Carolina Dreaming: A Dare Island Novel (22 page)

“But he didn’t. You did. You knew exactly what to say. What to do.”

He picked up the ladder without speaking and set it against the wall.

Jane pushed. “Have you considered becoming a paramedic? If . . . if you’re staying.”

“I’m staying.” His voice was flat. Sure. “But I know my limits. I’d need training to do what you’re talking about.”

“You have training.”

“I need the piece of paper.”

She knew what it was to feel trapped by your circumstances. To have your faith in yourself eroded until you believed there was no way out. “So get it. Take classes or whatever.”

His gaze met hers. For a moment, she saw hope flare, the possibilities kindle in his eyes, before their fire banked. He shook his head. “That’s not for me.”

“Why not?” she dared to ask.

“I missed my chance when I got out.”

She was tempted to let it go, to leave him alone. But she knew exactly where that led. Nowhere.

“Is there a time limit to the GI Bill?”

“I meant I’m too old to go back to school.”

“A friend of mine just got her associate’s degree in dental hygiene. She’s older than you are.”

He threw her a smoldering look. She held her breath, fearing she had gone too far, nudged and nagged him and insulted his pride in the way that always drove Travis to drink. Or to rage.

And then the corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re really something, Jane Clark.”

Relief rushed over her. She released her breath. “Something good or something bad?”

“Something special.”

She felt a flush work its way up her chest. “I didn’t mean to badger you.”

“Don’t apologize. Having you believe in me . . .” He held her gaze, the smile deepening in his eyes. “Makes me think I’ve got a chance.”

Her heart pounded. “At being a paramedic.”

His smile spread. “That, too.”

*   *   *

T
HE
WA
ITING
ROOM
was alien and sterile, full of old folks struggling to breathe, bawling babies, listless children in their mothers’ arms.

Hank hated it. Hated the smells and the bright lights that revealed the lines in Marta’s face, hated the waiting and his own helplessness.

They had been at the hospital almost two hours. He prowled the aisle from the water fountain to Marta’s chair, antsy as a drunk at a teetotalers’ meeting.

Marta looked up at his approach, her complexion gray under the fluorescent lights, worry in her eyes. Her son was behind those doors, those doors where even Hank’s badge
could not win admittance, and there wasn’t a damn thing Hank could do to affect the outcome.

“Want a cup of coffee?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Magazine? There’s a gift shop down the hall.”

A smile touched her lips. “I’m fine, Hank.”

His heart swelled with frustration. “What can I do?”

“You are here,” she said simply. “That is the most important thing.”

He sat down beside her and held her hand. Strong hands, with soft, lotioned skin and polished nails. She’d told him once that when she cleaned houses for a living, her hands were a point of pride.
I can take care of myself
, they said.
I am worthy of care.

She was the most extraordinary woman he’d ever known.

He rubbed the back of her hand. “Guess this isn’t the first time you’ve been to the emergency room.”

Another smile. “No.”

“Four boys.”

She looked away. “Yes.”

And a husband who died at the age of forty-one. Like she needed to be reminded of that.

Hell, Hank thought.

It was almost a relief when the sliding doors opened and Gabe walked in, scanning the room, and then strode toward them.

Hank stood, delighted to have a target for his frustration. “Can’t believe your piece-of-shit truck got you this far.”

Gabe bared his teeth in a grin. “I didn’t drive my truck.” He fished in the pocket of his fatigue jacket and pulled out a small, fuzzy pink bear attached to a key.

“What the hell is that?” Hank asked.

“My valet key!” Marta said.

Gabe handed it to her. “I found it in your glove box.” He glanced at Hank. “Car was unlocked. Anyway, I figured you might want your own wheels in case Tomás was admitted and you were stuck here overnight.”

“That was very thoughtful,” Marta said.

It was, too. Hard to resent anybody who could put that smile on Marta’s face.

“I haven’t even thanked you yet for everything you did for my son,” she said.

Gabe shrugged. “I didn’t do anything special. Reached him first, that’s all.”

“That’s not what Hank said. Tomás is lucky you were there, because of your medical combat training.” She turned to Hank. “Isn’t that what you said in the car?”

Gabe shot Hank a quick look.

Hank grunted. He’d been trying to reassure her, not compliment Gabe.

“How’s he doing?” Gabe asked. “Tomás.”

“His wrist is broken,” Marta said. “But the doctor thinks he will not need surgery. She is more worried about his head injury.”

“Probably broke his fall with his arm,” Gabe said. “That’s a good thing.”

Marta gave him a grateful look.

“They took him back for a CT scan,” Hank said.

“Mrs. Lopez?” The doctor, a fresh-faced redhead in a wilted white coat, was back.

Marta sat up straight. “How is Tomás?”

“He’s doing great,” the doctor said. “There’s a little shadow on the scan caused by damage to the blood vessels between the brain and skull. This kind of bleed often stops on its own and then heals like any other cut. But to be on the safe side, we want to keep him overnight for observation.”

“Can I see him?”

“We’re moving him up to a room now,” the doctor said. “As soon as he’s settled, the nurse will come get you.”

“I can spend the night?”

“Absolutely.”

“Need me to bring you anything?” Hank asked when the doctor had gone. “A toothbrush?”

“I’m fine.” Marta smiled at him, competent, calm, and
in control. “If I need anything, I will check out this hospital gift shop you are so fond of.”

“I can swing by the house,” he offered. “Check on Miguel.”

“I called him already while you were parking the car. He is spending the night with his friend Ethan.”

He admired her backbone. Made her a damn fine dispatcher. But it wouldn’t kill her to lean on somebody else once in a while. To lean on him. He was willing to help. He just needed her to tell him what to do.

A nurse in blue scrubs came through the big doors. “Ready to take you up now, Mrs. Lopez.”

“Well.” Marta’s gaze sought his.

“He’ll be fine,” Hank said, answering her unspoken need for reassurance.

“Of course. He has a hard head.” She smiled and patted his cheek. “Like some other people I know.” She glanced at Gabe. Lowered her voice. “Be nice.”

“I’m always nice,” he growled, and was rewarded when she laughed.

He watched her march after the nurse toward the elevator, indomitable in her straight black skirt and chunky heels. Nice legs.

He turned to find Gabe watching him, smirking.

Hank flushed. “I suppose you need a ride home now.”

“Already called Luke. He’s coming after his shift.”

Be nice.

“Don’t be a jackass,” Hank said. “I’m here. You can ride with me.”

A
FTER
FOR
TY
-
FIVE
MINUTES
in the car with Hank, Gabe wanted a shower, a run on the beach, and a beer. Not necessarily in that order.

Jane’s dad may have been shamed into offering him a ride from the hospital. That didn’t mean the two of them bonded during the drive home. They barely spoke.

At least this time Gabe sat in the front seat instead of being transported in the back like a criminal.

Gabe started his truck and followed Hank’s squad car out of the bakery parking lot, careful to use his turn signal. When Hank turned into his driveway, Gabe was tempted to keep right on going.

Not that he would. Jane had volunteered to watch Lucky while Gabe delivered Marta’s car. He couldn’t leave the dog with her overnight.

He pulled in front of the faded blue frame house. Aidan and the dog were tussling in the yard. The dog was barking, the boy was giggling. Something loosened in Gabe’s chest.

Aidan sent up a shout of welcome as he got out of the truck. “Hey, Gabe!”

“Hi, sport.”

Lucky charged over, a ratty yellow tennis ball clutched firmly in his jaws, ears cocked, tail wagging.

“What do you want?” Gabe asked.

Lucky dropped the ball and danced back. Gabe stooped and winged the ball across the yard. The dog shot after it like a bullet, Aidan running in pursuit.

Gabe grinned.

Jane came out on the porch, and he felt the weight of the day slide from his shoulders like dropping his seabag after a long deployment.

“They haven’t stopped since Aidan got home from school,” she said.

“Good exercise.”

“Yes.” She smiled. “Guess they’ll both sleep well tonight.”

Their eyes met, and it hit him.

This. This must be what coming home felt like, the moment perfect as a postcard: the bushes around the porch struggling into flower, and the kid racing over the grass, and Jane smiling in welcome, so pretty she took his breath away.

Gabe cleared his throat. “Thanks for watching my dog.”

“Anytime,” Jane said.

The air trembled between them.

Hank came around the corner of the house. “Supper ready yet?”
Translation: don’t let the door hit you on your way out.

“Just about,” Jane said.

Gabe shifted his feet. “We’ll get out of your hair, then.”

“But . . .” Jane glanced at her father.

“I already told her to set another place,” Hank said gruffly. “You might as well stay for dinner.”

So maybe they had bonded after all.

Dinner was excellent, meat loaf and mashed potatoes that tasted nothing like the MRE he remembered swimming in gelatinous brown onion gravy.

After dinner, Gabe figured it was only fair he help with the dishes. Or maybe he was seizing any excuse to stick around.

“You’ve done enough already today,” Jane said, taking his plate from him. “You deserve to relax.”

“You, too.”

She smiled and shook her head, as if there was something funny in the idea that she could have a night off.

He intended to change that.

“I like doing things for you,” he said.

“I don’t need you to. I don’t expect them.”

He backed her against the sink. “Maybe you should.” The scent of soap rose from the bubbles behind her, making him remember the last time they had done dishes together. “You smell so good.”

Her lips curved. “Like meat loaf?”

“Dish soap.” He nuzzled her throat. “Very sexy.”

They were surrounded by counters. With no effort at all, he could boost her up, make a place for himself between her thighs and . . .

Aidan clomped down the stairs. Great kid, lousy timing. Although with her father in the next room, it was just as well the kid interrupted them before Gabe made a total fool of himself.

Lucky lurched from under the table, tail swaying hopefully.

“Down, boy,” Gabe said, as much to himself as to the dog.

Just because they had been petted and played with before didn’t mean anything more was happening tonight.

“Hey, boy. Hey, Lucky.” Aidan fussed over the dog, then turned shyly to Gabe. “I brought you a book.” He held it out.

Gabe turned the volume over in his hand to read the title. “‘
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
’?”

“It’s a chapter book,” Aidan said. “You might have to help me with some of the words.”

“Sure,” Gabe said before he remembered. Jane didn’t want this. She was afraid of Aidan getting attached, afraid of being hurt.

You can trust me
, he thought at her.
Let me prove it to you.

She glanced from him to Aidan and then threw up her hands, clearly recognizing when she was outnumbered. “Go ahead. Fifteen minutes.”

Maybe it was fifteen, maybe it was twenty, by the time Gabe finished the chapter and said good night.

Across the hall, the door opposite Aidan’s stood open. Jane’s room, Gabe guessed, from the lacy white curtains. The tulips he had given her stood on the dresser table, dropping yellow petals onto the wood.

He needed to bring her more flowers.

That’s what it meant to be in a relationship, didn’t it? More dinners, more stories, more evenings like this one. For both of them.

Hank looked up from his recliner as Gabe passed the living room. “You’re leaving now.” Not quite a question.

“Yes, sir.”

“’Preciate what you did for Marta’s boy today.”

“Thanks.”

“You starting something up with my daughter?”

Gabe put his hands in his pockets, starting to sweat. Pulled them out again. “That’s between her and me.”

“I’m her father.”

There wasn’t anything to say to that, so Gabe didn’t try.

“That son of a bitch she married . . .” Hank paused, a frown gathering on his face. “He hurt her.”

“I won’t,” Gabe said.

Hank’s dark gaze speared him. “I’ll come after you if you do. Doesn’t matter how old she is, she’s my little girl.”

“I won’t argue with you there. But she’s tougher than you give her credit for.”

Hank scowled and gripped the remote, flipping channels. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

“Well, you’re getting it. To go through what she’s gone through and turn out the way she is . . .” Gabe shook his head. “Most people, they get beat up or pushed around, it breaks them. Or it makes them hard. Mean.” Like his mother. Like
Gabe himself, that first year he joined the Corps, an angry, resentful kid desperate to prove himself, to do anything he could to survive. “But not Jane. She’s an amazing woman. She does more than just feed people. She nurtures them. You should be proud of her.”

“I am proud. But she took it hard when her mama left. And then to get mixed up with a no-account piece of shit like Tillett . . . Bound to leave scars.”

Gabe had told himself the same thing. Jane had been through a lot. She deserved better.

But it was beginning to annoy him, the way people talked about her, the way they defined her as an abandoned eight-year-old or a deluded nineteen-year-old and seemed to ignore everything she had accomplished since.

“If you’re telling me she’s got a lot on her shoulders, I can see that for myself. If you’re asking me if I plan on being a burden on your daughter, the answer is no. But I would like to lighten her load some.”

Hank’s face was as grooved and unreadable as a tractor tire. “Is that a fact.”

“Actually, sir, it’s a promise.”

The grooves deepened suddenly. “Might be she’ll have something to say about that.”

He was grinning, the ornery old bastard.

Gabe rejoined Jane in the kitchen. She was bending over the contents of Aidan’s backpack, which were strewed on the kitchen table. Her butt, in wash-worn denim, was firm and smooth, with a crease down the center like a ripe peach.

Gabe’s mouth went dry. He ran his tongue over his teeth.

At his entrance, she glanced over her shoulder. “That took you a while.”

“Yeah.” The faint sounds of the television drifted from the living room. Hell. Had she heard him discussing her with her father behind her back? “It was a good book,” he said, trying to distract her.

She straightened, putting one hand on the small of her back, the way she did when she was tired. The position did
nice things for her breasts, which for once weren’t shielded by her apron. “You never read it before?”

What?
He shook his head, trying to focus. “I wasn’t much into reading as a kid.”

And he’d never seen a copy of
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
in the library of the Williams County Jail.

“Mm.” She tilted her head, studying him with those too-aware, too-amused eyes, all shining silver on the surface with depths a man could drown in. Like the sea at dawn.

He sighed, resigned. “How much did you hear?”

“Between you and my dad?” She smiled. “Enough.”

He eyed her warily. “Enough to . . .”
Be embarrassed? Mad? What?

“Enough to do this,” she said, stepping in close.

Surprise rendered him motionless as she twined her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts against him. “And this.”

She kissed him.

Her lips were soft and warm, all of her soft and warm and sweet, everything he craved, everything he cherished, right here in his arms. Lust surged through him, heavy and hard, and his brain shut down, his body taking over as he kissed her back, and she was with him all the way, opening her mouth, tightening her arms, her body straining against his.

“Don’t mind me,” Hank growled, and Gabe jolted as if he’d been tased.

He raised his head as Jane’s father strolled in and opened the refrigerator door.

“I wanted some tea,” Hank said, pulling out a plastic jug.

Jane folded her arms over the mighty rack. “Daddy, you never drink sweet tea.”

Hank eyed her acerbically. “I do all kinds of things I don’t tell you about. Same as you, I reckon. But there’s a time and a place for everything.”

Jane’s face turned pink.

“No secrets here,” Gabe said, coming to her rescue.

Hank shot him a shrewd look from under bushy brows.

Gabe grinned. “You’ve already done a background check on me.”

Hank barked with laughter, which he covered with a cough.

Gabe kissed Jane briefly and firmly on the mouth—a gesture of support, a stamp of possession. “See you tomorrow,” he said, and left, his dog at his heels.

*   *   *

T
RUE
TO
HIS
word, Gabe showed up at Jane’s Sweet Tea House the next day to finish work on the roof.

Jane seized a break between customers to carry breakfast to the work crew—Gabe, Jay, and one other man.

Gabe met her gaze, a smile in his eyes. “Right on schedule.”

Seeing him filled her with a dangerous heat, her insides rising light as a soufflé. She felt ridiculously happy just being near him. “The coffee?” she teased. “Or the project?”

“Can’t be the project,” he said wryly. “Between the rain and the accident, we’re a week behind.”

She had never known another man who pushed himself so hard or who downplayed his own efforts so much.

“You’re not responsible for the weather,” she said. “Or the accident. How’s Tomás?”

He took the coffee she held out to him with a murmur of thanks. “His head looks fine, but he won’t be back at work until his cast is off. Marta’s springing him from the hospital as soon as the doctor signs off on the paperwork. I figured Hank would have told you.”

“I haven’t talked to Dad yet today. I left the house at four this morning.”

“You don’t get enough sleep.”

She shrugged. “Baker’s hours,” she said lightly.

“Not just that.” He tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering on her jaw. A tingle shivered down her spine. “You work too hard.”

“I’m fine. I had a restless night,” she confessed. Thinking
about him, warm and safe, holding her close. Dreaming about him, hot and dangerous, his hands hard on her hips as he pumped deep inside her.

“Me, too.” His voice, sandpaper rough, scraped over her sensitized nerves.

The heat thickened. She swayed toward him, drew back, conscious of the sly grins and curious looks from the crew. The Lord only knew how many of her customers and neighbors were watching out the bakery windows. Speculating.

“Darn,” she said, keeping her voice low so she couldn’t be overheard. The gossip was bad enough without her feeding it.

“What?”

She’d never thought of herself as a particularly sexual person before. But now . . .