“My buddy Kevin, a pilot on my crew. He died in Afghanistan.” Even those few words stoked the barely banked memories of his nightmare.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing here, son?”
He didn’t need this kind of probing or interference. Not now. “Dad, I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
His old man’s face creased with a smile. “That’s never stopped me before. We don’t get anywhere in the world if we sit around waiting to be asked.”
“Okay, then. I won’t ask if you mind if I leave.” He turned away, ready to walk all the way around the house to another door, if need be.
“Her guy can’t have been dead long.” His father’s words stopped him on the top step.
“Ten months,” Hank answered without turning, the smell of explosives and blood coming back so damn real he could have been over there, living that hell again.
Footsteps sounded on the wooden porch as his father neared. His large shadow stretched over Hank as it had done his entire life. “Son, are you sure she’s through grieving? I’m not saying she’s the wrong woman. I’m just saying be sure it’s the right time.”
The shadow shifted as the general backed away, leaving his words hanging out there to cast a shadow all their own. As much as Hank tried to live his own life, still his dad’s legacy followed him. Was there something in the genetics that led him to make so many of the same choices his father had made, even when he worked his tail off to be different? Hell, his dad had even fallen for his friend’s widow.
Did that mean a guy had to wait more than a decade to act on it?
Hank stayed standing on the top step long after his father gathered up the bags and headed inside.
* * *
While everyone else unpacked, Gabrielle sat with Ginger in the sunroom, little Ginger toddling around while Max napped in his baby swing. The moment felt so timeless, as if they could have been a family from a hundred years ago gathering just this way. If she were snapping photos for a magazine, Gabrielle would want these over any staged, fancy pictures.
She would want this life.
Well, other than the security detail walking the perimeter and talking into radios tucked in the cuff.
Her hands shaking, she gripped the arms of the rattan rocker. “Do you ever get tired of having bodyguards follow you everywhere?”
Ginger glanced out the wall of windows at the guards as if she’d forgotten they were there. “Sure, but I try to remember it’s just a part of the jobs I’ve been lucky enough to have.” She swooped her granddaughter up into her arms and spun her around once. “Although being a grandmother is the best job on the planet.”
“Better than being Secretary of State?”
“Hands down.” Ginger set the giggling toddler on the floor and tugged Max’s toe gently. “He’s a sweet-natured baby. I hope you don’t mind my asking…what are those little incisions on his stomach?”
How strange to have all that worry swept away in a few days. “He had surgery this week for a digestive disorder. He’s fine now.” She said another prayer of gratitude. “But that’s why I’m here. At Hank’s house, I mean. He’s helping me out since this is his friend’s baby. He’s acting as a sort of a stand-in dad, I guess you could say.”
Ginger sat on the rattan sofa next to her. “Although it’s obvious Hank’s your friend, too.”
Was she asking out of curiosity or as a concerned relative? “We knew each other before…” Gabrielle picked at splinters on the armrest. “So yes, we’re friends, too.”
Ginger’s hand fell on the Burberry diaper bag little Ginger’s mother had left before she went upstairs to unpack. “I’ve known Hank since he was your son’s age.”
Really? “I thought you married the general more recently than that.”
She was just realizing how little she knew about Hank beyond what she’d read in the papers. How much of that was even factual?
“My husband—my first husband—was in the air force with Hank, Sr.” Her deep blue eyes, the same color as her son’s, lit with nostalgia. “My husband Benjamin wasn’t career military, like Hank. He wanted to serve for a few years, to give back to his country. Then he got out and went into politics.”
Gabrielle recalled reading that Ginger had served the rest of her first husband’s term after he’d died, then she turned out to be an even more savvy and effective politician than her husband. Her career had taken off from there. Even now, she served as an ambassador to a South American country. It was tough not to be intimidated by that much power and success. Gabrielle listened, wondering what the woman’s agenda was in sharing her life story. Because no doubt, this savvy stateswoman would be every bit as tenacious in protecting her family as she was in negotiating for her country.
“While we were in the military—and I do mean we because the spouse sacrifices a lot being married to a service member—we were friends with Hank and Jessica. Our children played together, too. When Jessica died, I helped Hank with his children. He helped me with my boys after I lost Benjamin.” She paused, staring out the sunroom windows and blinking back a shadowy grief that apparently even time hadn’t dimmed. “There was never anything going on between us while either of our spouses were alive, nothing. Believe me, it shocked the hell out of both of us when our friendship turned into something more.”
Gabrielle willed herself not to show the shame that dogged her still over that kiss she’d shared with Hank while Kevin was still alive. Kevin may have pardoned them with his dying breath, but she couldn’t forgive herself.
She looked out over the lush Garden District lawn, seeking some of the answers or peace that Ginger also seemed to be looking for out the window. Instead, Gabrielle saw Hank. His long strides ate up ground as he made his way toward a bodyguard standing under a shady oak. Hands shoved in his pockets, he stopped alongside the security guy, just talking. Checking out the lay of the land, perhaps? Hank had put on a pin-striped button-down shirt with his jeans, rolled up sleeves and boat shoes. Yet he looked no less in command than he did in his uniform.
Like his father.
Ginger pressed her fingers to the corners of her eyes, drew in a bracing breath, then smiled again. “But we were talking about little Hank.”
“Little Hank?”
“What can I say?” Ginger shrugged, smiling affectionately at her stepson on the lawn. “To me, he will always be that little boy racing his Big Wheel up and down the sidewalk. He loved to be outside, on the go. He led the pack even then. But he always played fair, too fair.”
Gabrielle tore her eyes from Hank and put her focus back onto the conversation. She was reminded of her mother, the whole wonder woman, perfect mom and military wife persona that no human could hope to measure up to. “How can someone be too fair?”
Ginger leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her eyes steely blue with no holding back. She was apparently through taking the scenic route in their conversation. “He puts others before himself, sometimes to his own detriment.”
“Are you saying I’m using him?”
“No, heavens no.” She waved aside Gabrielle’s guilty fears with a manicured hand. “I’m just saying he works so hard to be the good guy, he may not be telling you where he stands. Ask him what he wants. Don’t assume. Ask, then ask again until he really talks.”
Were there questions she should be asking Hank that she wasn’t? Was it possible that Hank was only staying with her for the sake of being the good guy? He’d said it wasn’t about a debt to Kevin anymore, but about wanting to be with her. Still. Even before Ginger said anything, Gabrielle had known that Hank was struggling with boundaries.
He’d really poured his heart out to her last night, leaving them both so emotionally raw that he’d needed some distance, seeking out Max rather than returning to bed with her. Obviously, he wasn’t in the mood to share more, and quite frankly, she wasn’t sure how much more either of them could take.
And Ginger thought she should dig even deeper?
Instead of helping her, Ginger’s revelations only made her all the more afraid she wasn’t the right person for Hank. She’d been taking, taking, taking from him since he’d stepped back into her life. He deserved someone who could give back, who could break through those high walls of his and care for him, as well. With each second that passed, the possibility of a future with Hank grew more complicated, more improbable.
Ginger shoved to her feet and swept the wrinkles from her jeans. “Enough serious talk for one day. Let’s have some fun.”
“Doing what?” Gabrielle grasped the subject change with both hands, eager to move on to safer ground.
“A local boutique is bringing clothes by for us to choose from for the photo shoot.” Ginger clasped Gabrielle’s hands in her own and tugged her to her feet. “Every new mom deserves an afternoon of spa pampering.”
Eleven
Hank walked down the hall with a stealth picked up in military survival training. Although damned if he didn’t feel about fifteen sneaking around so his dad wouldn’t hear him slip into Gabrielle’s room. He hadn’t been able to steal even a few minutes alone with her since his family arrived. First his mother had abducted her all afternoon to try on dresses then supper had stretched out for hours as they alternated between subtly grilling Gabrielle and discussing the photo shoot for the next day.
Who knew his relatives had become such night owls?
This was his house, for God’s sake. Well, his rental house for a short while longer. Not that it stopped anyone from claiming a spare room. Any minor sense of family boundaries had disappeared from his life long ago. He was seriously itching over the scrutiny, more so than usual.
His father’s scrutiny dug even deeper than the prying eye of a camera lens. What if his dad was right that Gabrielle wasn’t over Kevin? What if she never got over loving and losing him?
Hank gripped the crystal doorknob outside her room. He’d hung out on the sidelines of her life once before and it had been pure hell. He didn’t think he could do it again, not after having been with her. He’d claimed her, and he couldn’t see letting her go again. The rest would have to work itself out.
He tapped once softly on Gabrielle’s door before sliding inside. Her bed was empty, the covers still undisturbed.
Because she was slumped over her desk, asleep.
How often did she work herself into the ground this way? The afternoon spent trying on dresses with his stepmom must have cut into her schedule. He locked the doors to the hall and the nursery. Anyone wanting to find her would have to knock. His dad and stepmom were good people, but type-A sorts who tended to steamroll over people “for their own good.”
Carefully, he slid his arms around her back and under her legs. Her hand slipped from the desk, her short nails sporting the light sheen of a pale pink polish. Ginger’s doing, no doubt. His stepmom was a practical woman in many ways, but she did enjoy her manicures.