Once Upon a Proposal (4 page)

Since he'd left the coffee shop that afternoon, Bobbie had mentally run through at least a dozen scenarios about what Gabe wanted to discuss. His ex-wife's husband had
not
been one of them. “Um…congratulations to him?”

Gabe's lips twisted. “I know. This makes no sense to you. What has Fiona told you about me?”

“Besides you being successful and very,
very
eligible?” His hooded blue gaze sharpened on her face and she managed a wry smile that hopefully hid the shivers dancing down her spine. “We're usually busy talking about what's going on at Golden Ability. It doesn't seem to leave a lot of time to chatter about her family. Or mine.” She reasoned that the white lie was better than admitting how much his grandmother praised his qualities.

His dark head tipped a few centimeters. “My wife and I divorced nearly eight years ago.” He slowly turned the wine glass on top of the white linen table covering. “It wasn't what you'd call amicable.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I share plenty of the responsibility in that,” he admitted.
“But that's beside the point. What is the point, are my kids. Steph was awarded custody of them when we split. The ink was barely dry on our divorce decree when she became Mrs. Ethan Walker, and then within a year they'd moved to Switzerland. It had been hard enough to keep her to the terms of my visitation before she moved, but after—” He shook his head. “A few years ago, though, her husband's job brought them back here to Seattle. Supposedly to stay, so I decided to move here, too. It was the only sure way I had of reminding my kids that I was their father—not just some guy who came to visit for a few days once a year.”

Bobbie's heart squeezed at the pain on his face.

“Anyway, my business partner remained in Colorado, and I started up another branch here. We're making it when a lot of companies aren't, but it hasn't been easy.”

The shivers that had been dancing down Bobbie's spine suddenly felt like jagged little spears instead, as realization dawned. “Harrison Hunt might be a family friend, but I have no influence when it comes to HuntCom.”

Gabe's brows yanked together. “What are you talking about?”

She sat up straighter in her chair. “It's not like I don't understand. Or…or sympathize. Even in this economy, HuntCom still has building projects going on all over the world.” If they weren't building a new manufacturing facility for themselves, they were building something else. She knew, because she had to make an appearance at least once a year at the board of directors' meeting, at which time she always gave her proxy to Gray, who'd been running the privately-held company since Harry's health had forced him into retirement. “But the best I can do is get you a name.” She'd have to call Harry and find out who the chief architect was now. Since J.T.—one of Gray's younger brothers—had vacated the position to hang
out his own shingle in Portland, she couldn't even hazard a guess who was responsible for the property development arm of the enormous company.

“I'm not looking to do business with HuntCom,” Gabe said slowly. “Is that what you expected?”

“It's what most people expect once they realize I have a connection there.” Her chin lifted. “You're hardly the first.” Lawrence had simply been the most recent.

Gabe was silent for a moment, his gaze measuring. “As it happens,” he finally said evenly, “I don't give a flip about HuntCom. The only thing I'm trying to do is keep my ex-wife from moving my kids to another damn country again.”

She blinked.

He shoved to his feet and paced along the narrow aisle between the empty tables. “If the judge doesn't approve my petition for joint custody, there's not one thing I'll be able to do to stop her.” He grimaced. “Short of kidnapping them.”

Bobbie reached for the wineglass he'd abandoned and took a long drink.

“I'm kidding.” His voice was dark. “The last thing I need is more trouble with the law.”

More
trouble?

She took another sip of wine and then carefully set the glass down. “I'm sorry about your children, but what does that have to do with me?”

“I need a wife.”

Her hand twitched violently. She knocked the glass right over, sending deep-red liquid pouring across the perfect white linen tablecloth. She hastily flipped up the side of the cloth to keep it from running onto the floor. “I beg your pardon?”

“Not a real wife.” He shoved one hand through his hair. “The last thing I want is to get married again. Once was enough to last a lifetime.” He visibly shuddered. “But I need
to make the impression that I'll have a wife, soon. Ray—my attorney—wants me to have a real one, of course, though he swears he'll deny it if the truth ever gets out.”

“I'm not even sure what the truth
is
.” She watched him cautiously. “You want me to pretend to be married to you?”

“I want everyone to think we're
getting
married.” He pulled the chair out from behind the table to straddle it directly in front of her. “It won't have to be for long. My custody hearing is scheduled for right after Thanksgiving. As long as the judge believes that I can provide Todd and Lissi with what Steph and Ethan provide—a stable family life—there's no reason why he would deny my petition for joint custody.”

“And that's going to prevent your ex-wife from moving again to Europe?”

He grimaced. “Nothing prevents Steph from doing what she wants. But she won't be able to keep the kids with her for the entire time. Instead of the sixteen hours a week I'm allowed now—assuming it doesn't inconvenience her—she'll have to agree to new terms.
Joint
terms. Ray says that there's a possibility that I could have them for the entire school year, even. That they'd only go to Europe for vacation and holiday breaks.” He grabbed her hands. “The only good thing to come out of my marriage were Lisette and Todd. And for too long, they barely even knew I was their father. I'm not going to lose them again.”

“But we'd be lying. You have no intention of marrying me.”

“Being married shouldn't matter. Technically, it's not even supposed to,” Gabe said. “I should have been awarded joint custody in the first place.”

“Why weren't you?”

“Because I made the mistake of loving my wife.” His voice went flat. “And when I caught her in bed—
our
bed—with Ethan, I lost my temper.” His hands curled. “I decked him and
got charged with assault as a result. Then I stupidly followed that up by crawling into a whiskey bottle for a while. The assault charge was dropped eventually, but the damage was done. The bastard ended up with my wife
and
my kids.” His lips twisted. “Proof that the lawyers in his family are better than the lawyers in mine.”

She let out a long breath. “No wonder you wanted some privacy to talk.” Buying time—and not exactly sure why—she gathered up the wet tablecloth and took it into the back, where she ran water and left it to soak. Then she returned to the front, where she found him pacing between the tables. But he stopped when he spotted her.

She had to remind herself that the intensity in his gaze had everything to do with his children and nothing to do with her personally. But she still had to concentrate on keeping her knees steady, though she pressed her back against the hard edge of the wine bar for extra support. “I can understand your position,” she began carefully, “but I don't think I'm the right person for the job.”

“Why? You have some secret scandal in your past that's worse than me being charged with assault?”

“No. No scandals.” Humiliation wasn't scandal, was it? She tugged nervously at the silky red scarf that was holding her hair back in a low ponytail. “It's just, well, I like you.”

He waited. “So?”

She should have just made up a scandal. It would have been simpler. And much less mortifying. “I mean, I—” she swallowed, feeling foolish. “I
like
you.”

“Ah.” Add a faint curve of his mobile lips to that laser-like gaze and she felt even more out of her depth. “Why would that be a problem?”

She grimaced. “Do I have to spell it out?”

“Apparently.”

“It's one-sided,” she said baldly. “And nobody would believe you could be seriously engaged to me, anyway.”

He eyed her. “Because I'm old enough to be your father?”

She let out a half laugh. “You're forty-one. Hardly old enough to be my father.” And the feelings he roused in her weren't the least bit daughterly.

“How'd you know how old I was?”

“Fiona,” she admitted, realizing she'd given herself away much too easily.

“Thought you didn't talk about your families much.”

Her face was getting hot. “All right. I asked. Is that a crime?”

“Not at all. And you're twenty-seven.” That little smile was back. “I asked.”

She didn't know what to say to that, so for once in her life, she kept her mouth shut.

He walked up to her, not stopping until the toes of his shoes were practically bumping hers. He rested his hands on the wine bar to either side of her.

She swallowed, more aware than ever just how alone they were. And just how tall he was. And how broad his shoulders were. And…how incredible he smelled.

“For the record—” his head dropped and his whisper tickled at her ear, not helping her case one whit “—it's not one-sided. I
like
you, too. Maybe you didn't notice that when you were telling me to make it look good. It's one of the reasons why I think a sudden engagement between us would be…convincing.” He shifted slightly until he was looking her right in the eyes. “So let's get that cleared up right now.” He closed his mouth over hers.

The taste of him went straight to her head. Her joints went soft. And instead of pushing against him, her palms slowly slid up his chest, over his shoulders. Colors splashed in her
mind and her head fell back when the low sound he made filled her mouth as his kiss deepened. Lengthened.

And then he was tearing away, pulling in a whistling breath.

She was shaking. She realized his hand was in her hair, cradling her neck. Beyond that, she couldn't seem to gather a functioning thought.

“Think about it.” His voice was a low caress, stirring a curl of hair at her temple. “I'll give you whatever you want in return.”

Her addled brain might as well have been an old engine, coughing and stuttering, before it finally fired and she began to understand what he was saying. He meant think about pre tending to be his fiancée. Her bones felt liquefied and her muscles felt shaky, but she still managed to shake her head. “I don't want anything. It's not a good idea. One-sided or two-sided. It's still not a good idea.” She couldn't stand to find herself, once again, a hindrance to someone she cared about. “You should find someone else.”

“There is no one else.”

“Someone you've dated—”

“I don't date.” He grimaced. “Not anymore. Look. Just give yourself a day or two to think about it,” he advised. “Think about Fiona. As young at heart as she is, she is not a young woman. How many chances will she have to enjoy her only great-grandchildren if they're out of the country again for the better part of what's left of their childhood?”

He couldn't have found a more vulnerable button to push. Fiona was extremely dear to Bobbie.

“All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “I'll
think
about it. But you—” she lifted her finger and jabbed it into the center of his hard chest “—would be wise to spend the next day or two thinking of someone more suitable to make your pretend fiancée.”

“Believe me, Bobbie. You're very suitable.”

She managed a smile, but there was no humor in it. “You'll change your mind,” she promised.

People always did.

B
y Saturday afternoon, Bobbie felt certain that Gabe had done just what she'd expected. Changed his mind.

He hadn't shown up that morning to finish the grout work on her newly tiled bathroom floor. Nor had he called to explain his absence. His silence didn't seem to fit with the man she thought she was coming to know, but it definitely served as a reminder that just because he was Fiona's grandson, didn't mean that she really knew him at all.

So they'd shared a few kisses and a few confidences. What did that mean in the scheme of things? She'd shared a lot more than that with her ex-fiancé, thinking they would be spending a lifetime together.

Only now, Lawrence had a sleekly elegant blond woman with a stellar pedigree wearing his wedding ring on her finger. She'd been the one standing next to him at the podium after his re-election, smiling her perfectly aligned smile, waving her perfectly manicured hands and charming the press with
her perfectly timed, perfectly worded comments. She'd been the one he'd loved all along, even when he'd been sweeping Bobbie off her feet.

“Ah, Bobbie, dear.” Fiona's voice interrupted the gathering steam of her memories. “Ujjayi breathing is meant to be relaxing and energizing. Aim for the soothing sound of an ocean. Not the menacing sound of a freight train heading for derailment.”

Bobbie opened her eyes and looked across at Fiona's wry expression.

They were sitting cross-legged on yoga mats on the floor in the middle of Fiona's spacious sunroom. The lengthening sunlight gilded the plants surrounding the room and water dripped soothingly over the small rock fountain in the midst of them. It was a perfect place to practice yoga, and they'd done so at least once a week for months—well before Bobbie had moved into the carriage house.

“Sorry.” She rolled her head around her shoulders and drew in a long breath. Usually, practicing yoga was one of the few times that she could count on to get out of her own head. To let go of whatever nonsense plagued her thoughts during the day, to thoroughly de-stress.

Why hadn't Gabe at least called?

“You know,” Fiona said, unwinding her legs and pushing to her bare feet, “there are times that call for yoga, and there are times that call for cocktails.” She grinned. “I'm thinking…cocktail.”

Bobbie laughed and straightened her legs. “A true yogi wouldn't even consider consuming alcohol.”

“Fortunately, I have no aspirations in that direction,” Fiona assured dryly. “And what does that song say? It's five o'clock somewhere?” She gestured. “Come with me.”

Bobbie pushed to her feet and followed her friend out of the sunroom. She tightened the band holding her hair on the
top of her head and tried not to look out the windows for some sign of Gabe's truck as they walked through the house. When she did sneak a peek, all she saw was the gardening crew working on the lush landscape and the catering truck, there to set up the outdoor tent that would house the dance floor for the party tomorrow night that Fiona didn't even want.

When they reached Fiona's office, which overlooked the half-acre sweep of lawn leading to the carriage house, Fiona waved at the massive leather wing chairs angled in front of the fireplace. “Sit.” She moved to the ornate cabinet standing against the wall.

Bobbie sat, watching her elderly friend pull open the cabinet to reveal an extremely well-stocked bar. Fiona had once told her that she hadn't changed a single thing in the office after her husband had died. It was the only room she had left untouched in the entire house, because it felt like he was still with her whenever she worked in there.

“I meant to thank you again for helping out at the office yesterday. It took months to get an appointment with the community affairs rep from Cragmin, and I'd have hated to reschedule.”

Bobbie shrugged, though she still was a little surprised that Fiona had managed to double-book her schedule the way she had. She'd been across town making another funding request when the manufacturing company's community affairs manager had shown up at Golden's office and Fiona had called Bobbie in a rush to fill in for her. “I'm always willing. You know that, though I'm a poor substitute for you.”

Fiona waved the cocktail shaker as she pulled it off the shelf. “You did wonderfully well, as I knew you would. I got an email last night from the CEO that we were on the short list for the grant.” She added ice from a small, cleverly hidden freezer to the shaker. “But enough of that. How are your mother and sisters?”

“All fine. I've been helping Tommi at the bistro this past week. One of her servers has been on vacation.”

Fiona was nodding as she added a shot of this and a dash of that. “I wish my daughter-in-law would have thought to ask your sister to cater this thing tomorrow.” She capped the shaker and shook it so vigorously that Bobbie wondered if she was mentally wringing Astrid Gannon's neck. “Then at least the food would have been wonderful.”

“I'm sure the food will be fine,” Bobbie soothed. “And I think Tommi has enough on her plate with the bistro being as busy as it is.” She'd thought her sister had seemed particularly stressed the past week, but of course, Tommi had simply dismissed the very idea when Bobbie had tried to broach the subject. And since Bobbie hadn't wanted to answer Tommi's questions about Gabe's presence at the bistro the other night either, she'd kept most of her thoughts to herself. “You've said before that your daughter-in-law hosts some magnificent parties.”

“Trust you to remember that,” Fiona muttered darkly. She poured the pale yellow contents of the shaker into two martini glasses and handed one to Bobbie. “Cheers.”

Bobbie lifted her glass in salute and sipped gingerly, well used to Fiona's less-than-delicate hand when it came to mixing a cocktail. Predictably, the drink was light on lemon and heavy on vodka. “I think it's nice that your family wants to celebrate your birthday with you.”

Fiona waved her hand. “It would be nice if it were just family and a few friends.” She sank down into a corner of the opposite chair. “Instead, I believe Astrid has invited half of the world. She never even asked who I would like to invite. I suppose she was afraid I'd invite someone
unsuitable.
” She made a face. “Like my own employees and volunteers.”

“Well, it'll be over soon enough.”

“I'm not sure I appreciate a phrase like that at my age,” Fiona replied dryly.

Bobbie couldn't help but laugh, even though she was immediately reminded of Gabe's words about his grandmother. “You're one of the youngest people I know. And it has nothing to do with the calendar.”

Fiona leaned forward and patted Bobbie's knee. “You're a dear. Now tell me what you think of Gabriel.”

Bobbie nearly choked on her cocktail. She swallowed, trying not to gasp a little at the strong alcohol. “He's very…handy.” She lifted her shoulder and hoped Fiona would blame the color in her cheeks on the drink. “The work he's doing around the carriage house has been great.”

Fiona's eyes sparkled. “Yes. But what do you think of
him?
”

For a moment, Bobbie wondered if Gabe had told his grandmother about their unconventional meeting. Or about what had happened since.

But then she dismissed it as unlikely.

“I think he's—”
sexy, handsome, unreasonably attractive
“—nice,” she managed weakly. “He certainly loves his children.”

Fiona nodded. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she sipped her cocktail. “He'd do anything for them.”

“Mmm.” Bobbie took another too-hasty drink that burned all the way down her throat. Already her head was beginning to swim a little and she quickly set the glass on the small table next to the chair while she could still set it safely without spilling it. “I imagine they'll all be here for your party tomorrow evening?”

“I'd certainly prefer Todd and Lisette over their mother's presence, but Astrid hasn't included the children.”

Bobbie blinked. “Gabe's…ex-wife is coming?” Given
their strained relationship, she hadn't expected that. Had he exaggerated the situation?

“Yes. I know it sounds odd. But Astrid and Stephanie's mother are dear friends and for some reason, Astrid still believes that Stephanie and Gabe will reconcile. Doesn't seem to matter that Stephanie betrayed Gabe in the worst possible way, or that she's doing her level best to keep Gabe's children from him as much as she can. She picked Stephanie for Gabe years ago, and can't bring herself to realize that her choice stunk.” Fiona let out an exasperated sigh. “The woman doesn't even know her own son. And
my
son doesn't seem any better. Even though I myself haven't seen Stephanie in years, I'm not holding out hope that she'd have the good taste to decline the invitation.” Fiona drained her glass and with no seeming regard for the fine crystal, set it on the side table with a clunk. “I think
you
should come to the party. I don't know why I didn't think of it before.”

Bobbie straightened her spine. “What?”

Fiona lifted her eyebrows. “It's
my
birthday party. I should be able to invite at least one person that I want to be there, shouldn't I?”

“Well, of course, but—”

“Then it's done.” She pushed to her feet. “Sadly, it's black tie.” She rolled her eyes. “Astrid's doing, of course. You have something suitable? Maybe a dress left over from that drip of a fiancé you had?”

“I have a gown or two.” Shoved in the back of her closet because she didn't have the good sense to get rid of clothing that she never wore—or never planned to wear again. Until her involvement with Lawrence, the only times she'd had to dress formally were for the annual Christmas parties that her Uncle Harry always threw. “But honestly, Fiona, I'll feel like I'm gatecrashing.” She knew Astrid Gannon had sent out
the engraved invitations weeks ago, because Fiona had been bemoaning the upcoming party ever since.

“Frankly, I feel like
I
am gatecrashing,” Fiona countered. “Mark my words. It will be stuffy and boring. But I beg you. Just come for a few minutes. Long enough to give me
someone
besides Gabriel I can honestly say how nice it is to see.”

“One of these days I'm going to learn how to say no to you, and mean it.” Bobbie stood up also. Her head felt light from just those few sips of her cocktail. She needed to eat.

Fiona smiled victoriously and tucked her arm through Bobbie's as they strolled through the house toward the kitchen. “You'll be the belle of the ball.”

“Now I
know
your cocktail has gone to your head,” Bobbie accused wryly. “Since you know as well as I do how un likely that will be. If you want a belle, you'd need Frankie or Georgie.” Both of her older sisters could sweep into any setting and have the masses charmed with barely a flick of their fingers. It was a talent they'd come by naturally from their mother. Even Tommi possessed it—when she could be dragged out from the kitchen, where she usually ended up even when she wasn't the chef.

“Give yourself a little more credit.” Fiona pulled open the back door for Bobbie. “You might surprise yourself.”

“I doubt it.” Bobbie hugged Fiona. “But I'll be there, for you.”

“Be where?”

Bobbie straightened like a shot, spinning around so fast that she nearly tipped over.

Gabe's hand shot out, catching her shoulder. “Steady there.”

She didn't know which was worse. The dizzying effect of Fiona's lethal cocktail, the sudden thrill of Gabe's touch, or the fact that both were probably as plain as the nose on
her face to Fiona, Gabe
and
his daughter and son, who were standing on the porch beside him.

“At the party tomorrow,” Fiona answered, which was good because Bobbie didn't seem able to make her mouth work in concert with her brain. “Bobbie's coming, too. Isn't that lovely?”

“Sure.” Gabe's gaze rested on her face and she couldn't tell what he was thinking to save her life.

What she was thinking about was what he'd asked her to do. And that she knew she should refuse. Again. Which wasn't something that she could very well tell him right then and there. Not with his grandmother and kids witnessing her non-conversation with him. “I, um, I need to get home,” she finally managed to say to the air in general. She glanced at Fiona. “See you tomorrow.” She moved past Gabe without looking at him directly, and managed to smile at his kids as she quickly ran down the porch steps.

“I'll come with you.” His deep voice followed her, putting an abrupt end to her hasty departure. “Still need to finish that tile job.”

She looked back, not meeting his eyes or Fiona's, and nodded jerkily. “Okay.”

“Lissi, Todd, you go inside with Grandma and finish your homework.”

Bobbie realized belatedly that both of his children were sporting extremely fat, heavy-looking backpacks.

“We'll go out for dinner when I've finished at Ms. Fairchild's,” he added.

They both nodded without argument and went inside the main house with Fiona.

“Ready?” Gabe prompted when Bobbie didn't start moving again toward the carriage house.

She stopped staring after the children and started walking instead. Even without letting her gaze sidle toward him, she
was excruciatingly aware of him. “Your kids seemed rather subdued.”

“I guess that's one way of putting it.”

She couldn't help herself. She looked right at him, taking in his unshaven jaw and bloodshot eyes. “And you look like you haven't slept in days. What's wrong?”

“Nothing that another ten hours in every day wouldn't cure.” He took her elbow, helping her along the uneven stone pathway that led to her door, even though he had to know that she'd walked over it hundreds of times before. “One of my construction managers had a car accident a few days ago and I've had to fill in on the job site for him.” They stopped at the door of the cottage and he waited for her to unlock it.