Not as stupid as what he’d done, that was for sure. He had no business looking at her, let alone referring to their night of debauchery.
But how could he not look at her? How could any male alive? Gabe had dated good-looking women—models, actresses, and socialites who had nothing better to do than use Daddy’s money to make themselves gorgeous. He’d broken the rules and fraternized with a hot cheerleader or five. But those women didn’t begin to define the word. Neyland was, quite simply, stunning—would have been without her perfectly fitted clothes and flawless makeup, but those things didn’t hurt.
She stood 5'8" in her bare feet, and it was like God had reached into his richest, best color palate to create her matching hair and eyes—deep brown with just enough gold mixed in to make it interesting and drive a man crazy. That thick, shoulder-length hair came in somewhere between straight and curly and framed a face a camera would love. While not pale, she wasn’t tan either. It was as if she didn’t avoid the sun but didn’t make herself a slave to it, either, in the name of getting a tan.
And the memory of that naked body was a hard thing to shake. She was beautifully put together, firm, healthy, and curvy all at the same time—too curvy to ever make the cover of Vogue, and that was Vogue’s loss.
Beside him, Nickolai said, “Is good to get out. Thank you for coming for me.”
“Should we drive?” Gabe gestured to his car. “Do you feel like walking?”
“Is only a block. If I can’t make it that far, I’ve no prayer of being able to go with the team to Boston next week.”
“I watched them against the Senators. They look good.”
Nickolai widened his eyes. “Do not say that, Gabe Beauford. Is bad luck.”
“Sorry.”
They entered The Café Down On The Corner. At midmorning, there was a sparse crowd, but a little cheer went out from the ones who were there.
Nickolai waved and slid into a booth. “They like us here.”
Gabe reached for a menu. “Yep. I guess they do.” In Beauford, he was still a Blue Devil who helped win two state championships and a Vol who gave the state its first Heisman Trophy. They didn’t much care what went on in San Antonio.
Robin Reynolds, who owned the café along with her husband, Billy Joe, appeared with glasses of water. “Isn’t this a pretty sight—two good looking men at once. I swear y’all look even better than you did in those tuxes at the wedding.”
Nickolai laughed. “I am hoping that soon you will see me in a Sound sweater and pads.”
“We’re hoping that, too, sweetie. Does Noel know you’re not resting?”
“I am resting—here in this seat in your fine establishment. I think you will bring me pancakes. What could be more restful?”
Robin laughed. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” Gabe smiled and pushed his mug forward.
“Not for me,” Nickolai said. “I’ve had too much already. Milk, please.”
“You got it. Gabe? Three eggs over easy, biscuits, gravy, grits, bacon, and sausage?”
He laughed. “You know me well.”
“I accommodate where I can. Nickolai, I won’t tell on you to Noel.”
Nickolai nodded. “Thank you, Robin. It might not go so good for me if she finds out I escaped.”
“Are you tired of people ragging on you about Noel bossing you around?” Gabe meant the question as teasing, but Nickolai’s expression went serious, though it was more reverent than sober.
“No,” he said softly. “My Noel might be overreacting a little, but it was hard for her to see me hurt. She loves me. And she takes care of me.”
Gabe nodded. “I know that. I was there. It’s just that most guys wouldn’t like everyone knowing she was watching your every move.”
Nickolai shook his head. “You have a family. You all love and take care of each other. Is different when you’re alone. I’ve been hurt and sick before. If Noel watches the clock and brings my medicine when I should have it, that makes me think of the times when I needed help and did not have it. So if she fusses too much for a while, is easy to smile. Ah, here comes our food. They are so fast here.”
Robin set their food before them and teased them about their big appetites, as Gabe pondered what Nickolai had said.
Nickolai had a point, but he was off base, too. The Beaufords did love each other, and Jackson got up in the morning to try to take care of everyone. But they were broken, too—torn apart by a fire and the death of the baby girl they had all doted on—even Gabe, despite his conflict and jealousy. If Camille had lived, if he hadn’t dropped her, perhaps the rest of them wouldn’t have turned out quite so broken.
And, of course, there had been a time when they hadn’t been broken. Gabe could still vividly remember being terrified when he’d been rushed in for an emergency appendectomy. He’d been nine and the last thing he’d remembered before being wheeled into surgery was his father’s kiss on his forehead and the words, “You’ll be fine, son. And I’m right here.” And later when he’d wakened, his mother’s cool hands had been on his face. They’d both sat with him all night, holding his hands, giving him ice, soothing him to sleep when he woke.
Likely Nickolai had never had any of that. But Gabe knew about the alone part, too. He had never been seriously injured playing football, but he knew about a pulled hamstring and a sore back—with the TV remote and the pain meds across the room in his three-million-dollar condo.
There wasn’t a lonelier feeling in the world.
“You don’t care what anyone thinks, do you, Glaz?” The thought had just dawned on Gabe, and it startled him. Was it possible there was anyone who didn’t care what people thought?
Nickolai poured syrup on his pancakes. “And you do? Why would you?”
Because I killed my sister, dropped the most important pass of my life in the end zone, and had meaningless sex four—or was it five?—times with the daughter of a man who trusts me to behave in a respectable manner.
“I am going to hell,” Gabe announced. “Maybe not today, but probably later this week.”
“Da? Maybe you could wait until playoffs are over to make that journey?”
A germ of an idea took hold. “Hey, Glaz. When did you say you’d be back on the ice?”
“Two weeks. I’m ready to play.”
Perfect. That was it. When Gwen and Dirk got back, Gabe would hit the Stanley Cup trail. As long as they lasted, the Sound would play every couple of days, bouncing all over the country and Canada. It would be fun—and distracting. And if the Sound got eliminated, he’d pick a second favorite team and keep going.
Gabe was about to share his plan, but when he looked up, Nickolai’s expression shifted to euphoria.
“Noel!” Nickolai got to his feet and held his arms out, as if he had not seen her in a decade.
She gave him a brief hug, but did not look best pleased.
Nickolai kissed her soundly on the mouth. “Sit down and share my pancakes. Or would you like your own?”
“No, thank you. I ate breakfast already. Of course, come to think of it, so did you.” But she did smile and take a seat. “Gabe.” Her tone was slightly colder than her frozen eyes.
So clearly, this was his fault.
“Noel, I begged him to stay in bed. But he swore if I didn’t come take him to Cracker Barrel, he was going there on his own. But I talked him into coming here instead.”
“I see.” She cut her eyes at Nickolai, who shrugged.
Gabe took his last bite of bacon, wiped his mouth, and rose. “I think I’ll be on my way. I’ll get this.” He placed a few bills on the table. “Glaz. You really do need to go lie down. I tried to tell you.”
Gabe was going to his car. He absolutely was going to his car. Then he was going back to Beauford Bend to work out, maybe watch a movie. Maybe he’d go to the Beauford High football practice this afternoon. Yeah. He was still of value. He could lend a hand with the wideouts. That Crawford kid was pretty good, but he could use a few pointe
rs.
But his feet carried him past his car and into Piece by Piece.
Neyland was waiting on a customer, and not a jewelry customer. She was ringing up little stacks of cloth, spools of thread, and a few unidentifiable objects that must be tools of the quilting trade.
She was smiling and pleasant to the woman, but she looked so sad. And Gabe knew why. She ought to be handling silver, gold, and those pieces of jewelry that she loved so much that she gave them names. She felt like he would have felt if he’d been sitting at a desk giving color commentary on how some other guy was playing the game.
She didn’t acknowledge him until the woman left with her packages.
“What is it, Gabe?” she asked wearily. “I don’t know if you can make a whole quilt in the two weeks you plan to be here, but I’ll be glad to sell you the supplies.”
He didn’t say a word; he didn’t have a word. But he did have two arms and two feet, and he used them to lead her behind the curtain into the workroom. Her mouth on his was hungry, and about as resistant as a magnet set in a bowl of iron filings.
When they parted, he said. “Here we are. I can’t find it in me to stay away from you.”
She leaned her head on his chest. “So it would seem.”
“Are you good with it?”
She laughed a sardonic little laugh. “I might as well be. I can’t find it in me to make you stay away. And it’s only two weeks.”
“Yeah.” Only two weeks. They’d have some fun; he’d be gone. No harm, no foul.
Maybe a little foul.
He put his fingers in the corners of her mouth and lifted them. “Can you at least be a little happy about it?”
She absentmindedly ran her finger down the placket of his shirt.
“It’s not that.” She gave him a half smile. “I can think of worse things than passing the time of day with you—since we both know what we’re doing here. Which is a fling with no strings.”
She looked at him for confirmation, and he nodded.
“I’m feeling a little blue,” she went on. “I just got a call from my landlord. Sparkle has been rented. Except it won’t be Sparkle anymore. It’ll be Anastasia’s Web.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “So is Anastasia a giant spider?”
That got a laugh out of her. “I wish. No. She’s a lace maker—something the Arts Council has been hoping for. She’s coming with a lot of merchandise and an accomplished apprentice. She’ll teach classes and take custom orders.”
Gabe would have helped her if he could, but since she wouldn’t sell to him, that wasn’t possible.
He hugged her and kissed her temple. “Before God, I swear, Neyland, I’ll never again wear lacy underwear or do anything else to support this vile weaver of webs and her industry. I will do what I can to get lace outlawed in the United States of America. Then I’ll start on the rest of the world.”
The muffled sound against his shirt could have been crying or laughing.
“Hey.” He tipped her face up. It was a little of both. “You’ll get your own shop again. It doesn’t matter what building it’s in.”
“Maybe. And I know it doesn’t matter about the building. I just had hoped so much that I could make it happen before Sparkle got turned into something else. And then there’s my apartment. Mr. Blaxton only agreed to let me keep it until the space was rented. He needs to paint, so I’ve got to get out tomorrow. He told me from the outset that I might have to move on a day’s notice, and he’s refunding part of my rent. So I have no reason to be pissed, except I am.”
“What will you do?”
She sighed. “I don’t have a lot of choices. I can’t afford more than I’m paying now, and there isn’t anything decent for that price. I guess Daddy will be happy he’s getting his way.”
That was going to make the next two weeks trickier. Yep, going to hell. What was left of her life was falling apart, and all he could think about was his cock.
But wait. He couldn’t save her jewelry business, but this he could fix. And it wasn’t entirely selfish. Only about twenty-three percent.
“Do you want to move back with your parents?” he asked.
“Would you? At this age?” When she realized what she’d said, Neyland blanched and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, Gabe. So sorry.”
This wasn’t the first time he’d had to soothe someone with a foot in the mouth.
“No, honey.” So she was honey now? Where had that come from? He seldom used terms of endearment. He shook it off and plowed on. “It’s valid. I can assure you if they were still alive I most definitely would not want to live with them. The difference is, unlike your folks, I doubt they’d be rolling out the red carpet for the likes of me.”
“Never fear. My dad would welcome you. In fact, he’d throw me out to make room for you.”
“No need. I have a roof over my head at Beauford Bend. And so can you.”
Her eyes went wide and she shook her head. “Oh, no. Hell, no. A little fun for a couple of weeks is one thing, but I’m not moving in with you.”
“And I wasn’t asking you to. The carriage house where Emory used to live is empty. You can live there.” Emory had moved into the family wing with Jackson as soon as he’d brought her back from New York. These days, Jackson’s rooms looked more like a master suite than a bachelor’s apartment, and the common family rooms downstairs looked less like hotel lobbies and more like a home—as it had been before they had all scattered to the four winds. It was nice to see.
“You’re out of your mind. I can’t live there.”
“Sure you can.” He pulled out his phone and brought up the calendar. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. The cleaning service comes tomorrow. I can have them spiff it up good, and you can move right in. It’s furnished. I can bring Jackson’s truck over and load up your stuff. Do you have furniture? We can store it somewhere on the property or move yours into the carriage house and store what’s there—”
“Stop!” She put a hand up. “I’m not doing this. I don’t need charity.”
She was wrong there; she needed charity about as much as anybody in a thirty-mile radius, but he knew better than to offer it.
“I’m not offering charity. I’m offering to rent it to you for what you’re paying now. It’s not good for a place to sit empty, and it’s not like Jackson would let just anybody move in there.”
“And that’s another thing.” She backed away, sat on the table, and crossed her amazing legs. “Gabe, you can’t offer to rent a property at Beauford Bend without consulting Jackson and Emory.”
He leaned on the wall, crossed his arms across his chest, and stole another look at her legs. “That’s where you’re wrong. I own one quarter of Beauford Bend and Around the Bend, the same as Jackson, Rafe, and Beau. I can do any damned thing I want to.”
“But Jackson lives there. You don’t. You can’t do this without consulting them.”
“I wouldn’t if I thought they’d have a problem with it. Do you honestly think Jackson and Emory would object to your living at Beauford Bend?”
“No,” she said slowly. He could see the idea appealed to her.
“Then why not?” He moved over and ran his hand up the back of her neck. “Might be fun.”
“Well … I suppose it would be a solution—at least until something else comes along.” She wrinkled her brow and let her eyes bore into his. “But if Jackson and Emory have one single misgiving, you have to swear to tell me, and I’m gone. I won’t put my friendship with Emory in jeopardy.”
“I promise, but they won’t. Now how much stuff do you have?”
“Not much. My place is furnished. Aside from personal things, there’s a rocking chair … a bookcase. This and that.”
“Great,” he said. “I can handle that.”
And he hoped that was true.
Chapter Eight
Neyland unloaded the last of her dishes from the dishwasher into the carriage house kitchen cabinets.
She mus
t be crazy. No. Crazy would be preferable to what she actually was—desperate. But aside from that, the move had gone smoothly. Good to his word, Gabe had seen to it that the carriage house was spotless and had shown up with Jackson’s truck at the appointed time. The high school girls from Piece by Piece, Hannah and Bethany, plus a couple of their male friends, had helped Neyland pack and load her belongings. Neyland had paid the kids with money she couldn’t spare, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to let Gabe to do all the heavy lifting. And she didn’t dare ask her parents for help. In fact, she had no intention of telling them she’d moved until she had to.
Gabe appeared beside her. He held a screwdriver in one hand and pushed his chin-length blond hair behind his ear with the other.
“I got your bookcase put together and moved those chairs around like you wanted.” He was sweaty, dirty, and he had been a trooper. “Should I unpack the books?”
“No. I’m tired. I’ll do it tomorrow.” Noel had insisted that Neyland take the afternoon off, but still, it was almost 10 p.m. “I didn’t ask if you wanted to do it. I asked if you wanted me to do it. I’m not tired.”
“How can you not be?”
He let himself down in one of the kitchen chairs and grinned. “I’m an elite athlete of the highest caliber—a lean, mean, football-dropping machine.”
That didn’t sit well with Neyland, never mind that she’d said as much to his face a week ago. But a lot had happened in that week—some of it as soon as she’d put sheets on the bed in her new home—though they’d ended up on the floor.
“I wish you wouldn’t talk that way about yourself,” she said lightly as she sponged her fingerprints off the dishwasher door.
“What? Claim to be an elite athlete of the highest caliber?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer. Are you thirsty?”
“Yeah.” He rose and went to the refrigerator. “And hungry. Hey! There’s no beer. Or Dr. Pepper. You don’t have anything but salad stuff and yogurt.”
“That’s because it’s my refrigerator. Not yours.” And it was because after paying the rent, ordering the silver for Noel’s necklace, and paying those kids, she’d had about enough money left for gas and a few groceries—which didn’t include alcohol, junk food, or ice cream. And she did not lump ice cream in with junk food. Ice cream was necessary for happiness. Oh, well. Maybe she could be happy next week. “I haven’t had time to make iced tea. How about some ice water?”
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