by Kaitlyn Rice
“I’m not sure I understand any of it,” Josie said. “Why wouldn’t Mother have told us? Told me.”
“I’d guess she was embarrassed,” Callie said. “Maybe even ashamed, as much as Mama could feel shame. And I want to believe that she wanted you to feel as much a part of the family as any of us. You are, of course. As much family as me or Isabel. Please believe that.”
“I’m not even your whole sister.”
“Shhh! Josie. Think about it,” Callie said. “Think about the way I feel about Luke. The way Lilly and Luke are, together.”
Her sister was right, Josie realized. Luke was Callie’s child through love. Ethan had fathered him, but Callie had been unable to conceive. She’d tried a lot of things, and had eventually used an egg donor. In the four years between babies, infertility researchers had advanced the science enough that Callie had been able to get pregnant naturally the last time.
Lilly had Callie’s blond hair and fair complexion, while Luke was a miniature Ethan. Yet it was obvious that Callie loved Luke as much as Lilly. And baby Lilly lit up around her brother. She probably always would.
Perhaps this new knowledge didn’t have to change Josie’s entire view of the world. Luke was as much Callie’s child as Lilly was, even if the biological tie was missing. Perhaps Josie could view her situation in the same way.
“You okay?” Callie asked softly.
Josie chuckled again, a wild, crazy sound to match her mood. This news was just another twist in a world that had felt completely out of whack for a while now. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “Sometime.”
“What would help you feel better?” Callie asked. “Can I help?”
Callie had enough going on in her own life. Lilly hadn’t had another episode since last Saturday, but Callie and Ethan hated the thought of their daughter remaining in a drug-fogged state. They were exhausting themselves, searching for answers.
It had been great of them to come to Josie’s lasagna dinner. It was wonderful of Callie to focus on Josie now, even for a moment.
“I know what won’t help me feel better,” Josie said.
Callie frowned the question.
“I don’t want to go into that living room to visit politely with Rick Blume. And I don’t want to hear any more explanations for his neglect of any of us. Not today.”
Josie would get acquainted with Rick Blume, if only because he was her sisters’ father. Callie and Isabel would decide how much or how little to include him in their lives, and Josie would be gracious.
Just not today.
“I’d like to get away from here for a while. Do you mind if I leave you here with him?” Josie nodded toward the living room, where Rick waited with Isabel. “Though it doesn’t seem fair for me to impose his presence on you, and then leave.”
“I understand why you need to go. And I’m glad you contacted Rick. I think we’ll all eventually be glad we met him.”
“Hope so.” Josie grabbed her truck keys and driver’s license from her catchall drawer, then pulled her sweater from the back of her chair.
“What are you going to do now, Josie?”
“Escape. Drive. Think.” Josie struggled to put on the sweater. “I’m not really sure.”
Callie helped Josie find her second sleeve. “Okay. Just…well, whatever you do, remember we’re still your family—me and Ethan, Izzy and Trevor, the kids. We all love you as much as ever.”
And she loved them, perhaps more than ever.
But right now, she craved a comfort none of them could give her.
Chapter Seven
Ignoring the scrape of a branch against the window, Gabe squinted down at the old beech hand plane he’d found at an auction. He wiped away a thin layer of unidentifiable gunk, then dropped the rag to study the fine old tool.
He’d bought the plane with a box of miscellaneous tools this autumn, and he’d been itching to sort through the collection for weeks.
There was that sound again. It was more a ping than a scratch, as if it was beginning to sleet. Gabe glanced out the second-story bedroom window. It was clear outside, but he knew it was growing colder. He’d framed in a couple of bedrooms on the Kramer job today, and every time he’d had to go out to grab more wood, he’d noticed a temperature drop.
Okay. That sound was too systematic to be the wind. Either some squirrel had developed great aim and was trying to lure him outside, or someone was out there. Gabe set the plane aside and strode to the window.
Josie was in the drive, peering up at the lit window. She had her arms wrapped around her chest, she was clutching something bright orange and she was bouncing.
She must have been out there awhile.
Gabe pointed toward the back door.
As he left the room and rushed down the stairs, he wondered about what might have brought her here. Tonight was her big dinner with Rick Blume, Gabe was certain. He wouldn’t have confused the dates. She’d been frantically busy with preparations, and wound up a little tighter every time he’d called her.
On his way through the hallway to the back door, he glanced at the grandfather clock in the foyer. It was just after seven o’clock. She and her family would barely have finished their dinner.
After he’d yanked the door open and motioned her inside, he asked, “Don’t you have a houseful of guests?”
She handed him the orange thing—his plastic-wrapped newspaper—and instead of answering said, “Why’s this still out there?”
He dropped it on a hall table. “Because I worked all day and came home intent on eating something and working upstairs.”
“Your door was locked.”
“You have a key.”
She glared at him, her mouth set in a stubborn line and her eyes huge. If Gabe guessed correctly, Josie was sitting on an overabundance of emotions.
Blast it, he wanted to kiss away her upset. Make her forget whatever had happened at her dinner and think about him. About how things had shifted between them.
Didn’t she realize how important that was?
“I forgot to bring my key,” she said in a voice that was calmer now. “You afraid of the boogeyman or something?”
He was glad to hear that she had her sense of humor, even if she wasn’t ready to talk. “I locked the door because I wasn’t planning on going out again.”
“It’s 7:10.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“You calling it a night at 7:10?”
Josie might be maturing, but sometimes their age difference still gaped. She’d swear that now was prime time to get out in the world. Gabe loved these quiet evenings, when all he had to do was putter.
And Josie knew that. “I’ve been busy upstairs.”
“Doing what?”
“Cleaning some auction items.”
“Can I help?”
Oh, yeah. She was in another funk. Not ready to talk, but needing his company. “Only if you answer me this, Josie. Did your guests leave?”
“Beats me.”
As if her retort explained her presence here, Josie walked past him into his mudroom. After shrugging out of the sweater that couldn’t have been warm enough, she draped it over a wall peg and continued inside. “You up in the granny room?”
“I am.”
Gabe lived here alone, about three miles north of Augusta in a too-large house with a back patio overlooking the vast Kansas sunsets. When he’d given Josie her first tour of his place, she’d named the rooms according to how she thought they’d be used by the next owners.
Although she claimed that he bought and sold houses as fast as he bought and sold cars, he’d moved only twice in the past four years. Someday when he found the time, he’d build his dream home and stay.
Josie had dubbed his biggest spare the granny room because of the ancient, pink-rosebud wallpaper and because the smaller, blue-painted room next to it would work well as a nursery. Gabe had left those rooms as he’d found them, but he’d had Josie help him redo a too frilly master bedroom and bath. Th
ey’d stripped the wallpaper and slapped on deep red paint. They’d installed new, masculine fixtures. Gabe had also moved a portion of the bedroom wall to enlarge an inadequate shower enclosure, and Josie had found him a black claw-foot tub that would easily fit two.
While they’d worked, Josie had begun referring to his bathroom as the Sin Suite. The trouble was, Josie had always coveted that bathtub. If he invited a woman into it, he’d feel as if he was cheating. No sins had been executed there.
Even now as Gabe followed Josie upstairs, he fought an image of her turning the wrong way, entering that very room to christen the tub in more ways than one.
After their kiss—their first real kiss—the idea wasn’t inconceivable. But she was obviously confused about things. He wouldn’t push.
Josie veered right, entering the granny room. Immediately, she claimed the folding chair he’d been using. Picking up an antique handsaw he’d left on a bench, she said, “What do you use to clean this?”
Gabe handed her a bottle of mineral spirits and a rag. He pulled an old stool from the closet, planted it across the bench from Josie, then sat and returned his attention to the hand plane. She’d talk when she was ready.
Kiss when she was ready, too.
She cleared her throat, her fingers poised on the cap of the bottle. “Why on earth don’t you do this out in your garage?” she asked.
He glanced up. “Cold out there.”
“Then I guess you’re planning on recarpeting in here,” she said. “Hope Granny won’t mind if I ruin the mauve flowers.”
He didn’t smile. Josie hadn’t managed to find humor in her own quip. “Just be careful.”
She started working. Ten minutes later, she dropped the newly cleaned saw on the bench and looked at Gabe. “He’s not my dad.”
She’d sounded so matter-of-fact. Perhaps he’d heard her wrong. “I beg your pardon?”
“Rick Blume. He said I couldn’t be his daughter.”
Her words had been dully spoken, her face expressionless except for a fierce little thrust of her chin. Poor stubborn, sweet kid.
Gabe set down the plane between them and stepped around the bench to pull her into his embrace. She fit in his arms as if made for them. If he’d denied that possibility before, he couldn’t now.
“He said my mother went into town one day just to get pregnant.” Josie’s voice was muffled against his shoulder. “He left because she was pregnant with another man’s child. I’m not his kid.”
Damn it, the rumors had been true.
Right now, Gabe felt as if he had been the one to hurt Josie. He’d suspected the possibility that she wasn’t Rick’s child, and he hadn’t warned her. He’d prayed it wasn’t true. Or, more accurately, he’d prayed that she’d never find out, one way or another.
Now the best he could do was to comfort her, so he kept holding her. Eventually, he realized he was sweaty and full of sawdust and God knows what else. He thought of that tub again and felt like a world-class jerk.
He backed up immediately, but when he saw the blind pain in Josie’s eyes he wanted to close his.
He felt so guilty. So sad for her. And helpless.
He hoped Josie and her sisters would never find out that this big news wasn’t news at all to a lot of people in Augusta. Or to him.
Josie managed a cheeky grin. “Hey! Now don’t you get upset. I’m fine.” She swiveled toward the door. “Mind if I grab a beer from your fridge?”
“Not at all.”
“Want one?”
Oh, yeah. Good idea. The two of them could get good and tanked, then he could tell her about a certain bathtub fantasy. Or about how he had suspected all along that she might be searching for the wrong man.
“No, you go ahead.”
After Josie had wandered away, Gabe poked around in the box of tools and thought about those stories. He’d actually heard them years ago. From friends. From friends’ parents. Even from his own mother. She hadn’t been spreading gossip maliciously, though. She’d simply been interested in knowing enough about Gabe’s new friend to speak to her without offending her.
She’d hinted that there was more to the story than speculation about Josie’s parentage, but she hadn’t wanted to repeat it. And when she’d asked Gabe to keep what she’d told him in trust, he’d been relieved. He’d hoped that Josie would never unearth any of it.
Now he wondered if that long-ago decision was going to come back and bite him on the butt.
Josie walked in with her beer. After taking the folding chair again, she picked up the plane and turned it over in her hand. “This one’s nice.”
“Notice the lines on the woodwork.” Gabe pointed at some of the markings, taking care not to touch her. He might be a guy in lust with Josie, but he was also her friend.
“It’s funny,” Josie said. “You buy new cars and houses every couple of years, yet you have such a love for old gadgets and tools.”
“It’s the craftsmanship. It reminds me to slow down and put my heart and soul into the projects I build.”
She laid down the piece and sipped her drink as she perused the contents of the box. “This isn’t a woodworking tool.” She drew out a rusted garden spade.
“That’s from your house,” he said. “I found it in the shed after the flood and Izzy gave it to me. It must have belonged to your mother.”
As she eyed the tool, Josie clenched and unclenched her jaw. Then she put the beer to her lips and let it rest there for two seconds before putting it back down. “It all makes sense now, doesn’t it?” she said.
“What does, Josie?”
“The differences. Callie and Isabel favor Mother, at least in appearance. I must resemble whoever the heck it was my mother found in town that day. Or no one.”
Gabe kept his gaze steady on hers.
She set the bottle on his workbench. “You aren’t surprised, are you?”
He froze.
What did she mean? Did she suspect that he’d known? How?
She snorted. “You must have seen the same things I have. My build. My personality. You can’t be surprised that I’m not Callie and Isabel’s full sister.”
Oh. She wasn’t accusing him of protecting the big secret. She was telling him that he should have suspected, as she had, that she was different for a reason. He really needed to grab his wits and hang on tight.
“In retrospect, it makes sense,” he said. “Do you think your sisters will stay in touch with Rick now?”
“Maybe. He’s their dad, and he was attentive to the kids today. Luke called him Poppy once, and Darlene sat on his lap without crying. I believe they’ll get along. I just don’t know how hard they’ll pursue the relationship.”
“Do you feel left out?”
“Only time will tell how I feel about all of this.” She offered a tiny chuckle. “But I’ll be okay.”
“That’s right, and don’t you forget it.”
Gabe tried not to envision the hundred ways he could get her mind off tonight’s news. The hundred places in this house alone they could try.
She scanned the box again. “Is there something else you want cleaned?”
Her voice sounded shaky and small.
“Josie.”
She sniffed as she plucked out a card of old buttons and flipped them over in her palm. She dropped them in the box, then turned her back to him and lifted her hand briefly to her face.
Wiping away tears?
“Hey, kid.” He approached from behind her, moving a hand to her shoulder to tug her around. He hauled her into his arms, no thinking required. He cared for Josie in this way. He had for a long time.
But she responded differently.
She moved closer, nuzzling her mouth against the side of his neck. Even kissing him there.
His body began to prime.
Some switch that had been tightened into an Off position had loosened, and he thought about sex with Josie too often these days. But he wasn’t sure if she was even aware of her actions.
She kept kissing, inching her lips along his jaw until her mouth was next to his. He glanced—she had her eyes shut—and then he gave in.
He kissed Josie again the way he wanted to.
This kiss heated quickly. Every slight change he made—slanting his mouth, shifting his hands, involving his tongue—was met by an equally bold move on Josie’s part.
They kissed for an endless time that made him more certain that Josie—his good friend Josie—might be the woman he’d want at his deathbed.
When he felt her hands slide around his torso and climb his chest until she fingered his top button—she was pondering the idea of continuing, he was certain—he met her gaze with a sober look.
Gabe the man wanted her to yank the buttons from his shirt. He’d only make quicker work of hers.
Gabe the friend wanted Josie to be sure.
She stopped. Scrutinized his chest with lowered brows and let out a soft snort. Then she leaned forward until her forehead rested against that same button.
And she started laughing.
Gabe laughed, too, for a long time. Eventually, the chuckles subsided and he held her quietly. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” he murmured a moment later.
She kept her face pressed against his shirt. “Wish I could figure that out.”
“Look at me, Josie.”
She did, and damn if her eyes weren’t teary again. “I will be okay, right?”
“You bet you will.” He tugged her close, kissed her temple.
And kept the night sane.
FOUR EVENINGS LATER, Gabe sat with his bare feet propped across his coffee table as he tried to get his sister’s teacher friend to quit babbling and hang up. When they’d never connected after his mother’s Halloween party, Shelby Roberts had started calling him.
He hadn’t spelled things out to her. He’d hate for her to report back to Nadine that he was involved with Josie when he was only adjusting to the idea himself. But Shelby wasn’t getting his “not-interested” messages, either.
She’d just asked him to go to her cousin’s holiday dinner. She claimed that she couldn’t stand going alone again this year, and that from Nadine’s description, she thought Gabe had sounded like exactly the sort of man she should meet. She hoped he’d do her this favor. After taking a deep breath, she started listing the reasons a holiday-dinner first date was a good idea.