LITMIR.BIZ

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in the wake of his unhappy marriage. Brianne knew it was too soon to get involved with a man nursing a broken heart. And now? She might never have the chance to be more than a friend.

      “So Jason and I are going to spend some time in Manhattan. A few months at least.” He tipped back in his chair and reached behind him to drag the baby’s sippy cup off the granite kitchen counter. “I’ve been making drawings of the next few units for you so you can see the changes I’m going to ask the contractor to implement.” As he passed her the sketch, his hand stalled on the envelope from Nana. “Should you read this?” he asked, handing it to her a second time. “Your grandmother doesn’t write you very often.”

      As her gaze returned to the shaky scrawl on the outside of the note, a pang of worry pierced through the knot of unhappy emotions she felt over Gabe’s departure. How disloyal of her it was to put her life in Martinique—her complicated feelings for Gabe—in front of her own family.

      “You’re right.” Brianne slid a finger under the envelope flap and raked it open. “I know she doesn’t write as much lately because her arthritis has gotten worse.”

      “All the more reason it might be important if she took the time and effort to write to you now,” Gabe added, standing up to grab a damp dishrag from the sink.

      He used the cloth to clean up some stray carrots on the tray while Brianne read the brief letter. The scrawl was shaky. Nana took a couple of paragraphs to talk about the failed effort to get a rooftop communal garden in her building, something she’d been excited about. Brianne scanned the rest quickly, thinking she’d take her time to read more closely later. The last paragraph jumped out at her.

      I had a little run-in with a mugger yesterday—your standard local junkie, nothing personal. I’m fine. Just a bit sore. It’s not a problem really, but makes getting to the market harder. If the offer is still open to have some groceries delivered, your Nana might just take you up on it. I’ve got plenty to get me through this week, though, so don’t you worry.

      Love you, child.

      “Oh, my God.” Brianne’s heart was in total free fall.

      Her grandmother, the most important person in her whole world, was hurt and alone this week while Brianne had been planting beautiful flowers, living in a Caribbean paradise and mooning over an impossible man. The knowledge sliced right through her.

      “What’s wrong?” Gabe was by her side instantly, a hand on her shoulder.

      “I need to go home.” Shakily, she tried to stand, her knees feeling unsteady. “Now.”

      * * *

      “Whoa. Wait.” Gabe half caught Brianne in his arms, something that at any other time would have brought with it a forbidden pleasure he’d enjoy even though he didn’t deserve to.

      Today, however, she was clearly distressed. Pale and shaking. What the hell was in that letter?

      “I need to go home, Gabe. She’s hurt.” The broken sound of Brianne’s voice stunned him.

      He’d seen this woman heft twenty-five-pound bags of dirt under one slender arm and collar snakes with lightning-fast reflexes so she could “relocate” them. He would have never imagined her in tears, but her dark brown eyes were unnaturally bright with them.

      “Who’s hurt? Your grandmother?” Reluctantly, he pulled his hand from her back, where his fingers briefly tangled in her thick, dark ponytail. He made sure she was steady before he let go of her. Her black T-shirt with an American rock-band logo was wrinkled, the fabric hitching up on one side away from the lightweight cargo pants that were her everyday work uniform.

      Her breath came in fast pants as one tear rolled down her cheek. Her normally olive skin had gone as white as the envelope she still clutched. Just a moment ago, she’d been teasing smiles from his son, her beauty naturally captivating even when she wasn’t making silly faces to entertain the boy.

      “Read it.” She thrust the note at Gabe and his eyes scanned the short message from Rose Hanson while Brianne fumbled in the leg pocket of her cargo pants and pulled out her cell phone. “I’ve been saving money to move her down here with me. I was going to talk to her this weekend when we’re supposed to have a video call. I should have been connecting with her every day, but I’m calling her now.”

      Brianne held the phone to her ear. Gabe could hear someone speaking on the other end, but the call must have gone straight to voice mail message because Brianne punched a button and tried again.

      “It’s okay.” He moved around the high chair so he could be closer to her, and yes, put his arm around her again. He gave her a gentle, one-armed hug, hoping to comfort her somehow as he steeled himself for the shock of pleasure that touching her created. “We’ll send someone to check on her. A home health nurse.”

      Brianne left a message for her grandmother, asking her to call her back right away. Shoving her phone back in her pants pocket, she slumped over the table.

      He regretted that he didn’t know more about Brianne’s family background. All he knew was that her upbringing had been rough enough to make her grandmother cash in the last of her savings to send her off to Martinique with a friend who was retiring to the island. Brianne had been just twelve years old at the time. Her guardian had been little more than a stranger, but she helped Brianne finish her schooling and find an apprenticeship with a local botanist.

      Gabe had been caught up in his own drama for so damn long he’d never really gotten to know Brianne as well as he would have liked to. Of course, there was always a hint—just a hint—of a spark with her. He’d ignored it easily enough when he’d been with Theresa, telling himself that the feelings for Brianne were of the creative-professional variety, that he admired her design skills and commitment to her projects.

      But there was more to it than that, and it roared to life when he tucked her head under his chin. The scent of her hair was as vibrantly floral as the gardens she tended every day. He couldn’t ignore the feel of her against him, the lush feminine curves at odds with her utilitarian work clothes.

      “There’s no one.” She shook her head, her soft, dark hair brushing his jaw. “My stepmother was living with Nana Rose, but then Wendy got a new boyfriend and moved out last month. I’ve been so worried—”

      “I’ll find a home health-care service and make a call right now.” He pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, hoping Jason’s caregiver returned from lunch soon so Gabe could give Brianne his undivided attention.

      The protective instinct was too strong to ignore. Brianne had been a positive force in his life during his worst days. And her daily, sunny presence in his son’s world soothed a small portion of Gabe’s guilt and resentment over not being able to provide a mother for his own child.

      “No.” Brianne straightened suddenly, tensing as she withdrew from his touch. “It’s my job, not yours, Gabe. But thank you.” She took out her phone again and keyed in a code with trembling fingers. “That’s a good idea to have someone check on her until I can get there.”

      “Gah!” his son shouted behind him and Gabe turned to see the boy tossing a carrot in the air.

      Even though she was upset and distracted, Brianne managed a shaky smile for Jason. She was so different from the baby’s mother, who seemed content to leave the parenting to Gabe no matter how often he’d offered to fly to the States so she could see their son. She had no plans to see her baby until Valentine’s Day, when she’d arranged a photo shoot in New York with a country-music magazine. As if a child was a prop to show off when needed.

      Nevertheless, Gabe would be there to facilitate in the small window of time available for his son to see his mother.

      “Maybe you won’t have to travel all the way to New York once you have a report on how she’s doing from an outside source.” Gabe hated to see Brianne return to a life that made her unhappy. No matter how much she loved her grandmother, he knew Brianne had bad memories of the home she’d left behind. “You can

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