Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel (7 page)

Hank scowled at her as if she had no more sense now than she had at nineteen. “You have no idea what he’s capable of. He could get violent again. You really want to take that chance?”

Jane pressed her lips together.

She wasn’t an innocent anymore. She had learned to run her business through trial and error, to move past her mistakes and trust her own judgment.

But . . . Misgiving seeped into her stomach. Wasn’t it safer, where Gabe was concerned, to listen to her father the cop?

She could take a risk for herself. But not for her bakery. And certainly not for Aidan.

“I have a security system,” she reminded her father. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. He’s just passing through. He’ll be leaving soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Hank said.

She thought of Gabe’s eyes, his arms, his grin, and her heart gave a little kick against her ribs. “No,” she agreed. “Not nearly soon enough.”

T
HE
PEAKED
ROOF
of the Pirates’ Rest, rising through the trees, felt weirdly familiar.

Gabe had visited the Fletcher family’s bed-and-breakfast only once, eleven years ago. But that roofline was etched in his memory, embedded in his brain.

Back in Afghanistan, everybody who had anybody got emails. Digital pictures from home. Mrs. Fletcher sent Luke actual photographs, tucked into care packages of socks and eye drops, baby wipes and hard candy, slid into envelopes along with the latest family news. Maybe because Luke’s dad had served in Nam and Beirut, and Mrs. Fletcher had never adjusted to communication in today’s Marine Corps. Or maybe because she knew, with a military wife’s understanding or a mother’s instinct, that sometimes a guy needed a tangible reminder of home. Something to hold on to.

Somewhere Gabe had hit on the idea of sending his own postcards, palm trees and temples,
Greetings from Iraq
. He never knew what to say. His own mother never wrote back.
But the very act of sending them reminded him there was a world beyond the sandbox. Something worth fighting for.

There was this one picture Luke had taped to his locker—parents, Tess and Tom; older brother, Matt, with Matt’s teenage son, Josh; and their sister, Meg—all framed by the sheltering eaves and solid columns of the porch. The freaking perfect American family. Not Gabe’s family. But he used to sneak looks at them, the way they leaned into one another, casually touching, smiling and squinting in the sun, and think that would really be something to come home to.

Maybe that’s why he found himself standing at the back gate, the entrance he’d used with Luke all those years ago as if he were family.

The prodigal son returns
. He wondered if they’d killed the fatted calf for him or if he’d be eating with the pigs tonight.

He never even thought to ask Luke if he still lived here. Too late now.

A dog barked from one of the guest cottages. Gabe put his hand on the gate and swung it wide as the cottage door opened and Luke came out.

He grabbed Gabe in a one-armed hug as if they hadn’t seen each other just yesterday. He pounded Gabe’s shoulder and released him, fixing him with that uncomfortably penetrating gaze. “You look . . .”

Gabe smiled wryly. “Presentable?” he suggested.

The shower and change of clothes had restored him, on the outside at least, to a semblance of the Marine Luke used to know. As if Gabe had scraped off three bad years along with the bristles and grime, leaving him without his layer of protective camouflage. Clean, but also raw and vulnerable.

Luke grinned. “I was going to say ‘less like roadkill.’ Come inside.”

Gabe glanced at the small yellow cottage. “You live here now?”

Luke gestured for him to go ahead. “Good for Taylor to have her grandparents around.”

“And the rent money probably comes in handy for your parents in the off-season,” Gabe said.

Luke smiled and shrugged, confirming his guess. “Come meet the family.”

A fluffy white cat regarded Gabe balefully from the arm of the sofa before jumping down and running off. A long-legged, long-haired child sprawled on the braided rug in front of the television.

“Jesus,” Gabe said. “She looks just like you.”

Clear blue eyes—Luke’s eyes—met his gaze. “Except I’m twelve,” she pointed out. “And a girl.”

And a handful
. Gabe swallowed a grin.

“My daughter, Taylor. Gabe Murphy. And this,” Luke said, sliding his arm around the waist of the woman next to him, “is Kate.”

Luke’s wife was beautiful, with warm coppery hair and the same cool, assessing eyes as the cat. “Gabe.” Her smile was polite, her handshake smooth and firm. “Thank you for coming.”

Gabe didn’t blame her for the guarded look. He was used to people looking at him like he was a bomb waiting to go off. Plenty of vets struggled to adjust to civilian life. And plenty of civilians didn’t wait for a formal diagnosis of PTSD to make a judgment.

Kate was a lawyer. She probably saw all kinds of cases of alcoholism, anger management, abuse. Given what Luke had probably told her about him, it was no wonder all she saw when she looked at him was a rap sheet and a problem.

“Thanks for having me,” he said. “Can I do anything? Give you a hand, maybe, in the kitchen?”

“Actually, there’s been a change in plan,” Luke said.

Right. Gabe looked at the wife. This is where Luke told him they were going out for dinner, just the two of them, away from his wife and daughter.

“Sure,” he said easily. He nodded to Kate and Taylor. “Nice meeting you.”

Luke frowned. “They’re coming with us. Just across the yard. We’re eating at Mom and Dad’s tonight.”

Gabe stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Family dinner,” Luke explained. “My sister wanted to get together with everybody tonight, and Mom jumped at the opportunity to welcome you home.”

*   *   *

T
HE
KITCHEN
WAS
full of people. And food. And noise.

“Let me get you a beer,” Luke said, plunging into the crowd around the refrigerator.

Gabe had really nice memories of the Fletcher family. But there were a lot more of them than he remembered. Plus, he figured their welcome might be different now that he wasn’t some eighteen-year-old boot facing deployment but an ex-Marine with six tours and an arrest record under his belt.

But that didn’t stop Mrs. Fletcher from grabbing him and hugging him tight. “Gabe!”

He put his arms around her carefully. Her head came to the middle of his chest. The hair he remembered as mostly black was now a vibrant red.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said, drawing back to arm’s length. Her eyes were damp.

Shit, in another minute, she’d have
him
crying. “You, too, Mrs. Fletcher.” He glanced at Luke’s dad, a retired career Sergeant Major. “Mr. Fletcher.”

Tom Fletcher jerked his chin upward and gave him a dead-eyed drill-instructor’s stare. Okay. Not so different from his last visit.

Mrs. Fletcher patted his arm. “Call me Tess.”

“Yes, ma’am.”
No way.

“Josh, get those dogs away from the dip,” she ordered.

The tall teenager chatting with Taylor grabbed one of the two dogs running around underfoot and hauled it toward the back door. Luke’s nephew, Josh. The last time Gabe had seen the boy, he’d been around . . . seven? Eight?

“Come on, Shorty,” Josh said.

It wasn’t clear to Gabe if he was talking to Taylor or the dog. Kate had disappeared across the room, leaving Gabe with Matt and his wife, a young leggy blonde whose name he didn’t quite catch.

Everybody was talking at once. Gabe was relieved when Luke came back with the beer.

“What can I get you, Allison?” Luke asked.

“I’ll stick with iced tea, thanks,” she said. “School day tomorrow.”

Gabe could tell she was about ten years younger than her husband. But . . . “You’re a student?” he asked.

She smiled. “Even worse. I’m a high school English teacher.”

“Meg, what about you?” Luke asked. “Glass of wine?”

His older sister shook her head. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

Allison’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God, that’s it. That’s the announcement!”

Matt glanced down at his wife. “What announcement?”

“The reason Meg and Sam wanted us all to come to dinner tonight,” Kate said from across the room.

Tess turned from the stove, spatula in hand. “Sweetheart, are you—?”

“Pregnant?” Meg finished. She nodded. “Yep.”

The tall dude next to her, with wavy dark hair and lots of teeth, took her hand. Gabe recognized him from the day before, when Luke had introduced them outside the bakery. Sam Grady, the contractor. Meg’s fiancé.

There were shrieks. And hugs.

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.”