And Kevin’s last thoughts of her had been about how he knew she and Hank had feelings for each other. Guilt blanketed her all over again. Might Kevin have found some comfort in knowing she was expecting his child? She hated that she hadn’t shared the news with him. She’d thought it would distract him when he needed to focus and in the end he’d died anyway. She battled back her tears, needing to be strong for Hank.
“I’m sure you did everything you could,” she offered, knowing it wasn’t enough. Knowing he barely heard her since his eyes were unfocused, and, in his mind, he still knelt over Kevin in a hellish desert.
“I did the only thing I could think to.” The words fell faster and faster from him. “I put my fingers in the bullet holes to try to stop the bleeding. He asked me to look after you, and then I watched the life leave his eyes.”
Her heart broke at the desperation he must have felt.
Hank stood sharply, her arms falling away. He didn’t look back, just grabbed his jeans from the back of a chair, hauled them on and left the room. As the door closed behind him, she realized she’d been so worried about how much being together would hurt her. She’d selfishly overlooked how much being with her must hurt him.
Even if she managed to get past the guilt to take this affair into a relationship, Hank might not.
* * *
Hank charged down the stairs to the kitchen.
He needed a beer but would settle for anything that gave him an excuse to walk out of that room full of memories. The nightmare had been bad enough, but reliving the day Kevin died drained him dry. He’d spent ten months coming to grips with what happened. But coming back to the states, being here with Gabrielle, it was as if he had to learn to deal with Kevin’s death all over again.
Biting back a curse, Hank rounded the corner into the renovated kitchen and stopped short.
Leonie sat at the island eating a slice of pecan pie and thumbing through a tabloid magazine while Max snoozed away in his baby carrier. “Hello, Major.” She slid from the tall swivel chair, tightening the sash on the robe over her lounging pj’s. “Could I get you a plate? There’s plenty left.”
“No thanks. I’m good.” Except actually, he wasn’t “good.” He was a damn mess inside and would be better off alone. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of juice. He tipped it back just like he did at his condo. To hell with manners. He wasn’t in the mood for niceties.
“Glad to see the two of you working things out.” Her fork clanked against the plate. “I wasn’t too certain there at the outset.”
“Why so?” He turned to face her, the carton still in his hand.
“You hired a nanny without consulting her the day her son got home from the hospital.” She dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Any woman would be upset.”
“Then why did you take the job if you knew it was going to make her mad?” He would never understand women.
“I needed the money. She needed the rest.” She smiled, her hand smoothing the light blanket over Max tenderly. “And I love this little fellow.”
“You could have clued me in so I didn’t piss her off.”
“Telling a person what to do never works, not in the long haul.” She took her plate to the sink and rinsed off the crumbs. “The real lessons in life are learned from actions, making mistakes and fixing them yourself. That’s the way good relationships are built.”
“Relationships?” He winced.
“Please, do not be that cliché, relationship-leery man.” Sighing, Leonie leaned back against the granite slab countertop. “I pegged you for better than that.”
He’d just wanted something to drink, some space to pull himself back together and now he was catching it from all sides from a woman he barely knew. “Why are you giving me such a hard time?”
“Because you don’t have a mama, and for some reason you don’t have much contact with your family. Who else is going to tell you what you need to hear?”
He cocked an eyebrow, channeling his dad’s superior look. But what the hell? He followed in the old man’s footsteps just about every other way. “You’ve been reading too many tabloids.”
“I do love my gossip papers.” She grinned unrepentantly. “News about your family sells.”
He spun the tabloid rag around. A headline blared, Granny Ginger Buys Princess Granddaughter a Pony. The rest of the article detailed some supposedly lavish birthday bash his stepmom had thrown for her newest grandchild—a girl whose mother was an illegitimate princess. The guest list included everyone from the kids of movie stars to ambassadors.
Since emails from home had included details and photos from that party, he knew ninety-nine percent of the information was bull. His mom had rented a pony, but the very long guest list for the toddler’s first birthday was simply all the family members. So what if the family members happened to be Renshaws, Landises and in-law royal Medinas? But apparently stuff like this, touting inside peeks into the lifestyles of the rich and famous, sold magazines.
An ugly suspicion niggled. “How badly do you need money?”
Her smile faded. “Not bad enough to ever do anything to hurt Gabrielle or this little boy, and I’ll scratch out the eyes of anyone who does.”
He searched her eyes and found nothing but honesty. “Good, we’re on the same page, then.”
“So you’ll think about what I said?”
“Said about what?”
She’d said so freaking much he’d lost track.
“Men,” she mumbled, reaching for Max’s seat.
Hank grasped the carrier handle. “I’ll take him for a while.”
“It’s okay, Major.” Leonie patted his hand. “I’ve got him.”
“Seriously, go nap or read a gossip magazine. It can’t be easy switching to the night shift all at once.”
“Okay, then.” She pulled a baby rattle and empty bottle from her pocket as she spun away. “You’re the boss.”
He set the juice carton on the island, taking his seat in front of the sleeping baby. Kevin’s kid. Gabrielle’s son.
Shaking the cow-shaped rattle in front of the boy’s face, he tracked the faces of both people he loved in the kid’s cheeks and stubborn chin. Max blinked wide blue eyes back at him and all those features merged into one, a unique individual.
Max.
A roaring started in his ears, and he reached to pick up the baby. He cradled Max in the crook of his arm, shaking the rattle again since the boy seemed to like it. Max batted at the air, his little fist bumping Hank’s, baby skin softer than anything he could remember. Tiny fingers unfurled and wrapped around his thumb, holding tight.
“Hey, buddy,” he said softly, “we’re going to have fun together. Do you like baseball? With a grip like that, I’ll bet you can throw a mean curve ball. You and me, we’re going to be…”
Be…what? He wasn’t sure where he stood with the child. What would those scrapbooks show when Gabrielle added photos of him with Max? He didn’t want to be a stand-in dad. He wanted to be the real thing. A father to Max and a husband to Gabrielle.
But he also didn’t want to forget Kevin, and he wasn’t sure how in the hell to cohabitate with a ghost.
* * *
Gabrielle woke up alone with the covers all to herself.
So why wasn’t she happy?
She reached to touch the empty spot beside her, and the sheets weren’t even warm. Hank hadn’t come back to bed after his nightmare. She’d thought getting him to talk about the dream and what happened ten months ago would make him feel better. But what did she know about war memories? She could have made things worse for him by venturing in full steam when he wasn’t ready.
Where did she go from here?
Maybe she needed to stop pushing, to give him some space. Kevin had always talked about how Hank kept his distance from his family, that he was the sort of guy who liked to keep his life private. Today, he had to be especially vulnerable—although she could almost see him bristle if she
called him vulnerable to his face. He wasn’t one to acknowledge his own emotional needs so she would have to take care of those for him.
She could probably use a little elbow room, too. Things had happened at such a fast and furious pace—moving here, Max’s surgery, starting an affair. She pressed a hand to her aching heart and wished life could be simple for a change.
Although some things were straightforward. Like her son’s needs. She grabbed her robe from the corner of the bed and shrugged it on. Flicking her hair free and finger combing it, she went in search of her son for his morning feeding. She creaked open the nursery door.
Leonie sat in the window seat reading a gossip magazine. She looked up, bifocals sliding down on her nose. “Max is downstairs with the major. He insisted on watching him and who am I to argue with a hot man taking care of a baby.” She fanned her face with the magazine. “Phew. Now that’s sexy.”
“Thanks for the update, Leonie.” Gabrielle’s heart squeezed at the thought of Hank hurting over the loss of his friend and then having that friend’s child right there in front of him. But Hank, being Hank, was so busy thinking about others—letting her rest, giving Leonie a break—he put himself dead last.
Hopefully, she could feed Max quickly then go out for the morning. Take a walk with her son. Proofread a school paper in the park.
Gain some much needed distance and perspective to sort through her life.
She searched each of the bedrooms upstairs, but no Hank or Max. She took the back stairs into the kitchen, also empty other than a dish in the sink and a half-empty juice carton on the island. Her bare feet padded along the kitchen tile to the hardwood of the hall. She pinched the neck of her robe closed, wishing now that she’d taken a second to put on some clothes, or at least to put on a nightgown underneath.
Finally, she found Hank in the library. Curtains closed, the room stayed hazy with only minimal morning light shining through but it was plenty bright enough for her to see Hank. He lay stretched out asleep on the leather sofa.
Max slept on his chest.
Leonie was one smart cookie, because right now, Gabrielle couldn’t think of anything more appealing than the sight of her baby napping on Hank’s bare chest. His broad hand held the infant, and she didn’t doubt for a second that if Max so much as wriggled, Hank would keep him safely in place.
Hiring the sitter had been a thoughtful, generous gesture. But seeing how Hank chose to hold Max, to watch over him as he slept, that nearly brought Gabrielle to her knees.
A low buzzing sound drew her attention to the end table where Hank’s wallet and cell phone rested. The buzz sounded again, and she realized his cell was vibrating with an incoming call.
Hank reached over his head, grappled for the phone, and thumbed the ringer silent. He turned his head toward her, his eyes opening, blue and clear as if he’d been awake the whole time. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Only a minute or so. I need to nurse Max.”
Her son stirred at the sound of her voice, stretching his tiny arms over his head and yawning. She walked toward Hank as he sat up, adjusting his hold on Max like a seasoned pro.
“Sure, here you go.” He passed her boy over to her without touching her or meeting her eyes.
Silence settled between them, full of what he’d told her last night. She would have run upstairs right that second but Max wriggled in her arms, fussy and searching for food.
She sat on the end of the sofa, parting her robe and bringing her son to her breast. He squirmed, rooting frantically for a few seconds before latching on with a hungry sigh. Hank stayed on the far end of the couch, rubbing the back of his neck, looking from her to the hall and back again.
Hank’s phone vibrated again, and he snatched it up, turning it off altogether before stuffing it in his back pocket. For a guy who’d been sleeping so peacefully, his mood had certainly done a serious one-eighty now that he was awake.
The minute Max finished, she was definitely going to give herself and Hank some breathing room. She would even take Leonie along with her so Hank could have the house to himself. In fact, she heard Leonie on the stairway now, which gave her the perfect out.
“Hank, I think that—”
The doorbell rang, cutting her off short. She looked up fast just as Leonie rushed the rest of the way down the stairs.
Gabrielle cupped her son’s head protectively. Hank shot to his feet. Voices drifted from the hall, Leonie’s along with others she didn’t recognize.
She cradled her son closer. “Has someone broken into the house?”
Hank dropped back to the sofa, a curse hissing from between his tight teeth. “It’s not a break-in. It’s my family.”
Ten
Gabrielle wanted to run. Anywhere would be fine. Just some place far away from the four adults standing with Leonie in the archway staring at her, their jaws slack with surprise. Not that she could blame them. If only she’d had some advance warning she could have dashed upstairs to dress. But the curtains were closed, and she’d been so wrapped up in Max and Hank and making sure they both were all right, she’d completely missed Hank’s family’s approach.
She’d read enough articles about the Renshaw and Landis families to recognize the small group. It didn’t take gossip magazines to keep up with them. Hank’s military general dad stood with his second wife, Ginger. A younger couple hovered behind them. While Ginger’s four sons resembled each other, Gabrielle was almost certain this was the youngest, the architect who did renovations on historic homes—and also happened to be married to a woman with royal roots to her family tree. His wife jostled a toddler on her hip, a little girl around a year old.
What must they all think?
She didn’t have to ask. She knew exactly what any reasonable person would assume based on the way things looked. Hank stood barefoot, particularly sexy in nothing more than a pair of jeans riding low on his hips. And she really wished that she’d put on something more than just a robe and that she was anywhere other than on the sofa nursing her son.
If she pulled Max away, she risked exposing herself to the already stunned quartet. Plus he would scream himself purple if she cut his meal short.
Were they judging her? Wondering if she was taking advantage of Hank? She wondered the same thing herself. She searched their eyes and only found curiosity.
A lot of it.
She looked to Hank for help just as he stepped toward his family.
“As you can see, we weren’t expecting company. How about we step across the hall and give Gabrielle some privacy with her son? Introductions can wait until then.”
He ushered them out into the hall, pulling the doors closed behind him.
Voices seeped through, lots of voices, rising with curiosity as they all must be bombarding him with questions. If only she could make out the words. Her son continued to blissfully nurse, unaware of the world turned upside down.
A few minutes later, the door opened again and Gabrielle tensed. Leonie slid through, keeping the room shielded from the rest of the house.
“Cavalry to the rescue, sweetie. I have clothes for you.” She held up her hands with—thank God—something to wear. “I’m ready to take the little guy if you’re about done.” Leonie sat beside her, a clothing stack perched on her knees.
Max seemed to be slowing, and Gabrielle would just live with feeling lopsided rather than taking more time to swap him to the other breast. “You’ll just need to burp him.”
“Will do.” Leonie took the baby and patted him on the back. “Can you believe we’re actually under the same roof as a former secretary of state? And royalty?”
“Believe it or not, they’re here, all right.” Gabrielle just wished they’d called first. Her plans for giving Hank space went out the window.
Shielded by the robe, she stepped into her underwear and jeans, then shrugged on her bra and long white poet’s shirt. She shoved her feet into sandals. Dressed, thank goodness.
Maybe she w
ould still be able to make it to her room to freshen up further. She cracked open the double doors to peek out.
No luck.
Across the hall in the dining room, Hank stood with his surprise guests. All eyes homed in on her. Leonie tucked by and took Max up the stairs, which pulled the attention off Gabrielle momentarily.
Holding her head high, Gabrielle rolled back her shoulders. Hank slid into place beside her and palmed her waist. He ducked his head and whispered, “I haven’t told them anything. I wanted to wait for you to weigh in, although nobody’s going to believe us if we say we’re not together.”
He kissed her cheek and straightened. She didn’t even bother protesting. They were sleeping together and denying it would make a bigger deal out of the situation.
“Ginger, Dad,” Hank said, “this is Gabrielle.”
Hank Renshaw, Sr., nodded silently, a graying, older version of his son, and just as reticent. He didn’t need the uniform to look like a general. Even in khakis and a golfing sweater, he carried an air of military authority. She resisted the urge to fidget or salute.
Ginger Landis Renshaw stepped into the silence and extended her hand with a smile that seemed authentic. “Our apologies for showing up unannounced. We really should have called.”
Her shoulder-length gray-blond hair was so perfectly styled, Gabrielle resisted the urge to smooth her hand over her own messy mop. She recalled from news reports that the woman was nearing sixty, but she carried the years well. Wearing a pale pink lightweight sweater set with pearls—and blue jeans—Ginger Landis wasn’t at all what Gabrielle had expected. Thank goodness, because the woman in front of her appeared a lot less intimidating.
Gabrielle had seen her often enough on the news—always poised and intelligent, sometimes steely and determined. Today, a softer side showed as she looked at her stepson then over to Gabrielle.
Honorable Intentions Page 11