by JoAnn Ross
Before he could answer, the busser arrived to take away the oyster plate and was immediately followed by the server, bringing their meal.
“I have a suggestion,” he said after declaring the gumbo the best he’d ever tasted. Better than any he’d had in New York or New Orleans.
She took a bite of the étouffée and nearly moaned, but held back because she didn’t want to sound like a minor league version of Meg Ryan’s fake restaurant orgasm. “Okay, what is it?”
“Just talking about The Street isn’t helping with my Zen. Since I’m in a beautiful place, with a beautiful woman, eating food that tastes as good as it looks, what would you say to tabling the business planning for a day or two, since it’s not something we can put together all that fast anyway.”
All day she’d told herself that this was merely a working dinner. But now that she was here, sitting across the small table from him, close enough that if she just stretched her leg a bit, it would be touching his, it was beginning to feel more and more like a date.
And Chelsea was okay with that. Mostly.
“How about you tell me the basics for your idea and that way I can get a handle on what you’re suggesting. The library’s staff is already limited.”
“That’s why you’re going to need a new team. I’d suggest getting the local business owners, city council, whatever county government officials would be suited for the work, and other nonprofits on board. You’ll need to begin with a chairperson—someone to coordinate the effort. I know your initial impulse is this is something you should do. But you need to think of the project like a business. Your key job is to keep an eye on the big picture, while the other people are answerable to that chairperson. Or you’ll have everyone taking up all your time with unnecessary stuff that can be dealt with lower down the chain.”
She liked that he hadn’t insisted on entirely changing the topic. Wizards of Wall Street were undoubtedly accustomed to getting their way. “Okay. You’re right. I’m a control freak. But...you know your Zen project?”
“Sure.”
“That’s how I am about surrendering control. I’m a work in progress.”
He took hold of her hand, turning it over, and traced an infinity design on her palm. The blisters had, fortunately, turned out to be only hot spots and there were times today when she’d forgotten all about them. Until now, when an entirely different type of heat seeped into her blood. “You did a pretty good impression of surrendering control the other night,” he reminded her.
His low, husky voice, along with the memory, had the rest of her warming. After dithering for days, Chelsea decided that she had two choices. She could spend the rest of her life looking back with regrets and wondering “what if.”
Or she could take a leap into the unknown, only to find out that what she was feeling was merely due to that initial jolt of attraction. How could that be a bad thing since there’d be no need for regrets, because she’d have more fantastic sex in the meantime?
Looking at it that way, there was only one choice: leap.
“It wasn’t an imitation. And perhaps next time we could see how well you can pull it off,” she suggested from beneath her lashes in the same way Hepburn had outrageously flirted with Grant. Something she’d never, ever done before.
And from the way his eyes had darkened with emotion, she must have pulled it off. “You’re on,” he said.
When she was tempted to leap across the table, she dragged her unruly mind back to the book club proposal. “What’s next?” she asked, pulling out her planner and turning to a blank page in the back.
“Here.” Obviously stifling a sigh, he reached down beside his chair, retrieved a portfolio that some alligator had given its life for and pulled a piece of paper from it. “I printed out a copy.”
“That’s very efficient.” Of course it was. It’s what he did for a living.
“Thank you. As you can see, I’m suggesting a fund-raiser to identify and collect local funds.”
“I know a county auditor. He’d probably be perfect. He’s very efficient, although a bit stodgy.”
“All the better. He’s less likely to run off to Rio with the funds.”
She laughed, remembering her seemingly centuries-long date. “No, Duane would definitely not do anything that involves foreign food.” Some men were meat and potatoes guys, the meat usually meaning a steak. Or ribs. Duane had been a meat loaf and mashed potatoes man.
“Next, a person to plan where and how to enroll the children, oversee the registration, create and distribute brochures and create marketing plans.”
“I’m close friends with the college’s marketing director who volunteers at the library. She’d do it in a heartbeat.”
“Terrific. Then you’ll need someone to enter the new registrations, accept pending online registrations and update addresses.”
“That person shouldn’t be hard to find. Maybe a student from the college. What else?”
“Community outreach to collaborate with other local organizations and coalitions.”
“Again, Lily from the college would be great. And perhaps your father would help us reach out, being that he’s mayor.”
“He and Mom would both be in. And finally, you’ll need family engagement, which means coming up with ways to encourage parents to better engage their children through books and to read more often.”
“We’re already doing that at the library. Mrs. Henderson did it for years before I took over. I’m firmly convinced that’s why Salish County always ranks so high on state reading comprehension tests.”
“Sounds as if you’re off to a good start.”
“You make it sound, well, not easy, exactly, but doable.”
In the boat shop, she’d seen a craftsman who cared about his work. While he’d been making her dinner, bringing her chicken soup and watching that old movie with her, she could see him as Sarah Mannion’s son. But now she was looking into the steely eyes of a Wall Street Master of the Universe.
“Aiden told me that one of the mottos Marines live by is that failure to plan is a plan for failure,” he said. “But failure is not an option. So, yeah, we’re going to make it work and it’s going to be great.”
If anyone else had told her that, she’d have reason to doubt him. But with all Gabriel’s success, she doubted that he was familiar with failure.
“Well, that’s encouraging and you’ve given me a lot to think about.” But for now, sitting here with a gorgeous man on a patio that reminded her of a secret garden, she was going to put the topic aside, as he’d suggested, relax and enjoy the evening.
She was surprised once again at how easily the conversation flowed between them. She told him of the other excursions the reading adventurers would be taking around town and he told her more about the faering, and how Jarle had advised him to name the boat Freya.
“The daughter of the god Njord, and the goddess of love and beauty,” she said.
He lifted the bottle in a salute. “It’s true. You librarians really are the original Google.”
“I can’t remember if I told you—” her mind had been fogged by pheromones during her visit to the boat shop “—but we’re studying the Scandinavians during the adventure. So I bought a book on Norse myths. Freya’s beautiful home was called ‘field of men’ because, although her husband had gone missing, it was always thronged with merry men.”
“Sounds like she was the party girl of goddesses.”
“She supposedly was always given her choice of captured warriors, with the remainder being sent to Odin. She also reportedly slept with all gods and elves, which I’ve no intention of sharing with the kids. But she did miss her husband. Every night she’d weep herself to sleep, but she was so lovely, her tears were pure gold.”
“Jarle also mentioned that she’s the goddess of war and death.”
“I read tha
t in a few papers about her, but others don’t mention it. Which doesn’t really matter since I’d leave that part out, too, because war and death aren’t exactly child summertime fun topics.”
“Perhaps men warred over Freya. And thus the deaths.” He told her Jarle’s claim about Norse blood being passionate.
“I normally think of them as having a cooler blood, but the bloody myths and Vikings disprove the stereotype, so wars for love could be a possibility. If you believe classical epics, the Trojan War was waged over Helen of Sparta’s abduction to Troy.” She took another sip of wine and tried not to imagine Gabriel abducting her. Right now.
“Yet, it’s difficult to take them as historic fact since so many of the main characters in the tales are direct offspring of gods. Helen, after all, was fathered by Zeus, who disguised himself as a swan and raped her mother. While long sieges were historically recorded in those days, it’s hard to buy the idea of wars between various competing gods...
“But I digress. Yet again. So, getting back on topic, are you going to name the faering that?”
“Your side trips through conversations are one of my favorite things about you,” he surprised her by saying. Before she could come up with a response, he continued as if he hadn’t complimented her for the very same thing she’d been beating herself up over. “I haven’t decided yet. I’m not keeping her, so I’ll probably leave it up to the new owner.”
“That’s sort of sad that you’re going to spend the entire summer building a boat you’re never going to sail.”
“I’ll give her a test run. Then donate her to Welcome Home to auction off as a fund-raiser.”
“That’s very generous.” And less surprising than it would have been only a few days ago. They’d just finished their meal when the server came to clear the plates and ask if they’d like dessert. Before either could answer, Chelsea’s phone chimed. She frowned as she noticed the caller ID. A call from the police was never a good thing.
“Aiden?”
“Yeah,” Aiden said. “About those girls you asked me to look into, I thought you’d like to know that the fire department was called to the address.”
“Oh, no! Do you have any more information than that?”
“Not yet. The truck just rolled. I’m headed there now and will keep you updated.”
“I’m on my way.” She hit End, stood up and grabbed her purse. “I’m sorry, Gabriel, but I have to go. There are these girls...Hannah and Hailey, they’re foster children who stay at the library every afternoon, and I bring them treats. Which you so don’t need to know.” In her panic she was rambling again. “A neighbor told me they were at the coast, but Aiden just called to tell me that the fire department is on the way to the house.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“You’re white as a sheet and you’re shaking. And you’ve had wine.”
“You had a beer.”
“Yeah. But I outweigh you by probably sixty pounds. And I’m not the one with the shaky hands.” He pulled his wallet from his jeans pocket, took out some bills and tossed them on the table. “Sorry,” he told the server. “But an emergency has come up. Please tell Bastien that the meal was excellent. One of my best ever.”
“I’ll tell him.” The server, a woman who looked to be in her forties, sent Chelsea a look filled with sympathy. “Good luck, hon.”
While she appreciated the sentiment, Chelsea didn’t answer because she was already racing through the restaurant.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“IT’LL BE OKAY,” Gabe told her as they drove to the address Chelsea had given him.
“You have no way of knowing that.” She was squeezing her hands together so tightly her knuckles were white.
“No,” he admitted. “I don’t. But let’s try to stay positive until we have some more facts.”
“People die.” Her voice was even shakier than her hands. “Innocent children die.”
Damn. While anyone would be concerned, he thought of what she’d told him about her sister and realized that for her, little girls dying was not a hypothetical.
“I went by the house after work.” She was leaning forward toward the dash, as if she could get them there faster. “I was concerned, because they always come to the library after school, and normally school should be out for the summer. But it’s a snow makeup day. Damn! Three lights in this stupid town and this one has to turn red.”
“I’d run it,” he said. “But there’s all the traffic leaving the theater parking lot.” The Secret Life of Pets appeared to have filled the late 1920s art deco building. Which, Gabe figured, made sense since it sounded like a movie you could take kids to. Not that he knew a damn thing about kids, but he remembered his parents being pretty choosy which movies he and his brothers and sister could see.
“I should have asked more questions when the neighbor told me that they were probably at the coast. Dammit, I should have called social services.”
He put his right hand on her leg. Not to seduce, but to calm. “The office would have been closed.”
“Don’t you dare be reasonable right now,” she snapped. But did not, he noted as the light finally turned green again, knock his hand away. “I could have called Aiden. He’d have a way of contacting someone. Or I could have knocked on more doors. I should have done something!”
“Sounds as if you’ve already done more than most people would.”
“But still not enough.” She drew in a deep breath. Let it out. Drew in another. Let it out. Gabe recognized it as one of the anxiety-easing exercises listed in the pamphlet he’d received when he was discharged from the hospital. “Thank you,” she said quietly. She may not have made it all the way to Zen, but she sounded calmer. “For driving me. For being with me.”
“Happy to,” he said. Then inwardly cringed. “Not actually happy, but—”
“I know what you mean,” she said as she spotted a red pumper truck parked in front of a small house, its engine running. Aiden’s black Honeymoon Harbor police SUV was parked behind it.
“Wait until I stop to jump out.” He grabbed her arm when she went to open the door. “It won’t help anyone if you fall and break your leg.”
Not wanting to get in the way of the firefighters, who were coming out of the house dressed in full turnout gear, but with their helmets off, he pulled over to the other side of the road and parked while she was taking off those sexy heels she’d sashayed into the restaurant on. “Okay.”
As she ran barefoot across the street, Aiden, who was talking to one of the firemen, spotted her and headed toward them. Although he raised a brow and gave Gabriel a questioning look, he didn’t ask what the two of them were doing together. And why she was all fancied up, but without shoes. “They’re okay,” he assured Chelsea.
“Where are they?” She grabbed his arm. “I need to see them.”
“Flynn Farraday—he’s the fire chief who’s new since you left,” he told Gabe, “says they’re next door. It wasn’t anything major. The house is old and the microwave shorted out and filled the place with smoke. The neighbor was walking her dog, heard the detector blaring and called 911 at the same time that the older girl did. She took the kids home with her.”
“I need to see them,” she repeated.
“It’s fine with me.”
“What about the foster mother? Is she there, too?”
“No sign of her. Flynn said the kids were on their own. The older one—”
“Hannah.”
“Okay. Anyway, she was nuking some S’mores when the thing shorted, smoke came billowing out and set off the alarm. She got her little sister out right away.”
“Of course she did,” Chelsea said. “She’s a big sister.”
It would have been impossible to have missed her having to push that second part past the huge lump that appea
red to have settled in her throat. Gabe wanted to assure her that she hadn’t been responsible for keeping her sister alive, but this was neither the time nor the place. So, instead, he merely put his hand on her lower back. “Let’s go check on them.”
Just as he didn’t know anything about kids, Gabe had no way of guessing how old the two girls were. One was obviously older than the other. Her lips were pulled into a tight line, while the little one was holding a stuffed dragon tight against her bony chest.
“Hi, Ms. Prescott,” she said, seeming none the worse for the experience. “That’s a really pretty dress. Like what a princess would wear. Pink is my favorite color.” She took a breath. “We almost had a fire. The alarm went off and there was a lot of smoke, and Hannah made me go outside. Then Mrs. Lawler brought us over here. And gave us chocolate chip cookies.”
“I baked today,” the elderly woman, who appeared to be about Gabe’s grandmother’s age, said. “There’s a funeral at St. Peter’s tomorrow and Lillian Henderson and I bake for the lunches. I always put an extra amount of love into them to hopefully make someone’s very sad day a little bit better.”
“I could taste the love!” dragon girl said.
Her older sister had not yet said a word. Just stood there, one hand protectively on her sister’s shoulder.
“Are you both all right?” When Chelsea bent and gave the little one a hug, thin arms went around her neck and clung.
“We’re okay. I didn’t do anything,” the older one said defensively. “I just turned on the microwave the way I do every night.”
He could tell that captured Chelsea’s attention. She glanced up at Aiden, who gave a slight shake of his head.
“An electrical wire shorted out,” Aiden said. “It would have happened to anyone.”
Gabe had a feeling it was the first time the girl—Hannah, he remembered—noticed Aiden, because the color suddenly drained from her face. As he watched, she straightened her shoulders and folded her arms. Because of his uniform?