Honorable Intentions

by Catherine Mann

  He took the stairs two at a time and stopped at the first door. Tapping once, twice, he waited…but no answer. He wasn’t going to make the mistake of barging in on her again.

  He started to turn away when the door opened. Gabrielle stood wide awake—and blessedly covered by a thick terrycloth robe. Max slept in her arms, his head on her shoulder.

  Hank braced a hand on the frame, leaning toward her without touching her. “Everything okay? Your light’s still on. I thought you might need…a glass of water or something not here.”

  “There’s water in the mini-fridge. The place has more amenities than I could have asked for.” She rested her cheek on her son’s head. “I just can’t sleep. I need to hold him.”

  “Want some company?” The words fell out before he could rethink the wisdom of hanging out here in the late night with her.

  Indecision flickered through her green eyes for a flash that had him thinking of emeralds. Nodding, she stepped back. “If we both can’t sleep, might as well keep each other company.”

  Adjusting the baby on her shoulder, she curled up in a corner of the love seat. He dropped down beside her and waited. And waited. They used to talk for hours. Granted, they’d shot the breeze about lighthearted things or whatever was in the news. The one time they’d gone deep with the discussion he’d made the lame mistake of kissing her when he should have been comforting her.

  He definitely needed to tread warily here.

  Hank reached in the mini-fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, twisted off the top and set the drink beside her. “He’s going to be okay.”

  “I know the odds are in his favor, but there’s no way to be one-hundred-percent sure.”

  Grabbing a bottle of water for himself, as well, he nudged the door closed and leaned back, but the sofa brought them close, his leg pressed to her knees. He cleared his throat. “I looked into your doctors, and you’re right, they’re top notch.”

  She sat up straighter. “You investigated my son’s doctors?”

  “Shhh, you’re gonna wake the kid.” He waited until Max settled back to steady, sleepy breaths. “And yes, I wanted to check into them.”

  “You wanted to see if your money could bring something better.” Her mouth pressed tight.

  “Is that so wrong?” Although even if she thought it was, he would do it all over again. “Would you have turned me down on principle even if it meant settling for less for your kid?”

  “Don’t you think I already investigated them? As for the cost, I would have begged, borrowed or stole anything to make sure he gets the best possible care. I appreciate all you’ve done, but this is my child.”

  There was no mistaking the steel in her voice.

  “I realize he’s not my son, but he’s my last link to Kevin. That means something.”

  You mean something.

  The words hung out there, unspoken, but implied.

  Understood.

  She reached to touch his arm lightly, lingering. “It’s hard for me to let people do things for me. My mom is a wonder woman in every sense of the word.” She rolled her eyes. “I struggle to get both Max and myself showered by noon.”

  “You looked beautiful—and clean—this morning.” He dipped to sniff her neck. “You smell good, like flowers, the purple kind. I think you’re good on the hygiene.”

  She laughed. “Okay, technically clean since showers happen. Fast, of course… . The flowers are lavender. It’s supposed to be relaxing.”

  He laughed along with her even though she was killing him with images of her soaked under the spray, and he found the sweet scent of her anything but calming.

  Her fingers twitched on his arm. It was such a soft touch, nothing overtly sexy with the kid around and her fears so thick he just wanted to haul her close until the next twelve hours could pass.

  Her hand slid away. “You come from a family of amazing women, too. Your sisters juggle kids and military careers. Your stepmom was the Secretary of State, for goodness’ sake. I’ve never even actually met them, and I’m already in awe. And then you’ve got all those stepsiblings… .”

  “Do you see now why I hide out here in Louisiana?”

  “Hiding out? I can understand that.” She winked at him with a splash of her old spunk shining through the exhaustion. “What about your mother? I’ve never heard you mention her.”

  “I don’t remember a lot about my mom. She died when I was still in elementary school.”

  “And?” she prodded gently.

  He didn’t dwell on his childhood. Thinking about it wouldn’t change a thing. But if that’s what Gabrielle wanted to talk about, then fine. He would talk while walking on crushed glass if that would help her get through the night.

  “One Christmas, my oldest sister made a photo album for me and for our other sister with all the family pictures taken before Mom died, some pictures from when she was a kid, too. There are days I’m not sure what memories are real and what’s been created by those images.”

  “Does it matter if you remembered them or if she helped remind you of things you did together? I think it was a beautiful thing your sister did, gathering that together, helping you hold on to those moments you shared with your mom.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Better to have those memories than none at all. For some reason, both my sisters seem to remember more.” And little Max would have no memories of the father he’d never even met. Hank rethought the concept of being “all in.” This kid would need him for more than the next two weeks. Hank was a crucial link to memories of Kevin, especially if Kevin’s parents were checking out. And who else would explain about Kevin’s military service, how much he loved to fly?

  “Hank.” Her voice pulled him back to the moment. “What do you remember, beyond those photos?”

  And just that fast, Gabrielle sent him into a fugue world between now and then, fusing the two. “I remember the sound of her voice when she read the Gingerbread Man at Christmas. To this day, the smell of gingerbread makes me think of her.”

  “That’s a great memory of her to carry.” She cupped his face, her eyes filled with compassion for him, even in the middle of her own crisis.

  God, she was killing him here. He had to touch her back.

  He grazed his knuckles along her cheek. “I guess what I’m trying to say is Max isn’t going to care if you’ve got on makeup by lunch. When he thinks of his mom, he’s going to think of the love in your voice.”

  Before he knew that he’d moved or she’d moved, she was leaning into his arms. Her back rested against his chest, his arms going around her and the baby.

  She was right. He couldn’t promise her everything would work out tomorrow. But he could damn well be there to hold her through the night.

  Six

  As the morning ticked away on the hospital clock, Gabrielle took comfort from Hank’s arm around her shoulders. He’d been at her side on the waiting room sofa since the surgery started a half hour ago.

  He’d been with her through the night each time she woke to feed Max, as well. His thoughtfulness—and the intimacy—wrapped around her as firmly as his arm. Why was it she could relax into Hank’s comforting presence but not in her own family’s?

  She’d been so determined to face this on her own, and yet here Hank stayed, helping. And she couldn’t deny his presence made things easier. She couldn’t fathom what it would be like to sit here alone in this waiting room interspersed with others clinging to each other for support.

  Although, if the surgery had occurred a few days earlier, she would have been here by herself to face the sterile air of fear and dying flowers. Somehow she’d lost sight of the fact he’d only just returned from a war zone.

  Her head on his shoulder, she looked up at his deeply tanned face. “You must have had bigger plans for your homecoming than babysitting a distraught mom.”

  A smile fanned creases in the corners of his eyes. “My plans mostly consisted of food and sleep, so I’m good.”

  “W
hat kind of food?” she pressed, needing the sound of his voice to fill the awful silence. It had been so hard walking away from Max this morning, leaving her precious boy in someone else’s care to face the ordeal.

  “Anything not cooked in a mess hall or prepackaged as an M.R.E.” He lifted his foam cup. “And real coffee.”

  She inhaled the fresh roast scent steaming upward. “I hear you on that. I’m looking forward to knocking back an espresso someday. How ironic that when a mom needs the extra jolt from caffeine most, it’s not good for the baby.”

  “Hadn’t thought of it that way.” He set aside his cup. “Anything else you’re looking forward to getting back to once Max is healthy?”

  “I haven’t really thought about much but him. Looking into the future has been scary.”

  “You’re going to be making plans before you know it.” He squeezed her shoulder, drawing her closer to the warm press of his body against her side. “Why not get a head start? Today’s for positive thinking. What are you going to do for yourself?”

  The answer popped to mind fast, but it wasn’t fancy and so very much not a guy thing that she held back. “You’re going to laugh if I tell you.”

  “Me? Laugh at you? Not a chance in hell.” The steady hold of his blue eyes reassured her.

  “My wishes aren’t lavish like your family’s.”

  He tugged a lock of her hair. “Haven’t you figured out yet that I’m the black sheep of the group? I prefer to fly under society’s radar, so to speak.”

  From what she knew of him, that entirely fit. He was a man of grounded values. She’d always liked his lack of pretentions in light of such an illustrious pedigree. “Okay, when I’m playing, I like to do things that are totally different from my analytical MBA studies, totally hands-on rather than techno, like the computer work.”

  “What would that be?”

  “Scrapbooking.”

  His forehead pinched in confusion. “Scrapbooking… Like…photo albums?”

  “You are such a guy.” She patted his chest—a flipping brick wall. Gulp.

  “Your point?”

  She laughed softly, so very grateful for the way he distracted her from her worries, from things she had no control over right now. “I’ve always held on to keepsakes. Moving around so much, I wanted something tangible from people in each city. With my father gone so much, I also wanted to be sure I didn’t lose a single memory we made together. I collected ticket stubs, pictures, pressed flowers—filling up shoeboxes. Eventually it needed organizing and labeling.”

  “My mom would really like that.” He nodded, his hand sliding along her shoulder to massage her neck. “My stepmom, too, for that matter. She has rows of shelves with photo albums. Now that I think about it, I’ve seen her with some of the wives and grandkids messing with photos and stamps.”

  “Scrapbooking has become an art form, with special papers and stickers and stamping.” She resisted the urge to moan in pleasure at the magic of his fingers along the knotted tendons in her neck. “Some people make their own greeting cards—real works of art.”

  “And you get a creative outlet to balance your more analytical work.” He pointed to a nurse walking past with a stack of charts. “Like how she has that funky fabric cover over part of her stethoscope.

  “Exactly.” How cool that he got it, rather than just dismissing her hobby as keeping junk—like Kevin had once said.

  “I would guess you’ve started a scrapbook for Max…and have one about Kevin.”

  “Yes to both.” She needed to capture those happy memories for herself and to share them with her son. “When my apartment flooded I was so scared something had happened to them.”

  “Are they okay?”

  She nodded. “Completely undamaged. I boxed them up when I packed clothes for Max and me.”

  “What will go in the book for today?”

  “Max’s hospital bracelet. The appointment slip you saw on the refrigerator.” She envisioned the page taking shape. “I’ll stamp it with a stethoscope symbol maybe, and perhaps tack down the info with Band-Aids on the corners.”

  “And your book about Kevin?”

  “You keep mentioning that.” She pushed down feelings of disloyalty. It wasn’t as if she was cheating on Kevin by sitting here with Hank. “I would rather not talk about him today.”

  “Why not?”

  She leaned forward, grabbed his wrist and inched away. “Because it makes me uncomfortable to discuss him when you have your arm around my shoulders.”

  “Oh, really?” He gestured to the older couple across from them. “He has his arm around her. Doesn’t look like a big deal to me. Just comfort. Unless you’re telling me you feel something more than that when we touch.”

  The air between them crackled with how easily comfort could lead to something far more physical. It was one thing to feel it without acknowledging it. But labeling the attraction for what it was—desire—that scared her. And right now, she didn’t have the emotional reserves to play games or snap back with some witty answer that would deflect the issue.

  She leaned in closer, lowering her voice so no one else would hear. “Is that what you feel when you put your arm around me? The need to comfort?”

  “Yes, and more.” He tucked a knuckle under her chin. “What about you?”

  God, she couldn’t lie to him or to herself anymore. “Yes, and more.”

  His hand slid behind her neck again, and he kissed her. Just lightly, a skim of his mouth over hers in a totally appropriate way for their surroundings. Anyone else would see them as a couple, connected and caring for each other. He rested his forehead against hers and she squeezed her eyes shut, her heart hammering in her ears, blood stinging her veins. She gripped his hard muscled arms and just held on, grateful to have him here. Confused about everything except the fact that she could not tell him to leave. Hank had a way of sliding into her life like a clean-fit piece to a puzzle.

  So she simply sat, holding on to him while she said prayers for her child and drew in the steadying scent of this vital man who’d charged into her life again.

  The sound of approaching footsteps drew her up sharply.

  “Ms. Ballard?” the surgeon in scrubs called, walking toward her.

  Her stomach clenched, and she instinctively reached for Hank’s hand. He linked fingers with her without hesitation.

  “Yes, Doctor Milward?”

  “Your son came through the operation without any complications… .”

  The surgeon continued speaking, but the words blurred in the pool of relief flooding her. She sagged back and Hank’s arm was right there to brace her, a solid wall of support, just like the man. But for how long?

  Now that her child’s surgery was successfully completed, so was Hank’s role as stand-in dad.

  * * *

  For the past two days, he’d worked his tail off to be a stand-up guy for Gabrielle while Max recovered in the hospital. He’d brought her favorite local muffuletta sandwiches and changes of clothes. She’d slept in a chair by her son’s bed—and he used the term sleep lightly. The circles under Gabrielle’s eyes had deepened.

  His plans to lighten her load needed to step up a notch before she collapsed.

  At least now that Max had been discharged, she hadn’t argued about coming back to the Garden District house with him. He stood in the doorway to the nursery, watching her swap out Max’s diaper and put on a fresh onesie— Yeah, he knew the word onesie now, something he hadn’t picked up from his nieces and nephews.

  He took in the way her green cotton dress swirled around her legs as she moved, the glide of her silky blond hair as she leaned over the changing table to coo nonsensical phrases to her son. The joy on her face almost managed to chase away those lines of exhaustion. Regardless, right now, the glow of love and happiness radiating off her damn near blinded him. She was beyond beautiful. She was… He didn’t even know the words or the label.

  Not surprising. She’d turned his world upside
down all over again.

  The brief kiss they’d shared at the hospital had shifted something between them—actually, he would say the change started the night before Max’s surgery when he’d held her until daylight. There was an acceptance of each other’s presence, an ease to the way they spoke. More than one person at the hospital had mistaken them for a couple. And he knew before much longer he was going to have to think about that.

  For now, though, he was focused on making sure she didn’t end up in the hospital. Thinking of anything beyond that would place him firmly in jackass territory.

  He rapped his knuckles lightly on the open nursery door. “Hello, gorgeous.”

  She looked up and smiled self-consciously, lifting her son to her shoulder and patting his back. “You mean, ‘Hello, haggard.’ But I’m cool with that. It’s all worth it now that Max is home.”

  Home? He didn’t even consider correcting her. “I’ve got supper downstairs. There’s a porta-crib set up so you can keep him close. Unless you would rather just call it a day. I can bring something up to you.”

  “You’ve already done more than enough for me. I’m going to get spoiled.”

  “My sisters say all new moms deserve pampering.”

  Her smile faded. “Hank, I’m truly grateful, but you don’t have to do all of this for me because of Kevin.”

  “What if this isn’t about Kevin?”

  She didn’t move, barely blinked, her eyes locked with his. His words hung there between them, linking them as surely as if he’d taken her hand. Or more.

  “Uhm—” she chewed her bottom lip for a second “—you mentioned something about supper.”

  While she’d neatly avoided the topic, he took it as a victory of sorts that she didn’t argue.

  “Right, I did.” He shoved away from the door frame. “Follow me.”

  He led her down the lengthy staircase, through the library and opened the double French doors out to the lanai. Live music from a party next door drifted along the evening breeze. A Cajun band played as the neighbor apparently sought to stretch Mardi Gras out even longer.