He clasped her shoulder, securing his grip on the car seat still in his other hand. “Gabrielle doesn’t have to worry about a thing. She can stay with me.”
“I’ll check in to a hotel,” she said tightly, stubborn to the end.
“Do you really want your son exposed to the germs of a generic hotel room?” He asked, swinging the car seat slowly to lull the restless baby.
“Since when did you become a germaphobe?” She perched her hands on her hips, cinching in her simple black cotton sheathe. “I distinctly recall you bragging about eating bugs in survival training.”
“I’m not an infant facing surgery.”
“Are you trying to make me cry?”
“I’m trying to take care of you, damn it!”
Leonie cleared her throat.
Damn. He’d forgotten she was there, forgotten they were standing in the middle of a busy street.
“Gabrielle, sweetie—” Leonie hooked an arm with her “—the hotels, motels, everything’s full because of Mardi Gras.”
Deflating, Gabrielle leaned back against the wrought-iron gate. “Of course they are. I should have thought of that myself. What are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry about me. Just focus on Max,” the older woman said, a helluva lot more subtle in exerting pressure than he’d been.
Resignation mingled with frustration on Gabrielle’s weary but so damn gorgeous face. “But Hank, aren’t you staying in one of those germy hotels?”
“Leonie can have my room.” He stifled a wince since he’d actually already checked out of the place. But he could find somewhere in this overbooked town. There were always rooms set aside for someone with the right amount of money. He pulled out his phone. “Trust me. I can handle this. By the time you feed the kid and pack your suitcase, I’ll have us in a house and your friend Leonie will be taken care of, as well.”
Okay, so technically, he already had the house, but he didn’t want to push his luck by letting her know he’d been working toward this victory since last night.
She eyed him suspiciously, hitching the diaper bag up higher on her shoulder. “Did you have someone sabotage the plumbing?”
“I would have if I’d needed to.” Might as well give her the truth on that. “But fate has been kind to me today.”
Still, her eyebrows stayed pinched together. She wasn’t buying the ease of his plan for a second.
“Fine. You’ve got me.” He whipped off his aviators and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I have a place to stay here. I arranged it last night, and yes, I was hoping even then that you would stay there for the duration of Max’s recovery. The plumbing issue just makes the decision a no-brainer for you.”
Gabrielle shoved away from the gate, fished out her keys and mumbled, “It’s not my brain I’m worried about.”
Five
Back in Hank’s Escalade an hour later, Gabrielle wished everything in her life was as easy to decide as where to spend tonight. With her son’s surgery scheduled for tomorrow, staying with Hank for the evening truly was a no-brainer.
After speaking to Leonie, she had gone upstairs to pack her things and nurse her son while Hank carried her bags and baby gear to the car. Thank goodness the damage to her place had been minimal. Clean up would be easy and her most treasured items were safe—her scrapbooks and photos.
Hank had made a couple of trips up and down the stairs lugging her stuff. Packing for tonight at Hank’s place, plus the two-day hospital stay hadn’t been easy. Where would she go afterward? What would she do? She would face that when the time came. For now, she could only think of getting through tomorrow’s operation. Just thinking of her son going into the operating room had her stomach in turmoil, fears and tears bubbling to the surface.
That had to be the reason her feelings were so out of control around Hank. Once she had the procedure finished and her son healthy, her mind would clear. She would be rational again.
Hank drove through the Garden District and she settled deeper into her seat, letting the beauty soothe her ragged nerves. She hadn’t bothered to ask Hank where they were going. Undoubtedly, they would have to drive for a while to reach anything available. She refused to think of her soaked apartment and the damage. She would sort that out with insurance later.
Passing historic home after home, they drove farther away from her apartment, slower and slower as if Hank sensed the peace she drew from soaking in their surroundings. Since Max was born, there hadn’t been time to indulge in sightseeing tours. Even when she took her son for walks in his stroller, she was usually dead on her feet.
Like now, and it wasn’t even suppertime yet.
Maybe she should ask Hank to swing into a drive-through on the way since she’d forgotten to eat breakfast. She looked over at him just as he turned the steering wheel, except he was pulling into a driveway not onto a road.
“Hank?” She sat up straighter.
A narrow, freshly paved driveway stretched beside a pink stucco house with metal balconies—Italianate style—all restored to former magnificence. The yard, while not huge, was a large plot in an area where land was at a premium. The lawn and garden did justice to its Garden District address. She could only imagine what the place would be like in the summer.
When she’d dreamed of coming to New Orleans for graduate school, this was just the sort of place she’d envisioned visiting, maybe having lunch or treating herself to a night at a bed-and-breakfast. As a military brat with an American dad and German mom, she’d grown up all around the world, nowhere ever feeling like home.
New Orleans oozed with history, roots.
“Is this a bed-and-breakfast?” She rested a hand on Hank’s arm, then pulled back quickly. “What a great idea, more comfortable, like a home. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”
“It’s not a bed-and-breakfast.” He steered around back to an empty parking area with a three-car garage. “It’s a vacation rental home.”
“I don’t remember seeing a Realtor’s sign.” She looked over her shoulder but the street had disappeared from sight as he stopped at the back door.
“The owners aren’t the type to advertise.” He shut off the SUV. “They work through a Realtor who sets up rentals for people who need space and privacy. Politicians. Actors.”
“This is, uh—” She settled on “—thoughtful and a little overwhelming.”
“Don’t sweat this.” He hooked an elbow on the steering wheel. “Really. This is nothing for me. It was easy, and I won’t even notice the expense. So don’t give me credit I don’t deserve.”
She looked at his casual wear and his old-school aviators. She’d allowed herself to be distracted from who he was. “I forget about your family sometimes.”
“Thank you.” Smiling, he swept off his shades. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is. But this—” she gestured to the yard, the no-kidding mansion— “is really too much.”
“It’s already done, Gabrielle. I have a week and a half left on my leave time, and I’ve already arranged to spend it in this house.” He spread his arms, sunglasses dangling from his fingers. “So either you walk inside with me, or I’m stuck staying in there all alone for a week and a half, which sounds like an awful waste.”
Shaking her head, she reached for the door. “Why do you keep making it sound like I’m doing you a favor when it’s obviously the other way around?”
He leaned back and put his shades on again, pulling away in more ways than just physically. “Call it survivor’s guilt. It’s a real bitch.”
What a sad situation they were both in here, trying to do right by Max and Kevin even when all these reminders of the past had to be flaying him raw inside, too. She blinked away tears and squeezed his hand.
“That it is,” she whispered. “That it is.”
* * *
An hour later, Gabrielle set Max’s car seat on the floor and sagged back against the door to her temporary bedroom. Although the word bedroom seemed sorely inadequate to describe the luxurious quarters. Not a modern suite, per se, as the integrity of the old home had been maintained.
Grateful for some space to regroup before she faced Hank again, she carried Max’s car seat deeper into the room and placed it at the foot of the sleigh bed. The large queen-size frame filled the space between two floor-to-ceiling windows. Slate-blue linens with splashes of yellow in the bolsters called to her to sneak a nap.
A fat yellow love seat was tucked in a nook. Persian rugs stretched over refinished hardwood floors that still bore the marks of past use. The beauty of the place was in how the imperfections were maintained so the home looked restored rather than gutted.
From what she’d seen, the rest of the house sported more of a skeleton set-up of basic furniture, the dining room with an antique table and sideboard with a gilded mirror on the wall. The living room was accented with a sofa and a couple of wingback chairs, along with sconces on the carved mantel. Mammoth windows, with airy curtains that pooled on the floor, added a whisper of color here and there to the otherwise whitewashed walls.
But beyond that, it was clear Hank had ordered additional items just for this visit.
A connecting door was open to the nursery, completely decked out in toile and stripes—black, white and gray—the contrasting colors perfect for a baby, yet in keeping with the historic home.
Beyond just the decor, the practical angles had been addressed, as well—diapers, sleepers, baby blankets and a monitor.
A mahogany end table—by the love seat—was actually a mini-fridge with a crystal bowl of fruit on top. She opened the small refrigerator to find—of course—bottled water, juice and milk.
When they’d hung out before, with Kevin, she’d known Hank came from a wealthy family, but he never flaunted his money. And he’d certainly never mentioned his savvy investment in a computer games venture. So this lavish display caught her off guard.
It also touched her.
Hank had given her time to unpack and then they planned to meet for supper. He’d ordered out and said they could dine on the side lanai. She had to admit, she welcomed the chance to soak up every wonderful detail of this dream home in her dream city.
With all Hank’s help, she actually had time to take a more leisurely bath than the rushed shower she’d snagged in the morning.
She peeked into the bathroom and nearly groaned in ecstasy. Her gaze zipped right past the polished pewter-and-crystal fixtures to the deep claw-footed tub that lent an air of history, while spa jets inside the tub shouted pure modern decadence. She whipped her shirt over her head and ditched the rest of her clothes faster than she could think Jacuzzi—
Her cell phone chimed from her bedroom.
“Damn it,” she whispered, then all but kicked herself. Before long, Max would be parroting everything she said.
She grabbed a thick, fluffy towel and wrapped it around herself on the run back into her bedroom. She couldn’t afford to ignore ringing. What if it was a message from the hospital or Max’s doctor?