Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel (26 page)

Gabe nodded.

“Big surprise,” Luke said. “You’ve known each other, what, three weeks?”

“Four.”

“No time at all.”

Gabe frowned. “How long did you know Kate before you proposed?”

“That’s different. You want another beer? I can drive you back to the motel.”

Gabe shook his head. “I’m good.” Luke hadn’t answered the question. “How long?”

“Three weeks.” Hard to tell in the dark, but it was possible the Staff Sergeant was blushing. “But it took another four months to convince Kate to say yes.”

“How come?”

“Family stuff.”

“No shit. She had a problem with your family?”

Gabe couldn’t imagine anybody not jumping at the chance to belong to the Fletcher family. Hell, if he’d been a little younger the first time Luke brought him home to meet the parents, he would have begged them to adopt him. On the other hand, their tight-knit family bond could be overwhelming
to outsiders. And Luke had a daughter from a previous relationship.

“Nope. Hers. Her old man was a Colonel, a real hard-ass. Kind of guy makes Hank look like Mr. Rogers. When we first met, Kate didn’t want anything to do with another Marine.”

“Jane’s fine with Marines,” Gabe said. “It’s me she doesn’t trust.”

Luke shook his head pityingly. “This isn’t about you, stud. The lady’s got baggage.”

“Yeah. She said.”

“So maybe you should listen. She’s bound to be a little freaked right now anyway.”

The short hairs lifted on the back of Gabe’s neck. “Why ‘right now’?”

“Because of her ex. Tillett.”

“Why,” Gabe repeated, “now?”

“Because he got out of prison yesterday.” Luke’s expression changed comically. Maybe because Gabe’s had, too. “Oh, fuck. She didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Gabe said evenly. “She never said a word.”

J
ANE
TIPPED
HER
head back to steal another look at the house. “It’s perfect.”

Gabe gave her a sardonic look.

Because, okay, “perfect” was a tiny bit of an overstatement. The gray shingled house had clearly suffered from a botched upgrade in the 80s and at least a decade of uncaring tenants since. The carpeting was funky, the awful acoustic tile installed over the original ceilings was stained, and the dirty turquoise-and-purple walls belonged in a run-down Florida motel.

But the house had—as Shelley from Grady Real Estate pointed out numerous times during their tour—
potential
. With very little imagination, Jane could see how the house could be, how she wanted it to be. The cozy kitchen outfitted with new appliances, a wood-burning stove in the open front room, the hardwood floors stripped and shining.

“Needs work,” Gabe said.

“It needs paint,” Jane acknowledged.
Lots and lots of paint.
“But it has . . .”

Falling-down gutters. Peeling windows.

“Potential?” he finished dryly.

So he’d been listening to the real estate agent, too.

“A wonderful view,” Jane said.

Two honest-to-goodness maple trees in the front yard and a long private drive going down to the Sound. A yard for the dog. There was even a concrete pad at the side of the house where you could put a basketball hoop. She pulled her thoughts back. This was not her house. Not her decision. She was along merely for support.

“Are you having second thoughts?” Jane asked.
Please don’t have second thoughts.
Not that she was planning on moving in with him; it was way too soon for that. “Is it the bathroom?”

He jammed his hands into his pockets. “The bathroom’s fine.”

Something was wrong.

He’d been terse, almost tense, all afternoon. Jane had chalked up his silence in front of the real estate agent to homebuyer caution.

Her instinct was to smooth things over, to appease him, the way she’d learned to do with Travis. But Gabe wasn’t Travis. She didn’t need to fear him. Or coddle him, either, when he had the sulks.

If he was going to act as if he were Aidan’s age, she would simply treat him like Aidan. “What’s the matter?”

“Heard your ex is out of prison.”

The words, the look, thumped into her like stones. “Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh.’” His tone was flat, his face grim. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, I . . .” Her mind raced, but she couldn’t seem to assemble her thoughts, let alone form them into a complete sentence. So much had happened since that phone call. “It didn’t come up.”

“You could have brought it up.”

“I could have,” she acknowledged cautiously. “If I thought about it. I’m not used to dumping my problems on everybody else.”

“It’s not dumping to tell me your abusive ex could be coming around.” Something—hurt? temper?—flashed in Gabe’s eyes, but his voice was tightly restrained. “And I am not everybody. I’m the man who’s in love with you. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

His concern just
melted
her.
I’m the man who’s in love with you.
What was she supposed to do, what was she supposed to say, when he said things like that?

“I don’t want anything to happen to you, either,” she said.

He shot her an edgy look. “I can take care of myself.”

“So can I.”

“Until that son of a bitch comes after you. You’re no match for a grown man in a fight.”

Her heart bumped. “No fighting,” she said. “I won’t stand for fighting.”

Their eyes met. His were dark with frustration. “That’s why you didn’t tell me,” he said. “You think there will be trouble.”

“No.”
Not really.
“I don’t reckon Travis will be coming around anymore. Before last summer, I hadn’t seen him for six whole years. I don’t have anything he wants.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Well, money,” she admitted. “But he’s not getting another penny from me.”

Another straight look. “I’m talking about you. You and Aidan.”

She shook her head. “He never wanted us.”

“Then he’s a fool.”

Gabe
wanted her. The thought wrapped warmly around her heart. Wanted them both.

She blushed and looked away. “Anyway, I got a restraining order. It’s a condition of his probation. According to my dad, if Travis violates the protective order, he goes back to prison for the rest of his sentence—seven months.”

“You talked about this with Hank.”
And not me.

He didn’t say the words. He didn’t have to.

Jane winced at the hurt in his tone. So, yes, all right, she
probably could have, should have, told him about Travis’s release. “Dad already knew. Marta got a call at the police station.”

“Good,” Gabe said, surprising her. “The more people who know, the more people you’ve got looking out for you.”

Her throat caught. He was trying so hard. They both were. She laid a hand on his arm. “I appreciate your concern. But Aidan and I are fine. I had an alarm system installed at the bakery. And Daddy has a gun.”

Not that she wanted her father to actually
shoot
Travis. But Travis knew Hank was armed. He wouldn’t risk coming to the house.

Gabe’s face set in stubborn lines. “Hank can’t be with you all the time.”

“This is Dare Island. People look out for each other here. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“Yeah, you do. At least for a while.”

“How long? A week? Six weeks?” She shook her head. “I can’t live my life based on what Travis Tillett might do or not do next. I won’t let him control my life. I did that often enough when we were married. I’m trying to be . . .” Better. Braver. “Stronger now.”

“You’re one of the strongest women I know,” Gabe said. “The way you run your business, the way you’re raising your kid alone, the way you take care of everybody all the time . . . You’re amazing. But part of being strong is being able to admit when you need help. It doesn’t make you any less competent if you’d lean on me a little every now and then. You thinking otherwise underestimates us both.”

The way he said it—two words, flat and close—made them sound like a thing, a couple, a unit, a heartbeat.
Us both.

She drew a shaky breath, more tempted than she would have believed possible.

It’s not like she was ever truly alone. She lived with her father, for crying out loud. She had her son. Her days were filled with neighbors and customers, the warm, close-knit
island community she hugged to herself like a security blanket, all of them wanting something. Needing her.

She had remade her life so that she could never be abandoned again. She fed people. She had value. She was strong.

But what Gabe was offering was different.

Lean on me.

Could she?

Did she dare?

“That’s hard for me. Needing someone,” she confessed. “Lauren says I have work to do before I’m ready for a long-term relationship. It takes time. Trust.”

“I can give you time. Trust . . . I figure you’ll have to find that for yourself.”

Their eyes met. Her heart beat like crazy.

“What if I can’t be what you want?” she whispered. “What if I can’t give you what you need?”

“I need you.”

As if that was enough. As if she could ever be enough.

“Why?”

“I love you.”

A little shock ran through her at the words. They were still so new. New and precious.

Gabe paused, as if he were waiting for her to say something back. When she didn’t, he continued. “My uncle Chuck used to say, when you frame a house, choose hardwood, not pine. Maybe it takes more time, more investment, but hardwood stands. Hardwood lasts.” He cupped her face in his large, warm hands, the texture of his calluses scraping all her nerve endings to life. “I’m rebuilding my life here. I figure you’re hardwood.”

He kissed her gently and then not gently at all, and the heat and the glow rose inside her, radiating deep inside her, until she broke and giggled.

“What?” he asked, mystified.

His body was solid against her. She blushed. “Hardwood?”

It took him a second before he laughed. They were holding
each other and kissing and laughing, and for that moment everything felt perfect.

*   *   *

“W
HAT
IS
THAT
?” Jane said from around Gabe’s knees.

Gabe looked down from the ladder he’d dragged to the back corner of the carport.
Busted.
“It’s a deer camera.”

“A what?”

He tightened the strap around the post. “A heat and motion activated camera. Hunters use them to take digital pictures of wildlife trails.”

“You do a lot of hunting in Detroit?”

He grinned, enjoying the spark in her eyes, the sass in her voice. “Nope. I had buddies who were hunters, though.”

“So you’re taking pictures of what? The cats?”

“The cats or . . .” He adjusted the time setting. “Anybody else who comes sniffing around.”

She tilted her head. “Leaving aside for a minute how I feel about you installing a security camera without asking me, I don’t see how it helps to have pictures of something after it’s already happened.”

“I can set up the camera to send photos to an e-mail address. Or my phone. This model has a one-second trigger speed and takes about a minute to send a compressed image by text message to my phone. So I’ll be able to see almost right away if somebody comes in or out that door.”

She crossed her arms over her apron. “You don’t find that a little creepy stalker-ish, to get a message alert every time I take out the garbage?”

“Look, inside, you’re safe. Either the bakery is closed and locked up, or you’ve got customers coming in and out. But going to and from your car at four in the morning or at the end of the day, that’s when you’re most vulnerable.”

“I’m not the only one who uses this door, you know.”

“But you use it most often.” He adjusted the camera angle.

“Does that thing take pictures of the basketball hoop, too?”

Shit.

He started to sweat. He knew how important it was for her to feel in control, to be independent, to take care of herself and her son.

If she thought it was creepy that he was keeping an eye on her, how would she react to his taking pictures of Aidan?

He took a deep breath. Confessed all. “Yeah.”

She turned her head and held his gaze for a long moment, a small smile playing around her mouth. “Good,” she said, and went back into the bakery.

*   *   *

G
ABE
WHISTLED
A
S
he hammered the last piece of baseboard in Ashley Ingram’s coffee shop. In two more hours, he’d be off work and taking Jane and Aidan to dinner. But for now, a brick propped open the front door, admitting a fresh breeze from the harbor, welcome in this afternoon heat. On an April Monday, the waterfront was almost empty of traffic. A few wannabe fishermen eyed the catch of the returning charter boats. A couple on a bench ate ice cream. Once in a while, a local strolled by to check on the progress of the upfit.

A shadow wavered in the dirty plate glass window. Wavered and stuck. Lucky woofed, tail stirring the sawdust.

Gabe glanced up.
Aidan.
Shoulders hunched, lower lip sticking out about a mile.

Rising, Gabe set down his hammer and crossed to the door. “Hey, sport. What are you doing here?”

The boy stooped, opening his arms to the dog. Lucky wriggled and leaped, trying to lick his face, both of them acting as if they’d been cruelly separated for years instead of less than a day. “Hey, Lucky. Hi, boy.”

“Aidan?”

Aidan buried his face in the dog’s neck. “I’m walking home from school.”

The harbor was at least half a mile out of the boy’s way. And even on the island, where the kids ran free as the colonies of feral cats, Gabe didn’t see Jane allowing Aidan to roam
unsupervised. Especially not with Tillett getting out on parole. “You walk home by yourself?”

“I did today,” Aidan mumbled into Lucky’s fur.

“Your mom’s going to be worried about you.”

“No, she won’t. She thinks I’m with Grandpa.”

Gabe studied Aidan’s down-bent head, the defensive set of his shoulders. Something going on there. It was still new, and revealing, how the boy’s problems had somehow become his problems. How the boy had begun to feel like his.

“How about we get my truck and I give you a lift?” he suggested. “We can grab a snack and let your mom know there’s been a change of plan.”

A quick, bright glance upward through the fringe. “I can’t ride without a booster seat.”