had to know.
She handed the cup back to him. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Sinclair. I know you have work to do, so if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my son.”
“Look, Melanie—” He started to reach for her, but when she stiffened, he drew his hand back. “Dammit, I don’t even know your last name.”
She turned, walked to the door, then paused before she turned back. “Hart,” she said quietly. “My name is Melanie Hart.”
She was gone then, though he heard the crunch of her boots on the path leading to the house, then the quiet squeak of the back screen door.
He looked at the coffee cup in his hand, resisted the urge to throw it against something.
She didn’t want his help. Fine. Just fine. Let her figure it out herself.
Dammit.
He tossed back a gulp of coffee, then stared at the spot where her lips had touched.
Dammit, dammit.
Still muttering curses, he walked back to his truck and drove away.
From inside the house, Melanie heard the roar of Gabe’s truck engine, then the spin of wheels as he drove off. She hadn’t wanted to be rude, it wasn’t in her nature at all. If anything, she’d been overly polite her entire life, which had partly created the horrible mess she was in now. She’d said yes too many times, let too many people tell her what to do and how to do it. She knew she was overcompensating by refusing to accept any help now, but she didn’t know what else to do. She wasn’t certain she had enough money left for a battery, and she certainly couldn’t expect strangers to loan her money, though that was exactly what Gabe’s sister had offered to do last night.
It was so damn humiliating. So damn frustrating.
She’d told Cara only the barest facts about her situation last night, that she’d left a difficult situation with a dominating mother-in-law behind her in California, that she was trying to make a new life for herself and Kevin as far away from there as she could get. That she wanted, needed, to make it on her own, without any help.
But she hadn’t told Cara what extremes Louise had gone to, or would go to. She hadn’t told her about Vincent Drake, her mother-in-law’s so-called business manager who was no more than a hired thug, a monster that Louise had employed to see that the recalcitrant daughter-in-law and her grandson came back home.
Melanie couldn’t tell Cara any of that, there was no reason to involve any more innocent people. Melanie had already seen what happened to anyone who tried to help her. One friend had already suffered a broken arm and black eye for helping her, another had been threatened. And the fire.
She shuddered thinking what might have happened if the fire department hadn’t arrived at her apartment so quickly after Vincent had lit that match to her drapes. How many people might have lost their homes and belongings, maybe even their lives? She couldn’t let anyone else be hurt because of her.
She just needed to get to Raina’s. Louise didn’t know about her best friend. With the new ID and a fake social security number Melanie had purchased from the back room of a seedy bar in Los Angeles, she and Kevin would start a new life. She was Melanie Hart now. She never wanted to be Melissa Van Camp again. That woman no longer existed.
But if she was ever going to get to Boston, she had to get her car fixed first. And she intended to do that, only she was suddenly so tired, she couldn’t think straight.
She moved into the living room and sat down beside her still sleeping son. She watched him, let her gaze wander over his dimpled cheeks and short freckled nose, felt the peace come over her. She laid her head back and closed her eyes.
She just needed a few minutes of rest, she thought. Then her mind would be clear. She’d gotten Kevin and herself this far.
She had no intention of giving up now.
Chapter 3
“You’ve been a bad girl, Melanie,” Vincent whispered. “A bad, bad girl.”
Like a snake, his voice slithered up from the darkness. She couldn’t see him, but she felt him, felt the icy-cold hiss of his breath on her neck.
Run! her mind screamed, but the dirt under her feet turned to mud and sucked at her legs, drawing her down into the thick muck. Her arms hung like lead at her sides, useless, helpless.
Kevin ran out of the thick forest toward her, smiling, his arms raised. She opened her mouth to scream, tell him to run away, but no sound came.
“You know what happens to bad girls?” Vincent warned, his disembodied voice low and sinister. “Shall I show you?”
Powerless to stop him, she heard her own whimper. Like a spider’s legs, his fingers brushed over her cheek, then wrapped a
round her neck.
Still smiling, Kevin jumped into her arms, but she couldn’t catch him, couldn’t hold him…
Melanie jerked awake, her heart pounding furiously. Kevin lay in her arms, giggling as he tickled her cheek with the tip of his finger.
A dream, only a dream, she told herself, even though it had seemed so real. The same dream she’d had so many nights. The same nightmare. She wrapped her arms tightly around her son, drawing deep, calming breaths as she drew him close. He tolerated the hug for all of five seconds before protesting and pushing himself away.
At the sudden bang at the back door, she jumped, once again grabbed Kevin and dragged him into her arms.
“Hey, get the door for me, will you?” Melanie heard Gabe yell.
With Kevin following closely behind in his flannel Batman pajamas, Melanie glanced at her wristwatch as she hurried to the back door. Nine o’clock! She’d been asleep over an hour, she realized, and groaned aloud at the loss of precious time.
She flipped the latch up, then opened the door. Gabe stood on the other side of the screen door, one brown paper grocery bag in each arm and two plastic bags hanging from each hand.
“Thanks.” He smiled at her, then glanced down at Kevin. “Mornin’, Batman.”
Kevin’s dimples flashed, and he grabbed hold of the hem of her sweater, hugging close.
“Do you mind?” Gabe gestured toward the screen door and Melanie pushed it open wide, then moved out of the way.
He stepped around them and strode into the kitchen, bringing the clean smell of country air with him. With a thud, he dumped the groceries onto the kitchen table that sat in the middle of the large, airy room. One bag turned over, and three cans of peas rolled across the bleached pine tabletop. Before they could crash to the hardwood floor, Gabe snatched them up, sang da dada da, da dada da, while juggling them like a circus act, then tossed them back into the bag one at a time. Grinning, he spread his hands wide.
Well, his mood certainly had changed.
His mouth open, Kevin stared, then laughed. Even Melanie couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
“And for my next trick—” Gabe pulled a carton of eggs out of a bag “—you and I are going to make these eggs disappear.”
“We are?” Kevin’s blue eyes were wide with wonder.
Gabe nodded. “Right after your mommy cooks them up into great big ham and cheese omelettes.”
Kevin giggled, and Gabe swept his gaze to Melanie. “Please tell me you know how to cook.”
There was a lightness to his tone, but the intense, sharp look in his forest-green eyes made her breath catch. He was offering his help, but at the same time, making it clear he wasn’t going to push. She already understood this man well enough to know that was not an easy thing for him. Gabriel Sinclair was a man who wanted to be in charge, who needed to be in charge.
Which was exactly the last thing she wanted, and the last thing she needed.
She sighed. But she and Kevin needed to eat, and she could rationalize that cooking a meal for Gabe was paying her way for food for her son and herself. Besides, she certainly wasn’t going anywhere until the battery was replaced on her car. A meal would fortify her, get her brain working again so she could deal with her most current crisis.
She met his gaze, lifted one corner of her mouth. “You sure you want ham in that omelette?” she asked sweetly. “It seems to me you’ve got plenty of that already.”
He lifted one brow, and she saw the glint of amusement in his eyes. “Lots of ham, darlin’, and extra cheese. A growing boy needs protein. Isn’t that right, Kevin?”
One long cowlick, dead center in the middle of Kevin’s sandy blond head, wiggled as he nodded enthusiastically, though Melanie knew her son didn’t have a clue what protein was.
When Gabe started to unload the food, Melanie reached out and took the package of cheese from his hand, accidentally brushing her fingertips with his.
There it was again, she thought with a catch of her breath. That same jolt of heat she’d felt when they’d shook hands last night. She thought that maybe she’d been overwrought and had simply overreacted to his touch, or that she’d even imagined it.
But she hadn’t imagined it. It, whatever it was, was definitely there. It zapped her fingertips, then shot straight down to her toes like electricity through a wire.
She tugged the package of already shredded cheese from his hand. “I know you have work to do here. I’ll put these things away, then see if I can find my way around this kitchen.”
He stared at her for what seemed like a lifetime, though it probably wasn’t more than three or four seconds. The playfulness she’d seen in his eyes only moments ago was gone now. In its place was something dark and intense.
Despite the heavy thud of her heart in her chest, she forced a smile. “It shouldn’t be too long. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
At last, with a nod, he turned and headed for the door leading to the living room. She released the breath she’d been holding.
“Gabe.”
He stopped at her quiet call, glanced over his shoulder.
“You asked me earlier and I didn’t answer you then. I don’t have a husband.”
She waited, frozen in place under his penetrating gaze.
“Good,” he said simply, then turned and was gone.
Melanie stared at the empty doorway, waiting for the floor under her feet to gain substance again. She could still feel the tingle from his touch shimmering over her skin.
“Mommy, did you see what that man did? Did you see?” Kevin tugged on her sweater. “That was so neat!”
“Yes, sweetie, I saw.” She glanced down at her son, ran a hand over his rumpled hair. “Very neat.”
“I’m a growing boy,” Kevin said firmly. “Can I have lots of ham and cheese in my omelette, too? Just like him?”
Melanie wasn’t sure she liked the “just like him” part of her son’s request, but it had been a long time since she’d seen him excited about anything, including food. The first time since Phillip had died and Louise had moved into their lives that she’d seen her son’s big blue eyes sparkle.
“Sure you can.” Smiling, Melanie took Kevin’s chin in her hand and tipped his face up as she bent down to kiss his nose. “One double cheese and ham omelette coming right up.”
The sound of a door opening and closing upstairs caught Melanie’s attention. Two omelettes coming up, she corrected herself, then forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand, not the lingering feel of Gabe Sinclair’s fingers against her own.
Gabe lay on his back under the upstairs bathroom sink, a wrench in one hand and a rag in the other. He’d been trying to loosen the rusted pipe for the past fifteen minutes, with no success. Gritting his teeth, he pulled tightly on the wrench, but the stubborn pipe refused to budge. Dammit.
Must be female, he thought irritably, grunting as he bore down, but the wrench twisted off and struck him square on the jaw.
Son of a bitch! His vision exploded with stars, and his jaw throbbed from the blow. Dragging himself out from under the sink, he sat, head down between his knees and swore hotly.
Definitely female, Gabe decided.
With a heavy sigh, he raked a hand through his hair. The most amazing smells were wafting up from downstairs. He sucked the delicious aromas into his lungs and held them there. His stomach began to rumble like a freight train.
Thank God she hadn’t turned tail and run when he’d asked her to cook. He’d certainly expected her to, had been surprised when she’d agreed. But he’d been even more surprised when she’d actually teased him about the ham. There was a playful side to Melanie Hart, he realized, though she was doing her best to keep it hidden.
Along with the rest of her secrets.
He hadn’t told her that he’d already bought a battery for her car, as well, and that he intended to install it for her, with or without her approval. He figured he’d lay that one on her after breakfa
st. One tiny step at a time with this woman.
I don’t have a husband.
Her quiet words had been running through his mind like one of those little hamsters on a wheel. And running along right beside her declaration was the burning question: What was her problem?
He’d called Cara late last night, hoping to get some answers, but she’d been tight-lipped. She told him that if Melanie wanted him to know something, then she’d tell him herself.
Yeah. Right. That would happen right about the same time that the IRS told him it was no longer necessary for him to pay taxes. Just because he was such a nice guy.
It had been a natural assumption that Melanie was hiding out from an abusive husband, Gabe thought. But unless she was lying—and he was as certain as he could be she wasn’t—then the husband theory was wrong.
So was she in trouble with the law?
It was strictly a gut feeling, but he didn’t think so, even though she’d been so panicked last night when she thought he was calling the police. He’d seen how gentle she was with her son, how tender. Gabe touched the scratch on his cheek, remembered her concern when she’d seen the blood on his face and she’d thought she’d hurt him. Even her attempt to bean him with that statue had been halfhearted. He couldn’t believe for a second that this woman was a criminal.
But if it wasn’t a husband, and it wasn’t the police, then what was it?
None of his business, that’s what it was. He rubbed his sore jaw. She’d be on the road as soon as he installed her battery, which would be right after breakfast. So what was the point in all this speculation? It was doing him no good to think beyond the present moment with Melanie. No damn good at all.
He stared at his hand, remembered the touch of her fingertips on his. The contact had been brief, a mere brush of skin, but damn if something hadn’t passed between them, something downright…unnerving.
The same as last night, when he’d shaken her hand.
There was lust, of course. He recognized that clearly enough. He’d been down that road more than a few times with a woman. But lust had never thrown him off balance like this before. Had never hit him in the solar plexus like a two-by-four.
Gabriel's Honor Page 4
