Honorable Intentions

by Catherine Mann

  “I’m Ginger. Nice to meet you, Gabrielle. Although I don’t know exactly who I’m meeting since Hank isn’t sharing anything beyond your name.”

  His eyes met hers. He really had left it to her to say what she wanted. She smiled her thanks.

  “A pleasure to meet you, too, ma’am. Obviously, I’m a close friend of your stepson’s.” Taking the older woman’s hand, Gabrielle smiled sheepishly and appreciated the light squeeze of encouragement. “He’s been helping me with my son since my fiancé passed away.”

  There. Now she’d left it up to him to share what he wanted with his family about who her fiancé was and what had happened overseas. She knew how Hank valued his privacy.

  The collective sigh of relief that went through the foursome drew her attention back.

  Ginger pressed a hand to her pearls. “So the baby isn’t Hank’s.”

  Oh, my God, they’d thought…?

  Of course they had, and they must have been hurt by the thought that Hank would have had a child without telling them. He had to have known what they were thinking. Yet, he’d let them just hang there wondering while she got dressed? That took needing privacy to a whole new level.

  Hank gestured to the younger couple. “This is my youngest stepbrother, Jonah. His wife, Eloisa. And their little girl named Ginger.” He shot a look at Jonah. “Suck up.”

  Jonah pointed to his wife. “Her idea about naming our daughter after Mom. I’m putty in Eloisa’s hands. Actually, I’m putty in her and our daughter’s hands.”

  Hank rolled his eyes. “You’ll remember Jonah since he’s the one I spoke to about renting this house.”

  He shot his stepbrother a quick look, just short of an outright glare.

  Jonah pointed to his wife again. “She pried it out of me.” He hooked an arm around her waist. “I’m helpless when it comes to her. Remember?”

  Ginger placed a hand on her stepson’s arm. “We’re sorry to burst in on you this way, but Architectural Digest is doing a photo shoot of this place to feature Jonah’s restoration. It’s a great boon for his business.”

  Hank mumbled to Jonah. “You didn’t mention that, either.”

  “Didn’t have time,” Jonah said out of the corner of his mouth. “Mom arranged it yesterday so she would have an excuse to come here. And besides, you weren’t picking up your phone. That’s what you get for ignoring your family.”

  The general chuckled softly.

  Gabrielle was still stuck on the words photo shoot. “They’ll be photographing the house?”

  “And our family.” Ginger smiled proudly. “Beyond being great publicity for Jonah’s work, it’s a lovely chance for me to show off my relatives without worrying about the paparazzi falling out of trees in the middle of a picnic just to get a picture for some cheap gossip rag.”

  Leonie better clean out her stash of reading material if she wanted to win Ginger’s approval.

  The general continued, “We’ve found if we periodically stage pictures on our own terms, the public gets bored enough to leave us alone for a while.”

  Ginger hooked an arm through Gabrielle’s. “So, you’ll join us for the photos? Friends are always welcome.”

  “I’m not sure what to say.” The whole meeting was overwhelming.

  “No need to make up your mind yet. I’m just glad to meet you.” She squeezed Gabrielle’s arm. “You’ll have plenty of time to think it over while we unpack. Gentlemen, would you please unload the luggage from the car?”

  Panic lit a bonfire in Gabrielle’s stomach. She looked fast at Hank. Frustration mixed with resignation in his eyes.

  His family was staying here.

  * * *

  “So you’re okay with us staying here?” his father asked him.

  Hank hefted suitcases from the back of the hybrid Mercedes SUV. “Yeah, General, sure.”

  “Son…”

  His father had been a part of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, handling explosive world dynamics without breaking a sweat. But he still got cranky when his kids called him General. “Yeah, Dad?”

  “That’s better.” The general nodded, walking alongside him, loaded down with luggage for such a short stay. Although half of it looked as if it belonged to Jonah and Eloisa’s baby. A second car was parked behind Hank and Ginger’s, a nondescript black sedan with two men in suits in the front—protective detail. His dad and Ginger kept at least one bodyguard at all times when away from home and undoubtedly extra security came from the royal side of the family.

  No more making out on the lanai.

  His father’s strides matched his own. “Is the boy yours?”

  Hank stopped short at the base of the steps. Was his dad calling him a liar? Wind rustled the hanging ferns and oak tree branches while he squelched his rising anger. “You heard Gabrielle say he isn’t.”

  “Was she covering for you?” His father’s eyes went into deep search mode, just as he’d done when single parenting his three teens.

  Hank bit back the urge to just leave. It had chapped his hide, being questioned at sixteen, but it really burned now thinking his dad questioned his honor. “No one ‘covers’ for me, especially not Gabrielle. If Max was mine, you would have heard about it.”

  “You’re not known for being chatty with the rest of the family,” his father said dryly.

  “Fair enough,” he conceded. “But having a child is not something I would hide. Even if I decided to wait to tell you, I sure as hell wouldn’t have let Gabrielle stand there alone, stating the kid is someone else’s.”

  The doubt in his dad’s eyes faded. “Of course. I should have known. You’re an honorable man.”

  “Thanks for that much.” He started up the back porch steps.

  “You’re also a private man, and that makes this a tough family for you to be a part of.”

  “Do ya’ think?”

  A laugh rumbled from his dad’s barrel chest and yeah, it felt good to join in. The past week and a half had been beyond stressful. Good in a lot of ways—like hearing from the doctor that Max would be okay, and being with Gabrielle. But there was still enough baggage in their pasts to rival even the piles coming out of the back of that SUV.

  His father stayed between him and the door. “So if the baby isn’t yours, who’s the dead fiancé she mentioned? I assume he’d be the father.”

  “My buddy Kevin, a pilot on my crew. He died in Afghanistan.” Even those few words stoked the barely banked memories of his nightmare.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing here, son?”

  He didn’t need this kind of probing or interference. Not now. “Dad, I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

  His old man’s face creased with a smile. “That’s never stopped me before. We don’t get anywhere in the world if we sit around waiting to be asked.”

  “Okay, then. I won’t ask if you mind if I leave.” He turned away, ready to walk all the way around the house to another door, if need be.

  “Her guy can’t have been dead long.” His father’s words stopped him on the top step.

  “Ten months,” Hank answered without turning, the smell of explosives and blood coming back so damn real he could have been over there, living that hell again.

  Footsteps sounded on the wooden porch as his father neared. His large shadow stretched over Hank as it had done his entire life. “Son, are you sure she’s through grieving? I’m not saying she’s the wrong woman. I’m just saying be sure it’s the right time.”

  The shadow shifted as the general backed away, leaving his words hanging out there to cast a shadow all their own. As much as Hank tried to live his own life, still his dad’s legacy followed him. Was there something in the genetics that led him to make so many of the same choices his father had made, even when he worked his tail off to be different? Hell, his dad had even fallen for his friend’s widow.

  Did that mean a guy had to wait more than a decade to act on it?

  Hank stayed standing on the top step long after his fath
er gathered up the bags and headed inside.

  * * *

  While everyone else unpacked, Gabrielle sat with Ginger in the sunroom, little Ginger toddling around while Max napped in his baby swing. The moment felt so timeless, as if they could have been a family from a hundred years ago gathering just this way. If she were snapping photos for a magazine, Gabrielle would want these over any staged, fancy pictures.

  She would want this life.

  Well, other than the security detail walking the perimeter and talking into radios tucked in the cuff.

  Her hands shaking, she gripped the arms of the rattan rocker. “Do you ever get tired of having bodyguards follow you everywhere?”

  Ginger glanced out the wall of windows at the guards as if she’d forgotten they were there. “Sure, but I try to remember it’s just a part of the jobs I’ve been lucky enough to have.” She swooped her granddaughter up into her arms and spun her around once. “Although being a grandmother is the best job on the planet.”

  “Better than being Secretary of State?”

  “Hands down.” Ginger set the giggling toddler on the floor and tugged Max’s toe gently. “He’s a sweet-natured baby. I hope you don’t mind my asking…what are those little incisions on his stomach?”

  How strange to have all that worry swept away in a few days. “He had surgery this week for a digestive disorder. He’s fine now.” She said another prayer of gratitude. “But that’s why I’m here. At Hank’s house, I mean. He’s helping me out since this is his friend’s baby. He’s acting as a sort of a stand-in dad, I guess you could say.”

  Ginger sat on the rattan sofa next to her. “Although it’s obvious Hank’s your friend, too.”

  Was she asking out of curiosity or as a concerned relative? “We knew each other before…” Gabrielle picked at splinters on the armrest. “So yes, we’re friends, too.”

  Ginger’s hand fell on the Burberry diaper bag little Ginger’s mother had left before she went upstairs to unpack. “I’ve known Hank since he was your son’s age.”

  Really? “I thought you married the general more recently than that.”

  She was just realizing how little she knew about Hank beyond what she’d read in the papers. How much of that was even factual?

  “My husband—my first husband—was in the air force with Hank, Sr.” Her deep blue eyes, the same color as her son’s, lit with nostalgia. “My husband Benjamin wasn’t career military, like Hank. He wanted to serve for a few years, to give back to his country. Then he got out and went into politics.”

  Gabrielle recalled reading that Ginger had served the rest of her first husband’s term after he’d died, then she turned out to be an even more savvy and effective politician than her husband. Her career had taken off from there. Even now, she served as an ambassador to a South American country. It was tough not to be intimidated by that much power and success. Gabrielle listened, wondering what the woman’s agenda was in sharing her life story. Because no doubt, this savvy stateswoman would be every bit as tenacious in protecting her family as she was in negotiating for her country.

  “While we were in the military—and I do mean we because the spouse sacrifices a lot being married to a service member—we were friends with Hank and Jessica. Our children played together, too. When Jessica died, I helped Hank with his children. He helped me with my boys after I lost Benjamin.” She paused, staring out the sunroom windows and blinking back a shadowy grief that apparently even time hadn’t dimmed. “There was never anything going on between us while either of our spouses were alive, nothing. Believe me, it shocked the hell out of both of us when our friendship turned into something more.”

  Gabrielle willed herself not to show the shame that dogged her still over that kiss she’d shared with Hank while Kevin was still alive. Kevin may have pardoned them with his dying breath, but she couldn’t forgive herself.

  She looked out over the lush Garden District lawn, seeking some of the answers or peace that Ginger also seemed to be looking for out the window. Instead, Gabrielle saw Hank. His long strides ate up ground as he made his way toward a bodyguard standing under a shady oak. Hands shoved in his pockets, he stopped alongside the security guy, just talking. Checking out the lay of the land, perhaps? Hank had put on a pin-striped button-down shirt with his jeans, rolled up sleeves and boat shoes. Yet he looked no less in command than he did in his uniform.

  Like his father.

  Ginger pressed her fingers to the corners of her eyes, drew in a bracing breath, then smiled again. “But we were talking about little Hank.”

  “Little Hank?”

  “What can I say?” Ginger shrugged, smiling affectionately at her stepson on the lawn. “To me, he will always be that little boy racing his Big Wheel up and down the sidewalk. He loved to be outside, on the go. He led the pack even then. But he always played fair, too fair.”

  Gabrielle tore her eyes from Hank and put her focus back onto the conversation. She was reminded of her mother, the whole wonder woman, perfect mom and military wife persona that no human could hope to measure up to. “How can someone be too fair?”

  Ginger leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her eyes steely blue with no holding back. She was apparently through taking the scenic route in their conversation. “He puts others before himself, sometimes to his own detriment.”

  “Are you saying I’m using him?”

  “No, heavens no.” She waved aside Gabrielle’s guilty fears with a manicured hand. “I’m just saying he works so hard to be the good guy, he may not be telling you where he stands. Ask him what he wants. Don’t assume. Ask, then ask again until he really talks.”

  Were there questions she should be asking Hank that she wasn’t? Was it possible that Hank was only staying with her for the sake of being the good guy? He’d said it wasn’t about a debt to Kevin anymore, but about wanting to be with her. Still. Even before Ginger said anything, Gabrielle had known that Hank was struggling with boundaries.

  He’d really poured his heart out to her last night, leaving them both so emotionally raw that he’d needed some distance, seeking out Max rather than returning to bed with her. Obviously, he wasn’t in the mood to share more, and quite frankly, she wasn’t sure how much more either of them could take.

  And Ginger thought she should dig even deeper?

  Instead of helping her, Ginger’s revelations only made her all the more afraid she wasn’t the right person for Hank. She’d been taking, taking, taking from him since he’d stepped back into her life. He deserved someone who could give back, who could break through those high walls of his and care for him, as well. With each second that passed, the possibility of a future with Hank grew more complicated, more improbable.

  Ginger shoved to her feet and swept the wrinkles from her jeans. “Enough serious talk for one day. Let’s have some fun.”

  “Doing what?” Gabrielle grasped the subject change with both hands, eager to move on to safer ground.

  “A local boutique is bringing clothes by for us to choose from for the photo shoot.” Ginger clasped Gabrielle’s hands in her own and tugged her to her feet. “Every new mom deserves an afternoon of spa pampering.”

  Eleven

  Hank walked down the hall with a stealth picked up in military survival training. Although damned if he didn’t feel about fifteen sneaking around so his dad wouldn’t hear him slip into Gabrielle’s room. He hadn’t been able to steal even a few minutes alone with her since his family arrived. First his mother had abducted her all afternoon to try on dresses then supper had stretched out for hours as they alternated between subtly grilling Gabrielle and discussing the photo shoot for the next day.

  Who knew his relatives had become such night owls?

  This was his house, for God’s sake. Well, his rental house for a short while longer. Not that it stopped anyone from claiming a spare room. Any minor sense of family boundaries had disappeared from his life long ago. He was seriously itching over the scrutiny, more so than usual.
>
  His father’s scrutiny dug even deeper than the prying eye of a camera lens. What if his dad was right that Gabrielle wasn’t over Kevin? What if she never got over loving and losing him?

  Hank gripped the crystal doorknob outside her room. He’d hung out on the sidelines of her life once before and it had been pure hell. He didn’t think he could do it again, not after having been with her. He’d claimed her, and he couldn’t see letting her go again. The rest would have to work itself out.

  He tapped once softly on Gabrielle’s door before sliding inside. Her bed was empty, the covers still undisturbed.

  Because she was slumped over her desk, asleep.

  How often did she work herself into the ground this way? The afternoon spent trying on dresses with his stepmom must have cut into her schedule. He locked the doors to the hall and the nursery. Anyone wanting to find her would have to knock. His dad and stepmom were good people, but type-A sorts who tended to steamroll over people “for their own good.”

  Carefully, he slid his arms around her back and under her legs. Her hand slipped from the desk, her short nails sporting the light sheen of a pale pink polish. Ginger’s doing, no doubt. His stepmom was a practical woman in many ways, but she did enjoy her manicures.

  He scooped up Gabrielle against his chest, her satin robe parting to reveal a nightshirt. His mind zipped back to the uncomfortable interruption this morning in the library. She wasn’t going to be caught half naked again.

  Damn shame—as long as he was her only audience.

  Gabrielle stirred in his arms. “Hank?”

  “Shhh… Go back to sleep. I’m just moving you to the bed so you’ll be more comfortable.”

  Her arm draped around his neck, her eyes groggy. “Wait. Put me down. Almost done with the paper I have to turn in.”

  “Is it due tomorrow?” If so, he would be right there beside her, proofreading, if she needed him.

  “Nuh-uh.” Sleepy fog cleared from her eyes and they went smoky with awareness. She rested her other hand on his chest, her fingers tracing the vee of his collar.

  “Then you have time to finish it later.”