Wild & Sweet (The Haven Brotherhood)

by Rhenna Morgan

  “A little, I guess.”

  She rinsed the pan and handed it over without meeting his eyes. “Your parents moved to Dallas from Brazil?”

  Wait, what? How the heck did she think... “Oh, my folks don’t live in Texas. They live in North Philly. I moved here for college. Got a scholarship to SMU.”

  A firm knock sounded on the front door.

  Gabe frowned, shut the water off, and snatched the towel from his hands. “Give me a minute.” A few seconds later, she opened the old wooden front door, and the late-evening sun slanted through the living room.

  “Hi, there. You must be Mrs. Parker.” Whoever the man was could’ve passed for a used-car ad announcer—questionable professionalism and high hype.

  “Miss Parker. And I’m not interested in selling.” Gabe tried to shut the door.

  The man held up his hand to stop her. “Miss Parker. Yes, I’m sorry about that. If you’d just give me a minute, I’ve got a client who’s very interested in your home.”

  “Them and about twenty other people who’ve sent their folks in to talk with me.” She planted one hand on her hip. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I really do. But I’m not up for selling. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever.”

  Zeke prowled up behind her and laid one hand on her shoulder, his stare locked on the too-pushy salesman. “I think she’s done.”

  Clearly, Pushy Dude hadn’t planned on a man being home, because his forehead wrinkled up like a Shar-Pei. “Are you the man of the house?”

  “I’m the man who’s telling you she’s not interested in talking.” He gripped the door and started to shut it.

  The man braced his hand on the wood and held out a business card. “Why don’t you take this just in case you change your mind? My clients are very interested in making a very lucrative offer.”

  Zeke peered down at Gabe. “You want the card?”

  “Nope.”

  “Didn’t think so.” Zeke glared at Pushy Dude. “She doesn’t want it. Time for you to go.”

  Pushy Dude lowered his hand and opened his mouth to say something else.

  “Say another word and I call the cops,” Zeke said.

  The threat worked, and Pushy Dude’s mouth snapped shut.

  Zeke closed the door, locked it and steered Gabe back to the kitchen. “That happen a lot?”

  “More than you’d believe. Every Realtor says they’ve got clients looking for land on the lake. They wanna build big retirement homes. Ours being right on the point with a straight-on view of the lake makes for a prime target.”

  She dove back into washing the dishes, though her efforts were about ten times more vigorous than they were before.

  Zeke held his silence, giving her the time to tame her emotions while the faucet filled the kitchen with the quiet drone of rushing water. If there was one thing he understood, it was anger. How fast it could light and how hard it was to put out. At least for him it was. Most of his dangerous days were behind him, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have a healthy appreciation for how fast his bad behaviors could snap back into place.

  As soon as she rinsed the suds from the sink, she shut the water off, turned, and leaned a hip against the sink. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Zeke laid the last pot aside and mirrored her pose. “You okay with me checking your ribs? We can wait until Danny’s here, but I want to make sure you’re healing right.”

  Something had happened in the silence. Putting his finger on what it was seemed about as vague as a foggy dream after waking up. Illusive and intangible, but it was there. A softening around her mouth and eyes. Caution mixed with curiosity.

  She pushed away from the sink, wiped her hands nervously on her hips, and studied the floor as though checking for crumbs. “Where do you want me?”

  Fuck, if that question didn’t punch him square to the gut. The better query was where didn’t he want her? And didn’t that make him a class-A jackass. Danny was almost a brother, and here Zeke was drawing out a checklist for all the places he’d like to tag Danny’s sister. “Wherever you’re most comfortable.”

  Still keeping her gaze averted, she padded to the living room.

  Not the location he would have picked, but at least the impersonal space might help him keep his thoughts in check. The blinds were opened only enough to let in the waning sunlight, so he strolled toward where she stood beside the couch.

  Gabe glanced at the blue-gray chenille sofa. “Should I sit or stand?”

  “Standing’s good.” He stopped just beside her, placed one hand on her sternum, and the other opposite it on her spine. “Same drill as before. I’ll squeeze, you tell me where it hurts and how much.”

  She nodded her head and he pushed. “Here, but not as bad as before.”

  Good news for sure, and she’d taken a whole lot more pressure before she cried uncle. He dug his stethoscope out of his bag and put the ear tips into place. “How’s your mobility? Moving around a little better?”

  “For most things. Laying on my side sucks. So does sneezing or coughing, but I haven’t taken the pain meds in three days.”

  “Good.” Her heartbeat was more accelerated than he’d like to hear, but he’d chalk that up to a stranger being in her house than any health issue. He moved the disc to her back. “Take a deep breath for me.”

  She did, the expanse of her lungs almost triple where they’d been the night of her injury. “You’ve been doing the breathing exercises.”

  “You told me to.” She took another long, slow inhalation, and he shifted to check the lower sounds in her lungs.

  “Your lungs sound good.” He pulled the tips out of his ears, draped the stethoscope around his neck, and shifted so he was between her and the couch. He sat on the edge. “Can you lift your arms up without too much pain?”

  She lifted both in lieu of answering, but only as high as her shoulders and even that seemed uncomfortable.

  “Hold ’em there just a second.” He lifted her tank, halting so the hem ran parallel to the edge of her bra. “Oh, gatinha.” Without so much as a blip from his conscience, he smoothed his fingertips up the side of her torso. Deep purple fanned out from the point of impact, fading into pale, ugly green. The rest of her belly was smooth and toned, her creamy skin soft and tempting, but the bruises played him. If he ever found the son of a bitch who’d done this to her, he’d give his anger free rein, an outcome that assured the bastard would be covered in much, much worse.

  Gabe shivered and sucked in a tiny hiss.

  Palming her uninjured side just above her hip, he steadied her and met her gaze. “You okay?”

  “It’s hard to breathe.”

  “With your arms up?”

  “No, when you touch me.”

  He froze, the raw fear in her soft blue eyes pinning him in place. Not frantic fear. Her gaze was too steady for that, but her pupils were dilated. Goose bumps lifted across her skin, and while she might have claimed she couldn’t breathe, her chest rose and fell in a heavy, passionate rhythm.

  “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He guided her arms back to her sides and smoothed her shirt back into place. Even with the bruise marring her smooth flesh, it was a damned shame to cover her up. He could spend hours touching her. Learning her. “You’re safe with me. I didn’t mean to make it awkward.”

  “It wasn’t awkward. It was just...well, I didn’t mean it bad.” Her face flamed a bold red, and she took a step back, smoothing her hand down her stomach as though verifying everything was in its proper place. She stared at the coffee table and tucked her hands in her pockets. “I should apologize. I was rude the other night and never thanked you. I should have.”

  “I wasn’t expecting a thank-you, and I was happy to do it.” He paused a minute, practically willing her to look at him again
. “Your brother’s a good friend. Maybe you and I just got off on the wrong foot and need to give it another go.”

  She nodded and bit her lip.

  Either her reaction had knocked her for a loop, or he’d read the situation wrong and she was afraid of him. Or, given the tremors shaking her hands, terrified would be a better word.

  A car door slammed outside.

  Gabe snapped to attention and winced, bracing one elbow close to her injured side. “That’s Danny.”

  He tried to steady her, but before he could close the distance between them, she spun away and grabbed a covered casserole from the counter.

  “I need to get some food over to Mr. Crawford.” She’d nearly made it to the front door when Danny pushed it open.

  “Hey, Sugar Bear. What’s your hurry?”

  She caught the screen door before it could close and nudged it wider with her elbow. “Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes.”

  Danny back-and-forthed his attention between Gabe trotting down the sidewalk and Zeke still shell-shocked near the couch. “What set her on fire?”

  Zeke shrugged, but kept his eyes on Gabe through the window as she padded down the street. Her blond hair swished around her shoulders with each step, and if the rough sidewalk bothered her bare feet, she didn’t show it. Everything about her screamed innocent sensuality. “Not sure.”

  Well, now, that was a crock of shit. And if Danny had walked in about two minutes earlier, he’d know exactly what the problem was. He stuffed his stethoscope back in his bag and hoped like hell Danny wouldn’t dig any further. “I’m headed over to the compound later. You wanna come by?” Since Danny wasn’t a brother yet, an invite to the ranch they called Haven on the outskirts of town was a no-go, but anyone and everyone was welcome at the compound—a damn nice spread the brotherhood owned in one of Dallas’s most elite neighborhoods—so long as they had an invite.

  Danny shut the door and nudged the blinds to one side so he could get a better view of Gabe. “Sure. Anything on the agenda?”

  “Jace found out everyone’s got the night off, so it’s poker night.”

  “Bad luck for you. You’ve got a shit poker face.” He let the blinds slide back into place and ambled to the kitchen.

  “Like I could sit still that long. I’ll probably end up whipping Knox’s ass at ‘Call of Duty.’” He headed to the door. “Give me a call when you’re headed out.”

  “Hold up.” Danny slid his skull cap off his head and scratched his forehead. “Listen, man. I wanna apologize about Gabe. If she acts funny, it’s just because being around new people is really hard for her. She’s cautious—”

  “You don’t need to apologize. She was fine. Even chit-chatted before I checked her ribs.” He motioned to the kitchen. “But if you’re worried, you can bribe me with one of those casseroles the next time I come out. I don’t know what that shit is, but it smells fantastic.”

  “Why wait ’til next time? Stay and have some now.”

  “Not so sure that’s a wise move. Gabe actually said more than two words to me this time around. Me crashing dinner might jack up my progress. You don’t surprise a woman with extra headcount and no warning. Even I know that.”

  Danny smiled huge and smacked Zeke on the back. “You don’t get it. There’s no such thing as surprising Gabe when it comes to dinner. She cooks for a damned army. That’s why she feeds the whole neighborhood.”

  “But she just took a whole casserole to the guy down the street.”

  “Yeah, that’s nothing. Check this out.” He rambled into the kitchen, opened the oven door, and pulled out the top rack. “Now do you get what I mean?”

  Boy, did he. Not one, but two big casserole dishes sat side-by-side, a thick layer of golden, bubbling cheese on top of each. “Man, that looks good.”

  “Tastes even better.” He slid the rack back in place and shut the oven door. “So, you staying for dinner or what?”

  It was tempting. So much so, he halfway wondered if that wasn’t exactly why he should head out now and meet up with Danny later. Then again, it was a prime opportunity to learn more about Gabe and maybe rattle those walls of hers a little more.

  The last rays of sun bathed the world outside in a rich gold, and the sidewalk Gabe had disappeared down stood empty. He could still picture her, though, hustling down the street way faster than she needed to. A woman running from something while trying not to show it.

  “Yeah, man,” he said. “I’ll stay.”

  * * *

  Gabe meandered through the quiet neighborhood, her pace heading back to her house about half what she’d used to deliver Mr. Crawford’s casserole. Twenty-five minutes she’d been gone with a whole lot of inane, neighborly chatter in between, and she still couldn’t shake her mortification. On its own, admitting to Zeke she couldn’t breathe wouldn’t have been so bad. Especially if she’d chalked it up to discomfort. But nooo. She had to open her lamebrain mouth and admit it was his touch that made her wonky.

  Not exactly your smoothest move.

  What he meant by “I didn’t mean to make it awkward” was you’re not his type.

  You’re a mechanic. He’s a doctor. That combination will never happen.

  The fresh deluge of thoughts pummeled through her head, casting fresh bruises against her already battered confidence. She shook them off and focused on the world around her.

  Beneath her bare feet, the sidewalk still held a hint of warmth, but the air ghosting around her shoulders promised an early spring-chilled night. If it weren’t so late in the evening, half the retired couples would be out on their porches, sipping sweet tea and waving at her as she made her way home, but by now most of them were settling onto their couches for their favorite Thursday television shows. She loved that about her neighborhood. The simplicity of it. The quietness and peace in an otherwise supercharged world.

  Thank God, Danny had saved their home. The last thing she’d expected when the bank advised how far behind their dad was on payments was for Danny to step up and offer his savings so they could keep it. And he hadn’t just paid off the back mortgage payments, but the remaining note.

  Her easy strides slowed to a crawl. Her dad had died a little over two years ago, about the same time he’d said he met Zeke. Danny had said the cash came from savings earned on his custom jobs, but something about his claim never sat right.

  You saw Zeke’s clinic. Clearly his friends have lots of money.

  Money that could lure Danny closer.

  Away from you.

  Upping her stride, Gabe checked her watch and hustled around the final curve to her house. She wouldn’t listen to the negative thoughts. Not this time. Danny believed in his friends. Rehashing the past earned her nothing right now. Besides, in a few more minutes her casseroles would be done. Trusting Danny to take them out when the timer went off was always a gamble. The last time she’d assumed he would brave oven mitts, he’d turned off the ringing timer and promptly gotten sidetracked by sports replays.

  The setting sun glinted off Zeke’s cherry-red Camaro in front of her house and jolted her heart back to where it had been when she’d beelined out the front door. She paused and studied the street behind her. She’d already maxed out on Mr. Crawford’s conversational skills. Mr. Yates’s choice of programming always leaned toward the History Channel, which made her nod off. Mr. and Mrs. Malone had decent taste in shows, but it seemed kind of weird hanging with a married couple this late on a Thursday night.

  Next to her house, Mrs. Wallaby’s house sat empty. She could hide there until Zeke left. Of course, then her casseroles stood a strong chance of turning into mini bonfires.

  “Not everyone is Mom.”

  Danny was right. Much as she hated to admit it, he’d plucked a nerve last night when he said she kept people at bay on purpose. No matter how much
the idea of being around his friends scared her, or how much Zeke left her breathless, they were important to Danny.

  She squared her shoulders and climbed the stairs. How hard could it be to sit and listen to them do their thing? Danny hadn’t asked her to be anyone’s best friend, just to be polite.

  The living room was empty, but a draft whispered across her skin, the sound of low, masculine voices and the lake’s scent mingled with it. Another step forward brought the kitchen and sliding glass door to the back patio into view. Sure enough, there they were. Danny kicked back in an Adirondack chair with his feet kicked up on the matching ottoman, beer in hand, and Zeke a mirror image beside him.

  A bump and glide against her shins jarred her attention.

  Meow.

  “You waiting for me, handsome?” She crouched and accepted Toothless’s greeting with a scratch behind his ears. He rubbed his cheek against her leg and offered up a deep, rumbling purr. “Well, at least someone doesn’t think I’m a dork.”

  The metal-on-metal scrape of the screen door sounded just as the oven timer buzzed.

  “Hey, Gabe.” Danny glanced at the oven like he’d never heard the annoying ringer before then jerked his head toward Zeke. “Zeke’s staying for dinner.”

  “Okay.” She killed the timer and dug her oven mitts out of the drawer, thankful her response had come out somewhat even keel.

  Danny ambled to the fridge behind her. “Zeke, you need a fresh one?”

  “I’m good.”

  Making sure Danny had cleared out of her way first, she bent to open the oven door and jerked upright, fumbling the oven mitts as she pressed both hands to her sides. “Damn it.”

  Zeke shot forward, steadying her with his strong hands on each shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I just forgot to brace first.”

  His grin went a long way toward numbing the pain, the flutters it stirred low in her belly twice as powerful as the lingering jolt from her ribs. He stooped before she could fully enjoy the view, retrieved her oven mitts and pulled the casseroles out of the oven. “It looks great. Lasagna?”